Cranky Fibro Girl

Harnessing the healing power of snark

I Don’t Drink, But If I Started, This Would Be Why: Part 2

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The bug guy was here again today, to do our quarterly pest control as well as rodent maintenance.

As he was leaving he said, “Yeah, it’s a good thing we got the rat situation under control when we did because, you know what rats attract in the summer?”

He was laughing as he said this. My mind had totally stopped functioning, unable to imagine a new, potential creature-related horror.

Did I mention that he was laughing as he said, “I just love scaring you. In the summer, rats attract SNAKES.” [Read more…] about I Don’t Drink, But If I Started, This Would Be Why: Part 2

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways

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Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there just are not words to describe just how much I love my Black Berry.

I bought my Black Berry last year as a birthday gift to myself, and I have enjoyed it so much over the past year that sometimes it causes me to spontaneously burst out into verse:

“I think that I shall never see/a poem as lovely as my Black Berry.”

or song:

“Oh Black Berry, Oh Black Berry, how lovely is thy keypad.”

My Black Berry is like a tiny, tangible talisman of love. Whenever I hear it vibrating away as it receives some email I think, “Hooray! Someone wants to talk to me!

Of course to hear my husband describe it, my Black Berry love is less adoration and more addiction, but what does he know? Sure I like to have it near me at all times so as to instantly be able to access my emails, even to the point of keeping it right here on my desk with me as I work on my computer. And yeah, so maybe I did ask my husband to drive me down the mountain on which my in-laws’ house is located on Christmas Day so as to be able to receive a signal, despite the fact that they have wireless Internet connection at their house and I could technically do whatever I wanted or needed to do on my laptop. And yes, perhaps there have been times when I’ve awoken in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and have been seized with the uncontrollable urge to check my email despite the fact that I don’t actually know anyone who emails me important information at 3 am.

And don’t even get me started on Instant Messaging and Text Messaging! (Oops! Please excuse me for a moment while I wipe the drool off of my computer screen.)

But anyway, the point of all of this is that now I can stay in constant communication with all the people I like without actually having to speak with them on the phone. Because, and this has been a deep, dark secret of mine for a LONG time, I am a “phonophobiac”. Yes, that’s right. I am afraid of calling people on the phone.

For a long time I was even terrified of having to place my fast food order into those speaker boxes they have in the drive-through line. But I was soon cured of that because, let’s face it, what doesn‘t an order of McDonald’s French fries cure?

If you’re reading this and thinking, “What?!”, don’t worry. You’re not alone. I’ve only met one other person who understands this fear of mine. Everyone else just looks at me as if I’ve just said something like, “You know, I’ve found that having to breathe in and out on a regular basis is really just too much for me to deal with.”

I recently tried to explain this to my family, but they just gave me The Look. You know, the one that says, “I hear the words you’re saying, but they’re…just…not…making…any…sense.” (Incidentally, this is a look that I am VERY familiar with, as I frequently see this same expression on the faces of my tutoring students.)

“So,” ventured my dad slowly, struggling to understand what I was saying, “is it getting any better?”

“No,” I sighed, rolling my eyes so hard that I temporarily severed important connections to my brain, “the whole point is that I finally realize that I don’t have to get better. It is OK for me to be this way. I am finally coming out as a phonophobiac!”

“So, you’re embracing it,” offered my brother, who is himself a Professional in The Art Of Being Unreachable By Phone.

“Ex-actly!”

And all was well for the next hour or so, until I heard my mother calling up the stairs for me to pick up the phone so I could talk to not one, not two, but THREE people on the phone ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

So you’d better believe that the gods of irony are going to be hearing from me about this, just as soon as I figure out how to reach them electronically. Um, does anyone know how to IM the Universe?

There Ain’t No Way To Hide Your Lyin’ Eyes

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Yesterday I took a very large step, one that I had been debating for quite some time: I changed banks.

I decided that I was tired of paying the old bank every month just for the privilege of keeping my money there. So I found a new bank that doesn’t do that, which is very nice. Unfortunately, the new bank is located directly across the street from the old bank, a place I’ve frequented for the last 6 1/2 years, where, in the immortal words of Cheers, “everybody knows my name.”

So instead of being able to drift quietly away into my new banking relationship, letting my old bank have the time and space it needs to mourn the end of our association, I am forced to flaunt my new financial partnership in full view of the bank with whom I’ve just broken up.

And to make matters worse, I had to go to the old bank first and take care of some business, and the whole time I was there I just knew that everyone was watching me, knowing exactly what I was about to do.

So here’s how that visit went.

I open the door to the bank.
(I just know that somewhere, the Eagles’ song, “Lyin’ Eyes” has begun to play).

The Bank Teller: “Good morning, Mrs. Ryan”
Me: “Hello”
(“You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes”)

The Bank Teller: “And how are you doing today?”
Me:(shifting anxiously, not willing to meet her eyes) “Oh I’m just fine, thanks.”
(“And your smile is a thin disguise”)

The Bank Teller: “How can I help you today?”
Me: “Um, I just need to make a deposit.” (Please, please, don’t ask me anything else!)
(“I thought by now you’d realize”)

The Bank Teller: “Thanks so much for banking with us.”
Me:(mumbling) “Mmhhmm”
(“There ain’t no way to hide your lyin’ eyes”)

I felt so guilty that I just wanted to yell out, “Please don’t feel bad. It’s not you-it’s me! Except, it is you because you keep taking my money. If you would just stop taking my money then everything would be just fine. But you won’t, and so you’ve forced me to go out and find someone else, someone new, someone who can give me what I really need. So I’m sorry, but it’s over. I’m leaving you.”

Breaking up really is hard to do.

True Confessions (v.2)

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As much as I want to tell you that I consistently spend the bulk of my time in deep, meaningful reflection as I ponder The Meaning Of Life and How To Positively Affect My World, I just can’t. Well, I guess I could. It just wouldn’t be the truth.

Here’s why. As I move throughout my day I am constantly seeing, hearing, or reading things that are REALLY funny, especially if you look at things the way I do. And very often these funny stories involve topics that are pretty much the opposite of anything deep or meaningful. So then I am always faced with this choice: Do I let the humor go and try to maintain an image of polish, culture, and refinement, or do I tell the funny story? And of course, telling the funny story ALWAYS wins.

So here’s what happened today.

My husband called me this morning just to say hi and chat, which I always enjoy. Suddenly, apropos of absolutely nothing he said, “Did you know that there is someone out there who makes their living by providing prosthetic dog testicles?”

Me: “What?!”

My husband: “Yeah. It makes you wonder what they do with the originals.”

Nuh-uh. What it makes me wonder is, “Why on earth do you know something like that? And how do you even find that kind of information?”

Well according to him that kind of knowledge is readily available on the Internet (Important Side Note: although it’s not on any of the sites I personally visit). In case you’re wondering, he also passed along the helpful tip that if you Google “replacement dog testicles” you can read the original article.

Me: “It would never IN LIFE occur to me to combine those particular words.”

My husband: “Well that’s just in case you don’t know how to spell ‘prosthetic’.”

We now return you to your regularly scheduled day.

This Is My Brain…

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Do you remember this commercial from the 80’s?

Picture of an egg: “This is your brain.”

Picture of an egg frying in a pan: “This is your brain on drugs.”

Well, I’m feeling a real affinity for that commercial this morning. and I’m thinking that I could revive that ad campaign by making my own, updated version of that commercial. Only mine would not be about substance abuse. Mine would say, “This is my brain after four days of an extremely inflamed shoulder muscle, which was then poked with what felt like really sharp sticks, but was actually a licensed health care professional using medically approved health care tools.” Catchy, huh?

The purpose of my commercial would be to illustrate the process my mind undergoes as it searches for the perfect, most articulate, most precise method of utilizing swear words to describe this particular pain. (Hey, I never said my commercial would have any deep or meaningful purpose.)

Step 1: I mentally inventory all the “bad” words I know, often trying them out in a Fill-In-The-Blank, Complete The Following Sentence With The Best Word sort of situation.

For example, “_____, my shoulder hurts!” Or, “My shoulder hurts like_____!” (This is where all my years as a language teacher really come in handy.)

Step 2: Once I’ve settled on the perfect word I play around with it a bit, to see if there are any ways that I can embellish it.

For example, Can I string it out by adding extra syllables? Can I stress it in a different way? Can I pronounce it in a funny accent?

Step 3: Next I look for a catchy theme song or a kicky advertising jingle, in order to set my words to music.

I don’t need to provide an example here, because I know that if you’re reading this post, you’re already experimenting with this process for yourself.

Step 4: Generally by this time the pain meds have begun to kick in, so my song drifts down to the level of a mantra, or a tribal chant.

For example, “BUM, bum, bum, bum, BUM, bum, bum, bum, BU-um, BUM.”

I’m not really sure what happens next because, if all has gone according to plan, at this point I am finally asleep. Or, at the very least, I am enjoying the benefits of a heavily medicated stupor, cradled by this gentle lullaby: “BUM, bum, bum, bum, BUM, bum, bum, bum, BU-um, BUM.”

True Confessions

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Each year as fall rolls around I find myself becoming very quiet and reflective. I think it’s a combination of the beginning of a new school year, as well as the fact that my birthday occurs in the fall. These two events seem to invite reflection on the past year, as well as a sort of mental de-cluttering in preparation for the year to come.

My coach told me something this week that rang very true for me. She said that our 20’s are all about accumulating mental and emotional baggage, and our 30’s are all about going through our bags and deciding what to throw away, and what to keep. I realized as I was “lightening my load”, that I have been spending a great deal of energy trying to pretend that certain things about myself were not true, when this energy really could be better used elsewhere. So in hopes that “the truth really shall set me free”, I offer here the following naked truths about me.

1. I have lived in either Virginia, North Carolina, or Georgia for my whole life and I do not like iced tea.

2. If I order Coke in a restaurant it is not OK if you bring me Pepsi instead.

3. I am 32 years old, and if I don’t want to sleep outside in a tent, then by golly I don’t have to.

4. There is a chance that I might be a crazy cat lady.

5. Despite all the advances in technology, nothing will ever impress or entertain me more than Ms. Pac Man.

6. My husband is a way better cook than I will ever be, and that’s actually a relief.

7. The very first thing I do whenever I get a new book or magazine is to smell it, even if I’m out in public or around other people; I just can’t help it.

8. Pantyhose are evil and you cannot, under any circumstances, make me wear them, so don’t even try.

9. My mother is a math teacher, my father is a CPA, my brother is a chemist, and I cannot do simple arithmetic without using my fingers.

10. Deep down in my soul I don’t actually believe it’s possible for planes to fly.

OK, you can uncover your eyes now; the scary part’s over. And now that the truth is out there, here’s to a great new year.