If you want your doctor to hurt his frontal lobe by rolling his eyeballs too far into his skull, just say "Dr. Oz says . . ." or "My friend's sister's friend said I probably have. . . ." My friends and I fall into that "Not My Favorite Patient" category.
When I was sick recently, in the course of 24 hours, I started trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I first diagnosed myself as having heartburn and went out to purchase a large package of antacids. When that didn't work, I remembered reading in People magazine about all of these stars doing colon cleanses and thought that might be my problem, so went back out and found one better - a whole body detox cleanser. Still no relief. Alka Seltzer seemed like the next best option and I was lucky to have found a neighborhood-sized box - on sale. Still no relief. Finally, my daughter told me that her husband told her that my symptoms sounded like his previous symptoms; I probably had appendicitis.
By day 2 of my symptoms, I decided to check with a professional - so I went online to check wikipedia. My symptoms were too general to choose one diagnosis. Feeling that I had at least eliminated many diagnoses - I decided to see if an emergency room doctor could figure it out. He could and after a week in the hospital, I came home to enough over-the-counter medicine that I now have plenty of things to give out on Halloween.
I'm not the only one who self-diagnoses. One woman finally headed to her doctor with the sound medical conclusion that her problem was that her liver hurt. Now, of all the various parts we have in our body, that was one I totally forgot about. Yes, you hear about people who drink too much having liver problems but I've never heard anyone complain that their liver hurt. And now I know why - the doctor said that there are no nerve endings in the liver so it couldn't "hurt". And he determined that it wasn't her liver, but her broken ribs that hurt. I guess it was in the vicinity.
I'm sure that the only saving grace for doctor's having to deal with people who self-diagnose is that it gives them things to talk about at cocktail parties and during surgery. I just hope they weren't laughing so hard that they dropped a small pointed medical tool into an open wound. That is the only thing I can come up with that could be causing the pain in my side.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Casual Dress Seems to Have its Limits
I have noticed that some people in my town are so chill that they are comfortable wearing their pajamas to the gas station - even going inside to get their large soda or coffee. I have never had the guts to do that but I have taken a baby step by walking my dog in my neighborhood in my PJs.
This weekend, I think I by-passed those PJ-wearing citizens. I was in a Pet Parade, dressed as a bottle of ketchup. I had the whole sha-bang, a large red bottle that covered me from neck almost to my ankles with a red squeeze-bottle hat that made me tall enough to be considered to play with the Spurs. I did have my 7 pound dog with me, dressed as a hot dog, but he wasn't much bigger than a jumbo hot dog, so bareley visable beside the ketchup hulk. The parade was a bit haphazard, with us walking down the sidewalk while people drove past and stared. There were a few other people dressed up but they were more socially appropriate in superman capes and fairy wings.
After the parade my dog and I were - dog tired - and had to drag ourselves the 6 blocks back to the car. This time, there were no other costumed animals - or people around, but it took me awhile to notice. I walked with my head drooping, making my ketchup bottle body look like it had been squeezed by Attila the Hun. My nozzle hat had the crowd parting like it was the Red Sea. Finally, I looked up to stares of people in cars and on the sidewalks who didn't know if they should laugh or run after me with their french fries.
I quickly took off my hat but there was no getting around the big red ketchup tube around my body. I started thinking that it might have been fun to have had the word STOP on me and just run into the street periodically. I might not have gotten respect as ketchup, but I think I would have gotten attention as a moving Stop Sign. I think my dog was reading my mind because he looked at me in disgust - or maybe pity - and quickly started dragging me toward the car.
PJ people - you have nothing on me. Try going to the gas station as a ketchup bottle and then we'll talk!
This weekend, I think I by-passed those PJ-wearing citizens. I was in a Pet Parade, dressed as a bottle of ketchup. I had the whole sha-bang, a large red bottle that covered me from neck almost to my ankles with a red squeeze-bottle hat that made me tall enough to be considered to play with the Spurs. I did have my 7 pound dog with me, dressed as a hot dog, but he wasn't much bigger than a jumbo hot dog, so bareley visable beside the ketchup hulk. The parade was a bit haphazard, with us walking down the sidewalk while people drove past and stared. There were a few other people dressed up but they were more socially appropriate in superman capes and fairy wings.
After the parade my dog and I were - dog tired - and had to drag ourselves the 6 blocks back to the car. This time, there were no other costumed animals - or people around, but it took me awhile to notice. I walked with my head drooping, making my ketchup bottle body look like it had been squeezed by Attila the Hun. My nozzle hat had the crowd parting like it was the Red Sea. Finally, I looked up to stares of people in cars and on the sidewalks who didn't know if they should laugh or run after me with their french fries.
I quickly took off my hat but there was no getting around the big red ketchup tube around my body. I started thinking that it might have been fun to have had the word STOP on me and just run into the street periodically. I might not have gotten respect as ketchup, but I think I would have gotten attention as a moving Stop Sign. I think my dog was reading my mind because he looked at me in disgust - or maybe pity - and quickly started dragging me toward the car.
PJ people - you have nothing on me. Try going to the gas station as a ketchup bottle and then we'll talk!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
High School Reunion
I went to my ____ high school reunion. I won't say how many years but I will say that most everyone was retired - except a few of us who either enjoyed working or enjoyed money. What surprised me was that people either didn't remember me much or remembered me totally differently than I did. For example, I saw a friend from grade school who said "If someone asked me to say 20 things about what you would be, funny wouldn't be one of them." Geez, I've always cracked myself up.
I can remember honing my craft by doing nightly visits with my good friend to read the various special occasion cards in the "Humor" category in the drugstore. You know the ones that say "I couldn't decide whether to get you a car or a diamond ring for your Birthday - so I got you a card". That was funny back then. Now I wonder who was paid to write something that lame. I'm not saying I didn't buy that card - a few times - but still . . . .
Maybe that is where my love of humor started. Giggling and snorting while reading the cards aloud was one of my teen year pleasures. Soon I wanted to tell my own funny stories. It makes life a lot easier when every bump in the road of life experiences is made into a a hilarious tale.
"Yeah, I went to a conference with 2 different shoes on - and the worst part was that the heels were 2 different heights! I only noticed when I went to the ladies room and wondered why, when I walked, I heard click, shhhh, click, shhhh."
That's a funny story, my grade school friend. And I have more where that came from. I want a re-count.
I can remember honing my craft by doing nightly visits with my good friend to read the various special occasion cards in the "Humor" category in the drugstore. You know the ones that say "I couldn't decide whether to get you a car or a diamond ring for your Birthday - so I got you a card". That was funny back then. Now I wonder who was paid to write something that lame. I'm not saying I didn't buy that card - a few times - but still . . . .
Maybe that is where my love of humor started. Giggling and snorting while reading the cards aloud was one of my teen year pleasures. Soon I wanted to tell my own funny stories. It makes life a lot easier when every bump in the road of life experiences is made into a a hilarious tale.
"Yeah, I went to a conference with 2 different shoes on - and the worst part was that the heels were 2 different heights! I only noticed when I went to the ladies room and wondered why, when I walked, I heard click, shhhh, click, shhhh."
That's a funny story, my grade school friend. And I have more where that came from. I want a re-count.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
My Dog Has Become - An Animal!
I should have expected it. It's like when my kids started kindergarden - something changed. Prior to K, they were sweet, thought I knew everything, and pretty much worshipped me - mainly for the rides I could give them to fun places, the toys I would purchase for them, and the snacks only I could make for them. Then came the big change! They walked into the K door an innocent child and came out a know-it-all, mom-knows-nothing, punk kid. I was in shock the first time that happened but by the time my second child started kindergarden, I was dreading, but expecting the change. Now I understand why parents want to home school.
The same thing is happening with my sweet little quiet, innocent dog/human, Seymour. It just took him a few extra days to make the change. He went into doggie daycare as a naive little dog and came out like an - animal! First, I noticed that his loyalty to me was waning - he looked forward to leaving me in the morning to be held in the arms of another woman. Then he went from a dog that wouldn't bark if someone knocked on the door to an animal that barked at tree stumps. But the worst thing is that he's starting to smell like a wet dog - all the time. He goes in to his daycare smelling of lavendar and comes out smelling of doggie poo and doggie breath, but with a smile plastered on his face.
He no longer wanted to sleep with me so I had to bribe him by lifting him into bed and massaging him until his knees and eyelids both dropped. He's not happy that he has lost control of his bedtime "attitude", but his need for a massage is a little more important than control. This gives me a flicker of hope that I can slowly get my little boy back and eventually make him forget he is an - animal. I couldn't save my kids from growing up and learning that I wasn't as smart as they are, but I think I have a chance with my dog, thanks to the fact that he'll never learn to drive, text or read self-help books. I just might get my boy back.
The same thing is happening with my sweet little quiet, innocent dog/human, Seymour. It just took him a few extra days to make the change. He went into doggie daycare as a naive little dog and came out like an - animal! First, I noticed that his loyalty to me was waning - he looked forward to leaving me in the morning to be held in the arms of another woman. Then he went from a dog that wouldn't bark if someone knocked on the door to an animal that barked at tree stumps. But the worst thing is that he's starting to smell like a wet dog - all the time. He goes in to his daycare smelling of lavendar and comes out smelling of doggie poo and doggie breath, but with a smile plastered on his face.
He no longer wanted to sleep with me so I had to bribe him by lifting him into bed and massaging him until his knees and eyelids both dropped. He's not happy that he has lost control of his bedtime "attitude", but his need for a massage is a little more important than control. This gives me a flicker of hope that I can slowly get my little boy back and eventually make him forget he is an - animal. I couldn't save my kids from growing up and learning that I wasn't as smart as they are, but I think I have a chance with my dog, thanks to the fact that he'll never learn to drive, text or read self-help books. I just might get my boy back.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Baggers' Humor
The job as a grocery bagger isn't glam or high paying. Most people hardly notice them, unless they do something wrong. So they have to at least make their job entertaining - for themselves. Now that I realize that, I can appreciate- but still not like - their antics. Like when they put a bag of donuts on the counter in front of the customer, instead of in a bag - notice they don't ever look at you when they do that - probably because they couldn't hold back the laughter if they did.
I especially like how they put a loaf of bread in a bag by itself yet put four, three liter bottles of soda in another bag. When you go to pick up both bags, you feel one arm being pulled out of it's socket as it stretches toward the ground while the other arm is lifting something so light it causes you to lose your balance and look like someone put a cane around your neck and is quickly dragging you out of the store - sideways. I think the baggers like that move the best.
What about the baggers that stop to look at what you bought and then covertly stare at you. "Yes, I bought 3 large boxes of extra long maxi pads - but I'm doing a craft project." "Yes, that is a six-pack of fleet enemas, but they are for my neighbor". "Yes, I remember that I bought 2 jumbo bags of Halloween candy 2 days ago, and you commented on that then, also." "Yes, those are rat and roach traps - do you want to come over for dinner?" And why do I think I have to explain anything to those "paper or plastic" demons?
Seriously, if I didn't get so confused at the self-checkout stations, I would not put myself through that torment. Now, when I check out, I not only look at the length of the line, but also at who is doing the bagging. ("I can't go to that bagger. He saw me buy 4 Weight Watcher's Dinners, a bag of potato chips and a Boston Cream Pie - yesterday) I've even taken to wearing different hats and sunglasses, but those baggers must have to have photographic memory skills to be hired.
When my daughter was little, she went through a phase where she would not go out of the house with me unless she had a paper bag over her head - I think she was on to something! "Paper, please!"
I especially like how they put a loaf of bread in a bag by itself yet put four, three liter bottles of soda in another bag. When you go to pick up both bags, you feel one arm being pulled out of it's socket as it stretches toward the ground while the other arm is lifting something so light it causes you to lose your balance and look like someone put a cane around your neck and is quickly dragging you out of the store - sideways. I think the baggers like that move the best.
What about the baggers that stop to look at what you bought and then covertly stare at you. "Yes, I bought 3 large boxes of extra long maxi pads - but I'm doing a craft project." "Yes, that is a six-pack of fleet enemas, but they are for my neighbor". "Yes, I remember that I bought 2 jumbo bags of Halloween candy 2 days ago, and you commented on that then, also." "Yes, those are rat and roach traps - do you want to come over for dinner?" And why do I think I have to explain anything to those "paper or plastic" demons?
Seriously, if I didn't get so confused at the self-checkout stations, I would not put myself through that torment. Now, when I check out, I not only look at the length of the line, but also at who is doing the bagging. ("I can't go to that bagger. He saw me buy 4 Weight Watcher's Dinners, a bag of potato chips and a Boston Cream Pie - yesterday) I've even taken to wearing different hats and sunglasses, but those baggers must have to have photographic memory skills to be hired.
When my daughter was little, she went through a phase where she would not go out of the house with me unless she had a paper bag over her head - I think she was on to something! "Paper, please!"
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
At Least I'm Consistent
I don't get it. Just about every time I have to make a choice - I choose wrong. I know there are other people like me, especially in grocery stores. You scan the check-out lines to pick the shortest one or the one with people with the fewest groceries and find that "perfect" line - you think. Nope, you again chose the wrong line. But, there seems to always be someone else in the same line who comments that they too, end up choosing the line with people needing a price check, a personal check written, or a mental check. I wish I could discretely ask people in my line if they are check-out challenged, so I can make a less wrong choice. I could lie, to no one in particular "I am pretty good at choosing check out lines" and if someone comments, "Well, I'm glad I'm in your line", I can respond - to no one in particular - "Oh, I forgot to get . . ." and quickly leave that line. I just don't want to find myself looking like the Pied Piper with hapless shoppers following me to my check out line thinking I'm the chosen one.
So, I am now having to drive in traffic every day to a new job. For part of the trip, there are 3 lanes. Since I have had lots of time sitting in traffic, watching cars all around me whizzing by, I've done some mental calculations of which lane I should be in at what part of my trip. I usually give it two days of "study" before I make the "lane" committment. It seems that the left or right hand lanes move faster than the middle lane. So, I choose, say, the right lane - the faster, don't use it unless you are speeding lane - and traffic screeches to a halt moments after someone finally lets me in. I can not understand why the "fast" lane is at a dead stop when the other 2 lanes are breezing by. How can the right lane, where people are entering the freeway, be traffic - free while I sit at a stand still entertaining myself by trying to name all 50 States - and capitals - and flowers. I'm thinking of getting a bumper sticker that says "Honk if you always choose the wrong lane" so I have a bit of help here.
Is George Burns my guardian angel? I can just see him laughing so hard, he's choking on his cigar and thanking his lucky stars he was matched with me. I do believe the voice in my head, helping me to make choices is a raspy male voice - I'm just saying.
So, I am now having to drive in traffic every day to a new job. For part of the trip, there are 3 lanes. Since I have had lots of time sitting in traffic, watching cars all around me whizzing by, I've done some mental calculations of which lane I should be in at what part of my trip. I usually give it two days of "study" before I make the "lane" committment. It seems that the left or right hand lanes move faster than the middle lane. So, I choose, say, the right lane - the faster, don't use it unless you are speeding lane - and traffic screeches to a halt moments after someone finally lets me in. I can not understand why the "fast" lane is at a dead stop when the other 2 lanes are breezing by. How can the right lane, where people are entering the freeway, be traffic - free while I sit at a stand still entertaining myself by trying to name all 50 States - and capitals - and flowers. I'm thinking of getting a bumper sticker that says "Honk if you always choose the wrong lane" so I have a bit of help here.
Is George Burns my guardian angel? I can just see him laughing so hard, he's choking on his cigar and thanking his lucky stars he was matched with me. I do believe the voice in my head, helping me to make choices is a raspy male voice - I'm just saying.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Top Chef and Other Cooking Shows
I get a lot of pleasure watching cooking shows. I haven't figured out why because I'm not much of a cook, nor do I want to be. But when I do want to cook, I have about 50 different cook books to make me feel inadequate. What I find interesting is that in all of these cooking shows, no one uses a recipe! How is that possible? Even when I make something from memory, like a smoothie, I forget to put something in it. After I taste it, I'll remember that I should have added a banana or if I have to eat it with a spoon and chisel, I will remember that I need to add more liquid next time.
These people make fancy dishes like homemade pasta and stuffed frog legs - recipe free! And I don't see any Sarah Palin-like writing on their hands, either. I really am impressed with their memories. I can't even tell you the name of a movie I saw last week, let alone the ingredients in Baba Ghanoush. I have no idea what that is, but I like saying it.
I think I might do better on a show liked "Chopped". That is where 4 chefs are given a number of strange ingredients in a basket and they have to make an appetizer, main course or dessert. None really know what they are going to make so they pretty much wing it. I can do that. I can grab a bunch of ingredients, toss them together, cook them, throw some sauce on top and give it to the judges to taste. I wouldn't even think of trying my food myself. It might be fun to even be the first one eliminated just to see some judges have to eat what I threw together. That would be priceless - and prizeless!
Maybe I'm enamoured with these shows because even experienced chefs all get kicked off and there is only one winner. It makes me feel that I'm in the majority - the the bottom majority, but that's good enough. Food is for eating - not cooking!
These people make fancy dishes like homemade pasta and stuffed frog legs - recipe free! And I don't see any Sarah Palin-like writing on their hands, either. I really am impressed with their memories. I can't even tell you the name of a movie I saw last week, let alone the ingredients in Baba Ghanoush. I have no idea what that is, but I like saying it.
I think I might do better on a show liked "Chopped". That is where 4 chefs are given a number of strange ingredients in a basket and they have to make an appetizer, main course or dessert. None really know what they are going to make so they pretty much wing it. I can do that. I can grab a bunch of ingredients, toss them together, cook them, throw some sauce on top and give it to the judges to taste. I wouldn't even think of trying my food myself. It might be fun to even be the first one eliminated just to see some judges have to eat what I threw together. That would be priceless - and prizeless!
Maybe I'm enamoured with these shows because even experienced chefs all get kicked off and there is only one winner. It makes me feel that I'm in the majority - the the bottom majority, but that's good enough. Food is for eating - not cooking!
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