Allergy Season

Around here, allergy season is all year. Because of that, I am constantly on the look out for allergy medication that actually works. It seems like the best drugs for allergies are hidden behind the pharmacy counter. I finally decide to try those extra special allergy boxes I can only see from a distance.

To get them, you have to show your driver's license, sign something important and watch the pharmacy tech eye you up. I know they are looking for terrorist-looking people who need these pills to build something bad. I try to look as normal as possible with my runny, downward turned eyes (looking up hurts), the heavy breathing (my lungs sound like there is a party of mice in there), messy hair ( looking in the mirror means I have to "look up" - and as I said before - that hurts!) and wrinkled day old clothes (my chest hurts too much to lift the iron).

I croak, "Another hot one, huh? Is that the largest box you can sell me? I'm just asking because I have these allergies, really." I see them look over at the phone, so I back off with the pleading look.

I choose the 42 pack of 24 hour pills and head to the car with my stash. I'm tired, I'm sick and I need my drugs. Opening the stapled bag, I read the front of the box. "Non-Drowsy Extended Relief". I guess those drug manufacturers know what they are doing. I take 2 pills and drive home.

Eighteen hours later, I am still sneezing, wheezing and runny - but I'm wide awake. At least the "non drowsy" part seems to be working. Maybe that's so we allery sufferers can make it to a 24 hour pharmacy to purchase another kind of medication. Smart folks, those drug manufacturers!

Pre-Preparation

I'm getting ready to go to Italy and take a basic class in Italian. To get prepared I am:
1. Reviewing an Italian phrase book;
2. Listening over and over to the first CD out of 5 on how to speak Italian;
3. Reviewing an Italian Immersion training; and
4. Taking a course in "Italian for Travelers".

And I still can only say about 4 words in Italian (which I would not recognize if I saw them in writing) - "where", "excuse me", "good", and "bathroom". I'm not saying that those aren't very useful words, but I find myself with performance anxiety when I actually have to use them in a real situation. That is why I need lots of pre-practice before I talk my class in Italy. I also don't want my teacher to know I had all of this training before my class because that would mean they would expect me to know something. I really think that my brain is full and I have to unlearn something before I can shove more information in.

I need to dispose of all of the tidbits of gossip I know about starlettes and hunks - except for Johnnie Depp. My brain needs to declutter from addresses and phone numbers I had when I was a kid. And there is no reason my brain should continue to hold on to names of people I dislike.

Wouldn't it be nice to just click a button on the side of your head to defrag abd clean up the brain cells to make them more efficient? I know that Italian would come easier if I could do that.

Dog Language in a Storm

We haven't had a real rain in many months - until last night. The sky began to light up like an airport runway and the thunder started rumbling/grumbling. My dog Seymour started whining, circling and periodically hitting his head on the side of my bed while trying unsuccessfully to join me. I pulled him on to the bed and pushed him under the blankets, thinking that if he doesn't see the light, he'll settle down. Nope. In the dark, I could smell his chicken jerky breath and feel his little elbows digging into my chest. I tried massage and headlocks to keep him still while thinking that I should have brushed his teeth.

I finally set him back on the floor and tried to go back to sleep. Nope. He paced, tried going under the bed, into his crate, into a secret hiding place in another room, and finally back to whining and hitting his head on the side of my bed.

If the doggie door had been left open, he would have run out and hidden in the most weed-infested part of the yard. Since it wasn't, as he stood on my chest, nose to nose and eye balls to eye balls, I finally understood that he wanted my car keys. If he couldn't escape out the doggie door, he could get to security under the car seat, if he only had my keys - and opposing fingers.

Thankfully, his new doggie tricks didn't include learning to use the car remote and I wasn't about to leave the comfort of my bed to run through the downpour so he could go to the only place he thought he would feel safe. Was I a bad doggie-mommy?

Finally, sleepless, grouchy and losing my patience, I was about to toss him my car keys when the storm let up. Seymour quietly tiptoed back to his crate to sleep. All was fine in his life again. I was awake the rest of the night. Doggie communication can be exhausting!

How To Get Along With Difficult People

I have taken more of these courses than I have fingers and toes and I still don't have all of the answers I need. Raised by a woman who was practicing to be a Jewish Mother, I have believed that any issue I have with someone else -or even any problem in the world must be my fault. Or if it's not totally my fault, I probably have one degree of separation from it.

Weinergate - was it partially because I'm addicted to perezhilton and TMZ - and always click on the picture that is blurred out to see the whole weiner - er picture.

Casey Anthony types - I should have worked harder in my Psychology Class so I could recognize people with memory problems ("So that new expanse is due to a good push-up bra?") from a full on loon?

Based on the courses I've taken, I found that I could present them, because what they call "difficult", I call "relatives".

My training would cover:
What do you do when people get mad at you and quit talking? "Be happy that you don't have to hear the stupid things they would say. Send them a Thank You card."

What about people who say mean things to you? "Look perplexed and point to your mouth and ears and start speaking gibberish and try to imitate what they are saying to you - with a gibberish accent." There is that weird disease where some people just start speaking with a foreign accent, so it could happen.

What can you do if someone is sabotaging your chance of getting a promotion by taking credit for your work? "Write the most important points of your work in code - pig latin would work. Then innocently ask her if she could read those points out loud." Even if you don't get the promotion, you will get some good belly laughs and we know that laughter is good for your health. The worst that can happen is that you will be the happiest, healthiest person in the unemployment line. Worse things could happen.

Those are the easy ones. I want a course on how to deal with people with a classified mental health problem. Those Narcissistic Personality Disorder types you have to team with who never make mistakes, need a mirrored glass as their computer screen and start every sentence with "I"? Or the bipolar-type boss who eggs you on to tell your jokes one day and puts a "Do Not Disturb - This Means You" sign on their door the next? These behaviors have not been covered in those courses - and I have re-read my notes.

I wonder if it is partially my fault that these are no course covering what I need? I'll have to ask my mother.

Another Reason to be Single

I went to a lovely memorial service for the husband of a friend. It was filled with humorous stories, songs - and a photo montage of his life. It made me think about being in a long relationship with lots of history and memories - and photos. What if the long relationship ended with my mate passing away before me?

They would go through all of our photos and pick out the best ones of him to flash on a screen to the crowd of mourners. Of course they would need to choose the pictures where he looked best, but unfortunately I guarantee those would not be the ones where I looked even presentable in public. When he looked best, I'd have my eyes 1/2 open, my tongue lolling out one side of my mouth, or my head would be angled in such a way that it would look twice it's normal size.

I take awful pictures. Sure, I'd be upset that I lost my long time partner - but I don't think that should mean that I would also have to lose my dignity through displaying my monkey faced pictures. Also, I think the mourners would find it hard to ignore the woman in the photo (me) and I'm sure the crying would turn to hysterical laughter. Staying single is my way of saving some man the embarrassment of a humorous memorial service. I'm doing my part for mankind - and getting ready to go Photoshop my own pictures - just in case.

What Are Friends For?

One day last week I was busy running around, packing, moving and going here and there around town. I wasn't dressed in my cleanest and prettiest clothes, but I was presentable. Toward the end of the day, a friend asked if I wanted to meet for dinner and since I was too tired to cook, and didn't want to clean up, we decided to meet at an outdoor casual restaurant. I was early so I walked around to the various shops nearby and finally headed to the restaurant. Now, the thing about my friend is if I had broccoli hanging on a tooth or my blouse totally unbuttoned, he probably wouldn't say anything. I don't know if he doesn't notice, is embarrassed to tell me or is going blind.

We left the restaurant, walking up the 3 outdoor flights of stairs, with him behind me. We hugged and I headed to the grocery store for a few quick essentials, ice cream, cookies and Diet Coke. I hurried into the grocery store and for some reason thought my pants felt looser. I reached behind me and felt a tremendous tear in my pants - a butt cheek sized hole.

Just then my friend walked in and I said "Did you know I had a hole in my pants?" He evasively responded "Do you have on any underwear?" in the same voice he would use to order a cup of coffee. "YES but it must have crept up" I panicked as I tried to nonchalantly dig around for my underwear. In a very calm voice he told me I needed to pull my pants up and my shirt down as he headed to the fruit aisle. Not caring if I had a camel toe, I yanked my pants as high up my stomach as I could while trying to stretch my short tee shirt down over my bum. He was pretty much at the other end of the store before I could ask him to check again. Maybe it's not as bad as it feels, I reasoned.

I did have those few groceries to get so I did my best to bend at the knees, hold down my tee and juggle my groceries in one hand. I had one recyclable grocery bag with me but it wasn't big enough to cover - my exposure, not to mention that it would have looked strange having a red bag stuffed into the back of my pants. I finally headed to the checkout while tugging one handed to pull up my pants, pull down my shirt and hold on to my groceries. Just as I was on the last stretch to a cash register, a young man behind me said "Hey lady, you have a hole in your pants". Someone finally verbalized that the Emperor Had No Clothes.

I thought about how many places I had been that day, how many people, including my friend could not have helped but notice my chubby cheek hanging out, yet no one gave me the "heads - or butts up". No one except for that young high school boy. And he didn't even laugh as he told me the news. That "hole in my pants" turned out to be a foot long split down the center of my right butt cheek. Friends should not let friends expose themselves - even if it makes for a great story.

Head, Heart or Gut

I've been making a lot of pretty major decisions lately - or at least I've been trying to make them. My head, heart and gut are arguing over every decision and it's becoming annoying! But it's not as bad as people who let one body part always win in a decision.

I know some people who make all of their decisions with one body part (and I'm not talking about "that" one).

For example, if I am thinking about taking a camping trip across the country - just me and my dog - to places unknown, my body parts respond this way;
(Head) "Don't be crazy, you don't' know what you're going to be getting in to. You could die out there alone with only your dog". (My friends who only use their Heads rarely leave their comfort zone, which is no more than a 50 mile radius from their home.)

(Heart) "You know you love to travel and have some new adventures. You need to fill your soul with the beauty and serenity you'll find on this trip." (Friends who only use their Heart don't understand why hand-feeding a hungry shark ended badly. ("But they were so cute")

(Gut) "If you are even thinking of listening to your Head or Heart you need you head examined and a heart transplant. Nothing it all good or bad, you just have to be smart and prepare. What is worse is thinking later "I wish I had done that". Weigh your options and make a choice. Now, my gut also tells me there is room for another cream-filled donut and it won't hurt to try to do a flip on the trampoline, but that's another story.

Basically, I find that if I don't go through the process of listening to each body part, I can't come to the best decision for me. My gut is the mediator between my head and my heart. It's the voice of reason happily digesting a cream filled donut.

What's that Smell?

Two things that probably shouldn't go together - a hyper-sensitive nose and too much driving. Oh, and spending too much time in my mind and not enough time listening to the radio doesn't help.

As I was driving on the freeway, I started to smell fried chicken. On the freeway? Does the smell of fried chicken carry onto a traffic-logged interstate - or do I have a brain tumor? Using my scanning and driving skills, I glanced across both sides of the freeway and didn't see a sign with a chicken leg or a bucket. Were other people smelling fried chicken? I can't remember what the the Internet medical sites said about smell but I know there was something people with medical - or specifically brain - problems smelled that wasn't good. Traffic was building so I had time to ponder what could be making me smell fried chicken. I looked at the cars around me and didn't see telltale signs of greasy lips, large napkins or a chicken leg in any car. Oh, I hope I don't have a brain tumor. What would be the next symptom - seeing chicken parts in front of my eyes? I wanted the traffic to move so I could go Google. After about 5 minutes we moved from an inch to a crawl and - no more chicken smell! With great effort I lowered my shoulders from beside my ears and took a deep breath. It must have been a chicken restaurant.

No more than 5 minutes later, on that same freeway just further north the distinct smell of fried chicken hit me again. Is this like labor? Every 3-4 minutes I have a chicken episode? I don't feel sick but I am starting to forget things. I can not remember who starred in that movie about the teenagers who were put in detention - whatever that movie is called. Forgetfulness and smelling fried chicken. I hope I have my insurance card with me, just in case.

A few minutes later - no chicken smell. I sniffed deeply every few minutes the rest of the way home and everything was back to normal. No, I still can't remember who was in that movie but I'm feeling better about my diagnosis. I'm not sure if my hyper-sensitive nose is a curse or an early diagnosis blessing. When I got home I googled brain tumor symptoms and for some reason no one mentioned the hyper-sensitive nose issue. And none of the articles mentioned chicken. But if it's not a brain tumor, what else could it be? Does it have to do with too much driving? My nose is trying to tell me something - could I be hungry?

Winter and "The Dog"

I do like a bit of excitement in my life. I like the unexpected, actually prefer the surprises of life rather than the routine of a day. Well, except in one area - when walking my dog, Seymour when it is 16 degrees outside.

Even on a normal, cool morning, I never know if he will want to walk to the end of the driveway or the end of the earth. Usually, if I take him out wearing my bedroom slippers, a zippped-up lavendar sweatshirt over flood sweats, and my hair crying for a comb - he wants the long neighborhood walk. In my neighborhood, our houses are so small that no matter where you sit, you have a view of the front street. I like to believe that my neighbors are all looking out of their back windows as I am shuffling by but I also like to believe that I have a forgotten winning millionaire lottery ticket in my pocket - both are an equal fantasy. I will be on view.

Of course, when I take the time to look presentable, Seymour doesn't want to go farther than the end of my short driveway before he is ready to go in. The problem is, I know he needs to go "number 2" sometime so I can't deny him when he wants to go out.

It was 16 degrees this morning and Seymour is a bit of a wimp. He doesn't like rain or cold, which makes me do a happy dance. We usually don't make it further than the edge of the house before he starts returning to the front door. So when he looked at me expectantly, I put my cable-knit sweater on over my cotton capri pj's, threw my sockless feet into some shoes - and prepared for a quick outing. He's going to hate being outside!

Seymour had on his sweater and was preparing for a leisurely walk around the block - obviously we don't communicate well. By the time I got to the street, my body temperature had dropped at least 5 degrees and I could no longer feel if my hand was actually holding the leash. We were in front of my next door neighbor's house where Seymour rewarded me with a few drops of pee against the "doggie calling card tree" and my feet looked like I was wearing pale blue socks. Seymour's tail was high and wagging joyously as he continued to walk and sniff past a few more houses. Soon my ears felt like they were going to break off - well, they would have felt that way if I had any feeling left in my hands. My eyes were watering and the tears were freezing in zigzag lines down my face. Still Seymour pranced! How can a chihuahua in bare paws with only a sweater who is always shaking appear to be enjoying this trek?

When we got about 5 houses away from home, the wind was whistling through my light cotton capris and my sweater was doing nothing more than covering my bloodless skin, I knew I had to give it up. I figured I had given my neighbors enough to discuss for the next few weeks - the crazy woman dressed as if the temperature was going to suddenly rise to 80 degrees - so I dragged Seymour back home. No number 2.

A little later, he gave me "that look" again so I bundled up in my Uggs boots, a sweater and my down coat, lined gloves, a scarf, hat and thick winter pants. With difficulty, I bent down and snapped on Seymour's leash and headed outside, ready for whatever and where ever he wanted to do and go. We got to the middle of my driveway (where none of my neighbors could see how well prepared I was), Seymour sniffed, stood there for a minute looking like he was waiting for a bus, and then turned back around to go home. I refused to let him go in until he did something, so he grudgingly let a few more drops of pee escape in the front yard and happily headed back to the house.

I was having much more than my share of the unexpected and surprise from him today. I wanted routine. I wanted a quick outcome. I wanted number two. I wanted to enjoy watching other people struggle with their dogs - from the warmth of my living room - facing the street. Seymour wanted to go out again.

Night of the Living Dead - Shoppers Sequel

All I wanted to do was purchase a storage item. I found it online at a particular store and although I could have had it shipped to my house, I decided to save money and pick it up. Ninety minutes later with gas tank 1/2 empty, I was there. From the looks of the parking lot, there must have been major sales in this un-named store - I will just say that it rhymes with "I see ya".

Having only passed through this store once years ago, I quickly realized that I didn't know the rules. It didn't matter, I rationalized, I was only picking up one item and leaving. The first thing I noticed was that the store had very narrow and winding pathways that took you past various model rooms. The second thing I noticed was that everyone "lumbered" and "lallygagged". When I tried to pass them, I swear they all exhaled at the same time, thereby taking up more isle space. When that didn't deter me from trying to make a pass at the model kitchen room, I got looks like my mother used to give me when I asked what she weighed when we were in a check out line. It's like these people were possessed - and I'm wondering if it has something to do with something in those meatballs they sell there.

Anyway, I hurried, as much as you can hurry through the Night of the Living Dead Shoppers, while looking at the room signs to try to figure out which room would hold my storage item. It was interesting that we were all herded down these paths to nowhere in the store but periodically you'd see a sign that would say "Shortcut to Restaurant". I think that people finally give up trying to find their way back out of the store and just take that shortcut to the meatballs.

I finally found what I was looking for sitting in a model office. When I looked at the tag on the item, it said that I had to get it at the "self-serve" section, isle 9 bin 8. Where in the heck was that? I continued to wonder around the store, lost, dazed and starting to want meatballs, when miles - or days later - found the "self-serve" section. There were walls and walls of boxes and furniture. I was thankful I wasn't "self-serving" a couch because I had left my sumo wrestler friends at home. Unfortunately, my item was out of stock. Not to be deterred, I remembered that I saw a different item in one of the rooms that would also work. Ahhh, I was told, that self-serve item was back on the other side of the store, but there was a short cut - past the restaurant, I could take.

Back I went, past the people who had only gotten about 10 feet further than there were when I passed them the first time, and they were still exhaling and walking like they were wearing lead boots. Hours later I found what I needed and headed to check out - past the restaurant short cut. I was tempted to make a quick stop at the meatballs but I knew I had to find my way out before the store closed. I'm surprised they don't have model hotel rooms people can rent for the night. Whether it is exhaustion from winding around the store for hours or it's the meatballs, the shoppers in this store could give the cast of Night of the Living Dead a run - or drag - for their money. I'm glad I didn't eat the meatballs.