Cranky Fibro Girl

Harnessing the healing power of snark

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

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A little while ago my husband and I played host to an out-of-town friend of ours. He had a layover in Atlanta, so we picked him up from the airport and hung out together for a few hours.

This friend has recently come out, and so we spent a lot of time talking about the issues he is facing, the effect all of this is having on his relationships, and how he appreciates having friends like us who are willing to talk about this with him.

After we’d hit all the relevant historical sites (read: IKEA) we were trying to decide where to go next.

“How about the Botanical Gardens?” suggested my husband.

“Ooh, great!” I agreed.

“Um, why are we going to a garden again,” asked our friend.

“Because we like to look at flowers,” I replied.

“Oh, geez!,” our friend retorted. “You guys are gay!”

Peace, love, and understanding, man. That’s what we are all about here.

Things That Make You Say, “What?!”: Other People

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Recently I was informed by a person of my acquaintance that, in fact, they “did not believe” that I actually wake up 53 times an hour when I sleep unaided by my CPAP machine.

I was totally distracted for the rest of the day, because I was completely unable to comprehend how that person could have possibly interpreted this as an issue of belief.

Now, sure, if I had said something like, “Whenever I sleep I am awoken once a minute by tiny, winged elves who flutter down and tap me lightly on the forehead while simultaneously ringing The Golden Chime Of Enlightenment in order that I may uplink to the Mother Ship,” I can totally understand them not believing that. Because everyone knows that this process involves tiny, winged Cyborgs, not elves.

But seriously, there were electrodes, and wires, and highly calibrated pieces of Scientific Measuring Equipment, and a trained technician named Ken. It wasn’t like they just sat me down in a room with a random guy who looked at me, rubbed his temples, and then proclaimed, “I declare…that your number is…FIFTY THREE!”

Apparently this particular person doesn’t believe that sleep apnea is actually a true medical condition. “You know, that label was only created in like the last 20 years or so,” they said, in the condescending tone of someone who believes that I have just been unthinkingly caught up in the latest fad, like designer bottled waters or those hideous clogs called Crocs.

Right. Like I’m choosing to attire myself every night in enough contraptions to be assimilated by the Borg for fun-perhaps as a fashion statement or something.

Of course, if I were continuing to practice mindfulness and self-awareness, I might be inspired to ask why I immediately reacted with such defensiveness to this person’s opinion that doesn’t actually mean anything. But, um, I don’t want to, because sarcasm is just so much more fun.

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

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Yesterday I was working on some new vocabulary words with one of my students. She quickly scanned the list, and from time to time I heard her mutter one of the words under her breath.

“Bargain…department store…size…oh, and there’s the gay man’s section.”

“What?!” I asked, apparently having missed that particular term during my own perusal of the list.

“Jenny,” she replied, in a tone designed to convey that, truly, my stupidity was beyond her ability to comprehend, “it’s synthetic fabrics.”

Just Another Wednesday Night At The Ryan’s

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(The phone rings. It’s my parents.)

My dad: “Jennifer! I need to talk to you RIGHT! NOW!”

Me (sitting down, just in case): “OK.”

My dad: “Are you familiar with a product called ‘Vera Mist’?”

Me (realizing that it’s OK to relax, yet not entirely sure where this is going): “Um, no.”

My dad: “Well, your mother and I were just watching TV and we saw a commercial for it. Apparently it’s a new nasal spray.”

Me: “Hm.”

My dad: “And you know how they have all that small print at the bottom of the screen, like ‘Not for use for children under 12’ and things like that?”

Me: “Yeah.”

My dad: “Well, one of the disclaimers said-and I swear, this is exactly what it said-‘It is not entirely known how Vera Mist works.’

Me: (now in dire need of some Vera Mist myself, due to all the snorts of laughter.)

My dad (imitating a marketing executive): “Yeah, we don’t actually know what our product does. But why don’t you just go ahead and squirt it right up your nose anyway? Near your brain!”

Falling Down The Rabbit Hole

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Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

Today I went back to the chiropractor to see if she could ungnarl my back any further. She decided to put me on this special machine with a fancy name. But truly it should be called The Rack, because that is what it is. They strap you into a harness and then pull the ends of your body in opposite directions, which results in tremendous pain and The Renewed Inability Of Your Legs To Support Your Own Body Weight.

I managed to stumble into a chair in the hallway, and I was firmly prepared to sit there for the rest of my life if it meant I never had to feel that much pain again. Unfortunately this meant that I overheard the entire conversation taking place between the therapist and the next patient on The Rack.

Patient: (Being Dramatic, with lots of moaning and groaning) “I think they should just take us all outside like they do with old horses and shoot us.”

Therapist: “Oh that reminds me of this piano recital I had when I was ten.”

Me: not really seeing the connection.

Therapist: “My piano teacher lived on a ranch out in the country, so after everyone finished performing they took us all outside, brought up a steer, and shot it right in the forehead while we all watched.”

Me: “EEWW!””

Therapist: (Not really seeming all that concerned.) Then they hoisted it up on a truck (I sort of tuned out right here because this part of the story involved very yucky things such as slicing open and things falling out.) Then we all walked by and touched it. And then we went back inside and had punch and cookies.”

Me: What?!The?!F*&@?!

Patient: “Or maybe they should just wring our necks.”

(Me: Dude! With the death wish!)

Therapist: “You know, that’s a lot harder to do than it looks. I had to wring a chicken’s neck one time so that I could feed it to my snake.”

Me: Why, God, why? Why did THIS have to be the moment when I lost the use of my legs?!

Therapist: “We used to feed it rabbits…”

Me: Dear God in heaven! Save me now!

Therapist: “…but you know, rabbits can fight back. They have really sharp claws, so the snake could get hurt.”

Me: Oh, heaven forbid the snake gets injured!

Therapist: “But the rabbits still have to be warm when you feed them to the snake.”

Me: What happened? Where the hell am I?

Therapist: “So we had to put the rabbits in a burlap bag [and do very bad things to them resulting in their death] before we gave them to the snake.”

Me: Holy Mother of God, that may be the worst thing I’ve ever heard. And I still can’t walk away! This day SUCKS!

Therapist: “So one day we decided to give it a chicken instead. We almost had to take the snake to the vet, because it took him 4 hours to get past the wings, and we were worried that he wouldn’t make it.”

Me: Seriously. Am I on drugs? Because if I’m not, I think I need to get some.