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Blasphemer

January 20, 2008 By Jenny Ryan 4 Comments

Lately I’ve been thinking about taking piano lessons again. I played for a long time earlier in my life, from about the age of 5 until my senior year in college, about 14 years ago.

I got this same urge a few years back, and so I started looking around for a teacher. I asked my aunt, who is a professor of music at a college in a neighboring state, for a recommendation and she gave me the name of a good teacher here in Atlanta.

I was a pretty talented pianist back in my day, but when I started taking lessons with my new teacher I realized that I was not even in the same universe as her league. She is very, very good.

I gave the situation the old college try, but it was very hard because I was very intimidated. So one day, as is my wont, I tried to lighten the atmosphere with a little humor.

We were working on a movement of Bach’s French Suite V and she was explaining to me how to interpret some of the ornamentation (like trills) according to the rules of the Baroque period. So, me being me, I responded by saying, “Yeah, and doesn’t it make you wonder just who got to make those rules up, anyway?”

But no, if her blank face and stunned silence were any indication, never in life had it occurred to her to question the Sacred Scriptures Of Musical Interpretation. And furthermore, her horrified visage reproached me, the fact that you would even make such a flippant remark about something so precious and so holy just made kittens DIE!

She’s not my teacher anymore

Filed Under: My Mind Works In Mysterious Ways, Playing Well With Others Tagged With: taking piano lessons

They Could Not Find Their Own Ass With Both Hands And A Map

December 22, 2007 By Jenny Ryan 3 Comments

That is really unfortunate, because “they” are the people involved in treating my C DIF. Not my doctor-him, I love. But because this illness is becoming more and more of a problem, and because the medicine required for its treatment is apparently handcrafted by tiny elves who live in remote workshops in a distant land and spend all their days grinding down rare nuggets of 24-caret gold into a fine powder, carefully placing the powder into fragile, jewel-encrusted capsules, and then glazing the capsules with the wings of the silver faeries who reside in the blossoms of a flower that only blooms at the stroke of midnight on the top of the tallest mountain when the light of the moon falls gracefully across its petals, causing each individual pill to cost somewhere in the neighborhood of 850 frajillion dollars, my doctor suggested that I allow Science to step in and lend a hand.

So for the next ten days I’ll be filling out excessively detailed reports documenting every, minute bodily occurrence (as in, “Lost 5 eyelashes on upper left side at 10:39 am Saturday morning in freak gift wrapping accident”), and in exchange for all this scintillating personal data, Science is covering the cost of my treatment.

But as grateful as I am for the medicine, I must admit that I have really not been all that impressed by Science.

For example, on Wednesday I arrived at Science’s office, where I was told that I would have to complete a number of tests, undergo a short physical, and provide data on the history of my illness. Part of this data involved the taking of my vitals, which Science knew in advance that it was going to have to do. But apparently neither Science, nor anyone else in Science’s office, possessed a thermometer. So Science was forced to send its nurse (who incidentally, is also Science’s real-life daughter), to the drug store to purchase one.

Once Science was finally in possession of the necessary medical instrument, it tried valiantly to affix a protective plastic cover over the end of the thermometer before placing it in my mouth. But no matter what it tried to do, it wouldn’t fit. So Science was forced to call on the aid of her daughter, who took one look at the situation and said, “Mom, you have to take the cover of the thermometer off first, before you put the plastic part on.”

I very nearly gave up on Science at this point, but unfortunately I was too sick and tired to be able to make my escape.

Science also needed to collect some of my blood, so next we paid a visit on Robert, the guy who collects all the blood. It did not go well.

vampires

Science then informed me that I would have to return in three hours, once I’d taken my first dose of the medicine, in order for Robert to collect even more blood.

I then turned to Science, looked her dead in the eye, and said, “This medicine had Better. Fucking. Work.” And Science had no idea what to say to that, because Science is clearly used to spending all of its time with numbers, graphs, and various bodily fluids, rather than desperate, half-crazed women who have been sick for the past three months and might, at any minute, decide to rip your face right off your head and make you eat it just so they can find a little relief.

But I F-I-N-A-L-L-Y got my medicine. And the second trip to Robert was a little easier. And I have been faithfully filling out my worksheets (“At 5:04 am, right buttock began twitching uncontrollably in time to the song, “Ice, Ice, Baby”).

And even though Science did give me a little check to cover my traveling expenses, right now?

bruises

My feeling is pretty much that Science can just go ahead and suck it.

Filed Under: Grin And Bear It, Playing Well With Others, Sometimes I Get Sick, These Are The Days Of My Life Tagged With: C DIFF

But Wait-There’s More!

December 19, 2007 By Jenny Ryan 2 Comments

So as I mentioned yesterday, I finally escaped Excessively Loud Jolly Man and made it in to see my doctor. He, I, his medical assistant, we were all pretty sure that yep, I still/once again have C DIF, and that it’s time to move up to the seriously bad-ass medicine for this round of treatment.

Only he wouldn’t give me a prescription for said medicine until he got back the results of my stool sample. Which was fine, except that they wouldn’t take my sack of poo! They told me I had to drive it over to the hospital and find someone over there to take it.

So I did, even though it was extremely odd to basically be chauffeuring my poo all around the greater Atlanta area.

I parked, and for the sake of this story, let’s say that my parking lot was in northern Georgia. And then I had to walk all the way over to the front desk which, metaphorically speaking, was all the way over in southern South Carolina. There I once again had the privilege of informing a complete stranger that, Hi, I’m carrying around a sack full of my own poo, looking for someone who will pretty pretty please take it off of my hands.

At which point the receptionist looked at me, looked at my bag, and said, “Well okay, but first you’re gonna have to go and take it to get registered.”

Me: (blinking)

Me: (as in, I have to register it so that it can go off to an educational summer camp and then get into a really good school with all the other stool samples?)

So I trudged on over to, say, central South Carolina and explained my situation to yet another random stranger in hopes that maybe she would finally give my poo a loving home.

But no, they wouldn’t take it in there, so they called the courtesy (golf) car(t) to come and take me back over to northern Georgia, which is where I started out in the first place.

Finally, almost an hour later, I found the correct lab where I was met at the reception desk with…stunned outrage and indignant disbelief that, of all things, I brought a stool sample! To a lab! A stool sample on which I had the audacity to expect them to perform laboratory tests, if you can even believe the nerve of me.

I had well and truly had it by this time, and was one dirty look away from responding, “Look, lady-I wasn’t the one who decided to go into a job where you have to deal with other people’s poo on a daily basis. It’s not my fault.”

So she was a real bitch, which is really not what you need after suffering with hostile alien bacteria for over 2 months, but in the end she took my stuff, and they did the test, and it came back positive, which meant I could finally start treatment.

I’ll save that story for tomorrow, because it I don’t really have the energy right now to write about how I almost had to rip someone’s face right off and make them eat it. That’s a story for another day.

Filed Under: Grin And Bear It, Playing Well With Others, Sometimes I Get Sick, These Are The Days Of My Life Tagged With: C DIFF

With Friends Like These…

October 26, 2007 By Jenny Ryan 3 Comments

Last fall I was able to visit with some old friends from my elementary school days who live out in the Pacific Northwest.

They love coffee.

I do not.

But they did turn me onto the deliciousness that is Chai Tea Lattes, for which I am grateful.

As we were talking about getting together again this fall I mentioned how much I’ve been enjoying my (non-coffee) lattes. This was one friend’s response:

“Yes, we are the people who have helped you become the person who today can be forced into doing things through peer pressure.”

Filed Under: Playing Well With Others Tagged With: peer pressure

Things That Make You Say, “What?!”: Dubious Compliments

October 14, 2007 By Jenny Ryan 2 Comments

A friend, on recommending to us that we make the acquaintance of one of her friends, gave us the following glowing reference:

“He’s comfortable with his hate.”

Filed Under: CFG Says, What?!, Playing Well With Others

The Unbearable Restlessness Of Being

October 8, 2007 By Jenny Ryan 7 Comments

Today is my birthday (YAY!), and to celebrate I went to North Carolina last weekend to see my family.

My brother and his wife were there, and as a couple who have been married a little over a year they were discussing all the various adjustments they have been going through as newlyweds. Apparently sleep has been kind of an issue for them, as one of them goes to sleep and stays in the same position all night, and one of them moves around in their sleep. A Lot.

My brother described it in the following way:

“Are you familiar with Restless Leg Syndrome?” he asked us.

We were.

“Well, we’ve decided that [my sister-in-law] has Restless Existence Syndrome.”

Filed Under: Playing Well With Others Tagged With: funny stories, marriage

Dodging A Bullet

September 14, 2007 By Jenny Ryan 10 Comments

Apparently this past Monday, September 10th, was A Very Special Holiday known as Free Hug Day.

And if ever there was a time that I was grateful to be The Biggest Hermit On The Face Of The Earth, it was then. Because along with my myriad other fears (See: Snakes, Real and Imaginary, Calling People On The Phone, Going Anywhere Near The Bathroom During A Thunderstorm), I get really nervous whenever people try to hug me. And that’s kind of a problem, because I live in the South. And down here, people hug. A Lot.

I really can’t explain why, but I get really anxious whenever anyone invades my personal space, which has apparently expanded over time until it is now approximately the size of a seven figure, luxury home complete with its own gated community.

Back in my church-going days I used to get so anxious every Sunday. Because in addition to all of the religious issues, such as “Why Everything You Like About Life Is The Gateway To Hell”, I also had to endure The Greeting. In theory I can understand that it seems like a really good idea to make friends with all the people sitting next to you in your pew. But to my way of thinking there is really no need for even a handshake, much less an embrace, when clearly a brief meeting of the eyes and an acknowledging head shake will do. If you have never seen me before that day, and will probably never see me again, then why do you feel it necessary to clutch me to your breast as if I were the Prodigal Son finally returning home?

And while we’re on the subject of breasts, can we just talk for a minute about how awkward it is to be, say, a well-endowed, double D-sized babe, and have to endure a full, frontal encounter with some other woman’s “girls” in a moment that can only be described as, The Big Squish?

I imagine that if you are a guy reading this then you might be thinking, “Hey, having to get up close and personal with breasts? I really don’t see what the problem is.” But I think that if you had to regularly participate in some kind of obligatory social ritual which required you to press your family jewels up against some other guy’s cash and prizes, you would quickly be singing another tune.

So needless to say I did not participate in Free Hug Day, which for me would have translated into Free Have A Nervous Breakdown Every Single Time Anyone Even Looked At You Until You Ended Up As A Quivering, Whimpering Mass On The Floor Locked In The Fetal Position Day.

But if anyone ever designs a holiday along the lines of Free Quietly Sending Nice Thoughts To Other People While Safely Locked Away In Your Hermit Cave Day, I’m totally there.

Filed Under: My Mind Works In Mysterious Ways, Playing Well With Others Tagged With: free hug day

That Old Time Religion

July 17, 2007 By Jenny Ryan 6 Comments

This past weekend my mother celebrated her 60th birthday. My parents threw a huge party that included relatives from both sides of the family, lots of friends, and members of the families that my brother and I married into.

At some point during the party my dad looked down and happened to notice that the pants he was wearing had acquired some tears and frayed edges, so he started joking about taking up a “love offering” from the guests in order to cover the cost of some new clothes.

(For those of you who are not recovering Baptists, a “love offering” is a special, voluntary collection taken up whenever a guest pastor or visiting musical group participates in a church’s worship service.)

My sister-in-law and her fiance were among the first guests to leave, and as they were making their way to the door my dad caught up with them, huddled them together over in a corner of the kitchen, and with an absolutely straight face told them that he was giving all of the party guests an opportunity to contribute to his special “love offering”.

My sister-in-law’s fiance immediately jumped back about 3 feet, with a look of absolute horror on his face.

“Oh, I guess you’ve never been to a Baptist church,” my mom said, puzzled by his reaction.

“No, I’m Catholic,” he said.

So we explained to him our idea of a “love offering”, and he relaxed a bit.

“Never sneak up on me again and start whispering about a ‘love offering’,” he said, shaking his head. “For a minute there I thought I was gonna have to do something I’d have to repent of later.”

Filed Under: Playing Well With Others Tagged With: funny church stories

Isn’t It Ironic-Don’t Ya Think?

June 18, 2007 By Jenny Ryan 8 Comments

I am a spiritual seeker-always have been, always will be.

I hunger for more and more experience of the Divine, and I love helping to facilitate that experience for others.

Until today.

Today I found out that the man who is supposed to be helping Dave with the repairs on our house is not, in fact, coming over to deal with the ants currently infesting our chimney but is, instead, off in the mountains of North Georgia performing a vision quest.

Today, karma and the Law of Attraction can just suck it.

Filed Under: Playing Well With Others, These Are The Days Of My Life

Using My Powers For Good-Or Maybe Not So Much

March 12, 2007 By Jenny Ryan 8 Comments

Yesterday I saw a young teenage friend of mine, and at the end of our visit she asked if she could write on my hand. I’ve seen a lot of my tutoring students do this, and I was so excited that apparently I was considered “cool enough” by a 15-year-old to become a part of the Ink-“Tattoos”-On-Your-Hand Club.

“OK, you can be The Pimp,” she said.

“Well, what are the other choices?”

“It’s either ‘Pimp’ or ‘Ho’.”

“Uh, yeah, OK, I’ll take ‘Pimp’.”

So here I am, exercising my positive influence over the younger generation, and once again using my powers for good.

tattoo

Filed Under: Playing Well With Others, Using My Powers Tagged With: funny stories, teenagers

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