Wednesday, March 30, 2005


I am working on posts, in case you are wondering where I've been. I've been having some weird dreams lately so I know the CPAP machine is working. One of the posts is about that. Then there is a post about angels. I'm not sure why I started this post but it is about some of the things that have happened in my life that can only be explained by divine intervention. I suppose it works, considering that Sunday was Easter. And I am also working on a post about the last two weeks at karaoke.

I got my passport! It makes the trip to Portugal all that more real. I am very excited about going to meet Johnny IRL. Beth bought a ton of books about Portugal last Sunday and she has been regaling me with information about all of the exciting places we want to go and see.

My co-workers think I'm weird. Which, I guess, isn't that surprising but they choose to mock me because I read Angel transcripts from (stupid blogger is not letting me link right now) on my lunch break. I'm on season 5 right now and am not sure what I'm going to do once I finish them. Move on to CSI: transcripts? Joan of Arcadia? Ooh, I wonder if there are transcripts for Star Trek: The Next Generation. Now that would be cool.

I was checking to see how my blog has been found lately and this is what I discovered people are searching for:

cappucino enemas
qualities of a princess
a bartender named Char
"age regression" horny boy
sub shop snm
Janis had sex with the football team

People are strange. Just in case you didn't know that.

Previous Comments:

At 1:07 PM, The Lioness said...
Oh scripts! Exams over, am going round there to see if it moves! COOL! (So what sights are those you'll be seeing?)
At 1:55 PM, brooksba said...
People are strange. Could you sing that? (Hee hee.)I eagerly await your posts!And I want to explore everything! Getting way too excited, but I think it's justified. Now, if we only had tickets. Must. Call. Travel. Agent. Again!Beth

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Road Rage Keem strikes again

I have mentioned before that Keem, while normally mild-mannered and sweet (sort of like Clark Kent but a girl), tends to do a bit of transformation while driving. Last night, her alternate personality, Road Rage Keem, returned. I should caution you that if you're looking for her alternate personality to be one of the evil, chasing little old ladies down the highway so you can run them off the road and punch them because they accidently cut you off even though you're a freakin' doctor, road rage people, she is not that bad. No, what she usually does is spew creative invective (try saying that 10 times fast) and shake her fist impotently with her anger. I wrote a poem about it once because I am weird and that's just what I do. Here is the poem:

Keem is my friend.
She has red hair.
When I am sad, she makes me smile.
When I am happy, she laughs.
When I am riding in her car, she scares me
with the road rage
and the shaking of the fist
and the cursing at other cars.
Keem is my friend.
Her name is Keem because it is fun.
But even though Keem spelled backwards is meek,
don't cut her off on the freeway!

Our saga starts out simple enough. We had to go grocery shopping because neither Keem or Jeff are going to their respective home towns for Easter so Keem is cooking Ham and Cheesy Hashbrowns and then we are going to dye Easter Eggs. Because nothing says Jesus Has Risen than the pagan symbol of eggs.

But first we stopped at TJ Maxx because Keem was looking for some cat statues. She had found these particular statues at a TJ Maxx in LaCrosse (where she's from, silly cheesehead that she is) and wanted to see if our local one had said statues. No. It did not. While walking through the store, my lower back started twinging. Nothing major, just little hints that "Hey! Stop walking! I don't like it!" I had found this glass paperweight of a cat for 3 bucks and was going to buy it for Keem but ended up not getting it because the store only had one person working register and 6 people in line. There was no way that I was going to stand in line with my back acting up.

So we left and were going to head to Peking Way for dinner. Suddenly, Keem asked if I wanted to go get my haircut. I don't know how she knew this, she must be telepathic because I certainly had not been whining to her for the last 3 weeks about how long my hair was and it was driving me crazy because it was in my eyes (I'm trying to grow it out and it is in that inbetween stage that usually makes me want to get a scissors and hack it all off), no matter what she tells you. I went to Great Clips and my stylist, Aimee, cut my hair. It is quite lovely and, while it looks short, I know that cutting up the back to match the sides is a good plan and will help my hair grow and reach one length. This is good because I do not want a mullet. No mullets here!

Back still hurt. We went to Peking Way and had yummy Chinese Food and then had an interesting conversation with the cute Asian manchild (he was probably in his very early 20s, if that) about different foods and how none of us had any idea what any of them were, like us, he sticks with what he knows. On our way out, the vending machine had little plastic statues of the Justice League Super Heroes. You all know how I feel about Super Heroes so I talked Keem into spending all of our quarters on purchasing these in the hopes that I would get the Batman one. Did I? Of course not. Did Keem? You know it. Will she give him to me? Not a chance in hell, although I am allowed to play with him. Her generosity knows no boundaries.

While we eating, I was flexing and unflexing my right hand. Keem asked if it hurt. Yes, it did. I didn't know why. My back still hurt and was starting to send charges of pain through out my upper back and my legs. How fun. And I still had to get through grocery shopping. Would the fun never end?

After wandering through the grocery store, my back was starting to spasm. Also my right arm. The pain had shot from my hand and through my arm. And I with plans to play pool with Beth and Char last night. Obviously that wasn't going to happen. I met Keem out at the car and we started pulling out, on our way home.

And then it happened.

It's been very warm here in Minnesota. Well, when I say warm, please understand that I mean for us. It's 45 degrees and quite balmy. I've gone without a coat all week long and Keem has been rolling down the windows a little to get fresh air.

As she is backing out, all of a sudden she has to stop. And next I hear this.

Keem: Can people not see that I am backing out?!!!!!??????

I look to see a woman walk past the back of the car and over to the truck parked in the space next to ours. Apparently one of three things had happened. 1 - Keem's car is invisible and this woman thought it would be safe. 2 - This woman is a Super Hero and a mere car would cause no damage to her if it hit her. 3 - She saw Keem backing out and thought that she was much more important than Keem and that showing simple courtesy and common sense by not walking behind a moving car (you IDIOT!) was too much for her to handle. Perhaps she thought that she was the Queen of the Universe and moving cars would simply stop for her (although I shouldn't make too much fun of this, apparently I walked in front of a car yesterday without even noticing that it was there. Oops).

I see both the woman and her boyfriend/brother/husband/some guy she picked up turn their heads when they hear Keem's comments. Oh, yeah, that's right. Keem rolled the windows down. Keem, not quite realizing this, continues.

Keem (voice rising): What an ass!

Believe me when I say she is not talking about the guy's posterior (although it wasn't bad).

Woman and man stare even harder. As we are driving away, I tell Keem that I think they heard her. She does not care.

I realize that this may not seem like road rage to many people but believe me, when Keem is mad, it is a bit scary. Well, okay, much more funny than scary.

I did not end up going to play pool and am sad about that but also glad because my arm still hurts and all of this typing I am doing is not helping much. So, with that in mind, my dear friends, I bid you adieu.

Have a good weekend and may your days be road rage free.

Previous Comments:

At 2:34 AM, brooksba said...
Ah, finally, I can comment! Mean old Blogger.This was funny. Keem and road rage, always a fun story. Love ya!Beth

Friday, March 18, 2005

Just another reason why I love my job

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt (aka The New Boss)
Sent: Thursday, March 17, 2005 6:16 PM
To: DM
Subject: Dear Almighty

Dear Ms. Almighty,

Your humble servant requests your completion of the timecard card for 03/05/2005.

Actually you have it done already, but I just can't approve it until you mark it as complete.

-----Original Message-----
From: DM
Sent: Friday, March 18, 2005 8:50 AM
To: Matt (aka The New Boss)

Subject: RE: Dear Almighty

Dear humble servant,

I will complete this request but want to remind you that, as the Queen of the Universe, I am above such petty things as time cards. But I will make an exception for you since you're you.

Yours in greatness,

Dana, QotU

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt (aka The New Boss)
Sent: Friday, March 18, 2005 10:09 AM
To: DM
Subject: RE: Dear Almighty

Thank you, your Highness. I have truly been blessed this day.

Isn't this great? My new boss is funny, also thinks that Batman is the greatest Super Hero ever because he uses his mind and cool gadgets instead of super powers to fight evil and acknowledges that I am the Queen of the Universe. What more could you ask for?

I have the best job ever.

Previous Comments:

At 2:32 PM, brooksba said...
DM,You are too classic. Love it.I bought a new toy! Hee hee.Beth
At 4:39 AM, The Lioness said...
I love your job as well, boss with a sense of humour, VERY GOOD!
At 10:04 AM, Felinevamp said...
Sounds like you have a great boss.
At 12:28 PM, DeAnn said...
I can't believe you make everything so much fun. It's not the job, lady. It's YOU!

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Me And Susie Boy down in the school yard

Apologies to Paul Simon for ripping my title from Me And Julio down by the school yard. At least, I think that's the name of the song and it is possibly sung by Paul Simon. Even though I keep wanting to write Phil Collins.

Anyway, for your reading pleasure today, I bring you this (makes Vanna-like gesture towards blog):

A Boy Named Sue - Johnny Cash

My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to Ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me 'Sue.'

Well, he must o' thought that is was quite a joke
And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk,
It seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named 'Sue.'

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.
But I made me a vow to the moon and stars
That I'd search the honky-tonks and bars
And kill that man that give me that awful name.

Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July
And I just hit town and my throat was dry,
I thought I'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon on a street of mud,
There at a table, dealing stud,
Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me 'Sue.'

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
>From a worn-out picture that my mother'd had,
And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old,
And I looked at him and my blood ran cold
And I said: "My name is 'Sue!' how do you do! Now you gonna die!"

Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes
And he went down but, to my surprise,
He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a chair right across his teeth
And we crashed through the wall and into the street
Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell ya, I've fought tougher men
But I really can't remember when,
He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his gun and I pulled mine first,
He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile.

And he said: "Son, this world is rough
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
And I know I wouldn't be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said good-bye
I knew you'd have to get tough or die
And it's that name that helped to make you strong."

He said: 'Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you 'Sue'.'

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun
And I called him my pa, and he called me his son,
And I come away with a different point of view.
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try and every time I win,
And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him
Bill or George! Anything but sue! I still hate that name!

Today’s story is brought to you because of posts done by the following people. Flea did a post about finding your stripper name – if you’ve never done this before; you take the name of your first pet and the name of the street you grew up on. DeAnn did a post about her puppy Cash, who is named after Johnny Cash. And Beth did a post about her mom’s pets, including my former cat Mac. Her mom has custody of him and believe me, he’s quite a lucky cat to be living with her.

So why the lyrics for A Boy Named Sue by Johnny Cash? When figuring out my stripper name, I started remembering that, when I was 5, we lived on a street called Dartmoor in Willernie, a suburb of Mahtomedi which is a suburb of White Bear Lake which is a suburb of Saint Paul. We only lived on Dartmoor for a short while but there are certain things that stick in my mind. I think my earliest memories are from when I was 5. Which isn’t quite normal, I guess, but hey, when have I ever been normal?

Here’s what I remember:

The really evil little girl who lived up the hill from us. I don’t know why she hated us so much but she was awful. We had this swing set in our yard and she kept telling us that it was hers and she was going to take it from us. She even went so far as to have her mother come outside while we were playing and say something about “As soon as your father comes home, I’ll have him take that swing set apart and bring it to our yard.” I remember telling my mom about it and boy was she ticked. She let the neighbor lady have it.

Having the chicken pox and walking through the back yard with my mom and being extremely itchy. Having mom tell me not to scratch or I’d scar. And she was right. I do have a chicken pox scar on my stomach.

Playing under the tree in the front yard and finding a “For Rent” sign. Mom was furious because the landlord hadn’t bothered to tell her that he was looking for a new tenant. Remembering the problem we had with the evil little girl, I’m wondering if her dad was our landlord. Maybe I should have Mom read this and shed some light.

Sassy and Susie Boy, mother and son. They were poodles that we had. I remember standing by the side of the road while Mom and this man worked frantically to wrap Sassy in towels. Apparently this man had hit Sassy when she ran into the street. They took Sassy to the vet but she didn’t make it.

That’s all that really sticks in my mind. This isn’t bad, considering that it was 33 years ago and I’m not known for my memory.

When choosing my stripper name, I went with Susie Boy Dartmoor. I like the way that it sounds. My dad loved Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard. This is where Susie Boy got his name from, after “A Boy Named Sue.”

Susie Boy was a good dog. I’m not particularly what you would call a dog person. You could refer to me as a cat person which merely means that I tend to prefer cats over dogs. However, I like dogs. I think they are great and we always had dogs while I was growing up. My mother is definitely a dog person. The only reason we ever had cats was because both Kari and I did a lot of begging. Unlike some people, however, I have never said that cats are better than dogs or that all dogs should be disposed of by, oh, I don’t know, launching them into space (hmm, I wonder who could have said that about cats).

Most of the memories I have of Susie Boy is after we got another dog named Muffin. Muffin was a cocker spaniel/poodle mix (referred to as a cockapoo, which is quite possibly the dumbest name for a dog breed) and no, we did not name her. I think she used to belong to my dad’s boss but I’m not positive. I remember once, coming home from school, and seeing both of the dogs running to greet me. Mom had just taken them to get clipped and they were beautiful. Susie Boy was gray; actually more of a silver color, and Muffin was black.

The groomer even went as far as to tie ribbons around their ears – Susie Boy had blue and Muffin had pink. I remember lying on the ground while they licked my face, chasing them around the yard, enjoying the sunlight and the smell of the fresh cut grass. I don’t have a lot of memories of him, other than he was good and fun and cuddly. But because of him (well, my dad), I was first introduced to Johnny Cash’s music and I got a decent stripper name out of the deal as well.

I believe that there is a Heaven and that your pets go there. And I believe that, somewhere in Heaven, Susie Boy and Muffin are running, free and beautiful, making some young child as happy as they did me.

Previous Comments:

At 2:27 AM, brooksba said...
DM,First of all, you are correct. It was a Paul Simon song. And a very good Paul Simon song.Not all cats are bad, but I'm not a huge fan of them. The way you described your dogs are the exact reason why I love dogs more. And I know what will get a rise out of you.I enjoyed this post Dana. It was very tender and sweet. Oh, my mom left a message about Mac. She still is thankful every day that she has him. She asks me to thank you every time I talk to her. So, um, no, I don't think she'll give him back.Love you,Beth

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Some more evidence for my insanity plea - let's call this exhibit A

This last weekend, on Saturday night, Beth and I were sitting at her dining room table, scrapbooking. I looked up and said, in a voice filled with trepidation and excitement and maybe just a little insanity “It’s the Princess of Doom.”

Beth stared at me. In a normal voice, I said “I’m not sure where that came from.”

But I’ve been thinking. I think Beth is the Princess of Doom. I tried to tell her this on Sunday at karaoke but she’s not buying it. Her reasoning, of course, is that she’s definitely not a princess. I disagree. If you look at the definition of princess on, you get this:

prin·cess (pr n s s, -s s , pr n-s s )n.
A woman member of a royal family other than the monarch, especially a daughter of a monarch.

A woman who is a ruler of a principality.
A woman who is a hereditary ruler; a queen.
A noblewoman of varying status or rank.
The wife of a prince.
A woman regarded as having the status or qualities of a princess.
We’ve all established that Beth is my daughter and I am the Queen of the Universe (yes, it’s weird. Just deal with it). I also think that she has the qualities of a princess. Of course, I’m not talking about today’s definition of a princess which is a spoiled rotten little brat. I’m talking about the princesses of ancient times, someone who was good and kind and lovely and adored by all who know her. That is Beth.

However, I’m a bit concerned about the Princess of Doom thing. Is that her principality? The Country of Doom? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of it. Maybe it’s in Europe. Or is it that she has mystical powers? What exactly would powers of Doom entitle? Is she able to curse someone? Does she use her powers for good or evil? I’m thinking she would use them for good but sometimes she secretly yearns to be bad. Take this example:

As Beth and I headed back to her place from shopping, she pulled up to a stop sign. “Should I blow it off?” she asked.

“No,” I replied.

“Oh, c’mon. We could live dangerously.”

“If we want to live dangerously, I think we could find something more exciting than running a stop sign (The sad part is I can’t really think of anything more exciting than running a stop sign. That’s so pathetic).”

Now I’m concerned. Beth is the one that’s supposed to keep me in line. If she is questioning the authority of stop signs, what is next? Bank robbery (Probably not because we both work for a bank and are appalled at the amount of people who think defrauding or robbing banks is a cool thing to do)? Drunken dancing on top of bar tables (Probably not since neither Beth or I drink)? Making vague threatening gestures with her fork (I really don’t think so since she gets so uptight when I do it. (As if I would actually stab anyone. Please. I’m so normal and not at all high strung))?

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this for the last few days and I remembered how much I love super heroes and Beth and I were watching “Quantum Leap” and Char, Beth, Tom and I were talking about “X-Men” on Sunday and then Tuesday Keem brought up how the television show “The Greatest American Hero” is coming out on DVD and we’re both very excited because hey, super heroes are cool. And then I thought, wouldn’t it be cool if there really were super heroes and maybe we really are super heroes but we just don’t know it yet? And then we could form a team called The Royal Squad and we would all have cool super hero names that were revolving around royalty names.

I would be the Queen of the Universe (of course), Beth could be the Princess of Doom, Char and Tom would so have to be the Emperor and Empress of Cool and Keem could be the Baroness of Practicality and Reason (She’s always telling me she’s the voice of practicality and reason. Why shouldn’t she get the title?).

Maybe we could make Bryan the Royal Entertainer. And Bobby could be the Royal Disburser of Beverages! We could go around, using the Royal We and saving people from…well, I’m not sure what we’d save them from because we don’t actually have any powers that I am aware of (I learned this when gesturing emphatically at the cars in front of us did not make them move out of the way of Beth’s car on Friday), unless you count having an extremely overactive imagination.

Maybe we’re saving people from Boredom. Boredom is a worthy foe. We will trounce him! We will triumph over our enemies! We will…go quietly with the nice men in the white jackets.

Previous Comments:

At 3:04 AM, brooksba said...
DM,Insanity plea? I think I'd buy it. So I'm the "Princess of Doom" because you are the self-proclaimed Queen of the Universe? Does this just mean I'm waiting for you to die before I can take over and assume power? I don't like that. That's why I'm not the "Princess of Doom". This was a fun post. I do agree that Char, Tom, and Keem all need to be part of the Super Hero squad (although still not sure about the royalty aspect). Actually, the more I think about it, I think I'd renounce my title just because I'm not a big fan of royalty. Okay, wanted to say hello! Talk to you later!Beth
At 5:02 AM, The Lioness said...
Good grief, Blogger letting me in! Well, "The Country of Doom? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of it. Maybe it’s in Europe." OH YES IT IS! You'll see. And for excitement, real excitement, you can come to school w me and help hold the cow/donkey/sheep/goat while I grab their tongues and give them their pill/inject them. Exciting enough for you? I'd pay to see it actually. HA!
At 2:29 PM, DeAnn said...
You two seriously are a riot. I'm so glad you're out there saving ME from boredom by doing fun stuff and telling me about it.How sad is it that that's my idea of not being bored? Reading about other people's fun!

Sunday, March 13, 2005

You're so full of it

Last week I mentioned that I would do this post. And I have finally got around to it.

Anyway, as I said before, this post was inspired by Beth's story about her mom and poop.

Many years ago, I lived in Madison, Wisconsin (I've written several posts about what this was like, you can find them in my categories here). This was after Rex and Katie had both moved out (these are fake names. I do know a Katie now and she is a wonderful person) and it was just Barb and I remaining.

Now we were broke. Our dream house that was so cheap when you were dividing the rent by four people was now not so cheap because our roommates had abandoned us. One because he was a complete lying asshole, the other because she got knocked up by one out of seven or eight men and had moved back to Minnesota because, get this, welfare was better there. Yeah, that's great. Let the taxpayers pay for your irresponsibility. So Barb and I tried very hard to make ends meet. This involved eating a lot of potatoes, Ramen noodles and when we really wanted to splurge, I could make a pretty decent coffee cake out of Jiffy's apple spice muffin mix.

On the day of my story, Barb hasn't been feeling well for a few days. She's not really sure what's wrong but her stomach really hurts. We are worried about what might be wrong. She asks me to make her egg salad sandwiches. Keem will laugh if she reads this but I actually did most of the cooking. So I make the sandwiches, watching Barb as she lies on the couch, groaning in pain.

She eats her sandwiches and we talk about her options. She has a fever and her stomach is hard to the touch. We are both concerned that this could be appendicitis but neither of us can remember where the appendix is located. Finally, when she just can't take the pain anymore, we decide that she needs to go to the hospital, something we were trying to avoid because she doesn't have insurance.

At this time, I am really wishing I have a driver's licence. But I don't, so it up to Barb to drive herself to the hospital. We pull into the parking lot and Barb suddenly opens her door and throws up on the pavement. This is when I figure she's a bit delirious because she turns to me and accuses me of grinding up glass and putting it into the egg salad. She knows I'm trying to kill her. I eventually calm her down and we head into the emergency room.

She is whisked away and I wait in the appropriately named waiting room. Alternately pacing and writing a letter to a friend of mine about how worried I am. Finally, after what seems like days but was probably only an hour, an extremely attractive young man comes out and introduces himself as Doctor Hottie (okay, yeah, obviously not his name but can't remember what it was) and tells me that Barb wants to see me.

He brings me to her "room" (small cubicle seperated by curtains from the rest of the emergency room) and there she is, lying pale in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors. Dr. Hottie asks me to sit down and explains that I'm in there because, while I am not family, I am the only person Barb has to help take care of her. He starts talking about a lot of things that Barb doesn't have (it's not appendicitis, it's not cancer, that's all well and good but what the hell is wrong with her!) and then gestures to the X-rays on the wall.

He points out how these X-rays are of Barb's stomach and the glorious lower intestines. Joy. Then he motions to this dark shadow. "As you can see, this mass starts here and extends up to here." I stare at the X-ray blankly. "What's the mass?" I ask.

"Well, as it turns out, Barb is constipated. This mass is fecal matter that she has not been able to expel. This is what caused the stomach pain and the fever. We're giving her an IV to help with the dehydration she's suffering from and am going to provide her with an extra strong stool softener and some Milk of Magnesia. She will be okay, it's just going to take a few days."

I look at Barb. She looks back at me. It's horrible but both of us can't help but laugh. I turn to Dr. Hottie. "So what you're saying is that this is because she can't poop? That's it?"

"Yes," he says. "Barb is, literally, full of shit, if you want to use the laymen's term."

The moral of this story is that, if you cannot expel fecal matter, maybe you should take some Milk of Magnesia or go and see a doctor. And that way, you won't end up in the hospital with tubes coming out of everywhere with a hot Emergency Room doctor telling you that you're full of it.

Somehow this seemed a lot funnier when it happened. Oh, well, what are you going to do? You will be pleased to know that Barb did end up recovering several days later.

Anyway, have a great day. Talk to you all later.

Previous Comments:

At 5:01 AM, Weary Hag said...
DM, now THAT is an embarrassing ailment. Ewwww. You just reminded me of another post and nooooo, it's not quite about constipation. :)Funny post Dana... Good job. Carol
At 10:14 AM, Anonymous said...
Dana,That was a good post, that was very funny. I have heard so many different stories about things like that, and they are all either funny or gross. I loved your post, I really did and I miss seeing you in person.Take care....and I love you Dad.

Friday, March 11, 2005

Happy Birthday to me

Today is my birthday. I am 38. I am 2 years away from 40. I am 12 years away from 50.

It feels very weird to write that because I do not feel 38. I don't even really feel 30. And yet, 38 years ago today, I was born. According to the stories, I came very close to being born in the elevator at the hospital because my mother, for some ungodly reason, decided to clean and wax the kitchen floor while she was in labor with me, waiting for my Dad to wake up. And we're not talking about sprinkling a little Mop 'N Glo on the floor. Oh, not my Mom. This is on your hands and knees, using the scrub brush.

Apparently I also, when only a day old, managed to scoot myself across the bed while both Mom and the nurse had their backs turned.

I don't remember very much of my childhood. I do know that I was reading by the time I was four, thanks to Mom. Although because of her teaching me how to read and not understanding how vowels really work, I have always had a slight problem with pronounciation. Imagine being 13 and telling your older brother that he is maLINEing your good name when the pronounciation is actually maLINGing (and yes, the correct spelling is maligning, I am aware of that). Once he stopped laughing, he was quite impressed that I knew what the word meant.*

This is the same brother (Ric) who asked me at a family reunion (the same year) this question.

Ric: Why are you walking Barefoot in the Park?
DM: Because I find Splendor in the Grass.

This is the first year in I don't know how many that I did not suffer from depression when approaching my birthday. This is in part thanks to the wonderful, wonderful drug Effexor.

Another reason is because I have eschewed the company of someone who would, every year on March 1st, start asking me "Dana, you're going to be (insert age here). What have you done with your life? Have you accomplished anything?" And I would feel completely worthless as a human being. This person no longer has any power over my life or my mind and I thank God for that.

But the main reason is because I have friends like Beth and Keem who enjoy my company and make every day a celebration of friendship and love and happiness. And that, quite frankly, is the best birthday present any girl could ever have.

*Robert-Marlene commented that I had pronounced it correctly the first time. Which made me realize that, oops, I had actually put it in here wrong. I was the one that pronounced it MaLINGing. But if I change it now, no one will know what he was talking about.

Previous Comments:

At 2:38 PM, Robert ~ Marlénè said...
Happy happy birthday! I have also failed to feel quite my age... I can't even seem to dress appropriately for my age. But I figure, if I can get away with looking and acting and thinking I'm 29, then more power to me... and to you! Many happy returns of the day!
At 2:47 PM, Robert ~ Marlénè said...
PS: You pronounced "maligning" correctly the first time. The G is silent and hardens the I. See here (an excellent resource for language). Perhaps your brother thought you accused him of "malingering," which looks similar and has a pronounced G but means something entirely different. So saith your Grammar Fairy, who also learned to read at four but didn't figure out until five that some letters are silent ("coh-mee hee-ree, Jaynee" etc).
At 11:05 PM, The Lioness said...
Well fuck me, I missed it!!! Bloody hell, when did it stop being the 13??? I was going to gloat bcs I was the first to say Happy Birthday today! Well I am, HA. Only it's the wrong day. HELL!!!!DM dahling, I truly am sorry, even had the mobile set up to remind me, grovelling I am - PARABÉNS, may you count many many MANY more! here's mud in your eye.SMOOOOOOOOCH! Johnny
At 11:49 AM, Firebear said...

Dream a Little Dream

This is one of my favorite songs - Louis Armstrong, Dream A Little Dream (although I think I've only heard Mel Torme sing it).

Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"
Birds singin' in the sycamore trees
Dream a little dream of me

Say nighty-night and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
While I'm alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me

Stars fading but I linger on dear
Still craving your kiss
I'm longin' to linger till dawn dear
Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me

(instrumental break)

Stars shining up above you
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"
Birds singin' in the sycamore trees
Dream a little dream of me

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me

Yes, dream a little dream of me

Okay, did anyone ever see Dream A Little Dream? It was kind of a weird movie but I really enjoyed it. Of course, I did have quite the crush on the Coreys. A fact that scares me very much to admit it now but that's what I do, people of the internet. I dig into the inner reaches of my soul and share it with you. Feel the love and oddity that takes place.

So the reason for the lyrics and the question about the movie is because one thing about sleep apnea that I have discovered is that when it's left untreated, you rarely ever hit REM sleep. Sunday morning I had one of the most vivid dreams that I have had in awhile. The last time I had one like this was the Rock and Lola dream.

Anyway, because it's completely weird and who knows, maybe you can help figure out what my psyche is trying to tell me, I'm going to share it with you. I am a sharing and caring Dana.

Our dream opens with Beth, Keem and myself on a bus. There are a lot of other people with us, no one that I recognize but I know that we are on our way to someplace through NABABNA (our employer, National American Bank of America, Baby, National Association (Why yes, that is a false name. How did you guess?). We were being punished for some reason but I have no idea what we had done.

We end up in this field in the middle of nowhere. As we exit the bus, I can see two things. One is this weird "Survivor" maze - balance beams, Tarzan-like ropes or vines hanging over massive mud puddles, all of these different obstacles. The other is this drill sergeant guy who has Bobby's body (including his hands, thank God) but had the face of this fairly cute black jack dealer I met over the weekend.

The drill sergeant is barking out orders to all of us as we get off the bus. We are supposed to form into teams and put on these rain slickers. The slickers are more than just rain coats, they are actually fashioned into this jumpsuit sort of outfit. We (Beth, Keem and I) are all on the same team, the red team. The other team is the orange team. Beth is able to find a slicker without any problem. Keem finds one. So I start looking for one that will fit me through this weird closet thing that is in the middle of the field.

I can't find one. I find black and orange and green slickers, the colors were vivid and beautiful but not the color I needed! So I start crying. Heartwrenching sobs because I cannot participate in this obstacle. The drill sergeant comes over and I start yelling at him through my tears about how I could find a black slicker with a red lining but not a red slicker. Damn him and his cruel torture! He puts his arms around me and is consoling me by patting my back with those beautiful, beautiful hands and God, he smells so good, like fresh cut grass and rain and Drakkar Noir all rolled into one.

And then not being content to see where this beautiful moment might take us, my stupid, stupid brain decides to change the dream on me. And now Beth, Keem and I are in a bar, in Las Vegas, one of those bars that has all of the knick knacks hanging on the walls and a huge mirror behind the bar so you're looking at yourself. We are sitting at the bar and all of the executives from NABABNA were giving us prizes for something. The CEO of NABABNA was the bartender. And the hot drill sergeant was there but our moment had passed and he was ignoring me. Damn him.

Beth and Keem tell me they are leaving and I start gathering my prizes together but the box they are in is extremely heavy and I can't carry it. So I start asking the bartender for bags and he gives them to me until I am trying to shove all of my prizes into these bags and they are falling all over the place. I look up and Beth and Keem are gone and I am suddenly surrounded by old people. Who keep calling me honey and dear and asking if I'm okay.

Then there are these two 15 year old hispanic boys sitting next to me and one of them sees the pictures I had received as a prize, these antique, sepia photos of Spanish women with lace mantillas. One of them starts yelling at me that I can't have these photos because I don't respect his culture and I'm a bitch and I snap. I tell him to not mess with me because I have plenty of respect for his culture and if he doesn't watch it, I'll kick his ass because I am 23 years older than him. His friend apologizes to me and the drill sergeant comes over and wants to console me again but I have to go find my friends (stupid brain! Do you not understand how hot he is?) and I start heading out the door.

The bartender calls my name. "Dana! Don't you want a drink before you go?"

Now, I don't drink alcohol and haven't for at least 2 years but I say yes. He turns and goes to this fountain like contraption in the wall and all of this liquid chocolate is flowing out of it. He fills a glass halfway with the chocolate and then dumps a ton of Bailey's into it. I slam this drink and then feel the burning of the alcohol as it enters my system. I start feeling all fuzzy and warm and am just about to grab the drill sergeant and have my way with him because I am filled with alcoholic courage...

When, of course, I am outside of the bar, walking down the steps with my prizes. There is an old woman standing on the steps and I ask her if she can call me a cab. She says no. Apparently, and she acts as if I am so stupid for not knowing this, there are no cabs in Las Vegas this weekend. They are all in Arizona for a cab conference or convention. WTF? I start stumbling down the steps because the alcohol really affected me (I was a total lightweight before I quit drinking and hey, two years without booze? That's totally going to knock me on my ass) and I remember the drill sergeant had followed me out of the bar, checking to see if I was okay.

Suddenly I see a cab down the street and start running down the steps, prizes bouncing out of the bags all around me. The drill sergeant is chasing me and is just about to catch me (ooh, yeah, please!) when a car pulls up. It is Beth and Keem.

Beth rolls down the window and yells "Dana, get in the car! We have to be in Alaska in the morning!"

And I woke up.

Now, the question that I ask you is merely this. What the hell does this all mean? And why were we going to Alaska?

Previous Comments:

At 6:24 AM, Weary Hag said...
Dana, I don't know about Alaska but your dream cracked me up. Possibly you dreamed about travel because of your upcoming trip and knowing you had to get passports, etc. Hey, that song? It's one of my favorites too. Try finding a copy of it online by Cass Elliot of The Mamas & The Papas. What a version she did! I still love the Louis Armstrong version as well. Good song choice! :)

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

It's quite possible that I am a teenage boy

I'm not sure what to call this.

Creative hearing? Age regression? Complete and total goofiness? You decide.
Anyway, have you ever had one of those days where no matter what is said, everything sounds extremely perverted? And you laugh and laugh because you’re no longer an intelligent, mature woman of almost 38 but an immature, horny 15 year old boy. At least I wasn’t the only one. Beth got involved in the craziness as well.

Here is what happened on Sunday at karaoke. We had made arrangements to meet with Char. Char is great! And she is getting a blog soon (as I make vague threatening motions with a fork at the thought of her not getting a blog)!

Bryan had bought pull tabs and amused us greatly with the fortunes on them. They were called Fortune Cookie pull tabs and we ended up having to buy a few of our own but I think I’ll save that for another post.

No, I’m all about the sex talk during this post.

Cowboys and Karaoke Singers

The Boy showed up at karaoke. During his first song, he chose to sing Desperado. The lyrics show up on the television over the karaoke machine. Char reads the line while The Boy is singing “You’ve been out riding fences.” Char says “It looks like it says fexes.”

I start laughing hysterically. Char stares at me blankly.

Char (C): What? The “N” and “C” look like an “X”.
DM: Oh. Fexes? I thought you said faces.

Char looks at me for a moment and then she starts laughing.

I’m a sick girl. But dammit, I have a good time.

Can you advertise this on TV?

I am watching the big screen TV in the back of the room. A commercial starts playing for Car Soup (I think). Large white letters flash across the screen. It actually reads “Special Tax Time Deals” but I read it as, you guessed it, “Special Sex Time Deals.” Which makes the next line that more disturbing.

“Nobody works harder for you.”

It’s Not Just Me!

The Boy is talking to us about golf and mentions walking to the clubhouse with his rentals. Beth gets the oddest look on her face, not quite amused, not quite grossed out.

Beth (B): What did you just say?
The Boy (TB): What did you think I just said?
B: Rectals?
TB: You girls are sick!

The new way to encourage people to eat their fruits and vegetables

During the instrumental breaks, many of the songs have cartoon graphics. One of the songs that is playing shows a plate full of strawberries.

DM: Strawberries (in the same tone I use for BIRD! Or SQUIRREL! Or BALLOON!)! I don’t like them.
C: Dipped in chocolate and whipped cream and slowly dragged over your body is okay.
DM: Huh. That might change my mind.

Costume Confusion

Since Keem was doing laundry on Sunday, I was limited in my clothing choices. I ended up wearing a leopard printed top and a skirt. Beth and I had been joking about how I was in disguise as a big cat.

DM: I’m a tiger! Wait, no, not a tiger…
B: A leopard, Dana.
Bryan: That’s the worst tiger costume I’ve ever seen.

And just because he’s hot

Bobby is pouring Coke for Beth. As I’m trying desperately to keep my eyes off of the pop pouring into the glass, he distracts me.

Bobby: That’s a foamy one.

Dammit! Is he trying to kill me?

Anyway, that was my sick and disturbing evening. I had a great time laughing but am seriously beginning to think that just maybe seven years is too long to go without kissing or other activities. Hope you had a great weekend!

Previous Comments:

At 4:55 AM, brooksba said...
It was a fun evening. That's for sure.Did I really hear the word "rectals"? Oh God. I'm an idiot. But hey! At least no one ran away screaming from us!Love you,Beth
At 5:08 AM, Weary Hag said...
Oh this had to be one hell of an evening! Too funny. It reminds me of an incident in my early bartending days when there was a popular shot called a "blow job" (not kidding). First time I learned how to make this thing, a guy had walked up to my crowded bar and said "yeah, I'd like a blow job" to which I snapped "not in this lifetime bucko." I was pretty embarrassed to find out he was ordering a shot. Great post Dana!

Sunday, March 06, 2005

Is that a salami in your pocket or are you just glad to hear me?

Carol had a great post the other day that inspired me to tell you a tale of our young heroine, DM, and her crappy job working in a sub shop. This sub shop is no longer in existence but, as always, I will come up with a good fake name for it. Um, Slark's Sub Shoppe (hmm, if you're from Minnesota and remember the names of sub shops from years past, you may be able to come up with the name...Rhymes with Slark) seems to work here. If you want to skip to the meat (please forgive me but I couldn't resist) of the story, I have labeled the phone conversations and bolded them.


I took this job because, quite frankly, I was stupid. And a rebel. My mother wanted me to get a job working in a corporation but I didn't want to be a mindless drone working for "The Man." Y'know, actually making more than minimum wage and getting insurance and working in an office where there was comfortable seating and pretty computers and oh, for the love of God, working air conditioners. Yes, Rebel without a clue, that was me. Do you ever find yourself somedays looking back and going "Oh, God, my Mom was right. I'm such an idiot"? I did.

Anyway, I took this job as the assistant manager and was trained in by the former assistant manager who was getting married and no longer wanted the responsibilities of being the assistant manager anymore. She was getting married, by the way, on March 11th. Which just happened to be my birthday (well, I guess it still is) so that meant I had to work on my birthday. Not that big of a deal, right? Let me clue you in to some foreshadowing here as I laugh hysterically. HAHAHAHAHAHA.

My first night working nights, Sue (not really sure if that was her name but she kind of reminded me of my older sister Suz (hi, Suz! Are you still reading? Love you!) so Sue will work) was teaching me all the ins and outs of managing a small hole in the wall sub shop. Fairly simple, if you've ever worked in fast foods.

Now, before I go into the detail of the joy that was to be had by working here, I need to tell you a tale from my youth. When I was 15, before I met Dean and lost the big V, one day the phone rang. This was long before caller ID. I answered the phone. A seemingly nice man answered my "Hello" with a "Hi, what's your name?"

Here is our conversation. Now referred to as Obscene Phone Call #1.

DM: Hello?
Seemingly nice man (SNM): Hi, what's your name?
DM: Dana.
SNM: Hello, Dana, my name is SNM.
DM: Hello.
SNM: How old are you, Dana?
DM: 15 (Why not just say "Well, hello, Mr. Pervert, how are you today? Would you like to come ravish me? I'm very naive.").
SNM: Oh. Well, that's very interesting. I happen to be looking for a 15 year old.
DM: Oh. Okay.
SNM: I'm new to the neighborhood and I was wondering if I could ask you a question.
DM: Sure.
SNM: Are you interested in making some money?
DM: Why, yes (now, I did a lot of babysitting back then and assumed he was going to offer me a babysitting job).
SNM: Would you like to make 50 dollars?
DM: Oh, yes! Money is my friend (no, I did not really say that but 50 dollars was a huge amount to a 15 year old. I am assuming it still is but since I haven't been 15 in 23 years, things might have changed).
SNM: Are you ready to hear what I want you to do?
DM: Babysit, right?
SNM: Well, not exactly. I have something else in mind.
DM: Did you want me to mow your lawn?
SNM: (Evil chuckle) Well, you could say that there would be some lawn mowing involved but that's not quite what I had in mind.
DM: Oh. Then I guess I'm not sure what you want.
SNM: Well, what I want is for you to have sex with me. I'll come get you and you can come over to my place and then I'll fuck you and then I'll give you the money. Okay?
DM: Um, my mom is calling me. I have to go.

Click. I ran outside to where my mother was in the garden and told her all about this. I was seriously freaked out. Every time the phone rang for weeks after that, I was sure that it was this guy and he was watching me.

Back to Slark's now. The phone rang. I went to answer it. Slark's had this extremely stupid policy that if the phone rang, you dropped what you were doing and went to answer it immediately. Because it might be a customer calling to place an order. And a person calling to place an order was so much more important than the people who actually showed up in the store to place their orders.

This is the conversation. Obscene Phone Call #2.

DM: Thank you for calling Slark's Submarine Shoppe. This is Dana. How may I help you?
Ham Guy (HG): Hi. What kind of ham sandwiches do you have?
DM: I'd be happy to help you with that. We have a cold ham submarine sandwich, a ham salad submarine sandwich (barf on bread in other words) and a Hot Ham and Cheese (Note, do not use the word Hot when describing sandwich products. If the person you are talking to is a pervert, they will take it the wrong way. Since most of the people who call sub shops are perverts, you may find yourself in an unintentional porn dialog).
HG: Oh. That sounds good. I think I'll have to come down there and get a sandwich.
DM: Well, we'd be happy to help you (she says cheerfully, pretending her soul is not being sucked out of her body more and more every minute she stays in this dead end job)!
HG: Okay. Oh, before I come up there, I must know. Do any of the women working there have long hair?
DM: Um, what? Why, yes. We all do.
HG: Oh. That is a quandry. I am afraid of women with long hair.
DM: Ohhh-kay.
HG: But you described that sandwich so well, I really want one (yes, because I used the words cold and hot. Wow, I'm such a wordsmith!). Maybe I can come in. Okay. I will.
DM: Great! You're a freak! We'd be happy to help you! Well, goodbye, then.
HG: Wait (Dude, I was just going to hang up on your freaky ass)! Before I come in, I must know (Dana, the fate of the world rests in the answer to this question. Do I cut the blue wire or the red one?)! Are these women with the long hair wearing sweaters?
DM: It's February. In Minnesota. Of course we're wearing sweaters because our boss is too cheap to pay for working air or heat (Can you tell I was losing just a bit of my precious patience? (in short supply before I started talking to this moron)).
HG: Oh. That's too bad. Because while I'm afraid of women with long hair, I'm even more afraid of women with long hair in sweaters. I guess I won't be able to come in after all.
DM: Oh. That is too bad. Quickly, let me go and shave my head so you can confront your fears and get your Hot Ham and Cheese.

I hang up the phone and turn and look at Sue. She sees the deer in the headlight glare in my eyes and asks what happened. "There was this guy," I say. "He wanted ham sandwiches and..." She starts laughing. "Oh, God. I forgot to worn you about the Ham Guy! Yeah, he's a freak." I ask her "Has he ever come in here?" "Oh, Lord, no. He's just a freak. But he's fairly harmless." I forget to ask her if there are any other freaks that are not so harmless. She wisely does not tell me about the rest of them.

That same night, as I was handing a sandwich to the short, drunken man in front of me (unlike White Castle, our neighbors, we did not have a cop moonlighting as security in the wee hours so we got a lot of drunks. What a great job!), Sue stopped me. "Get his money first," she said. I ask him for his money. I was not expecting to be told that I was a bitch. He left the store and then came back in, dropping his pants and telling me that I was a lesbian who needed to get laid and he was just the man to do it.

On the night of my birthday, I was working with a girl named Meggylynn (well, I did change her name a little but not by much). For my birthday present, she sang Happy Birthday to me in French and taught me how to ask someone to go to bed with me in French. That was the highlight of the evening. Well, that and the hot guy that Meggylynn told me I should tell him the new phrase I had learned. The rest of the evening was filled with ever so much fun including not one but two drunk guys offering to give me a good screwing because it was my birthday and as a fat chick I should be thankful for the offer. Oh, gosh, thanks. This started a new birthday tradition known as "As God is my witness, I will never ever work on my birthday again!" You could scream this in front of Tara while clutching a turnip if you wanted to (which reminds me, some day I will write about why I really, really hate Gone with the Wind).

To make a long story short (too late!), I will now entertain you with some of the obscene phone calls that I seemed to always end up getting. Besides Ham Guy, who actually was quite benign compared to the rest, there was this guy.

Obscene Phone Call #3.

DM: Thank you for calling Slark's Submarine Shoppe. This is Dana. How may I help you?
Dirty Boy (DB): Click (no, he didn't say click. He hung up).

Phone rings again five seconds later.

DM: Thank you for calling Slark's Submarine Shoppe. This is Dana. How may I help you?
DB: Click.

And again, maybe ten seconds later, the phone rings.

DM: Thank you for calling Slark's Submarine Shoppe. This is Dana. How may I help you?
DB: Oooooh. Ooooooh. I'm coming. I'm coming. I'm a dirty boy. I'm coming.

The phone disconnects. I go and wash my hands repeatedly, hoping that some of the sleaze will wash off. May I just say eww?

He called fairly often. Finally, I had had it and when, a few nights later, he calls again, I decide to try and change things up a bit. After the first two times he called and hung up, I knew he would call back and tell me about being a dirty boy.

DM: Saint Paul Police Department. Is this an emergency?
DB: (Not missing a beat. Can't fool those perverts!) Ooooh. Yeah. Hot cop. I'm a dirty boy. I need to be punished. Oooh. I'm coming.

Okay. Now I've had it.

I was ready for him the next time he called. We went through the usual call twice and hang up. And then, I hit him with everything I got.

DM: Thank you for calling Slark's Submarine Shoppe. This is Dana. How may I help you?
DB: Oooooh...
DM: I have a question for you.
DB: Ooh...what (Obviously shocked that one of his victims was talking to him)?
DM: I'm just wondering why you picked us to call. Is there a special Pervert Phone Book? Do you and your friends put us on speaker phone and have huge circle jerks? Do you think you deserve a medal because you can have an orgasm? Really. I want to know.
DB: Dead silence.
DM: Oh, don't stop now. Please, please tell me about how you're coming. I feel so gratified to have you call me. It makes me feel so special that you have picked me to visit with, you pathetic, dirty boy, you. Oh, baby, I'm so hot right now.
DB: You bitch! You ruined a perfectly good orgasm!

He hangs up. I smile at the phone. Yep. I'm a bitch, folks. Take it from the perverts. They know.

Obscene Phone Call #4

Saving the best for last, I bring you this call. Not because this guy was so great at what he did or anything but because this is quite possibly the most witty that I have ever been under pressure (doo doo doodoo. Doo doo doo do. Under pressure. Ah, David Bowie, if you want to call me, I'd be okay with that).

Remember when I said Slark's had the rule about answering the phone right away when someone called? On this day, I had six customers in the store, all wanting their sandwiches right then. My employee had called in sick and I was trying to not rip my hair out or stick a knife in the next person who complained about how slow I was since I could not, using the speed of light, whip out their 10 sandwiches in five seconds. And the phone rings. You would have thought that I could hear the Jaws music playing in the background but no, I didn't.

DM: Thank you for calling blah blah blah blah blah.
Meat Lover (ML): What kind of hot sandwiches do you have?
DM: We have a Hot Ham and Cheese, the French Muffeletta (There's a porn movie title if I've ever heard one), The Italian Meatball and some other thing that I've completely forgotten.
ML: Those sound nummy.
DM: Yes, yes, they're quite good. Would you like to place an order?
ML: No. But I have a hot and juicy Italian sausage. Would you like to taste it?
DM: I'm sorry, sir, but corporate does all of the ordering. Their number is (651) 555-1212. Maybe they would be interested in your hot and juicy sausage. Thanks for calling.

I hang up the phone, walk back to the counter and have six people staring at me. I stop, turn back to the phone and say "Did I just say that he should call corporate?"

They all nod.

One brave gentleman asks "Why was he calling?"

"Oh, he wanted me to taste his hot and juicy Italian sausage."

To this day, I do not know why I felt I should be so open with the customers. But it worked. They all lost it, holding on to each other as they laughed hysterically. The complaints stopped, the brave gentleman asked if I got calls like that a lot. I explained that yes, we did and gosh, they were so much fun.

As he was leaving, wiping tears from his eyes from laughing so hard, the brave gentleman says to me that he has never heard a better comeback for an obscene phone call. "Brilliant," he says as he walks out the door.

There were other calls, of course, but none of them ever came even close to the funniness of calls 2, 3 & 4. Notice I don't list 1. 1 was not funny, it was very, very creepy.

Anyway, soon to come will be a story about poop. Inspired by Beth and her story about her mom and poop.

Previous Comments:

At 4:56 AM, Weary Hag said...
haha ... this was a fun post! Okay, so the first call WAS creepy, but the others were quite funny. What is it about sub-shops and obscene callers? I remember once asking a caller who ordered a tuna sub what he wanted on it and of course, his answer, for the 3,000th time I'd heard it was "you." Ugh... I told him how original he was and I think the jerk believed me. Good post Dana! (and thanks for the plug)from a member of the "Sub Shop Sistahood"
At 2:37 PM, brooksba said...
DM,I'm sorry you had to deal with these people at all, but at least calls 2, 3, & 4 made for a funny story! Great post. Beth

Friday, March 04, 2005

What the Heck is going on?

This is the 3rd day in a row that I have, well, not jumped but exited my bed the minute the alarm went off. Instead of hitting the snooze button over and over again.

If I turn out to be a morning person because of the CPAP machine, I'm going to be really ticked off.

Thursday, March 03, 2005

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Monday night I went to the hospital. St. Joseph's, to be exact. Don't worry, it wasn't an emergency trip or anything, although I did get dropped off by Keem at the emergency room.

No, I went to have a sleep study done. Apparently I snore. And when I say that I snore, it has been expressed to me that this is not a dainty, lady-like snoring. This is a rattle the windows, make the roommates think we are under attach snoring. And sometimes I stop breathing and then start coughing and choking. This is not a good thing, according to my mother and sister who have been harping on me about this for years. I probably have sleep apnea and should do something about it, I was told.

Thanks to Kari coming with me to see my doctor last month, I remembered to talk to Deb (my doctor) about these symptoms and she referred me to another doctor who suggested I have the sleep study done.

Let me be the first to tell you that it is weird. I got to the hospital at 9, having to walk through the emergency room, clutching my pillow and my Blue M&M suitcase. The security guard took one look at me and asked "Sleep lab?" Why yes, how could you ever tell.

I got to the lab and met Diane, the nurse who would be attaching all of these little electrode things to me. That was fun. Yeah. I routinely enjoy having little scary things taped to me. And glued! I had some glued to my head!

But when it was done and I finally started falling asleep, I grabbed onto Hippo (well, of course he came with me. Sleep in a new place? Hippo will be there. He is very faithful and fits into my suitcase just perfectly) and drifted off. Well, I say drifted off but it seemed like hours. I tossed. I turned. I tried to get comfortable, a concept that is made even more difficult by knowing that there is a camera overhead watching your every move.

Finally I fell asleep. This was difficult because I have a hard time sleeping without music. At home, I leave the radio or iTunes on. And then, what seemed like minutes later, I was awakened by a gigantic blond creature with glowing eyes. Diane had come back into the room with a flashlight to change the sensor under my nose. It wasn’t picking up my breathing very well. Instead of the annoying sensor that had the two wires poking up my nose, this was something that fit just right in that little divotty thing between your nose and mouth. I know it has a name, I just can’t remember what it is.

Later that evening, Diane came in again. We had talked about the fact that if she thought I was exhibiting the signs of sleep apnea, she would have me start wearing a mask. This mask fits over your nose and emits filtered air up my nose. It is supposed to keep my airways from closing up. I was so tired at this time that I just sort of laid there and let her fiddle around with the mask and the straps. I fell asleep again and then was uninterrupted until the following morning at 6 AM (yikes!).

Diane woke me again, unhooked me, unglued me (by rubbing this weird solution that was cold and goopy in my hair), told me to get dressed and gave me a voucher for breakfast down in the cafeteria. In case you are wondering, I enjoyed a cinnamon crunch bagel with butter and cream cheese and two cartons of chocolate skim milk (Land O’Lakes, my favorite chocolate milk ever!)

Then I came back to the room, flipped through the channels and waited for the doctor to come in and tell me what was wrong with me. He showed up about twenty minutes later. Nice looking guy, wearing a suit. Made me a little self-conscious with my goopy hair. Anyway, he told me that, surprise, I do have sleep apnea.

Here’s what I found out. My airways do not close fully but they do close partially. He showed me a graph that showed my oxygen level and how it kept dropping. And then he told me that he estimated that, if he was to count up all the times that this happened, he estimated that my airways close partially at least (AT LEAST) 20 times an hour. This means that I become unable to breathe and am waking up every 3 minutes. But I’m not aware of it. The other thing is that I did not hit REM sleep until after Diane hooked me up to the mask.

Well, no wonder I’m always so damn tired.

After meeting with the doctor, I met with the technician Terry who set me up with my very own CPAP machine (do not ask me what that stands for, I am too lazy to dig out the manual) and gave me all the instructions on how to wear it. It seemed simple enough.

Tuesday night I slept with the machine for the first time. I’d like to tell you that I noticed a huge difference yesterday morning but I can’t. However, after spending the 2nd night with the mask on, I am now noticing a difference. I’m not as tired. I didn’t start nodding off during calls.

You know what else I’m noticing? Two deeply red raised areas on both sides of my nose. Which means I’m either keeping the straps too tight or I’m allergic to the material that they cover the plastic with and need to soak my mask for 45 minutes in hot soapy water. Or both. But other than that, I’m fairly awake and ready to go. I’m not sure where I’m going but I’m ready to go there.

Oh, and I saw my regular doctor on Tuesday. Since February 1st, I have lost 5 pounds. Without trying. FIVE POUNDS! With Effexor, I have more energy and have a hard time sitting still. I find myself, when waiting for the Manager On Duty (MOD), pacing back and forth or doing leg lifts or lunges. I fidget a lot. I drink a ton of water. I’m not eating because I’m sad or lonely or depressed.

Oh! And I almost forgot! Friday night, when Beth and I and Matt and Char and Tom and Andy were playing pool, I was wearing the shirt I fondly refer to as my scrapbooking shirt (The one mentioned the night that woman grabbed my boob). I heard this guy say “Fun, fun, fun” and turned around to look at him. He smiled. I smiled. A few minutes later, Beth leans over and says “Hey, that guy? He is totally checking out your ass and has a big smile on his face.”

I got checked out. By an actual guy. Do you know how rare that is for me?

So, all in all, life is good. I’m getting back on track. Weird that I had to wait so long. And believe me, I heard about this from Kari. “Hmm, I wonder what would have happened if you would have gone to the doctor when I first talked to you about this?” Yep. That’s family for you. Always willing to say “I told you so.”

How are you all doing?

Previous Comments:

At 4:55 AM, brooksba said...
DM,You asked how we (your adoring public) were doing. All I can say is that I'm doing fantastic because you are doing well. Reading this post brought a smile to my face. I'm so happy to hear that you're feeling better. I love you. You deserve the best.And that guy's smile - really fun to watch. I love seeing guys check you out!Beth
At 4:12 AM, Weary Hag said...
How nice to ask how your readers are doing!! I'm fine as long as I have my family, my home, cats, music, computer and some vices. ;)Thanks for sharing the Apnea story... a friend of mine was diagnosed a few years back and ever since she got her sleep machine (as she calls it) she is a like a new person; better able to focus on everything. So this is good news!!Carol
At 11:18 AM, The Lioness said...
Don't ask. But I am thrilled - THRILLED - that things are going so well and VERY RELIEVED you have your apnea under control. Actually life threatening. Glad your ass got checked, abt time you anjoyed such things again too. BTW,CPAP: continuous positive airway pressure. You're welcome. Also, check this: