Tag Archives: Michael Jackson

Stuff that happened this week that I thought was worth mentioning …

Posted on February 17, 2012 | 8 comments

Today’s Weight … 120.8

It’s been five days since I checked in here. Glad to see that number down a bit. Pretty impressive considering the cheese consumption in this household this week. And we’re now headed into Mardi Gras weekend. The good news is … lots of walking. The bad … lots of food … and drink. Sigh. Promise to be honest with the stupid weigh-ins. Ugh.

Don’t get it? Check this post.

1. I attended a Polyphonic Spree concert with my brother and my friend, Vanessa. I realize most of you probably aren’t familiar with this band, so please allow me to pontificate. There’s something about their music (especially live) that elicits an inexplicable feeling of euphoria usually only indicative of a nice muscle relaxant. Or, well, something like that. Maybe it’s the 16 people taking the stage at once wearing choir robes and carrying with them an orchestra’s worth of instruments that sets them apart. I don’t know. And, because I’m a big dork, I stuck around after the concert to meet the band’s frontman, Tim DeLaughter (even his freakin’ name sounds happy) and snap a quick photo. I’ve included the picture as well as a shameless plug for the band (a video of their appearance on Scrubs in 2004 – Love this band. Love this show).

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2. While Googling the above song for a good video for this post, I was reminded of a movie (in which the song was used) that I always intended but never actually got around to seeing. (Story of my life.) So this week, thanks to Netflix, I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Anyone besides me ever see it? That is one unconventional film. And it involves Jim Carrey in a serious (as opposed to manically stupid) role which (like Robin Williams) is always a good thing. I won’t ruin it for you by rehashing the whole plot. Just go see it for yourself some time and come back and tell me what you think.

3. Ellen DeGeneres used one of my jokes on her show this week. “ONE of my.” That’s funny. Like I have an arsenal or something. Anyway, she was seeking corny Valentine’s Day jokes and I tweeted her one. What’s that? Well, YES, I tweet. It’s 2012, McFly. (Great. Any hipness Twitter just bought me was erased by my cavalier use of ‘McFly.’)

4. I lost half of my face to a little snafu with a women’s skin care product, uncharacteristically cold weather and my own, full-on ignorance. Apparently, Retin-A does not double as a moisturizer. I’ll bet any woman worth her salt already knew that. In the area of cosmetics and girly savoir faire, I am not worth any salt, mine or anyone else’s. Which, apparently, is only about $2.99 per pound, thus rendering me pretty useless. Except that when I complained of my Retin-A debacle, one friend actually said I was ‘making leprosy cool.’ Um, thanks?

5. I made cheese. Yes, that’s right. I built it. From the ground up … or the milk up, as it were. There were powders, liquids, cooking thermometers and oversized, cauldron-y-looking pots involved. And then there was the whole curds-and-whey-separation, a rather tedious process. And kneading. Dear God, was there kneading. But, in the end, there was cheese. Mozzarella cheese. That we promptly used on a homemade pizza for dinner last night. I made cheese. (Sniff.) I may try walking on water later this weekend.

6. I watched my girl kick butt in her third year in the school talent show. She channeled a young Michael Jackson beautifully in her own take on ‘I Want You Back,” although I think she was going for Nickelodeon’s Victoria Justice who recently covered the old J5 song. And, as always, we got to see a lot of other kids strutting their best stuff on stage all evening. One of my favorite acts involved two nine-year-old white boys popping and locking better than a 1980s Alfonso Ribeiro. (Without googling him, please comment below if you actually know who I’m talking about. No cheating!)

7. With the help of a few friends, I compiled a list of of people we’d like to see cloned and sent it to @GeneticsView who (foolishly) decided to follow me on Twitter. They hung in there for most of my shenanigans but finally unfollowed me because, I think, I got greedy and asked for too many clones. Who was on the list, you ask? Using the input of others as well as my own ideas, we sent them the following names: Brad Pitt, Jane Russell, Johnny Depp, Julia Child, Bono, Ellen Degeneres and Orlando Bloom. We were really just getting started when they unfollowed. Cowards. What crappy customer service.

8. I learned that I am an unteachable monkey when it comes to the computer. As such, there will likely be many more ‘This is not a real blog post‘ blog posts until I get this crap straightened out. Feel free to ignore them.

9. I learned that I know someone who knows Paul McCartney. That’s only two degrees, people. Meaning YOU are only three degrees of separation from Sir Paul. Go run and update your Facebook statuses … now!

10. I accidentally emailed my kids’ teachers from my ‘tits’ email again. Bear in mind, my daughter’s teachers include a nun. Please say a prayer for me immediately.

11. I an effort to throw off the many cheesy porn autobots of the world, I tried reprogramming my Twitter account by using hashtags like #Osmonds, #GirlScouts, #PBS, #BillCosby, #7thHeaven, #milk, #Crazy8s and #Waltons. It worked, but only for about five hours.

12. I devoted a day of my life to thinking good thoughts about Doug Henning. Doug Henning, you guys! Am I the only one who misses his big, buck teeth? Did you know he was a magician, illusionist, escape artist AND politician? Didn’t see that one coming, did you? A moment of silence for Mr. Henning, please.

Oh, yeah. And we passed 25,000 hits on this six-month-old blog. Yay, us! Thanks to all for reading. Happy Mardi Gras! I’m off to THE paradeS. 

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From Girl Scout cookies to baby Michael Jackson

Posted on February 2, 2012 | 4 comments

Today’s Weight … 121.4

Not bad considering there was late night hummus and crackers involved.

Don’t get it? Check this post.

You’ll be happy to know that, 24 hours later, the Girl Scout cookie sale total now stands at a somewhat respectable 93, thanks to a certain restaurateur (that spelling is correct – I looked it up) in town who ordered 39!

Yes, it’s a weird number.  But when someone orders 39 boxes of cookies from your child, you don’t ask …“Why?  Why not an even 40?  Do you need a number that is equally divisible by 13? Should I be worried about that? You do know that these are Girl Scout cookies, right? Wholesome Girl Scout cookies.” Instead, you simply smile and say, “Why, thank you, ma’am, for supporting the Louisiana Girl Scouts Council.  May I ask where you would like your cookies delivered? And, my, what a lovely blouse you’re wearing today.”

And, if you’re wondering what 93 boxes of cookies will score you, take comfort in the fact that my girl has earned the theme patch (60+), the chump 2012 patch (36+) and the (lame) participation certificate (1).  I think that last one was created for the sad, little paste-eaters. (“You’re all winners to me!”)  

After these patches comes stuff (i.e. hoarder-house-clutter).  Incentives like sneaker-shaped pencil pouches, plush giraffe neck pillows and glittery soccer balls are among the many exciting prizes she can earn to help fill the nooks and crannies of our home.  I’m not too worried about them.  But I know she is.  Poor thing never stood a chance with my two-day sales blitz. Anyway, please wish my sweet girl luck tomorrow as she auditions for the school Variety Show.  She’s done it a few years now and this year will be performing a great little number she picked out on her own. Enjoy!

Dave & I offered to be her back up.  She declined. And we had moves and everything. Sigh.

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Tales from inside the MRI tube

Posted on November 18, 2011 | 9 comments

I had my MRI bright and early this morning, a feat in and of itself for my mom and me to get there on time. I didn’t really know what to expect again as I’ve been a ridiculously healthy person all my life. (Thanks to those of you who attempted to prepare me verbally.) There was a little paperwork to fill out beforehand which I did mindlessly for about the dozenth time in the last few months. When I brought it back to the receptionist, I asked about the procedure and couldn’t figure out why she was staring at me as if I showed up at the medical center painted blue and walking a duck on a leash. And then I realized what I said,

When I go in for the MRI, will I be wearing only my wedding gown?

I guess I was more nervous than I thought … and maybe still a little Xanax’ed. I tried to correct myself but then the word ‘bridal’ then came out of my mouth. What the F was wrong with my brain? I finally forced my mouth to spit out the word ‘hospital’ and she smiled and said yes, probably moving her letter openers and other sharp instruments from the counter to underneath her desk as I walked away.

I sat only a few more minutes until they called my name. When I walked past my mom to go to the back with the tech, she reached up and high-fived me. ??? I was, of course, expecting a more stereotypical hug and words of encouragement from this very sentimental woman … but I think the hardwiring in her brain is a little whacked right now, too.

The tech brought me to a dressing room where I changed into my HOSPITAL gown and then moved on with her into the MRI room. I lay on the table with a wedge pillow under my knees while she put an egg crate cushion and then the brains of the whole device on my chest. She gave me a ‘panic ball’ (which looked a hell of a lot like a nasal aspirator) to hold in my left hand in case I felt the need for immediate ejection from the tube. She asked if I wanted my eyes covered to avoid feelings of claustrophobia. I said yes. And she placed the headphones on my ears. Friends told me to bring my iPod but I forgot. And I wouldn’t have been able to use it anyway. Her headphones allowed her to talk with me and play music between her instructions. She asked what I wanted to listen to and my mind went blank. ‘What are my choices?’ I asked, completely spoiled by the XM radio menu in my car. “Anything FM,” she said. I rattled off the only local call letters I could think of and found myself quickly tuned into a New Orleans easy listening station. Lionel Richie. Great.

She left the room and began the LOUDspeaker communication … and starting sucking me into the tube, head first. Unfortunately, I instinctively opened my eyes and realized that I could see the ceiling of the tube, which I was pretty sure was so close that I could touch it with my tongue if I tried. And, no, I didn’t like it. She kept moving me into the tube until I was waist-deep within it. At that point, the movement stopped and she asked if I was okay. I said, “As long as you’re not taking me into this thing any further.” She said she wasn’t, so I exhaled and decided to keep my eyes closed and attempt to relax to the smooth stylings of now-playing REO Speedwagon.

Anyone who tells you that he can sleep in the tube is lying his ass off, by the way. The noise was incredible. It vacillated between loud siren sounds and jackhammers. I closed my eyes and pretended to be in my favorite hotel room in New York City. Those sounds are extremely commonplace there, and I hear them all the time from my bed while on vacation. This ‘happy place’ thinking seemed to work for me. Until I realized I had been holding my breath the whole time and I flinched when I suddenly had to draw in a quick breath to keep from fainting on the table. Which meant we had to do that round of tests again.

There was a lot of “Take a deep breath … and hold it …” until I often felt like I was going to faint during the whole process anyway. I don’t know if these repeated loudspeaker instructions are normal or if they were just required for me because an inflated lung is easier to inspect than a deflated one. I just did what I was told. Over and over and over again. Until they told me that they had to put in an IV to inject me with some substance to help enhance the images again. (Remember the CT scan?)

After a good bit of pain getting the IV in while I was still all covered on the table, the tech told me that the vein she was working with was no good so she’d need to do it again. She then gave me THE singlemost painful needle insertion I’ve ever experienced in my life. I actually apologized for the howl I let out. But at least the f-er was in now. And she said that this injectable dye would not give me the urinating sensation I got with the CT scan injectable. But I did get the mouth-full-of-turpentine, chemical taste again. (I honestly wonder about the damage I’m doing to myself with injectable dyes, multiple x-rays, CT scans which are said to equal 100 x-rays each, MRIs, etc.)

Now with this foreign chemical surging through my veins, they took another whole series of images … and friends like Michael Jackson, Norah Jones and Oasis kept me company. After about an hour, I was able to get up, get dressed and return to my mom, who kept herself busy on her iPad in the waiting area. My results are expected by Monday. Surgery is guaranteed, but there are still a lot of questions surrounding it that I’m hoping things like this MRI will help to answer.

More soon ….

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