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Posts from — November 2009

Starbucks and World AIDS Day

Every year, in support of World AIDS Day, Starbucks decides to do something nice:

“Join us in support of World AIDS Day. On December 1, 2009 we’re contributing 5¢ U.S. to the Global Fund to help fight AIDS in Africa for every hand-crafted beverage sold!”

And every year, I click on the little Facebook button saying I’m attending the event. And EVERY YEAR, that takes me to the page where people have left comments.

Now, I’m curious: do people really think that Starbucks gives a crap about destructive comments? Comments like: “Starbucks doesn’t send coffee to our troops, so I’m never buying coffee from them again,” or “Cheap bastards, five cents? Capitalist pigs!” I usually silently laugh, but this time it just pissed me off.

Would you like a list of all American and international companies who are “not supporting the war and not sending products to our troops”? WOULDYA? Because believe you me, it’s more than 98% of all domestic companies.

Could you also explain to me why it’s their obligation to give ANYTHING AT ALL? Most companies do not contribute in any way, so anything that Starbucks does is POSITIVE. (No AIDS pun intended.) Why do people love to complain so freaking much? Is this not the season of giving thanks? Give thanks that someone, no matter how much or little, cares about things going on in the world to say, hey, let’s pick a day and donate a little money to a cause. I am in now way affiliated with Starbucks – however, I appreciate a good deed from wherever it may come, big or small.

*Steps off soapbox*

November 25, 2009   4 Comments

Attempted closure

Technology, the bane of my existence. Gathering up all your courage to make a phone call and attempt closure on a subject in your life is a little complicated when voicemail is the party who picks up on the other line. It is quite hard to sound peaceful and calm and chipper when your voice is wobbling at the unexpected horror of having to leave a short, upbeat, “I know you’re never going to call me back, but hey, here’s my number!” blurb.

Maturity fail. Resolution fail.

November 23, 2009   1 Comment

Women are never satisfied!

Today was the launch of Atlantis’ STS-129 mission. I had been cleaning all morning, so I was all gross and frumpy and decided to take a quick shower before the launch. I ran out to catch the launch at the last minute, in raggedy jeans, a tshirt, hair all a mess, looking much the way I looked when I was late for school pretty much every day of high school.

It was a “flawless launch, a perfect ascent”.

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While outside, I overheard the boys from across the street.

“Dude, we have a new neighbor.”

“Where?”

“That girl across the street.”

“She’s not new.”

“Then why doesn’t she go to our school?”

“I dunno. Homeschooled? Private school?”

And instead of smiling at being mistaken for a high schooler… I snorted in my head. “Girl? YOU MEAN ‘LADY’?”.

And only three months ago, I was whining about being called “ma’am” in the mall. haha

November 16, 2009   5 Comments

Do you remember when 21 years was old?

This summer, before hanging out with my bigger-little sisters (Marianna 19 and Andrea 21, as opposed to Regina 12 and Samantha 14), George and I were trying to pick out a gift for Andrea. “Get her this CD,” George suggested. “She’ll be into it.”

Turns out, not only was he right, but we both loved it. Phoenix was new to me, though he’d already heard of them.

So, when the opportunity came to see them live October 1st at Tipitina’s in New Orleans, we jumped on it. The tickets were a bargain, we got a nice hotel for ridiculously cheap (Priceline, how I love thee, and not just for your William Shatner commercials), and the venue was tiny (ensuring a wonderful spot for enjoying the concert, no matter where we ended up), historic and picaresque: besides having been a juice bar and currently being a live music venue, it was once a brothel!

We decided to make a road trip out of it, both to be thrifty and because we love road trips. We love picking out CDs, stopping at quaint or backwater locations along the way that most people would never think to go to – a real adventure.

The day before we took off, I started feeling a little sick. Headache, sore body, tired. No big deal. Maybe something I ate? But the true proof of how I felt came the day of the road trip: I kind of slept most of the way there, my eyes burned with a fever, I had a sort of cold and cough, and general malaise. Add to that that George’s car is basically, well, a race car so the suspension is incredibly stiff. Basically, if you run over a pea, you’ll feel it. We made the 693+ mile drive in about eight hours (with stops, uh… with stops, that’s an average speed of 87mph, folks… I’m glad I was asleep), by the end of which I wanted to die, kill someone, or both.

I almost didn’t make the concert. My fever was crazy by that night, my eyes were red (making me fit right in with all the hipsters, I guess), and my body felt like it wouldn’t be able to handle it. But I braved it, all for Phoenix. And oh, was the show ever worth it…

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The next morning I felt tired, but oddly invigorated: I wanted to experience New Orleans and enjoy the day and a half we had left in the city. We ventured out to the famous Café du Monde for some beignets

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I have to say, after trying them, my life will never be the same. I dream about these things, y’all. Their sugary sweetness elevated my glucose level, and gave me the tiniest bit of energy to walk around a tiny bit and find a cute little place to have lunch. I wanted something “typical”: we had gumbo, jambalaya, and étouffée. But not for loooooooooooong!

Lunch remained in my stomach all of ten minutes. The minute we rushed to the hotel, the nightmare began. Chills, sweating, delirium, fever. Pain, everywhere intense pain. I wanted to die. We spent the rest of our mini-vacay holed up in the room, George taking care of me while I vomited or sang or laughed like the crazy person that the flu had turned me into.

We drove back home, and George had a trip for work that he ended up having to cut short to come back and care for me for a week. By the time I went to the doctor, the flu was gone, but I had developed a nasty case of bronchitis. The cure, the doctor promised, was hydrating, TLC, and antibiotics/cough syrup, which I took religiously… to no avail. I started feeling better, but the cough never went away. I figured it’d be gradual, maybe that was the way it was supposed to be, or maybe as a one time smoker it would take longer for me to heal than a “normal” person.

Heal I did not. About a week ago, I started feeling horrible all over again. Stabbing pain in my chest, sore body, the cough back with a vengeance, blood in my phlegm (I know that’s the kind of tidbit everyone dreams of reading in a blog entry), wheezing, slight fever, nausea, etc. When it continued getting worse and worse, to the point where I was no longer sleeping at night, we went back to the doc.

After listening to me breathe, SEEING MY PHLEGM (being an MD is a glamorous job, people), and checking everything else out, my doctor left the exam room THREE TIMES, came back, sat down, and the first words out of his mouth were, “I don’t mean to scare you, but…”

MEN: Do not ever begin a conversation with these words. These, or, “Promise me you won’t get mad… but…” Seriously. Never. If you knew the kind of crazy that resides in our brains and you could see the millions of directions our thoughts go upon hearing this… you’d think twice. But I digress.

“I don’t mean to scare you, but I recently had a girl in here with your exact symptoms. She was taking the same medication you are (which is known for causing clotting). We did a chest x-ray; nothing showed up. Then she had a pulmonary embolism.”

“I am faxing the Cape hospital right now. I want you to go straight there, be examined by an ER doctor, and have a CT done immediately.”

I couldn’t even really react. I just nodded, we walked to the car, a couple of tears slipped out, and we were on our way.

Blood was drawn, chest x-ray was done. The ER doctor said all the tests with my bloodwork came back normal! “Except one.” What the HECK does THAT mean? So he ordered a CT.

Amusing side note: when they inject saline solution into your IV, you can taste it in your mouth. Did you know that? I did not. It was hilarious and weird. And when they inject contrast dye into your IV, you can taste the disgusting metal, your body is drowned in a wave of HOTNESS (preview of what menopause shall be like, I assume) and then you feel like you just urinated yourself. CHARMING!

Five hours in the ER later, I have acute bronchitis and asthma, folks. Asthma at 27. With George’s ginger genes, our four-eyed-ness, and our allergies/possible asthma, there is just no hope our children will ever be cool. Ever. We might as well teach them to enjoy swirlies when they’re toddlers.

So, yeah. We went to a concert. It was super fun. The end!

November 1, 2009   9 Comments