"OPA!"
The Greek call resonated from a bathroom stall directly across from me. In response, 2 additional calls of "OPA!" answered, followed by gails of laughter and looks of shock. This call was issued after the chick in stall #3 dropped her glass full of booze onto the tiled bathroom floor and every annoyed somewhat-sober girl looked on in dismay. Finally, after a few minutes of incoherent mumbles, Chick-in-Stall #3 emerged, wobby-legged and too-high heeled and sauntered over to the sink where she at least had the common sense to wash her hands and still use soap.
Finally, Stall #1 opened and my friend emerged, not quite as drunk as Chick-from-Stall #3 but still drunk enough to have her awesomeness magnified by 100.
Exit Chick-from-Stall #3.
"She's the one from who dropped her glass," I said.
"I know: I'm the one who yelled 'OPA!'"
And so was my Saturday night - a fabulous one at that. Actually, the entire day was fabulous, where I drove down to Mississauga to meet some wonderful people and celebrate my friends 26th! I havent seen her since about April so it was double the fun! And double the fun now that I can celebrate sufficiently and not worry about walking distance and so forth and breathing! Such a blessing! It was a wonderful 2 day spectacular and I look forward to (hopefully!) many more like it:)
But random-rediculous-shouts-of -"OPA!" -resonating -from- a -bathroom- stall wasn't the only random thing to occur. I have never witnessed so many people pass out as I did this night in one spot. I don't know if there's some mysterious magnet in that part of the floor of the bar that makes incredibly drunk people pass out but whatever it is, it works like a charm.
We hadn't even been at this pub for an hour when the first one went down - standing up. Seeing incredibly drunk chicks so intoxicated that they pass out standing up is just not cool. I mean, it's funny, but like, people don't realize how bad it makes them look. Sure, it has happened to me but that was years ago and I had just gotten over Norwalk and was only 79lbs and drunk on Tequila. Not my fault...
The second one went down right in the middle of the floor and took a random dude with her. Wiped out right flat on her ass and brought down those around her. I don't think she was so intoxicated that she passed out but rather slipped and fell. Still, it was the same spot.
The 3rd/4th (seeing as #2 took a spill with a random spectator) was a dude who was at least making a conscious effort to not pass out whilst trying to stand up. He swayed back and forth repeatedly, thus shoving me repeatedly into the shoddily (probably stapled on) table -top -to- a -barrel that made our table. Shove shove shove I went. Back and forth drunk dude went. At one point he was squashed between two other guys who just happened to realize they knew eachother, and when they raised their hands over him to high-five they punched him in the head. He didn't even notice but he did sway a little away from me and fucked off to go pass out on someone else.
Marvelous darling, marvelous.
We left the pub at 2:30. I was really tired and kind of sat there the whole night like an unenthusiastic log (which i'm regretting now) but suffice it to say i DID have a blast! It was just really croweded which i'm still trying to get used to which is why i sat there but enough of that. I HAD TONS OF FUN NONETHELESS.
We parked far, far away and found my friends car eventually, after a long stop at a hotdog stand on-demand. We passed a car accident on the way home and didn't fall asleep till 5:30. We were all freezing and everyone made fun of my paw mittens (citing they were 'immasculating' if i gave them to man and that they looked like children's mittens. My mum even commented that I needed some 'adult' mits). But at least i didn't have frozen hands.
Came home yesterday exhausted (but the good kind of exhausted) and in the foggy rain, sad to be leaving my wonderful weekend behind. Overall i had a frigging blast and would do it again. I am so happy and thankful for everything!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
First Aerobics Class: HUGE FAIL
So I woke up all stoked to be doing a beginners aerobics class. Being a former dancer I thought it would be super easy but figured i should start slow as to not fuck anything with myself up.
So i ate my oatmeal and zoomed off to the club at 10:15. Class started at 10:30. Go figures I was the only one under the age of 40 but I didn't care. We get into the studio and it starts off with walking on the spot.
This is where i encountered my first problem.
My pants are too long and as a result the crotch sags hugely thus hindering walking on the spot adventures. My knees wouldn't go up too high b/c of the saggy crotchness. So there was that. Then the fact that I have no idea the co-ordination of how this aerobics instructor was going to about her things. I was arguably the most uncoordinated person there. I beleived that having several years of dance experience behind me that I would automatically be better than everyone else, but truth be told, when my limbs started flailing and I heard the instructor laugh into her mic as she caught a glimpse of me drowning in the middle of the workout floor through the mirror, that i was more than a little fucked.
Marching marching marching like damn soldiers. Lift your leg here, lose it there, flail your arm here, whack older woman next to you there. For safety's sake just stop moving and bend over and act out of breath to reduce the chance of injuring those around you when your limbs break off and fly all over the place. I was not - i repeat, not - out of breath in any capactiy, but it was my legs. THEY WERE ON FIRE. FIRE I TELLS YOU. How my thighs didn't just burn through my pants and set the place ablaze is beyond me, but when the marching refused to stop and my legs were burning beyond all withstandable pain, i had to 'get a drink' and beelined it to the door. I didn't want to offend the instructor but I just couldn't keep up. At one point i even got dizzy and felt like i would puke and that was the last straw. I guess instead of eating right before you should eat an hour before?
Or something to that effect...
As i was leaving the studio - dressed shamefully - i noticed that had i stayed just 2 seconds longer i would've made it to the 'cool down' yoga portion which would've been my saving grace. I fucking hate feeling lazy and i feel fat and really bad about myself today b/c i couldn't keep up.
But never fear, I will try again next week!!
So i ate my oatmeal and zoomed off to the club at 10:15. Class started at 10:30. Go figures I was the only one under the age of 40 but I didn't care. We get into the studio and it starts off with walking on the spot.
This is where i encountered my first problem.
My pants are too long and as a result the crotch sags hugely thus hindering walking on the spot adventures. My knees wouldn't go up too high b/c of the saggy crotchness. So there was that. Then the fact that I have no idea the co-ordination of how this aerobics instructor was going to about her things. I was arguably the most uncoordinated person there. I beleived that having several years of dance experience behind me that I would automatically be better than everyone else, but truth be told, when my limbs started flailing and I heard the instructor laugh into her mic as she caught a glimpse of me drowning in the middle of the workout floor through the mirror, that i was more than a little fucked.
Marching marching marching like damn soldiers. Lift your leg here, lose it there, flail your arm here, whack older woman next to you there. For safety's sake just stop moving and bend over and act out of breath to reduce the chance of injuring those around you when your limbs break off and fly all over the place. I was not - i repeat, not - out of breath in any capactiy, but it was my legs. THEY WERE ON FIRE. FIRE I TELLS YOU. How my thighs didn't just burn through my pants and set the place ablaze is beyond me, but when the marching refused to stop and my legs were burning beyond all withstandable pain, i had to 'get a drink' and beelined it to the door. I didn't want to offend the instructor but I just couldn't keep up. At one point i even got dizzy and felt like i would puke and that was the last straw. I guess instead of eating right before you should eat an hour before?
Or something to that effect...
As i was leaving the studio - dressed shamefully - i noticed that had i stayed just 2 seconds longer i would've made it to the 'cool down' yoga portion which would've been my saving grace. I fucking hate feeling lazy and i feel fat and really bad about myself today b/c i couldn't keep up.
But never fear, I will try again next week!!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
When Doctors do Weird/Human things
like...
- eat muffins
- kiss babies
- spit in your eye by accident
- walking babies
- with their family
- smoking
- eating in general
- on their blackberries
- laughing at normal things
- laughing with friends
- doing non-medical things
- sleeping
- wearing clothes that aren't scrubs
- wear winter coats
- doing nothing
- sitting down
- talk about person shit that doesn't pertain to you
Have you seen doctors doing normal things? Normal things that for doctors, thus become weird? Alex and I are having this conversation and we came up with quite the list.
What are your observations of bizarrenes?
In other news, the trip to TO was good yesterday. No more amphotericin nebs, down to 15mg of pred, arranging port-o-cath surgery, and am taking T2's again after being mauled by an over-enthusiastic doctor yesterday who crushed me.
"Great to see you!" *squish*
- eat muffins
- kiss babies
- spit in your eye by accident
- drool accidentally whilst talking to you
- are seen in public doing normal things- walking babies
- with their family
- smoking
- eating in general
- on their blackberries
- laughing at normal things
- laughing with friends
- doing non-medical things
- sleeping
- wearing clothes that aren't scrubs
- wear winter coats
- doing nothing
- sitting down
- talk about person shit that doesn't pertain to you
Have you seen doctors doing normal things? Normal things that for doctors, thus become weird? Alex and I are having this conversation and we came up with quite the list.
What are your observations of bizarrenes?
In other news, the trip to TO was good yesterday. No more amphotericin nebs, down to 15mg of pred, arranging port-o-cath surgery, and am taking T2's again after being mauled by an over-enthusiastic doctor yesterday who crushed me.
"Great to see you!" *squish*
Saturday, November 21, 2009
"Unofficially", of course
Let's go back....
Chronics
Chapter 1: “Unofficially” – of course
This is not the kind of story you want to fall in love with – because to fall in love with it, is to fall in love with hurt, pain, misery, and death. But maybe, just maybe, through all the showers of tears and rage, you can find a smattering of joy, a sprinkling of happiness, and a whole lot of laughter.
After all, when life hands you an illness…spread it
* * * * * *
January 2007
I sat in Dr. Mary’s office. She was a smallish woman with short brown hair and monkey teeth. Extremely scary to me when we first met, I soon learned that if I became a compliant patient and heeded her advice, she would like me a lot more. After 2 successful years of terror(or so I felt), I could feel something – maybe genuine like for me - seeping from her and infiltrating the air around me.
But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe she had something horrible to tell me, like I was dying. Oh my god, that’s it! Oh my god start planning now! my mind screamed.
I felt panic-stricken.
Dr. Mary removed her glasses and eyed me. “Stop looking like that,” she chided.
I clutched my chest. “Like what? Like I’m dying?!” I asked.
She wrinkled her eyebrows. “You’re not dying,” she informed me flatly. “But you’re not getting any better either.”
And this is when I found out I needed a lung transplant.
Unofficially, of course.
I felt the sudden urge to ask Dr. Mary – unofficially of course – if she did in fact, hate or like me, or if she was impartial to both. Maybe she had no feelings about me after all…
Maybe she had no feelings.
Maybe she hated the world and all its tiny children.
Maybe she was a Grinch. After all, she was wearing green today. A festive Grinch.
So there I sat in her hard wooden chair, flashes of tiny children, Grinches, and hatred hot on my brain. Her words – mere doctoral smatterings – failed to reach me, and instead floated into my ears through a concrete tunnel.
“Bree? Are you actually listening to me?” Insert pen tapping angry notebook here. Insert doctor who may or may not hate me, there.
“You said I need a lung transplant.” The wall ahead of me was concaved I noticed.
Dr. Mary sighed.
“Not exactly; you’re still a while off. I had a man as a patient with your lung condition who waited 10 years before deciding it was time for one.” Pen tap.
10 years, I thought. Holy fuck. What a miserable life. Not for me, my mind decided.
Dr. Mary droned on, on to the point that she took the shape and form and sound of a Charlie Brown teacher. Time slowed, babies stopped being born, and she concluded the appointment with the ever-impressionable statement:
“And in the future – lung transplant.”
I was 21; I was 21 and I needed a lung transplant.
“Unofficially”, of course.
* * * *
I skidded, slipped, and slided my way to my ’93 red Ford Tempo shittily parked across the street. The act of slipping and almost falling (subsequently breaking my head apart) left me out of breath. I threw my body into the drivers seat, turned the car on, blasted the heat, and started crying. I cried so hard that my short – of-breathness got worse with the effort of being upset. This just made me more upset.
A lung transplant, my mind reminded me, as if I had forgotten.
I hit the steering wheel. I was having an Oprah moment, where you see a guest talking about a profound or impactful moment that makes go ‘aha!’, or has some great markings on their life.
In my case, this was more like a skid mark. Profound; but at the age of 21, not for the right reasons.
A lung transplant. How does ones brain acknowledge that? How can you register and go about accepting that? Ever?
You don’t.
You put your car in reverse, back out of your shittily parked spot, and you get the hell home.
And then you forget about it.
Chronics
Chapter 1: “Unofficially” – of course
This is not the kind of story you want to fall in love with – because to fall in love with it, is to fall in love with hurt, pain, misery, and death. But maybe, just maybe, through all the showers of tears and rage, you can find a smattering of joy, a sprinkling of happiness, and a whole lot of laughter.
After all, when life hands you an illness…spread it
* * * * * *
January 2007
I sat in Dr. Mary’s office. She was a smallish woman with short brown hair and monkey teeth. Extremely scary to me when we first met, I soon learned that if I became a compliant patient and heeded her advice, she would like me a lot more. After 2 successful years of terror(or so I felt), I could feel something – maybe genuine like for me - seeping from her and infiltrating the air around me.
But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe she had something horrible to tell me, like I was dying. Oh my god, that’s it! Oh my god start planning now! my mind screamed.
I felt panic-stricken.
Dr. Mary removed her glasses and eyed me. “Stop looking like that,” she chided.
I clutched my chest. “Like what? Like I’m dying?!” I asked.
She wrinkled her eyebrows. “You’re not dying,” she informed me flatly. “But you’re not getting any better either.”
And this is when I found out I needed a lung transplant.
Unofficially, of course.
I felt the sudden urge to ask Dr. Mary – unofficially of course – if she did in fact, hate or like me, or if she was impartial to both. Maybe she had no feelings about me after all…
Maybe she had no feelings.
Maybe she hated the world and all its tiny children.
Maybe she was a Grinch. After all, she was wearing green today. A festive Grinch.
So there I sat in her hard wooden chair, flashes of tiny children, Grinches, and hatred hot on my brain. Her words – mere doctoral smatterings – failed to reach me, and instead floated into my ears through a concrete tunnel.
“Bree? Are you actually listening to me?” Insert pen tapping angry notebook here. Insert doctor who may or may not hate me, there.
“You said I need a lung transplant.” The wall ahead of me was concaved I noticed.
Dr. Mary sighed.
“Not exactly; you’re still a while off. I had a man as a patient with your lung condition who waited 10 years before deciding it was time for one.” Pen tap.
10 years, I thought. Holy fuck. What a miserable life. Not for me, my mind decided.
Dr. Mary droned on, on to the point that she took the shape and form and sound of a Charlie Brown teacher. Time slowed, babies stopped being born, and she concluded the appointment with the ever-impressionable statement:
“And in the future – lung transplant.”
I was 21; I was 21 and I needed a lung transplant.
“Unofficially”, of course.
* * * *
I skidded, slipped, and slided my way to my ’93 red Ford Tempo shittily parked across the street. The act of slipping and almost falling (subsequently breaking my head apart) left me out of breath. I threw my body into the drivers seat, turned the car on, blasted the heat, and started crying. I cried so hard that my short – of-breathness got worse with the effort of being upset. This just made me more upset.
A lung transplant, my mind reminded me, as if I had forgotten.
I hit the steering wheel. I was having an Oprah moment, where you see a guest talking about a profound or impactful moment that makes go ‘aha!’, or has some great markings on their life.
In my case, this was more like a skid mark. Profound; but at the age of 21, not for the right reasons.
A lung transplant. How does ones brain acknowledge that? How can you register and go about accepting that? Ever?
You don’t.
You put your car in reverse, back out of your shittily parked spot, and you get the hell home.
And then you forget about it.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Technology this...
...technology that.
Are we really so lazy these days that we can't carry books around in our bags and need some contraption created by Amazon to digitally upload books to read? Are our fingers so crippled from fucking around on BlackBerry and Facebook and MSN that we physically can't bring ourselves to flip a damn page anymore and have to resort to merely touching a 'one-touch' button and have some computer chip do it for us? Because that's where it seems the world is going.
I just saw a little news feature on an iBook, where, god forbid people set foot in a book store and roam around whilst looking for desired literature to enjoy...No, lets just go online, upload the book, and only enjoy the 10% of it.
I dunno about you, but maybe I truely am a book whore. Maybe i put too much emphasis on having the physical thing in my hands. I like the feel of books - the weight, the design, the feel of the pages and covers and stuff...I like the smells of new and old books...and I like watching my collection grow!
I think if i had an iBook I would cry, b/c i'd have nothing to show for my sick addiction. There'd be no sense of accomplishment at the end b/c there's nothing to book mark all the pages you've actually read through. It's just touch, touch, touch, you're done. I dunno.
Maybe I have mental issues. Clearly i've put too much thought into the iBook.
Still no mailage from the Wildertimes. I'm beginning to think Canada Post hates my soul. To quote Jenna, "If Canada Post had a crotch to kick..."
Which i aptly came up the rear and replied with, "I'd kick it right in its ambiguous genitalia."
Today will be spent in my new Reading Hole - a lovely tiny couch located away from the kitchen and thus food and all the way over in the living room, where i will promptly melt into the asthetically ancient fabric of the 1980's style couch and into the world of either An Echo in the Bone, Galway Bay, or Dawn on a Distant Shore...
Are we really so lazy these days that we can't carry books around in our bags and need some contraption created by Amazon to digitally upload books to read? Are our fingers so crippled from fucking around on BlackBerry and Facebook and MSN that we physically can't bring ourselves to flip a damn page anymore and have to resort to merely touching a 'one-touch' button and have some computer chip do it for us? Because that's where it seems the world is going.
I just saw a little news feature on an iBook, where, god forbid people set foot in a book store and roam around whilst looking for desired literature to enjoy...No, lets just go online, upload the book, and only enjoy the 10% of it.
I dunno about you, but maybe I truely am a book whore. Maybe i put too much emphasis on having the physical thing in my hands. I like the feel of books - the weight, the design, the feel of the pages and covers and stuff...I like the smells of new and old books...and I like watching my collection grow!
I think if i had an iBook I would cry, b/c i'd have nothing to show for my sick addiction. There'd be no sense of accomplishment at the end b/c there's nothing to book mark all the pages you've actually read through. It's just touch, touch, touch, you're done. I dunno.
Maybe I have mental issues. Clearly i've put too much thought into the iBook.
Still no mailage from the Wildertimes. I'm beginning to think Canada Post hates my soul. To quote Jenna, "If Canada Post had a crotch to kick..."
Which i aptly came up the rear and replied with, "I'd kick it right in its ambiguous genitalia."
Today will be spent in my new Reading Hole - a lovely tiny couch located away from the kitchen and thus food and all the way over in the living room, where i will promptly melt into the asthetically ancient fabric of the 1980's style couch and into the world of either An Echo in the Bone, Galway Bay, or Dawn on a Distant Shore...
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Magical
it's the end of the world as we know it, and i just danced in my kitchen in my rolled up sweatpants and my dance-style socks, with the best cup of tea i've made in days, and i feel fine.
life is beautiful.
now if only my friends were here to dance silly-style with me...
Still no postcardage from the untrustworthy Canada Post. I besmirch thy name you unreliable people you. But it's ok, mailage is coming. No dreams of it yet.
Back to dancing alone. Should probably not stomp and jump around as much as I am (not out of breath either - amazing!)for fear I may tear myself open and/or lose a boob since i can't really feel them.
What would my dance teacher say?
Probably something along the lines of, "well as long as you're wearing a good supportive sports bra....and we're dancers; not elephants!"
Loves it.
life is beautiful.
now if only my friends were here to dance silly-style with me...
Still no postcardage from the untrustworthy Canada Post. I besmirch thy name you unreliable people you. But it's ok, mailage is coming. No dreams of it yet.
Back to dancing alone. Should probably not stomp and jump around as much as I am (not out of breath either - amazing!)for fear I may tear myself open and/or lose a boob since i can't really feel them.
What would my dance teacher say?
Probably something along the lines of, "well as long as you're wearing a good supportive sports bra....and we're dancers; not elephants!"
Loves it.
Monday, November 16, 2009
I besmirch thee, Canada Post!
*shakes fist in rage*
GIVE ME MY DAMN POSTAGE! I MAVE MAILABLES ON THE WAY! The friends have already received their exciting arrivals and I have yet to have 1 single shred of excitement to rip open.
*falls on floor and screams*
Jenna broke her silence and admitted to me she mailed something to us lovely ladies last week whilst frollicking up in the Wildnerness. Seeing as she and the Yukon live 4 hours away from the nearest dot of civilization, the letters had to be dropped off while on a trip 'into town'. Katey and Krystal have received theirs; I have not.
I am angry.
I want my mailables, damnitt. I want them now!
Now, i am not too shocked it hasnt arrived yet. Usually my spidey senses clue me in and i'll dream about it and bam, it arrives the next day. But so far, no dreams about postage lovin' fun.
But still!
*strangles mailbox*
GIVE ME MY DAMN POSTAGE! I MAVE MAILABLES ON THE WAY! The friends have already received their exciting arrivals and I have yet to have 1 single shred of excitement to rip open.
*falls on floor and screams*
Jenna broke her silence and admitted to me she mailed something to us lovely ladies last week whilst frollicking up in the Wildnerness. Seeing as she and the Yukon live 4 hours away from the nearest dot of civilization, the letters had to be dropped off while on a trip 'into town'. Katey and Krystal have received theirs; I have not.
I am angry.
I want my mailables, damnitt. I want them now!
Now, i am not too shocked it hasnt arrived yet. Usually my spidey senses clue me in and i'll dream about it and bam, it arrives the next day. But so far, no dreams about postage lovin' fun.
But still!
*strangles mailbox*
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