Saturday, June 30, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: not better yet but will eventually be
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: not better yet but will eventually be: It would be unwise for me to say anything specific yet about what's happening, but I can divulge that it's a form of love problems, which ha...
not better yet but will eventually be
It would be unwise for me to say anything specific yet about what's happening, but I can divulge that it's a form of love problems, which have happened in one form or another to just about everyone on the planet.
This, too, shall pass. How it turns out is anyone's guess, though i can't see how it could work itself out in a way that makes me remotely happy. This is not to say I'll never again be happy. That would be a silly thig to say. I'll find happiness elsewhere.
At least my parents aren't being compete jerks. They're actually on my side this time. it's not worth a great deal in the grand scheme of things, but it is at least worth something.
Jump in Lake Huron, Judge Alex.
Ihzt cm lejjtr fp,l eponvvjj@ (erythromycic for "Have a better day tomorrow.")
This, too, shall pass. How it turns out is anyone's guess, though i can't see how it could work itself out in a way that makes me remotely happy. This is not to say I'll never again be happy. That would be a silly thig to say. I'll find happiness elsewhere.
At least my parents aren't being compete jerks. They're actually on my side this time. it's not worth a great deal in the grand scheme of things, but it is at least worth something.
Jump in Lake Huron, Judge Alex.
Ihzt cm lejjtr fp,l eponvvjj@ (erythromycic for "Have a better day tomorrow.")
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: i Don't Know
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: i Don't Know: I'm very sad. Life is not treating me kindly right now.
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: It Must Have Been Like, But It's Over Now: My Even...
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: It Must Have Been Like, But It's Over Now: My Even...: I should have cut my losses whenever it was that I last blogged about my "breakup" with Judge Alex. I thought I could still be his Twitter a...
It Must Have Been Like, But It's Over Now: My Even-Further Fractured Twitter Friendship With Judge Alex
I should have cut my losses whenever it was that I last blogged about my "breakup" with Judge Alex. I thought I could still be his Twitter acquaintance, but on my own terms. I can't.
I watch "Judge Alex," and the rest of my family and friends watch it as much as they ever will. I'm not part of a Nielson family. I have no power to increase his popularity or ratings beyond what little I've already contributed in that area. Beyond that, I don't tell Judge Alex how stunningly handsome or sexy he is. (I've never done that.) I also don't bother him by telling him when I'm ill or injured. One might think that would actually be worth something.
When someone is no longer of practical utility to a person, the obvious thing to do seems to be to ignore the person. It's OK. It's probably not the last time I will think someone was a nice guy, only to find out later that I was wrong. At least in the case of Judge Alex, he's only a Twitter person and not a real person.
My parents think I'm being an idiot, which is also OK. It's neither the first nor the last time for THAT to be the case.
I watch "Judge Alex," and the rest of my family and friends watch it as much as they ever will. I'm not part of a Nielson family. I have no power to increase his popularity or ratings beyond what little I've already contributed in that area. Beyond that, I don't tell Judge Alex how stunningly handsome or sexy he is. (I've never done that.) I also don't bother him by telling him when I'm ill or injured. One might think that would actually be worth something.
When someone is no longer of practical utility to a person, the obvious thing to do seems to be to ignore the person. It's OK. It's probably not the last time I will think someone was a nice guy, only to find out later that I was wrong. At least in the case of Judge Alex, he's only a Twitter person and not a real person.
My parents think I'm being an idiot, which is also OK. It's neither the first nor the last time for THAT to be the case.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Some Tho...
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Some Tho...: The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Some Thoughts About Mormons : Some things that Mormons say or do out them to just about everyone a...
Haunting Musical Memories
Some songs stick in our heads whether or not we want to remember them. Sometimes it's something that we may have heard recently, and if the tune is particularly either catchy or annoying, it's hard to lose the melody. Eventually another tune even catchier or more annoying than the previous one comes along to replace it. Other lingering melodies are of a more long-term nature. One song in particular haunts me.
When my twin brother and I were very young, each night right before bed, one of our parents would read to us, then sing one song for each of us in our own rooms once we were in bed. My brother was incredibly predictable in making his requests..
From the time he could speak intelligibly (intelligibly, not intelligently; he's still working on that), each night he requested "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." Five verses. Every freaking night, * If there are actually more than five verses to the song, everyone else in my family is most thankful that Matthew did not know about them. It didn't matter which parent was putting us to bed. If Luciano Pavarotti had inexplicably babysat us one night and had been called into service to provide the night's lullabies, I'm sure Matthew would still have insisted on "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" instead of something more fitting -- maybe "Nessum Dormi" or a comparable aria, if there is an aria comparable to "Nessum Dormi." (Once I requested "Nessum Dormi" when it was my dad's turn to sing to us. My dad is a former touring professional guitarist and backup singer, but his training was not classical. Rock was his genre. Still, he brought the lyrics up on his laptop and did a decent rendition of the song.)
I had lots of songs I enjoyed (some not particularly sleep-inducing) and I tended to vary my selections depending upon which parent was putting us to bed and also depending upon my mood on a given night. I didn't request a different song every single night of my life until my brother and I both insisted we were too old for lullabies, which was when we were in third grade. (To be truthful, my dad still brings his guitar into my room and sings to me when I have trouble sleeping, but it's certainly not every night.) There were certainly repeats among my requests, but I did at least have sufficient variety in my requests that even the dog was sick of hearing when my mom or dad sang to me. I can't come close to remembering every song I ever chose, and I know some of them were slightly odd choices. I remember overhearing my mom as she complained to my dad about what a very strange child I was when I asked him to sing Paul Simon's "You Can Cal Me Al." I also remember trying to choose really long songs so I could delay the inevitable. (Why is it that little kids hate going to sleep with such intensity?) "American Pie" was a favorite in that regard, along with Jimi Hendrix's "Voodoo Chile," but had I asked for one of them each night, my parents would eventually gotten wise to my stalling tactics. I can recall asking for "House At Pooh Corner," "My Girl," "Fernando" [by Abba], "I'll Be There," "Down Under," "Beauty and the Beast," "A Thousand Miles," 'Free Fallin'" [by Tom Petty], "April Come She Will" ** [Simon and Garfunkel], "Sweet Baby James" [James Taylor] "Counting Blue Cars," "O Canada," "Levon," and "Hey Jude." The song I requested most often, in addition to "House at Pooh Corner," was probably "Surfer Girl" by the Beach Boys. Nevertheless, I probably requested either one no more than ten times in the six or so years that my parents took bedtime song requests.
You presumably can relate to how thrilled we all were when Matthew was in kindergarten and decided that he .no longer wanted to hear "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." That night my dad was on duty, and he was playing chords in preparation for preparing to play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" in an unfamiliar key (his way of combating the boredom of having to play the same song repeatedly) when Matthew suddenly
announced that he was all done with stars. Dad and I both stared blankly at him. "I want you to sing that Titanic Song," he told my dad.
"Nooo," my dad responded in semi-disbelief.
My brother was serious, though, and one or the other of my parents could be heard belting out, "Near, far, wher-EV-er you are," every night for the next three years, minus a few nights when my parents were away.
Is it any mystery why that song gives me nightmares to this very day?
* My parents' few nights off were during times when my mom was away receiving treatment for leukemia. Even if they went out for the evening and left us with babysitters, we would lie awake in our beds until they came home and sang to us.
** This song was featured in a relatively recent episode of the TV series Parks and Recreation. I'd forgotten song existed until I heard it again during the episode where April and Andy were married.
When my twin brother and I were very young, each night right before bed, one of our parents would read to us, then sing one song for each of us in our own rooms once we were in bed. My brother was incredibly predictable in making his requests..
From the time he could speak intelligibly (intelligibly, not intelligently; he's still working on that), each night he requested "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." Five verses. Every freaking night, * If there are actually more than five verses to the song, everyone else in my family is most thankful that Matthew did not know about them. It didn't matter which parent was putting us to bed. If Luciano Pavarotti had inexplicably babysat us one night and had been called into service to provide the night's lullabies, I'm sure Matthew would still have insisted on "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" instead of something more fitting -- maybe "Nessum Dormi" or a comparable aria, if there is an aria comparable to "Nessum Dormi." (Once I requested "Nessum Dormi" when it was my dad's turn to sing to us. My dad is a former touring professional guitarist and backup singer, but his training was not classical. Rock was his genre. Still, he brought the lyrics up on his laptop and did a decent rendition of the song.)
I had lots of songs I enjoyed (some not particularly sleep-inducing) and I tended to vary my selections depending upon which parent was putting us to bed and also depending upon my mood on a given night. I didn't request a different song every single night of my life until my brother and I both insisted we were too old for lullabies, which was when we were in third grade. (To be truthful, my dad still brings his guitar into my room and sings to me when I have trouble sleeping, but it's certainly not every night.) There were certainly repeats among my requests, but I did at least have sufficient variety in my requests that even the dog was sick of hearing when my mom or dad sang to me. I can't come close to remembering every song I ever chose, and I know some of them were slightly odd choices. I remember overhearing my mom as she complained to my dad about what a very strange child I was when I asked him to sing Paul Simon's "You Can Cal Me Al." I also remember trying to choose really long songs so I could delay the inevitable. (Why is it that little kids hate going to sleep with such intensity?) "American Pie" was a favorite in that regard, along with Jimi Hendrix's "Voodoo Chile," but had I asked for one of them each night, my parents would eventually gotten wise to my stalling tactics. I can recall asking for "House At Pooh Corner," "My Girl," "Fernando" [by Abba], "I'll Be There," "Down Under," "Beauty and the Beast," "A Thousand Miles," 'Free Fallin'" [by Tom Petty], "April Come She Will" ** [Simon and Garfunkel], "Sweet Baby James" [James Taylor] "Counting Blue Cars," "O Canada," "Levon," and "Hey Jude." The song I requested most often, in addition to "House at Pooh Corner," was probably "Surfer Girl" by the Beach Boys. Nevertheless, I probably requested either one no more than ten times in the six or so years that my parents took bedtime song requests.
You presumably can relate to how thrilled we all were when Matthew was in kindergarten and decided that he .no longer wanted to hear "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." That night my dad was on duty, and he was playing chords in preparation for preparing to play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" in an unfamiliar key (his way of combating the boredom of having to play the same song repeatedly) when Matthew suddenly
announced that he was all done with stars. Dad and I both stared blankly at him. "I want you to sing that Titanic Song," he told my dad.
"Nooo," my dad responded in semi-disbelief.
My brother was serious, though, and one or the other of my parents could be heard belting out, "Near, far, wher-EV-er you are," every night for the next three years, minus a few nights when my parents were away.
Is it any mystery why that song gives me nightmares to this very day?
* My parents' few nights off were during times when my mom was away receiving treatment for leukemia. Even if they went out for the evening and left us with babysitters, we would lie awake in our beds until they came home and sang to us.
** This song was featured in a relatively recent episode of the TV series Parks and Recreation. I'd forgotten song existed until I heard it again during the episode where April and Andy were married.
Monday, June 25, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Some Thoughts About Mormons
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Some Thoughts About Mormons: Some things that Mormons say or do out them to just about everyone around. Let's take coffee, for example, and no, I don't mean that Mormons...
Some Thoughts About Mormons
Some things that Mormons say or do out them to just about everyone around. Let's take coffee, for example, and no, I don't mean that Mormons out themselves as Mormons by abstaining from it. Lots of Mormons do abstain from coffee, but a substantial number don't. It's how they don't abstain that blows their cover. They drive to Starbucks in the hours when not too many people should be there so that they shouldn't have to wait too long in the drive-through lane. This greatly reduces the chances of anyone spotting and possibly outing them there. And they certainly don't walk into the place. Unless they're extra bold, that is, and it's December. If it's December they can say they they're getting gift cards for their children's teachers, or their grandchildren's teachers, or their pets' obedience school teachers, or, if they're actually spotted with the contraband in hand, they're purchasing actual coffee for the aforementioned teachers. If this is taken at face value, the the teachers of Mormon children, grandchildren, pets, et al must be either the most lethargic creatures on the planet -- thus in need of coffee -- or the most hopped up teachers in the system from drinking all that free coffee, hand-delivered, no less. We know these things are not true, however. We know exactly who really drinks the coffee.
Another way Mormons out themselves as such is how they react to the mere mention of the name Mitt Romney. While many Republicans may dislike Barack Obama even more, few honestly like Romney. When his names is spoken in the presence of even the average Republican, you'll notice, at the very least, a slight grimace. When November rolls around, most of those Republicans will plug their noses and vote for him, but it will cause them pain to do so . . . unless they happen to be Mormons. The Mormon women will sigh or gush whenever the name Mitt Romney is spoken, almost as though they're twelve yeatrs old and Romney is Justin Bieber.. The men of the fold will wish they were Mitt Romney. The women will wish they were Ann Romney. (Me? Hell, I just wish I had Ann Romney's petty cash fund.) Often they'll go so far as to refer to him as "Brother Romney" or "President Romney." Incidentally, the Mormons referring to Mitt as "President Romney" are not displaying optimism that Romney will be elected by prematurely bestowing upon him the title of president. The honor of the title is graced upon him because he was once (drum roll here) /!/1/!/!/!/!/!/!/1/!/! STAKE PRESIDENT! "What the hell does that mean?" you might ask yourself if you're not Mormon. It means that he got to bully a few thousand other Mormons for several years, leaning on them to put their babies up for adoption if they were unwed mothers, or denying them the opportunity to attend their children's weddings if they didn't pay a large enough portion of their earnings to the LDS church. Out of respect and thanks for these kind deeds, they'll refer to the man as "President Romney" for the rest of his life. Someday some ultra-talented Mormon, probably Senator Orrin Hatch if he lives long enough, may even compose a hymn about Romney. [Note: Italics were used in this case to denote irony. The hymn will almost certainly suck like a Hoover.]
A few Mormons, a very small minority, will decline to support Romney. These non-lock-stepping individuals know they can do what they want in the voting booth, though they'll pay a price if they're too vocal about it. One reason for their disenfranchisement with their church's golden boy is his miraculous transformation to holding political stances that jibe with his church's beliefs now that he needs the conservative Republicans to embrace him in his presidential bid, as opposed to when he needed to appeal to a more liberal base as Governor of Massachusetts. Another reason is his overall creativity with the truth and his apparent comfort with the practice of lying. Etch -a-sketches and flip-flopping aside, some Mormons see through what they perceive as a facade in much the same way as I do.
As much as I'd like to pontificate on my whimsical outlook on the faith of nearly half of my extended family, one-handed typing is an arduous task. I'll continue the next time I'm feeling especially verbose.
Bon soir
Another way Mormons out themselves as such is how they react to the mere mention of the name Mitt Romney. While many Republicans may dislike Barack Obama even more, few honestly like Romney. When his names is spoken in the presence of even the average Republican, you'll notice, at the very least, a slight grimace. When November rolls around, most of those Republicans will plug their noses and vote for him, but it will cause them pain to do so . . . unless they happen to be Mormons. The Mormon women will sigh or gush whenever the name Mitt Romney is spoken, almost as though they're twelve yeatrs old and Romney is Justin Bieber.. The men of the fold will wish they were Mitt Romney. The women will wish they were Ann Romney. (Me? Hell, I just wish I had Ann Romney's petty cash fund.) Often they'll go so far as to refer to him as "Brother Romney" or "President Romney." Incidentally, the Mormons referring to Mitt as "President Romney" are not displaying optimism that Romney will be elected by prematurely bestowing upon him the title of president. The honor of the title is graced upon him because he was once (drum roll here) /!/1/!/!/!/!/!/!/1/!/! STAKE PRESIDENT! "What the hell does that mean?" you might ask yourself if you're not Mormon. It means that he got to bully a few thousand other Mormons for several years, leaning on them to put their babies up for adoption if they were unwed mothers, or denying them the opportunity to attend their children's weddings if they didn't pay a large enough portion of their earnings to the LDS church. Out of respect and thanks for these kind deeds, they'll refer to the man as "President Romney" for the rest of his life. Someday some ultra-talented Mormon, probably Senator Orrin Hatch if he lives long enough, may even compose a hymn about Romney. [Note: Italics were used in this case to denote irony. The hymn will almost certainly suck like a Hoover.]
A few Mormons, a very small minority, will decline to support Romney. These non-lock-stepping individuals know they can do what they want in the voting booth, though they'll pay a price if they're too vocal about it. One reason for their disenfranchisement with their church's golden boy is his miraculous transformation to holding political stances that jibe with his church's beliefs now that he needs the conservative Republicans to embrace him in his presidential bid, as opposed to when he needed to appeal to a more liberal base as Governor of Massachusetts. Another reason is his overall creativity with the truth and his apparent comfort with the practice of lying. Etch -a-sketches and flip-flopping aside, some Mormons see through what they perceive as a facade in much the same way as I do.
As much as I'd like to pontificate on my whimsical outlook on the faith of nearly half of my extended family, one-handed typing is an arduous task. I'll continue the next time I'm feeling especially verbose.
Bon soir
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life [s...
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life [s...: I don't know why the title of this entry popped into my head. it's one of my least favorite phrases of all time. My mom says when she was li...
Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life [sounds of projectile vomiting]
I don't know why the title of this entry popped into my head. It's one of my least favorite phrases of all time. My mom says when she was little, even before the Wheaties commercial (or whatever other cereal that used it for financial gain), T-shirts, greeting cards, and other various venues sported the hackneyed saying. It's good that I was not alive then, because I probably would have burned or at least spat upon anything bearing the Mr. Obvious proverb.
That covers my spiritually uplifting moment of the day. Moving on to more pertinent matters, I am no longer incarcerated, having been sprung from the joint approximately twenty-six hours, thirty-nine minutes, and twelve seconds ago. Shortly after I arrived hime, my dad gave me an injection of Dilaudid and anti-emetics because I was in pain and nauseous. Duh! Am I competing for the title of Ms. Obvious, or what? Even though I despise injections, the dual-purpose cocktail certainly hit the spot. I departed from The State of Consciousness within ten minutes of having been injected, and didn't wake up until about forty minutes ago. I now vaguely understand why it is that people wish to continue living. I can't go anywhere or do anything yet, and even if I could, I would have only one arm, one good kidney, and no lower midsection worth having with which to do it. This is a temporary condition, though. I will get better and I Shall Return. Do I get extra credit in the Ms. Obvious competition for quoting General MacArthur?
!!!!!!!!!!!WE INTERRUPT THIS POST FOR A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
In the event that you know where I live and are an opiate fiend, I should also clue you in to the fact that narcotics aren't normally stored in my house, and never in large quantities. My dad brought home what he thought he might need to get me through my first twenty-four hours outside the pokey.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!WE RETURN TO REGULAR PROGRAMMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My brother's date with the girl who crashed her car into my mom's car while I was driving went well. The prospective lovebirds have a second outing planned for later this week. I sincerely hope the girl doesn't put out on the second date because I will have neither the desire nor the energy to have The Contraception Talk with my brother before the next date happens.
Tomorrow is the second day in the rest of your life. Get over it.
Ciao.
That covers my spiritually uplifting moment of the day. Moving on to more pertinent matters, I am no longer incarcerated, having been sprung from the joint approximately twenty-six hours, thirty-nine minutes, and twelve seconds ago. Shortly after I arrived hime, my dad gave me an injection of Dilaudid and anti-emetics because I was in pain and nauseous. Duh! Am I competing for the title of Ms. Obvious, or what? Even though I despise injections, the dual-purpose cocktail certainly hit the spot. I departed from The State of Consciousness within ten minutes of having been injected, and didn't wake up until about forty minutes ago. I now vaguely understand why it is that people wish to continue living. I can't go anywhere or do anything yet, and even if I could, I would have only one arm, one good kidney, and no lower midsection worth having with which to do it. This is a temporary condition, though. I will get better and I Shall Return. Do I get extra credit in the Ms. Obvious competition for quoting General MacArthur?
!!!!!!!!!!!WE INTERRUPT THIS POST FOR A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
In the event that you know where I live and are an opiate fiend, I should also clue you in to the fact that narcotics aren't normally stored in my house, and never in large quantities. My dad brought home what he thought he might need to get me through my first twenty-four hours outside the pokey.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!WE RETURN TO REGULAR PROGRAMMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My brother's date with the girl who crashed her car into my mom's car while I was driving went well. The prospective lovebirds have a second outing planned for later this week. I sincerely hope the girl doesn't put out on the second date because I will have neither the desire nor the energy to have The Contraception Talk with my brother before the next date happens.
Tomorrow is the second day in the rest of your life. Get over it.
Ciao.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Still Draining the PPO's Resources
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Still Draining the PPO's Resources: Greetings! I had entertained serious hopes of being emancipated by now, but it wasn't in the tea leaves. Maybe tomorrow, they tell me...
Still Draining the PPO's Resources
Greetings! I had entertained serious hopes of being emancipated by now, but it wasn't in the tea leaves. Maybe tomorrow, they tell me. It all hinges on blood/oxygen levels or iron levels or some such thing. Someone actually told me at one point, but I was too exhausted to pay any attention.
The "Rock, Paper, Scissors" tournament was a resounding success. I was too tired to do more than watch. It sounds totally lame to excuse oneself from participating in a "Rock, Paper, Scissors" tournament for health reasons, but I lacked the energy to even watch with any degree of enthusiasm. Of the thirty-one competitors, several of whom I had never before seen, my brother took the championship. He cheats at "Rock, Paper, Scissors," so he always wins unless he's competing against my mom or me, who also cheat. We have really fast reaction times and can wait until the opposition commits before ourselves committing, yet make it appear to be in sync. The runner-up was some guy who assists with colonoscopies and sigmoidoscopies. My brother hasn't collected on his winnings yet, but PseudoCousin Peter is supposedly showing up with the goods today.
My brother and the driver of the other car (who is a girl, my brother would want me to add) are going out tonight. They're going to see a movie. It would seem to be a sacrifice in the extreme that I would have to be on the receiving end of a fairly major automobile collision just so my brother would have someone to date, but it's just the sort of thing twins do for one another, probably best described as parasitic symbiosis.
My dad slept here last night, but his presence was extraneous. I would have benefited more from my dog being here. I think I only woke up when Nurse Diesel showed up to check my vitals. My dad didn't even wake up then.
I would truly like to get out of this place so I can get a decent night's sleep before I turn thirty. In the meantime, I need to make myself presentable because the boy who is not my boyfriend is coming to visit soon. I hope he's favorably impressed by hospital gown chic.
The "Rock, Paper, Scissors" tournament was a resounding success. I was too tired to do more than watch. It sounds totally lame to excuse oneself from participating in a "Rock, Paper, Scissors" tournament for health reasons, but I lacked the energy to even watch with any degree of enthusiasm. Of the thirty-one competitors, several of whom I had never before seen, my brother took the championship. He cheats at "Rock, Paper, Scissors," so he always wins unless he's competing against my mom or me, who also cheat. We have really fast reaction times and can wait until the opposition commits before ourselves committing, yet make it appear to be in sync. The runner-up was some guy who assists with colonoscopies and sigmoidoscopies. My brother hasn't collected on his winnings yet, but PseudoCousin Peter is supposedly showing up with the goods today.
My brother and the driver of the other car (who is a girl, my brother would want me to add) are going out tonight. They're going to see a movie. It would seem to be a sacrifice in the extreme that I would have to be on the receiving end of a fairly major automobile collision just so my brother would have someone to date, but it's just the sort of thing twins do for one another, probably best described as parasitic symbiosis.
My dad slept here last night, but his presence was extraneous. I would have benefited more from my dog being here. I think I only woke up when Nurse Diesel showed up to check my vitals. My dad didn't even wake up then.
I would truly like to get out of this place so I can get a decent night's sleep before I turn thirty. In the meantime, I need to make myself presentable because the boy who is not my boyfriend is coming to visit soon. I hope he's favorably impressed by hospital gown chic.
Friday, June 22, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: My Heroes/Heroines
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: My Heroes/Heroines: I'll squeeze in one final post for the day because my dad supposedly thinks I've been too busy today and plans to confiscate my computer sho...
My Heroes/Heroines
I'll squeeze in one final post for the day because my dad supposedly thinks I've been too busy today and plans to confiscate my computer shortly. In this post, I will list my current heroes and heroines
ALEXIS' LIST OF HEROES AND HEROINES IN RANDOM ORDER
BETH CHAPMAN
MARK SPOELSTRA
TINA SINATRA
JESSE SPENCER
YOANI SANCHEZ
PSEUDOAUNT
AUNT BECKY SHERRICK HARKS
MARIANNE
AMELIA
AMY
MARIA
LAUREL
REBECCA
FAERIE
MRS. CATHERINE
MATT AKA MARTIN
DR. SEUSS
BARBARA ROBINSON
ROBERT FROST
BARACK OBAMA
THE TIN MAN
JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH
APRIL LUDGATE
SARAH HEPOLA
MARY MAGDALENE
LENNON and McCARTNEY
CHLOE AGNEW
PRISCILLA DANG
JON STEWART
STEPHEN COLBERT
DANIEL PINKWATER
COUSIN PETER
COUSIN PETER'S WIFE
ANYONE WHO DOESN'T VOTE FOR MITT ROMNEY
TIMMY (NOT FROM SOUTHPARK)
ERIC CARTMAN
KATE, THE DUCHESS OF WHATEVER
PSEUDOUNCLE
UNCLE STEVE
UNCLE MICHAEL
UNCLE JERRY
AUNT ILIANNA
STEPHANIE
DR. KENT
DR. JEFF
OLIVE
MOM
DAD
MATTHEW
JARED
BRYSON, WHO MADE A PICTURE FOR ME
THE GUY WHO MADE BIRD CALLS AT THE US OPEN
ALEXIS' LIST OF HEROES AND HEROINES IN RANDOM ORDER
BETH CHAPMAN
MARK SPOELSTRA
TINA SINATRA
JESSE SPENCER
YOANI SANCHEZ
PSEUDOAUNT
AUNT BECKY SHERRICK HARKS
MARIANNE
AMELIA
AMY
MARIA
LAUREL
REBECCA
FAERIE
MRS. CATHERINE
MATT AKA MARTIN
DR. SEUSS
BARBARA ROBINSON
ROBERT FROST
BARACK OBAMA
THE TIN MAN
JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH
APRIL LUDGATE
SARAH HEPOLA
MARY MAGDALENE
LENNON and McCARTNEY
CHLOE AGNEW
PRISCILLA DANG
JON STEWART
STEPHEN COLBERT
DANIEL PINKWATER
COUSIN PETER
COUSIN PETER'S WIFE
ANYONE WHO DOESN'T VOTE FOR MITT ROMNEY
TIMMY (NOT FROM SOUTHPARK)
ERIC CARTMAN
KATE, THE DUCHESS OF WHATEVER
PSEUDOUNCLE
UNCLE STEVE
UNCLE MICHAEL
UNCLE JERRY
AUNT ILIANNA
STEPHANIE
DR. KENT
DR. JEFF
OLIVE
MOM
DAD
MATTHEW
JARED
BRYSON, WHO MADE A PICTURE FOR ME
THE GUY WHO MADE BIRD CALLS AT THE US OPEN
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Announcing a Tournament
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Announcing a Tournament: There will be a "Rock, Paper, Scissors" tournament. In my room. Tonight. At about 8:00. You are invited. Come. No entrance fee. The winner c...
Announcing a Tournament
There will be a "Rock, Paper, Scissors" tournament. In my room. Tonight. At about 8:00. You are invited. Come. No entrance fee. The winner can have one of my Baskin and Robbins ice cream cone clowns when my deadbeat PseudoCousin's deadbeat ex-wife brings some to me. If she doesn't bring any, you get nothing but the pride of winning and the fun of having played the game. If I win, I probably will not share. The tournament is single elimination format. The more the merrier. The hospital wouldn't dare turn my visitors away because they don't want me to sue them for past grievances when I turn eighteen. If there are too many people to fit in my hospital room, I'll ask for an upgrade.
How do you like this one, Dad?
How do you like this one, Dad?
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Rantings About the NBA Final Game
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Rantings About the NBA Final Game: As I was fighting the lingering effects of general anesthesia last night, someone in my family turned the TV to the NBA championship series...
Rantings About the NBA Final Game
As I was fighting the lingering effects of general anesthesia last night, someone in my family turned the TV to the NBA championship series, and what turned out to be the actual championship game. Televised athletic competitions in general, and basketball games in particular, are somewhat louder than most television programs. Hence, while I was too stoned to follow the game, and too incoherent to complain about the volume, I could not keep its elements from invading my conscious and unconscious thought processes. My dreams last night were of Mark Spoelstra reading the Gospel and directing the choir in my parish (and doing a rather sloppy job of both) and of the thunder moving to my current city of residence because they decided they couldn't win in Oklahoma City. In my dream, the entire team and staff lived next door to me. The players and coaches were loud and obnoxious in my dream, and their incessant disturbances would not allow me to rest and recover from my injuries. As stupid as I admit this is, when I awoke this morning and made relative sense of the entire mess, I was glad that the Thunder had lost to the Heat after the way Thunder personnel had so rudely disrupted my convalescence. Furthermore, I suppose my old friend Judge Alex Ferrer and his family were happy that their hometown team won. The Ferrers are real fans who stick with their team through wins and losses, and they deserve the opportunity to savor this win.
Regarding my upcoming trip to Walmart, documenting it through videotape is a great idea. (Eating raw hamburger, by the way, is positively disgusting even if one pays for it first, which Rebecca's hometown eccentric probably had no intention whatsoever of doing.) My friend Edher said once when he was in Walmart, a woman had stripped herself bare from the waist down right in the underwear aisle and was trying on underwear. Edher says he doesn't recommend purchasing underwear at Walmart.
I should be gradually growing more coherent, but I'm not at all convinced such is the case. Alas, time will tell.
Regarding my upcoming trip to Walmart, documenting it through videotape is a great idea. (Eating raw hamburger, by the way, is positively disgusting even if one pays for it first, which Rebecca's hometown eccentric probably had no intention whatsoever of doing.) My friend Edher said once when he was in Walmart, a woman had stripped herself bare from the waist down right in the underwear aisle and was trying on underwear. Edher says he doesn't recommend purchasing underwear at Walmart.
I should be gradually growing more coherent, but I'm not at all convinced such is the case. Alas, time will tell.
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: A Menace to the Common Good
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: A Menace to the Common Good: My uncle has recently begun referring to me as the menace to the common good. In my current brain-injured and drug-induced stupor, I don't e...
A Menace to the Common Good
My uncle has recently begun referring to me as the menace to the common good. In my current brain-injured and drug-induced stupor, I don't exactly know what that means. Even were I not drug-induced and brain-injured, I doubt I would know what he meant by it. I don't suppose it really matters, anyway. If it gives him comfort to say that, by all means he should say it.
One thing just occurred to me that I don't think I've ever shared on my blog, which is that I am not allowed to shop at Walmart, nor is my brother. My parents choose not to shop there. My father has some deep-seated animosity toward Sam Walton. He says his blood pressure rises dangerously each time he hears the man's name. My suspicion is that this is a whole load of nonsense. For one thing, on public service announcements, high blood pressure is referred to as 'The Silent Killer" because it kills people with no symptoms or warning signs. So how is it that my father happens to be the one person on the face of the Earth who has no need of a sphygmomanometer because he can miraculously tell when his blood pressure rises? It sounds just a bit convenient to me.
Anyway, I've decided that as soon as I'm paroled from this hospital, I will go to Walmart. I won't buy anything there, because I'm not trying to be defiant or impudent. I just want to see the place so I'll know what it is I'm avoiding.
Speaking of blood pressure, a nurse is here to check mine. I was hooked up to automatic monitors until about an hour ago. Now the peasants have to come and check my vital signs manually.
I will be back to spout more brain-concussed nonsense at a time to be determined later.
One thing just occurred to me that I don't think I've ever shared on my blog, which is that I am not allowed to shop at Walmart, nor is my brother. My parents choose not to shop there. My father has some deep-seated animosity toward Sam Walton. He says his blood pressure rises dangerously each time he hears the man's name. My suspicion is that this is a whole load of nonsense. For one thing, on public service announcements, high blood pressure is referred to as 'The Silent Killer" because it kills people with no symptoms or warning signs. So how is it that my father happens to be the one person on the face of the Earth who has no need of a sphygmomanometer because he can miraculously tell when his blood pressure rises? It sounds just a bit convenient to me.
Anyway, I've decided that as soon as I'm paroled from this hospital, I will go to Walmart. I won't buy anything there, because I'm not trying to be defiant or impudent. I just want to see the place so I'll know what it is I'm avoiding.
Speaking of blood pressure, a nurse is here to check mine. I was hooked up to automatic monitors until about an hour ago. Now the peasants have to come and check my vital signs manually.
I will be back to spout more brain-concussed nonsense at a time to be determined later.
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Too Much Time on My Hands
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Too Much Time on My Hands: This is Alexis in the flesh again. I'm growing more proficient at one-handed typing with each new post. I've so little else to do these days...
Too Much Time on My Hands
This is Alexis in the flesh again. I'm growing more proficient at one-handed typing with each new post. I've so little else to do these days that the Surgeon General or Prime Minister or Secretariat of the Internet will probably soon contact me for the purpose of informing me that I'm exceeding my blogging allowance. Until I hear from this official, however, I'll continue tying up bandwidth or whatever it is I'm hogging, because, as I already stated, I have nothing else to do.
Last night my babysitters were, in chronological sequence, my uncle Michael (who's a really cool guy even though he looks just like my dad AND he's a practicing Mormon, which lends credence to the idea that one cannot judge a book either by its cover or its religion unless it's the actual Book of Mormon), PseudoAunt and PseudoUncle, my uncle Jerry, and my uncle Steve, who is still here with me. One of my parents will show up fairly soon to give dear, sweet Uncle Steve his freedom. That probably came across as sarcastic, which was not my intent. Uncle Steve actually manages to be both dear and sweet on most days.
Uncle Steve has been observing as I've been typing. We had a brief and civil disagreement about capitalization, ending in Uncle Steve's admission that I am correct as usual. In the highly unlikely event that you were curious as to the precise nature of our civil disagreement, Uncle Steve suggested that I should have capitalized uncle preceding the names Michael, Jerry, and Steve earlier in this paragraph. I explained to him that in those instances, I wasn't referring to my uncles as "Uncle Michael," "Uncle Jerry," and "Uncle Steve," but was, instead, explaining to the reader that they were my uncles and, additionally, providing their first names to the reader for the purpose of additional clarity. Further into the paragraph, I actually referred to two of them as "Uncle Michael" and "Uncle Steve." Regardless, in the former instance, uncle functioned as a common noun, while in the latter instances, uncle functioned as a title in an actual name, which changed its designation to that of a proper noun. Dear reader or readers, is there anything I could possibly write that could heighten your boredom beyond its present level? I didn't think so.
Right now Dog, the Bounty Hunter is on. Uncle Steve has a particularly hard time relating to the Chapmans. He says that, all things considered, he'd probably rather watch an episode of House. Uncle Steve is a physician, and doctors almost universally despise televised medical dramas. Thus, my uncle's distaste for Dog, the Bounty Hunter extends beyond garden-variety dislike. This is entirely irrelevant, as the patient rather than the babysitter or the doctor (Uncle Steve is both to me) chooses what program to watch. Uncle Steve disagrees. He says the person in possession of the remote control is the one who chooses what program to watch. To prove his point, he has stolen the remote control and changed the channel to CNN. We're all suitably impressed, Steve. You've just demonstrated that you can physically overpower an approximately eighty-five pound girl with multiple fractures who underwent kidney surgery yesterday, which practically guarantees you a slot in this year's "World's Strongest Man" competition, or possibly even the Mr. Universe contest. Did you have to resort to taking steroids to accomplish this most amazing feat?
The surgeon who operated on me has come to examine my war wound. I must now devote my attention to him, but I will be back.
Becca, I'm being treated well, but even so, I probably will need to vent soon.
Last night my babysitters were, in chronological sequence, my uncle Michael (who's a really cool guy even though he looks just like my dad AND he's a practicing Mormon, which lends credence to the idea that one cannot judge a book either by its cover or its religion unless it's the actual Book of Mormon), PseudoAunt and PseudoUncle, my uncle Jerry, and my uncle Steve, who is still here with me. One of my parents will show up fairly soon to give dear, sweet Uncle Steve his freedom. That probably came across as sarcastic, which was not my intent. Uncle Steve actually manages to be both dear and sweet on most days.
Uncle Steve has been observing as I've been typing. We had a brief and civil disagreement about capitalization, ending in Uncle Steve's admission that I am correct as usual. In the highly unlikely event that you were curious as to the precise nature of our civil disagreement, Uncle Steve suggested that I should have capitalized uncle preceding the names Michael, Jerry, and Steve earlier in this paragraph. I explained to him that in those instances, I wasn't referring to my uncles as "Uncle Michael," "Uncle Jerry," and "Uncle Steve," but was, instead, explaining to the reader that they were my uncles and, additionally, providing their first names to the reader for the purpose of additional clarity. Further into the paragraph, I actually referred to two of them as "Uncle Michael" and "Uncle Steve." Regardless, in the former instance, uncle functioned as a common noun, while in the latter instances, uncle functioned as a title in an actual name, which changed its designation to that of a proper noun. Dear reader or readers, is there anything I could possibly write that could heighten your boredom beyond its present level? I didn't think so.
Right now Dog, the Bounty Hunter is on. Uncle Steve has a particularly hard time relating to the Chapmans. He says that, all things considered, he'd probably rather watch an episode of House. Uncle Steve is a physician, and doctors almost universally despise televised medical dramas. Thus, my uncle's distaste for Dog, the Bounty Hunter extends beyond garden-variety dislike. This is entirely irrelevant, as the patient rather than the babysitter or the doctor (Uncle Steve is both to me) chooses what program to watch. Uncle Steve disagrees. He says the person in possession of the remote control is the one who chooses what program to watch. To prove his point, he has stolen the remote control and changed the channel to CNN. We're all suitably impressed, Steve. You've just demonstrated that you can physically overpower an approximately eighty-five pound girl with multiple fractures who underwent kidney surgery yesterday, which practically guarantees you a slot in this year's "World's Strongest Man" competition, or possibly even the Mr. Universe contest. Did you have to resort to taking steroids to accomplish this most amazing feat?
The surgeon who operated on me has come to examine my war wound. I must now devote my attention to him, but I will be back.
Becca, I'm being treated well, but even so, I probably will need to vent soon.
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Late Night Missive
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Late Night Missive: Hi. This is actually Alexis typing with one hand. I slept so much during the day that i'm wide awake right now. Some nurse will probably eve...
Late Night Missive
Hi. This is actually Alexis typing with one hand. I slept so much during the day that i'm wide awake right now. Some nurse will probably eventually drug me, but for the moment, I'll share my state of boredom with others who are unfortunate enough to come across this late-night missive.
I had surgery early this morning to repair a small tear (rhymes with fair, not fear) in my kidney. One of my broken ribs pierced the kidney. If the doctors had left the kidney alone, it would have, in all likelihood, repaired itself, but the doctors questioned my ability to be still and patient for the amount of time it would have taken for the kidney to heal. They were probably right. Anyway, the recovery for the surgery will be quicker than waiting around for the kidney laceration to mend itself, which is not to say that I'll be playing ice hockey anytime soon.
The adults in my family have a bizarre notion that bad things happen to people when they're in hospitals, so I always have my own personal chaperon with me anytime I am in a hospital. At the moment I have two adults with me. PseudoAunt and PseudoUncle are here. They're both snoring softly. I could be using the hospital phone to make terrorist threats from my hospital bed and no one would be any the wiser. Regardless, it was very nice of the Pseudos to leave their own comfortable bed and sleep in the comfortable spare bed in my hospital room.
Because of the surgery, I'm here for a bit longer than was originally forecast. I probably won't be sprung until sometime this weekend.
My parents are now back from The Land Down Under. They seem to have had their fill of crocodiles and kangaroos. Actually they just came back because I'm in the hospital. They didn't even get to travel to New Zealand, which was to have been the highlight of their trip. It makes me sad that my misfortune caused them to cut their trip short, but I tried to stop them from coming home early. It was very thoughtful of them to have returned.
Something good may have come of this whole situation. The girl whose car crashed into mine came to visit me. I asked her if she could come back at a time when I knew my brother would be visiting. She did, and they seem to have hit it off. I was less than enthralled with my brother's most recent love interest. The relationship wasn't yet to the serious point, but we all know how such things proceed. One minute it's a casual relationship, and the next minute they're pushing a baby carriage. If my brother is to be pushing a baby carriage at any time in the immediate future, I would prefer that it be with a person I actually like. Apart from being a substandard driver, the girl who crashed into me appears to have more positive qualities than negative ones.
Here comes the nurse with the meds. G'nite, all.
I had surgery early this morning to repair a small tear (rhymes with fair, not fear) in my kidney. One of my broken ribs pierced the kidney. If the doctors had left the kidney alone, it would have, in all likelihood, repaired itself, but the doctors questioned my ability to be still and patient for the amount of time it would have taken for the kidney to heal. They were probably right. Anyway, the recovery for the surgery will be quicker than waiting around for the kidney laceration to mend itself, which is not to say that I'll be playing ice hockey anytime soon.
The adults in my family have a bizarre notion that bad things happen to people when they're in hospitals, so I always have my own personal chaperon with me anytime I am in a hospital. At the moment I have two adults with me. PseudoAunt and PseudoUncle are here. They're both snoring softly. I could be using the hospital phone to make terrorist threats from my hospital bed and no one would be any the wiser. Regardless, it was very nice of the Pseudos to leave their own comfortable bed and sleep in the comfortable spare bed in my hospital room.
Because of the surgery, I'm here for a bit longer than was originally forecast. I probably won't be sprung until sometime this weekend.
My parents are now back from The Land Down Under. They seem to have had their fill of crocodiles and kangaroos. Actually they just came back because I'm in the hospital. They didn't even get to travel to New Zealand, which was to have been the highlight of their trip. It makes me sad that my misfortune caused them to cut their trip short, but I tried to stop them from coming home early. It was very thoughtful of them to have returned.
Something good may have come of this whole situation. The girl whose car crashed into mine came to visit me. I asked her if she could come back at a time when I knew my brother would be visiting. She did, and they seem to have hit it off. I was less than enthralled with my brother's most recent love interest. The relationship wasn't yet to the serious point, but we all know how such things proceed. One minute it's a casual relationship, and the next minute they're pushing a baby carriage. If my brother is to be pushing a baby carriage at any time in the immediate future, I would prefer that it be with a person I actually like. Apart from being a substandard driver, the girl who crashed into me appears to have more positive qualities than negative ones.
Here comes the nurse with the meds. G'nite, all.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Not Just A Witch: So we walk into this bar
Not Just A Witch: So we walk into this bar: And I'm like, wow, I never really did the whole bar scene. Yeah, this one has a DJ and dance floor...but its not like few clubs I went to w...
Update from Auntie
Alexis suffered a small laceration to her right kidney. Treatment options were weighed, and it was decided that the best course of action was to repair the kidney surgically. She went in for surgery early this morning and came out about ninety minutes later. By the time she came out, her parents had arrived at the hospital. The plan all along was for them to return home from Australia.. We just didn't tell her so she wouldn't grow anxious waiting for them.
Alexis will probably be released from the hospital on Sunday. In the meantime, she's resting comfortably and seeing as many visitors as her doctors will allow. She asked me to thanks Rebecca and Amelia for your concern. She'll probably be blogging again tomorrow or Saturday if she can talk someone into typing for her, as she dislikes one-handed typing.
Alexis will probably be released from the hospital on Sunday. In the meantime, she's resting comfortably and seeing as many visitors as her doctors will allow. She asked me to thanks Rebecca and Amelia for your concern. She'll probably be blogging again tomorrow or Saturday if she can talk someone into typing for her, as she dislikes one-handed typing.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Rotten Luck in the Form of a Wreck
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Rotten Luck in the Form of a Wreck: I had an occurrence of extremely bad luck yesterday. My bad luck involved being in the wrong place at the wrong time, the bad luck of which ...
Rotten Luck in the Form of a Wreck
I had an occurrence of extremely bad luck yesterday. My bad luck involved being in the wrong place at the wrong time, the bad luck of which was compounded by the wrong place being on US 101. Actually I was exiting US 101. Another driver wished to exit but was not in the right lane. The driver quickly cut across the right lane to reach the off ramp. The driver apparently realized another car was dangerously close, so she stepped on the gas to get across the lane. She accelerated right into the rear of my mom's car, which I was driving. I was already braking, so she hit me harder than I would otherwise have been hit. The impact sent my mom's car (and me) into oleander bushes and into a metal guardrail, where the car and I came to a stop.
The driver of the other car was a seventeen-year-old girl. She's fine, although she had to be transported to the hospital because she was in hysterics. Her car sustained front-end damage. She wasn't driving under the influence of any mind- or consciousness-altering substance. She wasn't even texting. It was the case of a very inexperienced driver who was driving without much caution. I'm glad she's not hurt. She did at least have insurance.
I know what happened because a city police sergeant was right across the street from the off ramp when the accident happened and watched the whole event unfold from start to finish. He told me what happened afterward. I had no clue. One second I was minding my own business as I got off the freeway. The next second airbags were surrounding me. I don't think I really knew the things in my face were airbags until the police sergeant and the off-duty paramedic more or less woke me from a fugue-like state.
I was wearing my seat belt, as I always do. Most of the damage to me was done by the airbags themselves. I'm smallish, so I have to drive with the seat relatively close to the dash. Also, I lack bulk in more or less all parts of my body, so the impact of airbags is greater to me than it would be to, say, at 200-pound athlete. Consequently the airbags roughed me up a bit. I ended up with a very bloody but not broken nose, a mild concussion, four broken ribs, a broken collarbone, a bruised pelvis and right hip, a really ugly bruise and swelling on my right thigh, a bruised left ankle from God knows what, a neck injury that is probably whiplash, and burn marks and bruises (not too severe) on my face. Everything that is wrong with me will heal with time. None of my fractures are the type that benefit from being casted, which is a great relief to me. Two years ago i spent several months in a toe-to-hip cast. It's not an experience I desire to repeat anytime soon.
Even though the airbags inflicted their share of damage, the consensus is that the injuries most likely would have been worse without them. The car's safety features did what they were supposed to do. The OnStar or whatever it is did the immediate phone call thing, though it was't really necessary since a police sergeant witnessed the entire accident and was there before the OnStar operator called.
I had my fourth ambulance ride, not counting the time I was air-lifted from one hospital to another. I wasn't far from home when the accident happened, so I was taken to the hospital where my dad works. Bad things usually happen to me when my parents are away, and this was no exception. Mom and Dad are in The Land Down Under. Fortunately, practically every other doctor in my family and pseudo-family happened to be in or near the hospital when I arrived, and I was coherent enough to give names to the paramedics, so people were waiting for me in the E.R. when I arrived. My Uncle Michael, who is staying at our house until his family joins him here in August, was there. My Uncle Steve, whose pediatric practice is located about thirty miles away, was at the hospital checking on a few patients. My Pseudo-Uncle Scott wasn't supposed to be working but had gone over to check on an old woman. i thought he was working anyway when I gave his name to the paramedics. My parents' Godson, Timmy, who is a medical school student, is working as a P. A. this summer and was on duty in the E.R. when I was brought in by the ambulance. Pseudo-Uncle Scott called my Uncle Jerry, who is my dad's best friend, who is also a doctor. He arrived shortly after I did.
My psychiatrist, Dr. Jeff, heard about the accident and made it down to the floor. Pseudo-Uncle's brother, who is also the father of my friend who is not my boyfriend, was there as well. (He removed my spleen late last fall when I had mono.) Olive, the chief nurse of the E.R., is a close family friend and was on duty. I'm not sure there would have been room for my parents if they had been there.
Four of the doctors who were present carry signed permission to authorize medical treatment for me. Most of the doctors there with me have my blood type (A+), so they hung around in case I needed blood. I didn't.
Once the extent of my injuries was known, Uncle Michael called my parents in Australia. It took about an hour to reach them. We were able to convince them that they don't have to come home. I wish they were here, but there's seriously not much they can do for me that others aren't doing. Both parents asked me if I need them here, and said all I have to do is say so and they'll take the next flight home. I appreciate the offer, but I'll be OK. Other people will take care of me and be nice to me.
My mom's car is history. She's not mad at me. It's just a car.
I spent last night in the hospital, and I'm staying tonight. I'll probably be released tomorrow. I probably would already have been released, I suspect, except that I'm well insured between the other driver's insurance, my auto insurance, and my health insurance, and everyone is paranoid and being overly cautious with my parents not being here.
I don't even know where I'll go when I am released. I normally might go to Uncle Steve's house, but my cousin is already there in my comfortable bed, recovering from his colon resection. I would prefer to stay at my own house, but only my brother is there during the day when my Uncle Michael is working. I can go to one of the other relative's houses -- it's not a big deal -- but my room is so comfortable and so wonderfully furnished that it's the ideal place to recover. Anyway, my parents will be home in a little over a week. Then I can rest in my own room.
This could have been a lot worse. Then again, I suppose it could have been a lot better, but it wasn't. I'm in some pain but not too much thanks to powerful opiates. It's just something to get through. At least I now officially have an excuse for being lazy all summer.
Pseudo-Cousin Peter's ex, could you make some more of those Baskin Robbins clown cones and bring them to me, please?
The driver of the other car was a seventeen-year-old girl. She's fine, although she had to be transported to the hospital because she was in hysterics. Her car sustained front-end damage. She wasn't driving under the influence of any mind- or consciousness-altering substance. She wasn't even texting. It was the case of a very inexperienced driver who was driving without much caution. I'm glad she's not hurt. She did at least have insurance.
I know what happened because a city police sergeant was right across the street from the off ramp when the accident happened and watched the whole event unfold from start to finish. He told me what happened afterward. I had no clue. One second I was minding my own business as I got off the freeway. The next second airbags were surrounding me. I don't think I really knew the things in my face were airbags until the police sergeant and the off-duty paramedic more or less woke me from a fugue-like state.
I was wearing my seat belt, as I always do. Most of the damage to me was done by the airbags themselves. I'm smallish, so I have to drive with the seat relatively close to the dash. Also, I lack bulk in more or less all parts of my body, so the impact of airbags is greater to me than it would be to, say, at 200-pound athlete. Consequently the airbags roughed me up a bit. I ended up with a very bloody but not broken nose, a mild concussion, four broken ribs, a broken collarbone, a bruised pelvis and right hip, a really ugly bruise and swelling on my right thigh, a bruised left ankle from God knows what, a neck injury that is probably whiplash, and burn marks and bruises (not too severe) on my face. Everything that is wrong with me will heal with time. None of my fractures are the type that benefit from being casted, which is a great relief to me. Two years ago i spent several months in a toe-to-hip cast. It's not an experience I desire to repeat anytime soon.
Even though the airbags inflicted their share of damage, the consensus is that the injuries most likely would have been worse without them. The car's safety features did what they were supposed to do. The OnStar or whatever it is did the immediate phone call thing, though it was't really necessary since a police sergeant witnessed the entire accident and was there before the OnStar operator called.
I had my fourth ambulance ride, not counting the time I was air-lifted from one hospital to another. I wasn't far from home when the accident happened, so I was taken to the hospital where my dad works. Bad things usually happen to me when my parents are away, and this was no exception. Mom and Dad are in The Land Down Under. Fortunately, practically every other doctor in my family and pseudo-family happened to be in or near the hospital when I arrived, and I was coherent enough to give names to the paramedics, so people were waiting for me in the E.R. when I arrived. My Uncle Michael, who is staying at our house until his family joins him here in August, was there. My Uncle Steve, whose pediatric practice is located about thirty miles away, was at the hospital checking on a few patients. My Pseudo-Uncle Scott wasn't supposed to be working but had gone over to check on an old woman. i thought he was working anyway when I gave his name to the paramedics. My parents' Godson, Timmy, who is a medical school student, is working as a P. A. this summer and was on duty in the E.R. when I was brought in by the ambulance. Pseudo-Uncle Scott called my Uncle Jerry, who is my dad's best friend, who is also a doctor. He arrived shortly after I did.
My psychiatrist, Dr. Jeff, heard about the accident and made it down to the floor. Pseudo-Uncle's brother, who is also the father of my friend who is not my boyfriend, was there as well. (He removed my spleen late last fall when I had mono.) Olive, the chief nurse of the E.R., is a close family friend and was on duty. I'm not sure there would have been room for my parents if they had been there.
Four of the doctors who were present carry signed permission to authorize medical treatment for me. Most of the doctors there with me have my blood type (A+), so they hung around in case I needed blood. I didn't.
Once the extent of my injuries was known, Uncle Michael called my parents in Australia. It took about an hour to reach them. We were able to convince them that they don't have to come home. I wish they were here, but there's seriously not much they can do for me that others aren't doing. Both parents asked me if I need them here, and said all I have to do is say so and they'll take the next flight home. I appreciate the offer, but I'll be OK. Other people will take care of me and be nice to me.
My mom's car is history. She's not mad at me. It's just a car.
I spent last night in the hospital, and I'm staying tonight. I'll probably be released tomorrow. I probably would already have been released, I suspect, except that I'm well insured between the other driver's insurance, my auto insurance, and my health insurance, and everyone is paranoid and being overly cautious with my parents not being here.
I don't even know where I'll go when I am released. I normally might go to Uncle Steve's house, but my cousin is already there in my comfortable bed, recovering from his colon resection. I would prefer to stay at my own house, but only my brother is there during the day when my Uncle Michael is working. I can go to one of the other relative's houses -- it's not a big deal -- but my room is so comfortable and so wonderfully furnished that it's the ideal place to recover. Anyway, my parents will be home in a little over a week. Then I can rest in my own room.
This could have been a lot worse. Then again, I suppose it could have been a lot better, but it wasn't. I'm in some pain but not too much thanks to powerful opiates. It's just something to get through. At least I now officially have an excuse for being lazy all summer.
Pseudo-Cousin Peter's ex, could you make some more of those Baskin Robbins clown cones and bring them to me, please?
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Public Stupidity
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Public Stupidity: On Sunday evening, my psuedoaunt's brother called my attention to a post-tournament ceremony or press conference or something of that ilk. T...
Public Stupidity
On Sunday evening, my psuedoaunt's brother called my attention to a post-tournament ceremony or press conference or something of that ilk. The US open gold tournament had just concluded, and the winner was being interviewed when a rather odd creature with an apparently British accent popped in front of the camera and made unusual bird noises until he was dragged away. My feeling is that it made a rather dull moment at least vaguely memorable. Still, I have to wonder what wuld possess a person to behave in such a way.
I can see my brother or any of his friends doing something like that. While I try to live my life in such a way as not to call attention to myself, my brother is the complete opposite in this regard. This summer he has a part-time job delivering singing telegrams. No behavior is too conspicuous for him.
People who call attention to themselves invite public scrutiny. This scrutiny greatly limits what one can do without others knowing or eventually learning about it. People with some personality types revel in having the spotlight focused upon them. Others are happier with the spotlight focused elsewhere, as much fun can be had in the dark.
P/./ There is absolutely no significance to part of the text having a darker background than the rest. i don't know from where that came. i may try to fix it when I'm less impaired.
I can see my brother or any of his friends doing something like that. While I try to live my life in such a way as not to call attention to myself, my brother is the complete opposite in this regard. This summer he has a part-time job delivering singing telegrams. No behavior is too conspicuous for him.
People who call attention to themselves invite public scrutiny. This scrutiny greatly limits what one can do without others knowing or eventually learning about it. People with some personality types revel in having the spotlight focused upon them. Others are happier with the spotlight focused elsewhere, as much fun can be had in the dark.
P/./ There is absolutely no significance to part of the text having a darker background than the rest. i don't know from where that came. i may try to fix it when I'm less impaired.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Sex With a Teacher When I Was Eleven: Confessions ...
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Sex With a Teacher When I Was Eleven: Confessions ...: For the record, the first clause of the title is only a portion of a true statement. The true statement should read as follows: " I did not ...
Sex With a Teacher When I Was Eleven: Confessions From One of the Children of the Corn
For the record, the first clause of the title is only a portion of a true statement. The true statement should read as follows: "I did not have sex with a teacher when I was eleven." I apologize if my title created any confusion or sensationalism. While a few years of my life came with their share of trauma, no teacher or any other legal adult has ever as much as hinted at having any desire to do anything in the proximity of conjugation with me. On the other hand, since we're discussing confessions and since I just made a confession on Twitter to Judge Alex, I should probably make the same confession here: I threw eggs at passing cars when I was younger.
My cousins' cousins lived right on the edge of their small town, and across the road from their home was a cornfield. It was summer, and while the corn was not quite as high as the proverbial elephant's eye, it had grown tall enough to conceal a few kids who were ten and under. We raided my cousins' aunt's egg supply, then ventured across the street into the corn, waited for passing cars, then stepped to the very edge of the corn and threw. Even then Matthew, my brother, threw with far more force and accuracy than I did, but I managed to connect with my intended targets a few times. A few cars stopped, but finding even one child in a cornfield of that size was about like finding a grain of salt in a bowl of sugar. I was dressed in green shorts and a green top, providing near-perfect camouflage. If anyone were to have been caught, it would not have been I.
I had forgotten all about my brief career in vandalism until I saw a "Judge Alex" case this week featuring two children who had been accused of scratching a car. The judge confessed to a nationwide audience that he had "done stupid things" when he was young, including throwing eggs at houses. He didn't specify how young he was when hr threw the eggs. For all I know, he may have been nineteen and already on the Coral Gables police force when he engaged in vandalism or malicious mischief or whatever one would care to call it. I, on the other hand, was only nine. Furthermore, he threw at houses; I only threw at cars. The major problem with thrown eggs (we didn't throw at front windshields, mainly because none of use could throw that precisely) is that if they are not discovered soon after they are thrown, they are difficult-to-impossible to remove. Anyone who has an egg thrown at his or her car and who is unaware immediately that something hit his or her car is probably too impaired to be driving. The small quasi-juvenile delinquent group of which I was a part was actually providing a public service: we were, if unintentionally, holding a makeshift DUI/senility/visual acuity checkpoint. Had we thrown our eggs at houses, the same could not be said for our actions. nothing good comes of throwing eggs at houses. The point is that if what I did was wrong, what Judge Alex did was more wrong.
I have a few more transgressions to confess, but the nature of them is such that I need to wait before i am over eighteen, my law school education is entirely financed, and there's no remaining consequence that my parents can levy. Then I'll share.
My cousins' cousins lived right on the edge of their small town, and across the road from their home was a cornfield. It was summer, and while the corn was not quite as high as the proverbial elephant's eye, it had grown tall enough to conceal a few kids who were ten and under. We raided my cousins' aunt's egg supply, then ventured across the street into the corn, waited for passing cars, then stepped to the very edge of the corn and threw. Even then Matthew, my brother, threw with far more force and accuracy than I did, but I managed to connect with my intended targets a few times. A few cars stopped, but finding even one child in a cornfield of that size was about like finding a grain of salt in a bowl of sugar. I was dressed in green shorts and a green top, providing near-perfect camouflage. If anyone were to have been caught, it would not have been I.
I had forgotten all about my brief career in vandalism until I saw a "Judge Alex" case this week featuring two children who had been accused of scratching a car. The judge confessed to a nationwide audience that he had "done stupid things" when he was young, including throwing eggs at houses. He didn't specify how young he was when hr threw the eggs. For all I know, he may have been nineteen and already on the Coral Gables police force when he engaged in vandalism or malicious mischief or whatever one would care to call it. I, on the other hand, was only nine. Furthermore, he threw at houses; I only threw at cars. The major problem with thrown eggs (we didn't throw at front windshields, mainly because none of use could throw that precisely) is that if they are not discovered soon after they are thrown, they are difficult-to-impossible to remove. Anyone who has an egg thrown at his or her car and who is unaware immediately that something hit his or her car is probably too impaired to be driving. The small quasi-juvenile delinquent group of which I was a part was actually providing a public service: we were, if unintentionally, holding a makeshift DUI/senility/visual acuity checkpoint. Had we thrown our eggs at houses, the same could not be said for our actions. nothing good comes of throwing eggs at houses. The point is that if what I did was wrong, what Judge Alex did was more wrong.
I have a few more transgressions to confess, but the nature of them is such that I need to wait before i am over eighteen, my law school education is entirely financed, and there's no remaining consequence that my parents can levy. Then I'll share.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: They came, they stole our stuff, and they left.
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: They came, they stole our stuff, and they left.: The relatives -- my rather eccentric aunt and uncle --left this morning after eating enough breakfast to sustain six ordinary people for at...
They came, they stole our stuff, and they left.
The relatives -- my rather eccentric aunt and uncle --left this morning after eating enough breakfast to sustain six ordinary people for at least two days. My mom said feeding the two of them enough that they didn't have to eat again at their own expense for the rest of the day was a very small price to pay to have them gone. She said by the time they finally got out the door and into their car, she would have gladly opened the pantry and refrigerator doors and told them to take whatever they could carry out in five minutes if they would just LEAVE. Even though they don't particularly like us, they always bid their farewells and head for the door roughly twenty times before they make their bona fide departure.This time it was to the point that my dad whispered under his breath that if they weren't on their way within thirty minutes, he was passing out benzos to us and taking a handful himself. My dad may drink like a fish when the occasion merits it, and he may medicate me as though i'm a lab rat, but in terms of medicating himself with anything other than booze, whether over-the counter, prescription, or from your friendly street-corner dealer, he rarely takes as much as a Tylenol. the visit stressed him even more than it di me or my mom.
The second the relatives' car began forward motion, the inspection to calculate our losses began. We typically store extra supplies of anything that's normally kept in a bathroom in our bathrooms, and anything related to laundry in our laundry room, etc., but past practice was a clear indicator that our bathrooms and laundry rooms were the easiest targets for theft. My parents piled scads of food and paper products into their closet. My mom couldn't get to most of her clothing, so she had to wear jeans covered with dirt from when she was working in the yard yesterday along with one of my dad's shirts. Even so, she was only the third most tackily dressed person in the house this morning. Both my aunt and uncle appear to have forgotten somewhere around19 71 that fashion trends tend to shift over time.My Aunt Heather, who is an extreme couponer, gave my parents a case of bath soap that irritated the skin of both my dad and my brother. In a more sane world, my mom would have just offered the soap to my aunt and uncle. My uncle, however, operates on some sort of system where he can't go to sleep at night until he has helped himself to a given quantity of someone else's belongings. The soap would not have counted in his quota had it been handed to him. Thus, we minimized our losses by hiding the soap where he would find it. Enabling a person in theft is morally questionable, but there was a need to be practical. Likewise, the sub-standard quality laundry detergent of which my Aunt Heather had a surplus and passed along to us we stored in a spot in the laundry room that Helen Keller wouldn't have missed. The final inventory check showed that we lost a few jars of jam and all of the open tissue boxes placed in bathrooms and living areas, in addition to the soap and laundry detergent. This was probably one of the least costly visits from my aunt and uncle that we've ever suffered.
Right now I'm at my pseudorelatives' house. I've been invited to spend the weekend with them. It would have been even nicer had the visit started a day earlier, but I shouldn't look inside the mouth of the proverbial gift horse.
On a totally unrelated note, it is fast approaching the time when mitt Romney and the Republican party must decide upon a vice-presidential candidate. Will they make as bizarre a selection as they did four years ago? i certainly hope so.
The second the relatives' car began forward motion, the inspection to calculate our losses began. We typically store extra supplies of anything that's normally kept in a bathroom in our bathrooms, and anything related to laundry in our laundry room, etc., but past practice was a clear indicator that our bathrooms and laundry rooms were the easiest targets for theft. My parents piled scads of food and paper products into their closet. My mom couldn't get to most of her clothing, so she had to wear jeans covered with dirt from when she was working in the yard yesterday along with one of my dad's shirts. Even so, she was only the third most tackily dressed person in the house this morning. Both my aunt and uncle appear to have forgotten somewhere around19 71 that fashion trends tend to shift over time.My Aunt Heather, who is an extreme couponer, gave my parents a case of bath soap that irritated the skin of both my dad and my brother. In a more sane world, my mom would have just offered the soap to my aunt and uncle. My uncle, however, operates on some sort of system where he can't go to sleep at night until he has helped himself to a given quantity of someone else's belongings. The soap would not have counted in his quota had it been handed to him. Thus, we minimized our losses by hiding the soap where he would find it. Enabling a person in theft is morally questionable, but there was a need to be practical. Likewise, the sub-standard quality laundry detergent of which my Aunt Heather had a surplus and passed along to us we stored in a spot in the laundry room that Helen Keller wouldn't have missed. The final inventory check showed that we lost a few jars of jam and all of the open tissue boxes placed in bathrooms and living areas, in addition to the soap and laundry detergent. This was probably one of the least costly visits from my aunt and uncle that we've ever suffered.
Right now I'm at my pseudorelatives' house. I've been invited to spend the weekend with them. It would have been even nicer had the visit started a day earlier, but I shouldn't look inside the mouth of the proverbial gift horse.
On a totally unrelated note, it is fast approaching the time when mitt Romney and the Republican party must decide upon a vice-presidential candidate. Will they make as bizarre a selection as they did four years ago? i certainly hope so.
Friday, June 15, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Relatives -- NOT the Good Kind, Are Here
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Relatives -- NOT the Good Kind -- Are Here: They're not my sick cousin's parents, but an aunt and uncle. They're also my aunt and uncle. They're among the group that hates me, but they...
Relatives -- NOT the Good Kind -- Are Here
They're not my sick cousin's parents, but an aunt and uncle. They're also my aunt and uncle. They're among the group that hates me, but they were not directly involved in the situation that resulted in my being left in a smoke-filled room when I had a broken leg and a broken clavicle and a kidney infection. Anyway, these people called our home this morning and indicated they were in the area to visit my cousin but needed a place to stay overnight. Then they proceeded to visit my cousin for less than ten minutes. The truth of the matter was that they were planning to be in the area long before they learned of my cousin's plight. No one complained on my cousin's behalf about the length of their visit because anyone as sick as he is couldn't tolerate a much longer visit from them.
This particular aunt and uncle are among the biggest free-loaders on the planet. if you've read many of my posts, you might remember that I have an uncle who's a thief. i don't know whether he posses kleptomaniacal tendencies or if he simply steals for financial gain, but my suspicion is the latter. You may recall that he was arrested a year or so ago for stealing a carton of disposable douches from behind a big box store. He doesn't restrict his stealing to businesses. He stole all the toothpaste from our home two years ago. he's also stolen toilet paper, condiments, paper towels, and more stuff than I can recall from my family alone over the years. Only God knows the sum of the merchandise he's stolen.
My mom took the call from them. If my dad had answered the phone, he said, he would have given them directions to the nearest Motel 6. We had about an hour from the time they called until they actually appeared. this gave us at least some time to hide our most valuable possessions. my dad set the alarm so that my uncle can't sneak out of the house to his car during the night with a few loads of loot he collected from around the house.he'll still take what he can stuff in his suitcase and conceal on his body, but that's a fraction of what he would purloin if he had unrestricted in/out access while we were sleeping.
Because this aunt and uncle despise me, my parents are allowing me to stay in my room with the door locked until my aunt and uncle leave. Some people might think this would be a problem, but those people haven't seen my room. In the room I have a mini-bar (no alcohol, of course, but it does have a mini-fridge and a microwave), a plasma screen TV/DVD player of maybe 45 inches, a computer, a baby grand piano (which I already had; it wasn't bought for the room), a digital piano keyboard, my land line phone, my cell phone, my violin, and all my books. My mom brought food to me. i didn't really want company because I was out with friends all day, so I was in my happy place. my brother came home and soon decided to join me inside my locked room, so i had company whether i wanted it or not. my aunt and uncle give him the willies just as much as the give them to me. i don't know about Matthew, but I'm staying here until they leave tomorrow. we have real locks -- not the kind you can unlock with a paper clip -- on our bedroom doors. My parents have keys to our doors, but my uncle can't get in, so we're safe in here, and Matthew's possessions are secure in his room.
this, too, shall pass.
This particular aunt and uncle are among the biggest free-loaders on the planet. if you've read many of my posts, you might remember that I have an uncle who's a thief. i don't know whether he posses kleptomaniacal tendencies or if he simply steals for financial gain, but my suspicion is the latter. You may recall that he was arrested a year or so ago for stealing a carton of disposable douches from behind a big box store. He doesn't restrict his stealing to businesses. He stole all the toothpaste from our home two years ago. he's also stolen toilet paper, condiments, paper towels, and more stuff than I can recall from my family alone over the years. Only God knows the sum of the merchandise he's stolen.
My mom took the call from them. If my dad had answered the phone, he said, he would have given them directions to the nearest Motel 6. We had about an hour from the time they called until they actually appeared. this gave us at least some time to hide our most valuable possessions. my dad set the alarm so that my uncle can't sneak out of the house to his car during the night with a few loads of loot he collected from around the house.he'll still take what he can stuff in his suitcase and conceal on his body, but that's a fraction of what he would purloin if he had unrestricted in/out access while we were sleeping.
Because this aunt and uncle despise me, my parents are allowing me to stay in my room with the door locked until my aunt and uncle leave. Some people might think this would be a problem, but those people haven't seen my room. In the room I have a mini-bar (no alcohol, of course, but it does have a mini-fridge and a microwave), a plasma screen TV/DVD player of maybe 45 inches, a computer, a baby grand piano (which I already had; it wasn't bought for the room), a digital piano keyboard, my land line phone, my cell phone, my violin, and all my books. My mom brought food to me. i didn't really want company because I was out with friends all day, so I was in my happy place. my brother came home and soon decided to join me inside my locked room, so i had company whether i wanted it or not. my aunt and uncle give him the willies just as much as the give them to me. i don't know about Matthew, but I'm staying here until they leave tomorrow. we have real locks -- not the kind you can unlock with a paper clip -- on our bedroom doors. My parents have keys to our doors, but my uncle can't get in, so we're safe in here, and Matthew's possessions are secure in his room.
this, too, shall pass.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: I Don't Like "What Not To Wear"
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: I Don't Like "What Not To Wear": I ran sprints, then jogged four miles today. I've been running sprints for several weeks, but I haven't jogged anything close to four miles ...
I Don't Like "What Not To Wear"
I ran sprints, then jogged four miles today. I've been running sprints for several weeks, but I haven't jogged anything close to four miles in months, so the activity left me exhausted. As soon as I reached home I showered because I was afraid that if I sat down, I might not feel like getting up, and it's seriously uncomfortable not to shower after a run.
I needed to use my inhaler after I showered. My inhaler was downstairs in the family room. I walked down the stairs, located my inhaler, and realized I was too tired to walk back upstairs. The sofa in our family room is comfortable, so I fell onto it. My brother had left the TV on after leaving the room, as he frequently does. The TV was turned to TLC (I can't believe my brother was actually watching that channel), and "What not To Wear" was airing. I despise that show with a passion I usually reserve for pedophiles and people who mistreat animals, but the remote control was not within my reach, and I was much too tired to get up and search for the place my brother had stashed it. (We find remote controls in the oddest of places, including the in refrigerator and inside the clothes dryer when my brother is home.) Anyway, without a remote control, I was forced to hear "What not To Wear' until I fell asleep on the sofa.
My brother says I should be immobilized and forced to view twenty-four consecutive hours of "What Not To wear" episodes. He does not approve of my wardrobe. According to Matthew, other than pajamas, all of my clothing fits into one of three classifications; pre-teen wear, slut wear, and pre-teen slut wear. My brother does not understand that my choices in clothing are limited because of my size. For the record, neither of my parents has a poblem with my wardrobe. I'm not sure why Matthew feels so strongly about it.
My primary issue with "What Not To Wear" is that the hosts, antagonists, fashion consultants, or whatever one chooses to call the man and woman who rip apart the fashion choices of everyone who appears on the show, treat each of the show's participants as though committing a fashion faux pas is akin to a moral transgression as opposed to a difference in taste. we've all seen clothing so poorly chosen that expecting others to look at a person wearing it is an act of unkindness, but the clothing I've seen in the "before" segments of the program does not, in my opinion, reach that level of hideosity.
I do think the hair and makeup consultants on the show usually make positive changes, although it wouldn't surprise me to learn that the "before" makeup or lack of it is an exaggeration of how the person typically looked before the cosmeticians/aestheticians (or whatever they call themselves) worked their magic.
Anyway, I fell asleep on the sofa listening to the fashion consultants denigrate the participant's fashion selections. Then I had a nightmare in which two very mean girls from my past trapped me in a school restroom into which my entire wardrobe had been transported. They were ripping and torching all of my clothing, one garment at a time. When they finished with everything else, they started pulling off the clothing I was wearing, which is similar to the way something happened to me in real life in a school restroom. When my dad shook me to wake me up, I was screaming.
I'm not going to watch that program again even if I have to close my eyes and put my fingers in my ears to avoid it.
Rebecca, according to my dad, my cousin had just over a foot (I think he said 32 centimeters) of his colon removed. It was from the descending and sigmoid portions of his colon -- mostly the descending segment. The colon supposedly was infected with bacteria to the point that it resembled the work of ulcerative colitis, but wasn't. He lost a lot of blood, but all the blood with which he was transfused was from safe sources. The main reason my uncle didn't take my cousin to a hospital in South America was because he was worried about the blood supply there.
My cousin will probably be released on Saturday or Sunday.
Peace.
I needed to use my inhaler after I showered. My inhaler was downstairs in the family room. I walked down the stairs, located my inhaler, and realized I was too tired to walk back upstairs. The sofa in our family room is comfortable, so I fell onto it. My brother had left the TV on after leaving the room, as he frequently does. The TV was turned to TLC (I can't believe my brother was actually watching that channel), and "What not To Wear" was airing. I despise that show with a passion I usually reserve for pedophiles and people who mistreat animals, but the remote control was not within my reach, and I was much too tired to get up and search for the place my brother had stashed it. (We find remote controls in the oddest of places, including the in refrigerator and inside the clothes dryer when my brother is home.) Anyway, without a remote control, I was forced to hear "What not To Wear' until I fell asleep on the sofa.
My brother says I should be immobilized and forced to view twenty-four consecutive hours of "What Not To wear" episodes. He does not approve of my wardrobe. According to Matthew, other than pajamas, all of my clothing fits into one of three classifications; pre-teen wear, slut wear, and pre-teen slut wear. My brother does not understand that my choices in clothing are limited because of my size. For the record, neither of my parents has a poblem with my wardrobe. I'm not sure why Matthew feels so strongly about it.
My primary issue with "What Not To Wear" is that the hosts, antagonists, fashion consultants, or whatever one chooses to call the man and woman who rip apart the fashion choices of everyone who appears on the show, treat each of the show's participants as though committing a fashion faux pas is akin to a moral transgression as opposed to a difference in taste. we've all seen clothing so poorly chosen that expecting others to look at a person wearing it is an act of unkindness, but the clothing I've seen in the "before" segments of the program does not, in my opinion, reach that level of hideosity.
I do think the hair and makeup consultants on the show usually make positive changes, although it wouldn't surprise me to learn that the "before" makeup or lack of it is an exaggeration of how the person typically looked before the cosmeticians/aestheticians (or whatever they call themselves) worked their magic.
Anyway, I fell asleep on the sofa listening to the fashion consultants denigrate the participant's fashion selections. Then I had a nightmare in which two very mean girls from my past trapped me in a school restroom into which my entire wardrobe had been transported. They were ripping and torching all of my clothing, one garment at a time. When they finished with everything else, they started pulling off the clothing I was wearing, which is similar to the way something happened to me in real life in a school restroom. When my dad shook me to wake me up, I was screaming.
I'm not going to watch that program again even if I have to close my eyes and put my fingers in my ears to avoid it.
Rebecca, according to my dad, my cousin had just over a foot (I think he said 32 centimeters) of his colon removed. It was from the descending and sigmoid portions of his colon -- mostly the descending segment. The colon supposedly was infected with bacteria to the point that it resembled the work of ulcerative colitis, but wasn't. He lost a lot of blood, but all the blood with which he was transfused was from safe sources. The main reason my uncle didn't take my cousin to a hospital in South America was because he was worried about the blood supply there.
My cousin will probably be released on Saturday or Sunday.
Peace.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Cousin Made It Through Surgery
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Cousin Made It Through Surgery: My cousin who just returned to the US from South America underwent successful surgery to remove a portion of his colon. It was resected with...
Cousin Made It Through Surgery
My cousin who just returned to the US from South America underwent successful surgery to remove a portion of his colon. It was resected without the need of a temporary colostomy. Things could still go wrong, but at this point things look good. My dad called his parents to let them know he was going in for surgery this morning. My dad thought they might want to talk to their son before the procedure, or at least might want to know how things went after the fact. They didn't. Their anger at him for leaving his mission early apparently takes precedence over their concern for his health. This makes me very sad for him.
My aunt (and his aunt) in the Isle of Man called to see how he made it through surgery. At least he has three uncles and one aunt and their families who care about him.
My aunt (and his aunt) in the Isle of Man called to see how he made it through surgery. At least he has three uncles and one aunt and their families who care about him.
Monday, June 11, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Milestone
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Milestone: I'm continuing my slothful ways into the summer. Other than nominal help around the house and almost-daily exercise, which is usually runnin...
Milestone
I'm continuing my slothful ways into the summer. Other than nominal help around the house and almost-daily exercise, which is usually running, I'm not contributing greatly to the workforce around here or anywhere else. No one is complaining because my pediatric endocrinologist recommended that I not exert myself, but I can tell that my parents are concerned I might be growing accustomed to this lifestyle. Their worries are without substance; the quiescence is practically killing me. I'll be happy to return to the university and to my normal (for me) obsessive study habits in September. I'm seventeen years old and would complete my undergraduate studies in may of 2013 if my parents didn't so vehemently object to the plan. I didn't get to this point by sleeping until 10:00 a.m. and watching "Law and Order" and "Keeping Up With the Kardashians" reruns every day.
Jared, my friend who is a boy, will arrive in California with most of his family late this week. At that point my activity level may increase at least a bit. I still plan to remain a slug to some degree, but I can't go all summer without having any fun at all.
I don't like to discuss physical development, or at least not my physical development, very specifically here, but it is probably worth mentioning that I need to wear at least a T-shirt or camisole if not an actual bra under my regular clothing. This, while it probably won't result in my becoming a playmate of the month anytime soon, is progress nonetheless.
Jared, my friend who is a boy, will arrive in California with most of his family late this week. At that point my activity level may increase at least a bit. I still plan to remain a slug to some degree, but I can't go all summer without having any fun at all.
I don't like to discuss physical development, or at least not my physical development, very specifically here, but it is probably worth mentioning that I need to wear at least a T-shirt or camisole if not an actual bra under my regular clothing. This, while it probably won't result in my becoming a playmate of the month anytime soon, is progress nonetheless.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: LDS Missionary Has Escaped AND Top Ten Most Disgus...
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: LDS Missionary Has Escaped AND Top Ten Most Disgus...: My cousin -- the one who was serving an LDS mission -- has been sprung. He's in a hospital not far from here. He had what appears to have be...
LDS Missionary Has Escaped AND Top Ten Most Disgusting Diseases
My cousin -- the one who was serving an LDS mission -- has been sprung. He's in a hospital not far from here. He had what appears to have been a serious bacterial infection in his colon and is scheduled to have an especially diseased section of his colon removed. The possibility exists that he will require a colostomy, but if so, it will be temporary. Still I hope he doesn't have to have one.
My cousin's illness brought to mind the topic of illnesses and diseases in general, and caused to me to ponder the topic in depth. Hence I have created a list of what I've entitled "The Ten Most Disgusting Diseases." The definition of "disgusting" as pertaining to disease is illusive and highly subjective, but since I'm the author of this treatise, I reserve the right to assign values to whatever symptoms most greatly gross me out. I've chosen to leave mental illnesses off my list, potentially devastating though they may be, simply because comparing the two is an "apples and oranges" sort of comparison.
ALEXIS' LIST OF THE TEN MOST DISGUSTING DISEASES
10. Rotavirus
Any illness characterized by explosive diarrhea is, by definition, disgusting.
9. Yeast Vaginits
One of the many epitomae of disgusting, this condition has the drawback of also occurring very commonly.
8. Cystic Fibrosis
A person with this disease produces and must cough up his or her weight in thick and excessively viscous mucous roughly twice each day.
7. Hemorrhoids
Hemorrhoids received the honor of being the listed condition at this placement, but any condition involving the anus qualifies for this placement simply by virtue of anus involvement; I can't list them all. If it involves the anus, it's disgusting. Period.
6. Hypertrichosis
A person suffering from this condition is covered with hair all over his or her body.
5. Necrotizing Enterocolits
Necrotizing enterocolitis occurs when the lining of the intestinal wall dies and the tissue falls off. Just think about it. The rationale for this condition's placement on the list is self-evident.
4. Necrotizing Fascitis
Similar to the preceding condition, one can actually see the flesh falling off with this disease.
3. Lymphatic Filariasis, AKA Elephantiasis
Caused by parasitic worms, this malady results in grotesquely distorted lower appendages, not excluding genitalia.
2. Fecal Vomiting
Essentially a symptom, most likely of bowel obstruction, rather than a disease in and of itself, this condition is sufficiently disgusting to merit prominent inclusion in this list because what it lacks in disease status it more than makes of for in the disgusting category. If you're unfamiliar with the term, it is exactly what it sounds like. Fecal matter backs up from the intestine into the stomach, then ultimately up the digestive tract to the mouth and on out. Throwing up conventional vomitus, i.e. barf , is unpleasant enough. Imagine poop being expelled through one's mouth. Do you really need to hear more?
1. Rectovaginal Fistula
This condition is characterized by an abnormal connection (as though any connection between the two could ever be categorized anything but abnormal) between the rectum and the vagina. Whatever God or creator came up with disease has a very sick mind.
Bon appetit!
My cousin's illness brought to mind the topic of illnesses and diseases in general, and caused to me to ponder the topic in depth. Hence I have created a list of what I've entitled "The Ten Most Disgusting Diseases." The definition of "disgusting" as pertaining to disease is illusive and highly subjective, but since I'm the author of this treatise, I reserve the right to assign values to whatever symptoms most greatly gross me out. I've chosen to leave mental illnesses off my list, potentially devastating though they may be, simply because comparing the two is an "apples and oranges" sort of comparison.
ALEXIS' LIST OF THE TEN MOST DISGUSTING DISEASES
10. Rotavirus
Any illness characterized by explosive diarrhea is, by definition, disgusting.
9. Yeast Vaginits
One of the many epitomae of disgusting, this condition has the drawback of also occurring very commonly.
8. Cystic Fibrosis
A person with this disease produces and must cough up his or her weight in thick and excessively viscous mucous roughly twice each day.
7. Hemorrhoids
Hemorrhoids received the honor of being the listed condition at this placement, but any condition involving the anus qualifies for this placement simply by virtue of anus involvement; I can't list them all. If it involves the anus, it's disgusting. Period.
6. Hypertrichosis
A person suffering from this condition is covered with hair all over his or her body.
5. Necrotizing Enterocolits
Necrotizing enterocolitis occurs when the lining of the intestinal wall dies and the tissue falls off. Just think about it. The rationale for this condition's placement on the list is self-evident.
4. Necrotizing Fascitis
Similar to the preceding condition, one can actually see the flesh falling off with this disease.
3. Lymphatic Filariasis, AKA Elephantiasis
Caused by parasitic worms, this malady results in grotesquely distorted lower appendages, not excluding genitalia.
2. Fecal Vomiting
Essentially a symptom, most likely of bowel obstruction, rather than a disease in and of itself, this condition is sufficiently disgusting to merit prominent inclusion in this list because what it lacks in disease status it more than makes of for in the disgusting category. If you're unfamiliar with the term, it is exactly what it sounds like. Fecal matter backs up from the intestine into the stomach, then ultimately up the digestive tract to the mouth and on out. Throwing up conventional vomitus, i.e. barf , is unpleasant enough. Imagine poop being expelled through one's mouth. Do you really need to hear more?
1. Rectovaginal Fistula
This condition is characterized by an abnormal connection (as though any connection between the two could ever be categorized anything but abnormal) between the rectum and the vagina. Whatever God or creator came up with disease has a very sick mind.
Bon appetit!
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Beehive State
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: The Beehive State: The plane carrying my traveling companions and me made it safely over the Sierra Nevada and on to the edge of the Rockies, which means I'm ...
The Beehive State
The plane carrying my traveling companions and me made it safely over the Sierra Nevada and on to the edge of the Rockies, which means I'm now in Utah. Utah is something everyone should experience at least once in his or her lifetime if only for the sheer bizarreness of the place. I've already spent enough time both within the boundaries of Utah as recognized by cartographers and in the adjacent spaces (Idaho, northern Arizona, western Wyoming), which, despite what your fifth grade teacher may have told you, are Utah even if the maps say "Idaho", "northern Arizona", or "western Wyoming," that I'm essentially beyond being shocked by most of what happens here. If you, like me, have ever ventured into the State of the Deseret and its abutting territories, you know of what I speak.
Despite Salt Lake City's designation as the state capitol and the headquarters of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and despite the government and church offices there, Salt Lake City is in actuality the hub of neither the church nor the state. Salt Lake City is far too modern and diverse a metropolis for such a distinction. The real core of Utah is in the heart of the county bearing its name. Utah County is home to Brigham Young University and to a slew of small- to moderate-sized communities so unenlightened as to make television's Hooterville and Mayberry appear sophisticated by comparison. I could elaborate ad nauseum about life in Provo and its surrounding municipalities (for some reason on which I cannot put my thumb, it does not feel right to refer to any of these places as "suburbs"), but my words cannot do justice to the absurdities of day-to-day life in Happy Valley.
I will, however, give you one brief glimpse into the provinciality of central Utah. If one wishes to see a picture -- a real cross-section -- of any location, be it London, San Francisco, or Tokyo, one should try to find the practical mecca -- the place where the masses shop. In Utah County, that place would be the Target superstore in whatever community is large enough to have a Target superstore. Don't go there if you actually need to buy anything because you'll have a damned hard time getting into the store, finding the item or items you need, paying for your purchases, and getting out of the store, because of the sheer number of children accompanying each paying customer. The children have to do something while their mothers shop, so they play with the merchandise, thus preventing actual paying customers from getting anywhere near the items they need. I might also point out that you need to watch where you step. Some of the children you will encounter are at the potty-training stage, and shopping mothers aren't always the most attentive potty trainers on the face of the planet. Store employees cannot work fast enough to place enough "Slippery When Wet" signs in all the applicable places. If you are the rare customer who has had the good fortune of locating an item you needed to purchase and were actually able to get your hands on it, you should open it and check its condition before making a purchase. Chances are that you're not the first person who has opened the item, and the twenty or so children who have opened it before you may not have handled the object carefully. When a store employee found it, he or she probably followed the unofficial store policy of shoving it back into its original packaging, broken or not.
One thing you really must do before you run out of the store and raid the nearest benzo supply is to walk down the "hair coloring products" aisle. There you will find an entire row devoted to blonde hair coloring products. If you were under the mistaken impression that blonde comes in three shades, perhaps something like light blonde, medium blonde, and dark blonde, you will learn just how very uninformed you were. You will see boxes of bleach products by the dozens, with names (often related to food) such as honey blonde, sugar cookie blonde, Ann Romney blonde, lemon jello blonde (I won't even touch the jello obsession endemic to this region), marshmallow blonde, sunlit blonde, Mary-Mother-of-Jesus blonde (Didn't know she was blonde? It's a common misconception, and I'll pardon your ignorance), powder blonde, Swiss cheese blonde, brain-dead blonde, buttermilk blonde, a la mode blonde, and lobotomy blonde, just to name a few. In the places I've lived, hair coloring products can be found in shades of brunette or red as well. Women in Utah know something the rest of the world has yet to discover, which is that there's no legitimate reason to color one's hair any color other than blonde.
The purpose for my coming to Utah was to attend a high school graduation, which I did. I have pictures to prove that I was there, which is a good thing if I ever happen to need my attendance at the graduation to serve as an alibi for any reason, because I didn't hear a damned thing that was spoken in the ceremony other than the Pledge of Allegiance, which everyone said in unison, so it was loud enough to be heard over the noise of the fifteen-thousand babies and small children, give or take a few, in attendance.
I just arrived home from the all-night grad night party. It's not quite all night yet, but it was close enough that the grad I accompanied decided to call it a night. In the event that my date and I had any plans of stopping on the way home to engage in extracurricular recreational procreation, the grad night Nazis placed a phone call to my date's parents alerting them to our early exit. Since we didn't plan on and didn't engage in any unsanctioned contact, all the call accomplished was to interrupt my date's parents' sleep, but better safe than sinful.
Arrivederci.
Note to the Utah Department of Tourism: You can send my commission payment to me through my Wells Fargo account.
I just arrived home from the all-night grad night party. It's not quite all night yet, but it was close enough that the grad I accompanied decided to call it a night. In the event that my date and I had any plans of stopping on the way home to engage in extracurricular recreational procreation, the grad night Nazis placed a phone call to my date's parents alerting them to our early exit. Since we didn't plan on and didn't engage in any unsanctioned contact, all the call accomplished was to interrupt my date's parents' sleep, but better safe than sinful.
Arrivederci.
Note to the Utah Department of Tourism: You can send my commission payment to me through my Wells Fargo account.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Tripping
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Tripping: I'm leaving bright and early tomorrow to catch a plane to Utah with Jared's family for his graduation. We'll stay three nights, then head ba...
Tripping
I'm leaving bright and early tomorrow to catch a plane to Utah with Jared's family for his graduation. We'll stay three nights, then head back to California on Thursday. Jared graduates on Tuesday night. He's allowed to bring one guest to his grad night festivities, so I'll be his designated guest. That gives me one last opportunity to corrupt his Utah peers with my wicked California ways. I'm saying that facetiously; I'm actually less wild than are most of Jared's classmates.
Uncle Michael and my cousin are in the city of the mission headquarters. Uncle Michael told my dad that my cousin looks terrible and that he [Uncle Michael] was tempted to take my cousin to a hospital but he really thinks the best thing would be to get my cousin back to the states and then seek medical care for him.
Rebecca asked what might be wrong with my cousin. The most likely diagnoses are parasitic or bacterial infection, which might include giardia, staphylococcus, e coli, dysentery, cholera, or God only knows how many other things, such as Celiac Disease, Crohn's Disease or ulcerative colitis. My bet would be on a bacterial or parasitic explanation because of his location, but we can't really be certain. I'll hope it's something with a relatively quick fix. My Uncle Steve knows of people who have been ill for several years after serving missions in third-world conditions.
After his graduation, Jared will come to California. He'll attend the same university I'll attend next year. He hasn't made any decision as to whether or not he will serve an LDS mission. It's a really important decision with long-term consequences, and he must make the decision totally on his own. I do not wish to influence his decision-making process in any way.
When I next blog, I will be in the Great State of Utah.
Ad astra per alas porci.
Uncle Michael and my cousin are in the city of the mission headquarters. Uncle Michael told my dad that my cousin looks terrible and that he [Uncle Michael] was tempted to take my cousin to a hospital but he really thinks the best thing would be to get my cousin back to the states and then seek medical care for him.
Rebecca asked what might be wrong with my cousin. The most likely diagnoses are parasitic or bacterial infection, which might include giardia, staphylococcus, e coli, dysentery, cholera, or God only knows how many other things, such as Celiac Disease, Crohn's Disease or ulcerative colitis. My bet would be on a bacterial or parasitic explanation because of his location, but we can't really be certain. I'll hope it's something with a relatively quick fix. My Uncle Steve knows of people who have been ill for several years after serving missions in third-world conditions.
After his graduation, Jared will come to California. He'll attend the same university I'll attend next year. He hasn't made any decision as to whether or not he will serve an LDS mission. It's a really important decision with long-term consequences, and he must make the decision totally on his own. I do not wish to influence his decision-making process in any way.
When I next blog, I will be in the Great State of Utah.
Ad astra per alas porci.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Hello Again
The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: Hello Again: The past few months haven't been particularly busy for me. April may have been a bit labor intensive, as I always do all of my assigned read...
Hello Again
The past few months haven't been particularly busy for me. April may have been a bit labor intensive, as I always do all of my assigned readings, compositions, and projects at the very beginning of a term or quarter, and since I took the first week of the quarter off to go to Utah, I had to make up for lost time in the following weeks. Once that ordeal was over, however, I didn't have tons of work to do.
What I did with my time, in addition to attending class, transcribing my lecture notes, and completing an last-minute assignments as they came up, was to sleep, eat, watch television, run, dive a little, and read. In short, I have been whatever is the female term for a bum.
My dad was initially a bit skeptical concerning the benefits of my leisurely lifestyle, but when he went with me to a doctor's appointment a couple of weeks ago and learned that my weight is up to an all-time high of ninety pounds (!!!) and I am now very nearly five-feet-two inches in height, he changed his tune just a tad. My pediatric endocrinologist is convinced that my laid-back lifestyle greatly contributed to my growth and would like for me to continue to live this way for another year. If I seriously thought that I had a chance of achieving another significant growth spurt I might think of attempting to be a slug for awhile longer, but my mom is only 5' 3", and I'm closing in on puberty. My time of major growth is nearing its end. I'm not taking classes this summer, so I'll have over three months to vegetate, but at that point I really must get on with my life.
This summer should be enjoyable. The boy who is not my boyfriend, Jared, graduates on Tuesday night. I'm flying to Utah with his parents and most of his siblings. i just got back on Tuesday from a trip to Utah to attend his prom with him. I would have remained in Utah between the prom and graduation were it not for the pesky matter of finals. As it was, I had to petition to take them early, and I had to be a little dishonest in my petition. When requesting to take final exams early, it helps to have friends in the medical profession. I usually don't use my medical history for recreational advantage, but just this once I did. I hope it doesn't come back to bite me in the form of bad karma.
My extended family is seldom without drama of some form, and the present is no exception. A cousin on my dad's side, who's almost twenty years old, is in South America serving a mission for the LDS church. He's been sick almost the entire time since he left the Mission Training Center, and he finally decided he's had enough of mission life. His parents feel very strongly that he needs to stick it out for the full two years. My parents write to him regularly, and my dad made it clear to him before he left that if anything went terribly wrong while he was gone, my parents would help him. He was totally certain at the time that absolutely nothing would go wrong and that the only help he would need would be the Lord's. After about eight months of constant diarrhea and frequent vomiting with no medical care, he's changing his tune.
My Uncle Michael has just left his medical practice in Utah to relocate with his family to our area of California. He's between jobs and doesn't have to arrange coverage for himself, so he has flown south to accompany my cousin home. My dad and my Uncle Steve are paying Uncle Michael's and my cousin's expenses since he was kind enough to make the trip. In theory they could have just bought a plane ticket for him and he could've come home on his own, but he sounds sick enough that my dad and uncle were worried about him having to travel so far unaccompanied. Additionally, the mission president took my cousin's passport from him when he arrived in the country, and my Uncle Michael is concerned the guy might give him difficulty when he requests it back. The mission president won't refuse to give my cousin his passport with my Uncle Michael standing right next to him. Incidentally, my Uncle Michael is still a practicing Mormon, but he had a difficult mission in Chile and almost died of something related to dysentery. He wouldn't wish the same fate on his worst enemy, much less his nephew.
My uncle left yesterday. We haven't heard from him yet, but tomorrow he should meet up with my cousin. From there they'll need to drive most of the day to reach the mission headquarters. Then it's on to the airport (or to a hotel, depending upon the time of the day and the time of departure of the flight) or to the American embassy if my cousin is unable to retrieve his passport (which I've been told is unlikely). My uncle will call in advance so there's no excuse for the mission office staff not having the passport available. If my uncle decides my cousin isn't well enough to travel, they may go to a hospital in the city where the airport is located. If things go well, they should reach Los Angeles by Tuesday or Wednesday. It could be a week or two if there are significant hurdles. I just hope my cousin is not too sick to travel.
Once my cousin gets here, he may end up living with us. He probably won't feel welcome at his parents' home in Utah. There is plenty of room at our house or at my Uncle Steve's or Uncle Michael's house. he will be able to pick where he wants to stay. if he doesn't want to stay in California, His paternal grandparents who lie in British Columbia would also be happy to have him live with them. I'm glad he has at least one other sane relative besides the ones who live near me.
My dad says this is just one more example of how I always have to make everything about myself, but I will say anyway that I suspect my grandparents will find some way of placing the blame for my cousin's unsuccessful mission experience directly on me. I did write to him, because my parents always make my brother and me write to any of our cousins who are on missions or away from home in the military, but I wrote about generic stuff that I saw happening around me. I certainly didn't encourage my cousin to defect from his mission. My paternal grandparents, however, have their own peculiar spin they put on everything, so the whole incident, including the practically terminal diarrhea, may very well end up being attributed entirely to me. Que sera, sera.
Peace be with you.
What I did with my time, in addition to attending class, transcribing my lecture notes, and completing an last-minute assignments as they came up, was to sleep, eat, watch television, run, dive a little, and read. In short, I have been whatever is the female term for a bum.
My dad was initially a bit skeptical concerning the benefits of my leisurely lifestyle, but when he went with me to a doctor's appointment a couple of weeks ago and learned that my weight is up to an all-time high of ninety pounds (!!!) and I am now very nearly five-feet-two inches in height, he changed his tune just a tad. My pediatric endocrinologist is convinced that my laid-back lifestyle greatly contributed to my growth and would like for me to continue to live this way for another year. If I seriously thought that I had a chance of achieving another significant growth spurt I might think of attempting to be a slug for awhile longer, but my mom is only 5' 3", and I'm closing in on puberty. My time of major growth is nearing its end. I'm not taking classes this summer, so I'll have over three months to vegetate, but at that point I really must get on with my life.
This summer should be enjoyable. The boy who is not my boyfriend, Jared, graduates on Tuesday night. I'm flying to Utah with his parents and most of his siblings. i just got back on Tuesday from a trip to Utah to attend his prom with him. I would have remained in Utah between the prom and graduation were it not for the pesky matter of finals. As it was, I had to petition to take them early, and I had to be a little dishonest in my petition. When requesting to take final exams early, it helps to have friends in the medical profession. I usually don't use my medical history for recreational advantage, but just this once I did. I hope it doesn't come back to bite me in the form of bad karma.
My extended family is seldom without drama of some form, and the present is no exception. A cousin on my dad's side, who's almost twenty years old, is in South America serving a mission for the LDS church. He's been sick almost the entire time since he left the Mission Training Center, and he finally decided he's had enough of mission life. His parents feel very strongly that he needs to stick it out for the full two years. My parents write to him regularly, and my dad made it clear to him before he left that if anything went terribly wrong while he was gone, my parents would help him. He was totally certain at the time that absolutely nothing would go wrong and that the only help he would need would be the Lord's. After about eight months of constant diarrhea and frequent vomiting with no medical care, he's changing his tune.
My Uncle Michael has just left his medical practice in Utah to relocate with his family to our area of California. He's between jobs and doesn't have to arrange coverage for himself, so he has flown south to accompany my cousin home. My dad and my Uncle Steve are paying Uncle Michael's and my cousin's expenses since he was kind enough to make the trip. In theory they could have just bought a plane ticket for him and he could've come home on his own, but he sounds sick enough that my dad and uncle were worried about him having to travel so far unaccompanied. Additionally, the mission president took my cousin's passport from him when he arrived in the country, and my Uncle Michael is concerned the guy might give him difficulty when he requests it back. The mission president won't refuse to give my cousin his passport with my Uncle Michael standing right next to him. Incidentally, my Uncle Michael is still a practicing Mormon, but he had a difficult mission in Chile and almost died of something related to dysentery. He wouldn't wish the same fate on his worst enemy, much less his nephew.
My uncle left yesterday. We haven't heard from him yet, but tomorrow he should meet up with my cousin. From there they'll need to drive most of the day to reach the mission headquarters. Then it's on to the airport (or to a hotel, depending upon the time of the day and the time of departure of the flight) or to the American embassy if my cousin is unable to retrieve his passport (which I've been told is unlikely). My uncle will call in advance so there's no excuse for the mission office staff not having the passport available. If my uncle decides my cousin isn't well enough to travel, they may go to a hospital in the city where the airport is located. If things go well, they should reach Los Angeles by Tuesday or Wednesday. It could be a week or two if there are significant hurdles. I just hope my cousin is not too sick to travel.
Once my cousin gets here, he may end up living with us. He probably won't feel welcome at his parents' home in Utah. There is plenty of room at our house or at my Uncle Steve's or Uncle Michael's house. he will be able to pick where he wants to stay. if he doesn't want to stay in California, His paternal grandparents who lie in British Columbia would also be happy to have him live with them. I'm glad he has at least one other sane relative besides the ones who live near me.
My dad says this is just one more example of how I always have to make everything about myself, but I will say anyway that I suspect my grandparents will find some way of placing the blame for my cousin's unsuccessful mission experience directly on me. I did write to him, because my parents always make my brother and me write to any of our cousins who are on missions or away from home in the military, but I wrote about generic stuff that I saw happening around me. I certainly didn't encourage my cousin to defect from his mission. My paternal grandparents, however, have their own peculiar spin they put on everything, so the whole incident, including the practically terminal diarrhea, may very well end up being attributed entirely to me. Que sera, sera.
Peace be with you.