Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Skyping a Barking Seal Contest

Three of my friends are at my house. They're using a laptop belonging to one of them to skype with another one's boyfriend, who is in Montana for Christmas vacation. My friend's parents don't want her skyping with her boyfriend because they think the relationship is becoming too intense and exclusive and they feel that the time apart is a good thing, and they further feel that skyping with him would be negating the positive aspects of the separation. So much for abiding by parents' wishes . . .

The three of them (my friends) were having a barking seal contest. The winner, who will be determined by my friend's boyfriend in Montana, is the person who sounds the most like me. My mother just came in here to tell them to cut out the fake barking because they'll all damage their vocal cords. My mom was, among other things, a voice major in college, and she's terribly concerned about anyone damaging their vocal cords. It's ok because
the competition is now over. We're just waiting around for the lover boy in Montana to make up his mind. It's a quandary for him. Contestant Number One clearly barks more authentically than the other two, but Contestant
Number Three is the one he hopes to boink when he finally makes it back to California. What is a lovelorn young man to do? Stay tuned for the verdict.

G (above middle C)
C (an octave above middle C)
G (above middle C)
Middle C
G (above middle C)
C (an octave above middle C0
G (above middle C)
C (an octave above middle C)
A (above middle C)
G (above middle C)
F (above middle C)
E (above middle C)
D (above middle C)
Middle C
(This you should recognize as the "Jeopardy" theme song.)

And the winner is /././././././././././././././././././././././././././././

Contestant Number Three!!!!

Loverboy seriously hopes to boink her as soon as he gets back home.

Dad, if you read this, relax. I'm not implying that she'll give in, nor am I suggesting that I would behave in a like manner even if I had the opportunity, which I most definitely don't.

Pseudo-Illness andd My New Religion

I'm still barking like a seal and not allowed to go anywhere. My mom is forcing me to drink stuff constantly. I don't know if she really believes that it helps anything, but she wants to do something and that's the only thing she can think of to do other than to give me high octane cough syrup four times a day. I HATE cough syrup. For the most part I would prefer to deal with whatever respiratory distress I have as opposed to putting that vile stuff in my mouth. When I was younger it took both parents to pin me down and plug my nose until I opened my mouth, then squirt it down my throat with a syringe. Now my mom just says she'll call my dad if I make her spill the stuff. If it's in my room, I certainly don't want it spilled anyway because I don't want ugly smelly purple stains on my rugs or bedding. I need to be sure to be in another room when she tries to give the stuff to me.

Last night I had to have a steroid injection before I went to bed. This was totally adding insult to injury. Not only am I stuck at home and not only can I not have overnight company, but now I must violate my religious principles. I know that I am officially Catholic (though I was excommunicated along with me entire family by one priest; see my May blogs if you're curious) and sort of Mormon because I was blessed against my parents' will in an LDS chapel, but someday I plan to form my own religion
based on my own personal likes and dislikes. I'm not going to be the next Joseph Smith or Aimee Semple MacPherson or whatever her name was or anything like that. I won't evangelize -- in fact I won't even allow anyone else to join my religion. It will just be a church of one, and it will be against my religion to do anything I don't want to do. I'll just keep on adding rules about things I can't do every time anyone tries to get me to do something I don't want to do. It will be so great. If some doctor tries to get me to have an injection or take liquid medicine, I'll say, "Sorry. It's against my religion to have shots or to take liquid medicine," and that will be the end of it.

I will be very happy to be over this pseudo-illness. Being confined to this house is making me stir-crazy. Three of my friends are coming here this evening but they'll have to leave by 10:30. Invalid Alexis has to get her rest even if she can't fall asleep.

Monday, December 27, 2010

"sick" & perp identified

Sleep is a difficult thing for me to acquire. I've never been a great sleeper even before my accident last spring and the events that occurred at the beginning of this school year. Those two things made sleep an even rarer commodity.

I turned on my TV at somewhere around 2:00 a.m. last night when I was unsuccessful at falling asleep. From now on I need to put a towel along the bottom of my door before I do that. My parents are spies. They see light under my door even in the middle of the night. My dad came into my room with his guitar. He plays music in the key of A major because for some reason guitar music in the key of A usually makes me sleepy. I've had musician friends tell me that this is totally crazy and that there's no way it could make a difference as to what key in which music is played in terms of its soporific effect, but it works. I don't know if it works that way for anyone else other than me, but the key definitely has an effect on me. My dad is the very first person to recognize bull manure when I spout it, and even he doesn't argue about the effect of guitar music on me when it's played in the key of A. Last night it was ineffective, though.

So then my mom came into my room. She was starting her annoying habit of rubbing my head to make me get sleepy. I begged her to stop and told my parents that I would be happy to lie in my bed in the dark with no TV, computer, books, music, or movies if they would just leave me alone. My dad said no because I was awake all night last night (which was, incidentally, my parents' fault) and they don't want me to miss more than one consecutive night of sleep. So my mom went to the hard-core sleep-inducing tactic of drawing pictures on my back. I finally gave up fighting them. I tried pretending to be asleep but they can tell if I'm really asleep or not. I can't for the life of me figure out how they can tell. So eventually they bored me to sleep with their guitar playing in the key of A (I can only listen to so much Simon and Garfunkel or music of that genre without being rendered unconscious) and my mom's really lame artwork on my back (I can tell even with the limited sensory receptors in my back that the stuff she says she's drawing would look nothing like is is supposed to look if she had used an actual pencil; the woman can't even draw well enough to play Pictionary). Then I woke up this morning with a horrible barking cough that my dad is calling croup but that I'm not sure he is qualified to diagnose.

So now no one will let me leave the house because I'm "sick." My friend Caitlin is supposed to get back from San Diego this afternoon and is coming to visit. My parents say I can have company but that Caitlin can't spend the night because I can't have friends stay overnight when I'm
"sick." My Uncle Steve is supposed to come here after his office hours to give me an official diagnosis and possibly medication. He's qualified at least on paper to offer a diagnosis. My dad think's he (my dad) is qualified to diagnose my "illness" because he's board-certified in emergency medicine. How many cases of croup does the average E. R. doctor see with patients over the age of five in an E. R.? If your answer is "zero," "none," or even "not many," you receive credit for having provided a correct answer. I hope my uncle doesn't force me to have an injection. Though I'm not actually "sick," I don't feel great enough to run away from people with syringes today. I let my dad give me an flu shot on December 24. One injection per kunar month is my absolute maximum acceptable quota if I'm not in a hospital, where I have no choice but to tolerate more.

My Aunt Victoria's super-sleuthing skills have come to be useful again. She was able to ferret out that this creepy kid named Justin whose father is a cowboy acquaintance of my Uncle Ralph was the one who made disgusting tweets on my computer. My dad said we can't go to their house again if Justin is there. My Uncle Ralph said my dad doesn't have to worry because Justin won't be there. Justin probably needs counseling or something. I hope he doesn't grow up to be a sex offender. I still don't know exactly what was in the tweets that were deleted, but apparently it was incredibly disgusting. everyone thinks my dad was really stupid for thinking I was the author.

Even though I enjoy seeing him in trouble, I'm glad my brother didn't do it. It would have made me feel sad if he did something so gross solely for the purpose of getting me into trouble.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

My Dad May Be Regaining His Sanity

Dad put the cord back into my TV and brought all my things back to me. He admits he overreacted but says he was really freaked out by the foul nature of some of the tweets. He said he deleted them because they were so disgusting and if I didn't post them, which he now correctly presumes that I didn't, I probably could never comprehend just how disgusting they were. It was apparently way beyond a few F-bombs. He said he's even bothered that my brother or any of my cousins could have come up with anything so creepy. He said he probably would have whacked me except that a) he was too angry and b) it didn't seem appropriate to whack someone who was sexualized enough to write such words. I'm glad I didn't get whacked even if the reasons didn't apply.

He said I shouldn't blame my mom for anything she said. She didn't say all that much really. He said she has new health concerns. She's been healthy at least by her standards, as in no diseases threatening her life or vision for about eight years. She's got some sort of ovarian issues. Her mom died of ovarian cancer when she was fourteen. Dad said that there's no reason to assume it's cancer but if they can't get a clean biopsy they'll do exploratory surgery because doctors shouldn't take any chances with ovaries of a person whose mother died at 52 of ovarian cancer.

I'm sorry for my mom. I don't want her to be sick again. She was sick a lot when I was little. She has very low energy now but that's basically normal for her. She's not happy with her job and my dad wants her to quit. He says we don't actually need her income and that she has enough qualifications that she could probably find a job she likes better anyway.
I happen to know because it's a matter of public record that she makes just over $112,000. Since when don't we need over a hundred thousand dollars? I guess my dad must earn more money than I thought.

My dad felt really guilty when he got home from golfing because my mom left to go out for lunch with a friend and I was home all by myself. I'm not comfortable in our house by myself since the stuff happened at the beginning of the school year, so I was hiding in my cloest when he got home. I think he thinks I'm a real nutcase but he doesn't say that. I'm really not THAT crazy. I'm just nervous in this house especially, but I think I'd be nervous anywhere in this city or area. I think it will be better when I go away for college.

It's weird because I really love my new room even though our house scares me. I wish I could have my room in some other place. If my parents or at least my dad are home I can sort of pretend I'm somewhere else but if I'm there by myself I get afraid the people will come back.

Daddy says it's OK for me to still be mad at him if I want to be. He said if I can not be mad at mom it would be good. He says if my brother did any of the tweeting he will be in huge trouble even if my mom doesn't think he should be.

I'm better now. I'm not hungry. Mom and Dad were a little pushy about food at dinner but they didn't absolutely force me to eat, which was good because food would have made me sick. I didn't really sleep last night so maybe I'll sleep tonight. At least I'll be able to watch tV in bed if I can't sleep tonight.

I Hate Christmas

What started out as a nice if ordinary Christmas has turned out to be anything but ordinary or nice. I don't have any great hopes for the problems being resolved in a way that leaves relationships intact. Furthermore, I don't care.

Yesterday afternoon while my family was at my aunt's house, my dad approached me and told me my Aunt Victoria wanted my help in setting the table. She didn't need the help of my brother or cousins or any male minors because boys don't help with such things. That doesn't really matter here anyway. My aunt asked for my help, and as she was the one providing the meal and I wasn't paying for anything, I was therefore obligated to help out in any way requested. Her sons don't help in the kitchen or dining room because they work on the family dairy. My brother doens't work on anyone's dairy, so I'm not sure why he was automatically exempted from setting the table, but that's neither here nor there.

I can tell that this story has the potential of being incredibly long, so I will try to slightly cut to the chase. I may skip a few important details, nut it's in the name of finishing this post before my mom wakes up and kicks me off her computer, which I'm no longer allowed to use.

Anyway, I told my dad I needed to shut my computer down first, but he was rather insistent that my aunt needed me NOW, not 30 seconds from now, so I very foolishly left it running. Someone, presumably my brother and my cousin, found my computer still running. The person or persons went to my Ywitter account and typed messages about someone named DMX. A few of the messages apparently contained the F-word. My dad saw them on my computer just as we were preparing to leave. If he has said something before we left, the matter of who left the messages might have been cleared up. Instead, my brother and cousin are at my cousin's house 3 hours away, I am at home, and my parents think I left the dirty word messages.

I will not lie and say that I have NEVER lied to my parents. I have done so on a couple of on very rare occasions, although I've never been caught actually lying to them, and they have no direct evidence that I've lied to them other than my admission right here. My brother, on the other hand, lies to our parents on almost a daily basis. If they use one of his lies, which are probably about as numerous as his true statements to them, as a baseline statement, they probably think his true statements are actually lies.

The entire drive from my aunt's home to our home was a three-hour-long episode of verbal abuse from my father to me, during which he interrogated me without allowing me to actually answer hardly a question. The one time I did manage to insert an answer into my dad's monologue, my mother jumped in to say that I was wasting my time by trying to blame my indescretions on my brother. That is very typical of my mother. She doesn't actually care what I do as long as I don't do anything to get her favorite child into trouble in the process.

When we got home, my dad took away my laptop and phone. Then he removed the cord from the TV in my room so that it can't be powered. While I don't agree with any of my dad's actions because I am totally innocent of the act of which I have been accused, I understand why he took my computer and phone. If I actually had authored and sent the tweets, it would follow that I should not have the right to send any more offensive communications for at least some undetermined interval. I'll even go along with the disabling of the TV, since a TV in my room is exclusively for entertainment, and perhaps a person who sent offensive communications should be at least temporarily deprived of entertainment.But then he took away my new violin that was my Christmas present. Even if I did what he said, which I didn't, what does a violin have to do with using the F word in tweets? He's just trying to take away anything that he thinks makes me remotely happy. If that's the way my parents are going to be, I don't think I will accept the violin back when my parents find out that the boys were responsible for the tweets containing the F word. Perhaps that is the equivalent of cutting off my nose to spite my face, but I don't really care right now. I am willing to do almost anything I can possibly do to make my parents feel as unhappy as I feel right now. Furthermore, sooner or later my mother will need a violinist for some performance, and that violinist will not be I. I don't play the violin anymore.

Before my dad took my violin away, I was determined to clear myself of involvement in this situation. I don't care anymore. My parents are free to think I made obscene tweets for the rest of their lives. If it inadevertently happens that I am exonerated, whatever. I don't care. I'm certainly not going to lift a finger to prove my innnocence.

I'm not bothered as much by my parents' punishments as by the idea that they actually hate me for this. Every kid I know has done worse things than put swear words in tweets, even if I did it, which I didn't. If they can hate me over a few swear words that I didn't even type or send, they probably did not love me very much in the first place. My parents will find out that if they want to hate me, I can hate them right back with an intensity that is at least equal to the intensity of their hatred for me.

I cried about this all night, but I'm through crying about it because I don't care anymore.

Friday, December 24, 2010


My family will do family Christmas eve things with my uncle Steve's family. We'll all go to midnight mass together even though Steve's family isn't Catholic. Santa comes during the night. After we assess our loot, we'll go to my Aunt Victoria's house a couple of hours away for the rest of the day. Uncle Steve's family sometimes comes as well, but I'm not sure if they're coming this year. I do like traveling with my own personal physician in case anything goes wrong. (My dad's a doctor but he doesn't really count in that regard.)Then I'll be ready to crash for about the next thirty hours.

If anyone gets a chance check out the blog of LDSMomnProutOfIt@blogspot.com. She has an interesting take on just what it is we all should be doing with our Decembers. Just reading her ideas gives me new appreciation for the sanity of my own parents, which is something to which I've never given a great deal of thought.

becca is out of the hospital. she's a bit down, as her most recent medical problem sort of hit her from nowhere. We're all vvery relieved that she is home and hope that something really nice happens to her soon so that she will feel like her normal self.

Merry Christmas Eve, and if I don't talk to you again, Merry Christmas!

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Late-Night Thoughts

My dad came home tonight, which was both bad and good. The bad thing was that I am still technically grounded, and he actually enforces groundings. The good thing is that my daddy is home.

Last night my mom came into my room at about 3:00 a.m. She probably noticed the light under my door and wondered why it was on. When she came in, she saw that the TV was on, I was listening to music, I was texting, and I was researching on my laptop. She thought I was experiencing too much stimulation for the middle of the night when I'm supposed to be sleeping. I don't understand what her problem was. Where the he!! does she think I learned to multi-task? Certainly not from my dad. Everyone knows that males cannot multi-task. Perhaps a male who's missing a testicle or something can, but not a regular male. Did you catch that, Bridget? I used the word testicle in my blog. This should provide you with the proof positive for which you are searching that I am indeed of the devil. Anyway, my mom did not approve of my simultaneous TV-watching, texting, listening to music, and researching. She turned everything off but the music, which happened to be Bach, of which she approves. Then she started massaging my head the way she and my dad used to when I was little and couldn't fall asleep. I was telling her to leave me alone but I fell asleep mid-sentence.

Tonight I was briefly reading the title of my last blog when I clicked onto this site. It actually said "LDS Woman on Dr. Phil." To my sleepy eyes, however, it looked like "LDS Woman on the Pill" at first. It's funny how your eyes can play tricks on you. It wouldn't actually be all that unusual for an LDS woman to be on the Pill. Birth control isn't expressly forbidden. If she's truly righteous, though, an LDS woman won't stay on the Pill for long. She needs to multiply and replenish the Earth to prove how righteous she is. Or else she can adopt Russian orphans.

I talked to my parents about using hot sauce as a disciplinary tool. Both said they would consider it abuse and would have to report it to the proper authorities if they became aware of it in their respective jobs.
I suppose Sister Beagley is lucky my parents don't live and work in Anchorage, or wherever in Alaska she lives.

I hear Daddy's footsteps. I need to shut my computer down and pretend to be asleep if I don't want someone to start massaging my head.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

LDS Woman on Dr. Phil

I haven't watched many "Dr. Phil" episodes. At home as I was growing up, my TV viewing time was very limited. In my facility, we see enough real-live bombastic anal orifices masquerading as mental health professionals, so most of us wouldn't go out of our way to watch Dr. Phil or anyone like him on TV. My mom DVRed n episode of dr. Phil because she thought it might interest me, though. My first though was along the lines of "Why in the he!! would I be interested in that?" but it was nice of her to have recorded something becuase she though I might like to watch it, so I gave it a look. As it turns out, my mom was correct: I was very interested in this episode of "Dr. Phil."

Among other things, the episode featured a Mormon lady from Alaska named Jessica Beagley. Ms. Beagley, or Sister Beagley if you're Mormon as she is, is a roughly late-thirties mother of six children, three of whom were reportedly adopted from Russian orphanages. Ms. Beagley is reportedly a Stake Primary President. "Primary" is the LDS children's organization, and "stake" is the next level up from the local congregation, or "ward" level, roughly the equivalent to a Catholic dioceses, although a Catholic diocese is typically larger both geographically and in terms of the number of members served. In any event, Ms. Beagley would be considered a prominent Mormon lay leader in her area.

Ms. Beagley allegedly sent a videotape to Dr. Phil's show deatiling her creative methods of disclipining one of her three adopted Russian orphans. The taaped was allegedly sent to Dr. Phil because this mother felt that she had things to teach the rest of the mothers out there in TV Land. The footage was shot by Ms. Beagley's 10- or 11-year-old daughter, and starts before she even begins her attempt at disciplining the seven-year-old former Russian orphan. The child was in trouble for having piulled three disciplinary cards at school and for having lied about his behavior at school. For having pulled the cards, the child was made to take a cold shower. For having lied about his transgressions, Ms. Beagley poured hot sauce in the little boy's mouth and forced him to swish it around inside his mouth as she yelled at him.

I almost wish my mom had not recorded the tape. It positively sickened me. I can understand that adopting a Russian orphan and then having to be responsible for him until he reaches adulthood isn't easy in most cases, but I seriously doubt anyone forced this child on Ms. Beagley. Furthermore, anyone in his or her right mind knows in advance that taking in such a child cannot possibly be a walk in the park. I doubt that I would ever try it. I admire those who are truly up to the task and do it well; I just don't feel particularly called in this area. I know my own limitations. So do my parents, apparently, as I don't see any Russian orphans living in our home.

Ms. Beagley reminds me of some of my LDS relatives. Some take in foster kids and don't treat them nearly as nicely as they treat their biological offspring. Other LDS relatives don't treat even their biological children as well as children should be treated. One particular set of LDS relatives agreed to care for me when I was sick and injured in late spring, and then left me in their attic to fend for myself when I was incable of doing so.

I don't think Mormons have a monopoly on bad parenting, as I know of some LDS parents who do an excellent job of caring for their offspring, and my mom has told me tons of stories of non-Mormons who neglect and abuse their children. However, one side of my family is predominantly LDS while the other side is not. The LDS side consistently does a sub-standard job of caring for children in their custody.

I was thinking about whether I would prefer to spend a week in the custody of mean Ms. Beagley or in the custody of my aunt and uncle who took such horrible care of me a little over six months ago. All things considered, I think I'd choose Ms. Beagley and her hot sauce over my crazy aunt and uncle. That does not speak well for the quality of parenting that goes on in my dad's side of the family. Perhaps Dr. Phil should attend our next reunion.

Rebecca, I hope you are recovering. I look forward to hearing from you.

Matt, I hope you are enjoying your very British Christmas season.

Monday, December 20, 2010

awake briefly at home/ Twin Day

My mom and I flew home today. My dad is going to Los Angeles to do some work and to meet with cystic fibrosis specialists with my pseudo-aunt and her husband and parents. Pseudo-aunt's husband is almost through medical school., her dad is an Ob-Gyn, and her mom has a master's in nursing science, so it's not like her own family is utterly clueless, but my dad is very connected and has already become practically an expert in the field of cystic fibrosis treatment, or at least he sees it that way.

My pseudo-aunt was really nervous about having her parents involved in any consultations because they have been known to be controlling on occasion, but my dad tells her that they will be easier for her to handle if she lets them be at least marginally involved rather than keeping them in the dark. Besides, they're basically paying for everything.

I'm still very sleepy from a heavy-duty anti-nausea medication I had to take because I was tossing my cookies before I got on the plane. I am staying awake just long enough to change the rug in my room to the white one to match the sheets and comforter, since that's faster than changing the sheets and coomforter to match the rug. Once I'm no longer in a drugged-out stupor, I'll probably change the decor in here every day.

I'm grounded so my mom confiscated my phone and computer, but she forgot there's anpother computer that stays in the room, and she didn't take away my TV. There's also a phone landline extension altough I don't normally hold personal conversations on an extension to my family's landline. Acually, come to think of it, it mught be a separate line than my family's phone line. I'll check it out when I'm not so tired. I could deal with grounding much better if it always occurred in this form. I briefly opened something I thought was a desk in my room and found a digital piano. I don't know if it was put there since I last saw the room or if it's been there all along and I just didn't notice it. This room becomes cooler each time I see it.

Even though I'm grounded for two days (originally it was the entire time I was home, but it was reduced to two days) my best friend is coming over for dinner tonight becuase my mom invited her before I was grounded. If Dad were here she probably wouldn't be coming, but c'est la vie. The cat is away, and the mice are having a field day in his absence.

I'm going to fall asleep wherever I'm standing in about thirty seconds, so I'm going to bed. Good night all even though it's technically broad rainy daylight. I love sleeping when it's raining outside.

P. S. I was channel surfing in my drug-induced stupor and caught a bit of Sesame Street where some generic muppet announced it's Twin Day. I'm a twin as is my twin brother (DUH!), my two brothers who didn't make it who were born almost two years before my twin and me, as well as my mom and her twin brother. Happy Twin Day Mom, Uncle Andrew, Twin Brother, and anyone else out there to whom the greeting applies. By the way, I have no idea if Twin Day is an invention of Sesame Street writers or if it's some sort of sanctioned event. I don't suppose it actually matters.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Mom Is Here/ Going Home Soon

My mother flew from our local airport to here. My parents are afraid to let me fly on a plane without one of them because when I flew here I threw up a lot and they're worried that if I were throwing up too much without an adult accompanying me I might get bumped off the flight. Then they would have to drive here to get me.

When my mother got here, my pseudo-aunt was here, too. She's the one with the cystic fibrosis diagnosis at the unbelievable age of 23. She's concerned about a lot of things related to her diagnosis, not the least of which is dealing with her parents. They're really nice people, but she feels that they were not quite accepting of her status as an adult even before she received her diagnosis. She fears that this diagnosis may make things even worse in that regard, particularly because they work in the field of medicine and know more than she does about things related to her condition. Actually, she says they think they know more than she does. I'm inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt and say they actually do know more than she does.

Anyway, when my mom got here, pseudo-aunt was eager to talk to her about a lot of things. Pseudo-aunt and my mom have known each other since before I was born, and my mom is a psychologist by training, and as such is sometimes a good source as a sounding board and for advice, especially when it doesn't involve her own family.

This is all fine, except I havem't seen my mom in almost a month. I would have liked just a little bit -- maybe five minutes or so -- of her time and attention. I understand that pseudo-aunt needed her more than I did, but she's my mom, and I had not seen her for almost a month. I don't think wanting her to talk to me for a just few minutes was really asking all that much, but it apparently was.

Either my mom or someone she knows well will read this (pseudo-aunt, if you read it, I'm not mad at you. I understand that you needed to talk to her. I'm just mad at my mom for totally ignoring me). If it's someone who knows my mom, that person will tell my mom. If it's my mom, she'll know from reading it herself. Then my mom's feelings will be hurt, and then my dad will be mad at me. I don't really care because my feelings are hurt because of the way she ignored me last night.

Friday, December 17, 2010

until Christmas

My dad is still here. He slept on the extra bed in my room last night and will stay here tonight. tomorrow night, and Sunday night. on Monday i will get on a plane to go home. Daddy will then go to LA to work and to meet with cystic fibrosis specialists with my pseudo-relatives. He'll come home on Thursday.

We were supposed to go to the beach after dinner last night, but we ended up going to dinner a little later than had been planned, and by the time we finished dinner, it was too cold to be comfortab;e on the beach. We're driving to Los Angeles after my counseling appointment, which starts in about ten minutes. Pseudo aunt or mom or whatever I call her at any given moment needs to have a CT scan and blood tests for her consultations next week. I'm having my leg X-rayed just to see how it's doiing and because there's a specialist that my dad wants to look at my leg while we're here.
I'll see the specialist this afternoon. After Pseudo A. and I are finished, we'll head back to the area of my facility. I get to dive again today. it doesn't really matter if the weather is crummy as long as there's no lightning.

If the weather doesn't clear up enough for me to run this afternoon, I need to at least use the treadmill, which is better than nothing but not nearly as good as an actual run. If it's not raining late this afternoon the pseudos and dad and I will all go running. I'm definitely the slowest, but if I push myself really hard I should be able to more or less keep up. My dad said I can hurdle tomorrow at a university near here if the specialist Oks it.

the director of my facility had breakfast with Dad and me this morning. He and dad both nagged me to eat more throughout the meal. He has a daughter who's eleven whom he says is "difficult" like me. He was shaaring stories about her with my dad, and dad was sympathizing. I don't think I was ever as bad as his kid is.

my female friends here keep wanting to know when my male pseudo=relative is coming back. They just want to ogle him becasue he's hot. i can handle that. one of them started to say that my dad is hot, but I put my fingers in my ears so I didn't have to be traumatized by hearing it. as I've said before, "hot" and "dad" do not belong in the same paragraph unless "hot" refers to weather, perhaps a car overheating.
My counselor is calling.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Rebecca made it through surgery!!!!!

I received a message from Rebecca's grandmother. Though Rebecca is still in much pain, she made it through her surgery and should make a full recovery. Pleas pray for her continued recovery. This is a huge boost!

pseudos & other matters

My dad came. He apologized, as I knew he would have to eventually because my mom would force him. I'm only grounded for two days. He's too hard-headed to just rescind the total consequence; doing so would be an act of concession on his part, and he's just not a concilaitory sort of person. So he reduced my sentence, which allowed him to feel still masculineand in conrol, yet not Stalinesque. being here amongst all this psychobabble has given me the access to psychobabble needed to psychoanalyze my parents and others. if I choose to do much of this, I could become truly obnoxious with minimal effort.

daddy and pseudos went with me to a university pool to dive. Pseudo-uncle dove as well. He doesn't actually know how to dive, but he didn't let that get in his way. It made me look really good by comparison. I could benefit from all the help I needed to look good at diving, becuase the length of my layoff made me really rusty.

We're all going out to dinner in just a bit. Psedo-aunt doesn't look significantly different than she did last summer, which is a relief. I was concerned that there might have been a big change in her appearance.

The director of this facility admitted just befoe my father arrived that he does not have anyone's permission to beat me no matter what I do. I'm still not planning on terrorizing the place, but I am relieved. I tHOUGHT he was joking, but it bothered me that I didn't know for certain. i think that doctor is the only person i know who is better at mind games than i am. I respect him for it. It's a skill that not all of us have.

After dinner we're going to the beach/ my pseudo uncle and my dad are going to play their guitars. I don't relate to people who take their guitars everywhere. You don't see me trying to cart my piano all over the

i haven't yet heard anything new about Rebecca. I surely hope she will be OK. please continue to pray for her.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010


Rebecca is back in the hospital. She is having surgery today. Her grandmother said she has been in a great deal of pain for more than a week. Please stop whatever you are doing and pray for Rebecca. Even Mormons reading this should pray for Rebecca. She is my one acquaintance of whom even my Mormosn relatives and acquaintances would approve.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

pseudo aunt and other matters

My mom said my dad talked to pseudo aunt and uncle this weekend. My dad's accompanying them as they meet with three different cystic fibrosis physicians in southern California.Pseudo uncle will complete his medical residency in the region, so pseudo aunt needs to be hooked up with a southern CA doctor. Pseudo uncle won't know for another two months or so in exactly which facility he will complete his residency, so she'll just go with the best physician in the region as opposed to the one that's closest to the exact locale in which they settle. She won't even see a specialist in Utah unless the specialist in CA chooses to have her linked to someone closer to home in the meantime. Her parents apparently have a great deal of money, and cost of flying from Utah to California even as often as every week isn't a factor.

By the way, I don't think she had any idea how wealthy her parents are. Her father's a doctor, and doctors pull in decent salaries, but doctors don't typically have the type of wealth her parents have amassed. My mom said early in her dad's career, he made a few really lucky investments, and as his means for investment increased, he invested more than was probably prudent to invest in some technology stock, but it panned out for him. I don't know the exact nature of his investments or the numbers we're talking about, but it's probably eight zeroes to the right of the decimal point and to the left of the actual numbers. Pseudo aunt knew her parents were financially comfortable, but probably had no clue as to the magnitude of their wealth, and wouldn't have given it a great deal of thought anyway because it's her parents' money and not hers. I don't think she even knew that her dad didn't have to work anymore if he didn't want to.

What the money means now is that pseudo aunt doesn't have to work. Her parents wouldn't have offered her the option of not working if there weren't medical necessity involved, although they are subsidizing two of her brothers' wives so that they'll stay home with their babies instead of resturning to work full-time. I'm pretty sure pseudo aunt didn't even know that.

Pseudo aunt, on the other hand, is not entirely sure that she's ready to pack it all in right this very second in terms of her actual teaching job. She feels that she has some responsibility to her students. Her husband and parents think she needs to get the he!! out of the school system to spare herself the exposure to germs, at least until her condition is more thoroughly evaluated. She's also a full-time law student, so the overwork angle is there as well, although I'm told it's secondary to the issue of exposure to pathogens.

The nice thing about her parents' financial situation is that some things that would be very real problems to other people are now non-issues for her. She'll be leaving her teaching job in June at the very latest. The basic plan would have been for her insurance coverage next year to be through her husband's employer. Now, however, a new carrier is not going to cover her if given a choice. (I don't know how Obama care figures into the equation. Perhaps the new insurance carrier could be forced to cover her even with the newly diagnosed condition under the new plan.) In any event, it's a non-issue. Her parents will pick up the premiums for her old policy once her school district no longer pays them.

Pseudo-aunt isn't happy about being financially dependent upon her parents. They do pay her law school tuition, but only because there is still money in an "educational expenses only" account for her since she had a full tuition and living expenses scholarship for her undergraduate education. She feels that her parents will think they have a right to tell her how to live her life if they pay some of her living expenses. They probably will tell her how to live her life, my mom says, but probably not much more than they would even if they weren't contributing to her expenses. Her parents are good people, but they are opinionated, and they think that she doesn't know as much as she thinks she does. She's twenty-three. My mom says many people around that age struggle with breaking away from their parents.

Right now she is on one side and her parents and husband are on the other side regarding whether or not she should continue to teach. Her husband has never sided with her parents against her. I'm watching anxiously to see how this one turns out. I hope she makes her choices, whatever they are, based on what is the right thing to do and not based on the desire not to be told what to do by her parents. My mom says I'm a fine one to talk when it comes to that.

I met with the director of our program today. It turns out he's a close friend and former medical school classmate of my father's. I should have guessed as much. I recognized him as an usher from my parents' wedding pictures, though he's much older now. The man knows basically everything that's ever happened in my entire life. This does not bode well for me. He told me to quit waging insurrection in his hospital ward.

On the other hand, however poorly my parents' acquaintance with the director bodes for me personally, it's much worse for the rottweiler b!tch from he!!. She's now on paid administrative leave pending investigation. There were problems besides the ones she had with me, but my situation was the immediate impetus for the investigation. The psychological intern told me she'll probably resign to halt the investigation. I'll be hailed as a hero in our wing, at least until something else more exciting happens.

I have seven-and-one-half more days until I leave the incarceration of this place to relocate to incarceration of my own home. Grounding has not yet been rescinded. I'm still hoping but not holding my breath.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

another pet peeve

I believe I blogged quite some time ago about my list of pet peeves. I can't exactly remember what was on that list and I'm too lazy to look it up, but I'm fairly certain whatever was on the list remains on my list. I have an additional pet peeve I'll share at this time. It was on my list all along, but I was not yet ready to go public with it. My friends have always known, though.

Since I began blogging, I've gone public with almost every other aspect of my life. There's probably no longer any reason to hold back on this one bit of secret information, either, except that revealing it would conceivably feed my father's and brother's already well-nourished egos. On the other hand, if this doesn't accomplish the task, something else will, so here it comes (drum roll) /././././././././././././././././

I absolutely detest it it when my friends say that my father or my brother is hot. Where my brother is concerned, I care mostly because it's totally clear just how hot he thinks he is, and if he were to learn that my friends agree with him, he would become even less bearable than he already is. Where my father is concerned all I can say is . . . yuck. The words father and hot should not appear in the same sentence. Ever. Period.

I have a sign in my room. I keep it well hidden so that my dad or brother won't see it, and I take it down once the door has been closed whenever any friend except caitlin is inside. Posting the sign for Caitlin's benefit is unnecessary; her feelings and mine are one and the same concerning my father and brother. The sign says: "Cardinal Rule: Do not mention the appearance of Alexis' father or brother in this room unless you have something negative to say." My friends know better than to break this rule. One night when I was 13, two friends were sleeping over. One of them broke this rule. I brought the phone to her and made her call her parents to pick her up at 3:13 a.m. My former friend's mother was not pleased, and called the next morning to complain, but my other friend Caitlin, who has always had a very mature voice, took the phone and successfully impersonated my mother, averting disaster. Since then, no friend has ever dared break my cardinal rule. (The knowledge that Caitlin could pass for my mom on the phone was a great discovery, incidentally, and has come in handy on more than one occasion.)

Does anyone out there have a pet peeve they've been afraid to share up to this point? If so, now is the time to share it! You are among friends here.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

incredibly sucky week

It all started with my pseudo-aunt. She usually emails or texts me at least twice a week and usually more. She suddenly stopped emailing or texting and didn't respond when I attempted to contact her. I eventually stopped trying. Then I found out about her recent medical diagnosis of cystic fibrosis. I discussed it in more detail in my three preceding posts.

I was relieved that she wasn't angry at me, but I'm very concerned about her health. It sounds as though, at least as cystic fibrosis cases go, maybe it's not as bad as usual if it took doctors until she was twenty-three to find it, although I really don't know that. One of the psychologists asked about it because I had been concerned about the lack of contact. I must have answered wrong, because she jumped all over me. She said that my selfishness was inexcusable because I was much happier to learn that pseudo-aunt has a potentially fatal illness than I was when I thought she might be mad at me. Such is not the case in any respect. I would much prefer that she be mad at me as opposed to having cystic fibrosis. Am I supposed to sit and wring my hands in the common areas of this $#%^& facility to demonstrate my anguish for this psychologist's benefit?

My dad was working in southern California this week, and he was supposed to visit me on Thursday, accompany me to a counseling session, and take me to dinner. He did a complete no-show. Then he was supposed to show up today. He said he was going to take me to a pool that has regulation diving boards and allows diving so I could practice. I haven't practiced diving since before I broke my leg last spring. He was also supposed to sit through a counseling session and take me out for an early dinner. He again did a complete no-show with no phone call or text message to warn me or to apologize after the fact. He also didn't take my calls or answer my texts asking if he was coming.

I tried not to act like an immature imbecile about my dad not showing up, but it may have been obvious that I ws a bit bothered. The same psychologist, who usually isn't very nice, offered to take me and anyone else who wanted to come to the beach to run. She said we could go after her last counseling appointment was finished at two o'clock. Two o'clock came and went without the psychologist coming out of her office. At almost two-thirty, I knocked on the door. She answered, "What do you want?" in a somewhat hostile voice. I asked her when she would be ready to go to the beach. She said through the door without even getting up to answer it or giving me permission to open it that she changed her mind because no one other than I wanted to go. Two guys were playing ping pong in a lounge right across from her office, and they hollered out that they wanted to go running, too. She opened the door and said they were just saying that because I wanted to go. Then she slammed the door in my face.

The psychological staff mans the front desk and door between 2:45 and 3:15 while the nursing staff meets for updates as the shifts change and new personnel come on duty. When female rottweiler psychologist mans the desk, she sits down there for about ten seconds, then goes into her office and tells anyone who's around to call her if someone rings the bell to get in. I waited until she went into her office, as she always does, then buzzed myself out and walked the three minutes from the hospital exit to the beach, where I had a decent run. It wasn't half as satisfying as diving would have been, but for the time, it would have to suffice.

I walked back in with some visitors and went into my room assuming I had not been missed. My assumption was incorrect. I wouldn't have been caught except that someone on the nursing staff had incorrectly tried to dispense medication to me at a time I'm not supposed to take medication. The female rottweiler psychologist had left for her dinner break, but had told the nursing staaff that I was to be confined to my room with no visitors and that she would call me into her office as soon as she returned. When she returned, I was summoned and went into her office. She started yelling at me before I closed the door behind me. Then she picked up a phone and dialed my dad's cell phone number. My dad actually took her phone call after he had been dodging mine all day. She told him that I had left the premises without authorization. He asked her questions about what had happened, and she answered. Then he asked to speak with me.

My dad dispensed with any form of greeting and didn't bother to apologize for his earlier no-show. He just said, "You're grounded for the entire time that you're home for Christmas."

I was bolder than usual. "That's really great," I told him. "Isolate a mental health patient the entire time that she's home."

"What else do you expect me to do, Alexis?" he asked. "[another consequence] you?"

"You could try showing up when you say you're going to," I answered. He hung up on me.

The female rottweiler psychologist told me I would be transferred to a more secure portion of the hospital. She doesn't have the authority do make that transfer, but I didn't know that when she said it. "I hate you, " I told her as I left to go back to my room.

"The feeling is mutual," she said to me as I walked out the door.

I stayed in my room with the covers pulled over my head all evening. Female rottweiler psychologist ordered nurses to confiscate my cell phone and computer, but the psychological intern brought them both back a few minutes ago.

I skyped with pseudo-uncle. Pseudo-aunt came on briefly to show me that she is still alive and relatively well. Pseudo uncle says twin bro probably called dad and complained that his pitching arm is sore, which probably caused dad to lose focus on all his obligations. Says pseudo-aunt's dad read my blog (I would think he has better things to do, but at least someone in the world is looking out for my interests, so I certainly won't complain). Pseudo-aunt's dad called my dad to say that my parents will someday have major regrets if they don't pay more attention to me now. I find that a little hard to believe. Even if bro has been relegated to recreation league slow-pitch softball, parents' major obsession will still be watching all his games and monitoring the status of his arm, but I appreciate the thought. Pseudo-uncle is fairly certain at least part of grounding will be rescinded, but he made me promise not to sneak out again. I don't break promises, unlike SOME people.

If anyone read my last sentence before it was edited out, don't be alarmed. I still strongly dislike my immediate family (parents and brother) and the female rottweiler psychologist, but not the rest of the world.

Friday, December 10, 2010

No News Yet

I don't yet have any new information regarding my pseudo-aunt and her newly diagnosed medical condition. My dad is calling her and her husband on Sunday to offer to help in any way that he can. I don't know whether or not she has been teaching since she received the diagnosis. Her parents want her to take medical leave, or if that isn't granted (which my dad says it should be at least until there is time to more thoroughly evaluate the risks of having her continue to teach in an elementary school setting where there are many pathogens present) they've offered to support her and pseudo uncle until pseudo-uncle begins his residency.

I'm going home in ten days. I'll be home until shortly after the new year begins. I have to admit that I'm really looking forward to spending extended time in my new room and sleeping in my comfortable Westin bed and on decent-thread-count sheets for an extended period. I haven't been home even for long enough to switch my bedding and rugs, which is one of the nicest features of my new room.

I have no idea what I am getting for Christmas this year from my parents. My brother and I each usually get one semi-major gift from them. We don't get cars or anything that extravagent, but they usually spend a few hundred dollars on us for something besides clothes. I can't think of anything I want all that much that is in their price range. I'm sure they'll think of something.

I will have vvery little time for Christmas shopping, so I'm doing most of my shopping online. I don't really like Chirstmas shopping online, and if something is not what I ordered, I won't have time to exchange it before Christmas because I won't see that it is the wrong thing until I get home, but there really isn't much else I can do. If only a few items are screwed up, I can probably shop for just the people who would have received those items.

I will miss this weather when I go home. Coastal weather in California is incredibly pleasant much of the time.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Bad News

My pseudo-aunt, who babysat me for the past two summers even though I was far too old to need the services of a babysitter, has been diagnosed with, of all things, cystic fibrosis. She's twenty-three years old. I had no idea a person could live that long with the disease without having been diagnosed. It wasn't as though she lived in a third-world country with no medical care and ignorant parents. Her father is a doctor and her mother is an RN. I thought that the screenings routinely performed on infants would have caught it, but apparently if it's a really mild case, it can slip through the screenings.

The good news is that it's a mild case, that treatments for CF are advancing almost every year, and that life expectancy should be much greater for anyone who made it to adulthood without a diagnosis. The bad news is that it's still cystic fibrosis and that it is still incurable to date. I don't know a whole lot about her particular case, and I suspect the last thing she wants is to answer a lot of questions from nosy relatives and pseudo-relatives.

I asked my dad about it. He said he plans to wait a week or so for the shock to abate, then call to ask if pseudo-uncle if he would like my dad to put my pseudo-aunt and her husband in contact with a few sources to get up-to-date information. As a doctor, my dad understands the physiology of cystic fibrosis, but his specialties are not at all related to the condition. He deals with oncology and hematology research. Additionally, he is certified in emergency medicine because he completes most of his required hours of practicing medicine in emergency rooms, although he does some clinical work in hematology and oncology. As a research physician, he knows a lot of other researchers in other areas of medicine. My pseudo-relatives aren't totally without connections, but my dad is more connected because of his research background.

My pseudo-uncle is the one who proposed the diagnosis. He's just a fourth-year medical student. I remember when I was last there he kissed his wife on the forehead and said that she tasted salty. I didn't think anything about it at the time, although I'm not a doctor. Her main symptoms were digestive, and the doctors were suspecting Crohn's Disease or ulcerative colitis. (I wonder why Crohn's Disease is named after the person who first documented the condition, but ulcerative colitis is just called ulcerative colitis. Maybe the person who first documented ulcerative colitis had a stupid-sounding name, but I digress.) My pseudo-aunt had also experienced more lung problems than most normally healthy people do, but my pseudo-uncle said her parents always wrote it off to poor eating habits and burning the candle at both ends. She's really skinny, but her mother and all her brothers are thin as well.

My pseudo-aunt's parents are reportedly taking this hard and blaming themselves for not catching it. They're not very kissy people, so maybe they didn't kiss her very much when she was little and didn't notice the salty taste. She couldn't just have developed the disease, as cystic fibrosis is something that a person is born with, but maybe her symptoms were so mild that she wasn't salty until recently. My dad doesn't think earlier treatment would have mattered that much because if she wasn't showing many symptoms, she didn't need treatment for the most part. Regardless, the parents are accomplishing nothing by blaming themselves, but my dad said that's what parents do.

I will research the condition just so I can have a better understanding of it. The problem is I am such a hypochondriac that I will soon start to imagine the symptoms myself once I learn of them. C'est la vie.

Monday, December 6, 2010

This Place Is Getting to Me

The hospital kitchen was short on staff today [We don't know what the problem was. We heard rumors that they contracted food poisoning from eating their own cooking at a pre-holiday party and also that many of them were hung over from drunken revelry at the same party] and they decided to make all the crazy people suffer because of it, probably because no one will believe us if we complain because we're all crazy. Anyway, they served us all yucky bologna sandwiches slathered with mayonnaise for lunch AND dinner. Some people ate the sandwiches for lunch. I didn't. Mayonnaise is one of the foods that I would not eat even if I were in the Donner Party, and bologna is just barely off my Donner Party list. I'm certainly not eating it unless my choices are limited to either imminent death, eating human flesh, or eating bologna. Once there's even a drop of mayo on it -- or even if someone cuts my sandwich with the same knife that was used to cut a sandwich with mayo -- it is a deal breaker as far as I'm concerned . . . and this sandwich was positively dripping with the stuff. By the time dinner rolled around and it was the same disgusting sandwiches as we had been served for lunch, positively no one was taking the hospital kitchen staff's sickening bait.

I don't even like to be in the same room with mayonnaise. If someone is eating mayo at home, I go elsewhere. My parents think it is incredibly rude to leave the table during a meal because I don't care for what someone else is eating, but then, it's considered just a bit rude to toss one's cookies at the table right in the middle of a meal, too, wouldn't you say?

In this hospital there is an eating disorder ward, with over half of its occupants reportedly being anorexic, and most of the remainder being bulimic. What would the rest be? What other eating disorders are there? I confess to being woefully ignorant on the topic, but my point remains the same as it would be if I were a freaking eating disorders savant: if someone in the hospital has to go hungry, why not the anorexics and the bulimics? The anorexics would think the gift of hunger was the greatest favor one could bestow upon them. The bulimics are just going to purge themselves afterward, anyway. Cut out the middle man and just keep the food away from them in the first place.

Most of us called our parents to complain, and our parents all told us to suck it up in different words. {I'm already scouting online for geriatric institutions of utter squalor in which to place my parents when they're old and senile. We'll see just how they like it when the shoe is on the other foot.] I then called several relatives to ask them to order a few pizzas for us, but no one with the means to accommodate my request was picking up.

This sounds like something out of a bad TV sitcom, but we actually snuck someone out of here to get food for us at a Burger King a couple of blocks away. We thought about concealing the boy in a laundry cart, but no one was picking up or delivering laundry, and there were, hence, no laundry carts. The only alternative was either to sneak him out when someone else came or wait until the nurse at the desk left her post unattended. Fortunately for us, soon after we decided on the escape plan, she went to the ladies' room without alerting another nurse. I quickly vaulted the counter and buzzed Jacob out. (Once a gymnast, always a gymnast.) Getting him back in with the food was no big deal, as the staff would be in way more trouble than Jacob or me or any of us if news of Jacob's escape were to leak.

We sent him with money and a list of what everyone wanted. I told him that my burger could have no mayo. Someone in the group said that Burger King never puts mayo on its regular hamburgers, but I was taking no chances. We couldn't get drinks because he would be unable to carry them, but we have a soda machine that's decently stocked in our wing. He came back about twenty-five minutes later with everything. I ate an entire hamburger AND an entire order of fries. I don't even LIKE fries, but extreme hunger will do that to a person. I could never be hungry enough to eat a bologna sandwich with mayo, though. Everyone has to draw the line at some point; I draw the line at bologna sandwiches with mayo.