Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Those with glasses can match my stride if their frames were not blown off their face in the blast. But soon the glasses will break or be misplaced or be blown off the face.
With my eyesight, others will join my coven of survivors. As their leader, I will reach out and befriend other laser vision survivors with tales of my own elective corrective vision surgery. And we will be friends. Eagle eye friends. I will befriend the remaining 2 eagles on barren earth and my eyes will speak to them. My laser vision eyes will communicate to the soul of the eagle. And then I will know why it is bald.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Peering into my toothpaste-splattered mirror, my vanity erupted into worry. Do I have to get a face-lift? How will I pay for that? Wait a minute; I don't even want to go! As quoted myself after the infamous 2001 knee reconstruction, "surgery sucks." Quicker than Quakers, my worry lines eased into a self-assured smug, I realized I had already turned the clock so far back it was a sundial. Across my Irish/German/English/Danish and foremost Scottish cheekbones stood the fountain of youth. I am the proud owner, shall I say curator or cultivator of a magnificent crop of sturdy and immovable blackheads, occasionally visited by their much beefier cousins; pimples, zits, blemishes and as the British say spots. My skin looks more the pop-star-lusting pre-teen than any card-carrying twenty-something. On the edge of embracing my chronic torrential acne, I balked, did the years and dollars I spent attempting to grind, medicate, squeeze and, my favorite,
visualize them away mean nothing? What about the hours of recreational dermatological excavations in the shower? I stood in light boxes for you, endured freezing treatments and was filled full of years of problematic pills to eradicate my acne. And yes, I did the Accutane and no, it didn't work. But I did enjoy the novel length waivers and cautions I had to sign in order to take the drug. My developing years were plagued by my constant epidermal eruptions, causing clichéd self esteemed. Now I take no "miracle pills" and may have a little too much self-esteem (if that's possible). Surprised at myself with the apparent lack of concern for my destined to be defective complexion, I realized I was an adult; scratch that, a quarter centenarian. I guess I had perspective, and I always thought that meant a vanishing point. And it did because what's a zit on my forehead? Nothing, if anything just another reason to be asked for my ID and
questioned about its authenticity.
I can say now that time was the answer; the battlefield of my face has been quiet. Occasionally bumps rise again like a long forgotten rebellion, threatening forests of hair follicles. Relatively soon, they retreat, the relinquishing their strategic pore holdings and leaving their protest signs in the sebum. What do I have to do to maintain this pallor peace? Toxic astringents? Benzoly peroxide bombings? Slaughters with salicylic acid?
Sunday, November 30, 2008
I packed a toothbrush. It didn't fit in the 1-quart bag I picked up in the security checkpoint line. I know it isn't liquid and didn't need to be screen separately but its friends were in there, you know, the mouth sore gel and the horde of lip applicants. I put the toothbrush on the bottom of my purse. Figured that would be cleaner than placing it directly on the conveyer belt through the x-ray machine. What am I supposed to do with all my toiletry accoutrements now that they have to be segregated by viscosity? My glasses, contact case and toothbrush have nowhere to live now that the pastes and ointments have to suffocate in a Ziploc. So they run free. Free as the movie stubs from The Dark Knight that haunt the corners of my purse. I suppose they could go in a case. A case for the contact case. A case for the eyeglasses. A case for the toothbrush. Too many cases. Toothbrushes are always gross anyway. If it looks dirty later, I guess I'll throw
The girl in front of me in the security line has a brand new American Girl Doll, looks like Christmas came early. I know it's new because the doll hair is still braided in the oft-imitated never-replicated sleekness of a factory fresh $90 credit charge. She got the Swedish one. Kjersten or something, there is a "J" in the name, a silent "J."
Four moving sidewalks, two escalators and a tram ride to my concourse. Concourse B is hidden out back, that's where they keep the tiny planes. Secret tiny planes. I bet we will be stealth in our arrival to ND. Invisible even. In our tiny plane. Tiny secret plane.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
I am getting a complimentary eye exam to determine if I am I good candidate for Lasik eye surgery. I think anyone willing to shell out the dollars is a good candidate, which is why part of the exam can include a financing consultation.
The clinic offered to perform the surgery right after my appointment tomorrow. I am not quite that ready yet. I just want to see if it is possible, because if it isn't, case closed. So, I am going in. When I called to make my appointment, the woman on the phone set me up and asked a bunch of questions, like "how long have you been considering Lasik." And I answered, "Since Thursday." She laughed until she realized I was serious.
I never seriously considered Lasik until Thursday. I just decided to check it out. If I had the surgery, I won't have so many contact issues, won't blink on camera so much or have to buy more cheap glasses from Hong Kong (which I might miss if Lasik makes my vision perfect).
But my real concern is about is Lasik going to be my gateway to a boob job? I can pretend all I want that I am interested in Lasik is because my eyes get infected sometimes with my contacts or something like that, but really I dig the convenience and the simplification. So why not a boob job? That would add to my convenience, but not necessarily to any simplification. And surgery sucks, in any form.
I just want to keep the globes out of my shirt.
Friday, August 22, 2008
What can I take up at the ripe age of 27?
I think rowing or picking up seashells. I like beaches, weather is never too hot for me, I like oceans, I have no problem leaning down and becoming upright again, sand between my toes is cool and I can totally walk with my head down for long periods of time if needed.
Looks like I probably have to become an Olympic beachcomber.
I've already mastered walking in Earth shoes with Kalso Negative Heel Technology, which mimics walking in stand and thusly encourages the body into a more natural and healthy posture. I figure I can wear my Earth shoes to cross train in the winter. I will wear the Earth shoes in the snow and increase the effect. Then walking in sand will be like floating.
I can practice picking up seashells by picking up lost change on the street or sidewalk. This extra dough will finance my training program and help fund my beach combing uniform, unless the country pays for that. I'm not sure on all the logistics of being on an Olympic team just yet.
Yes, I am aware that Beachcombing is a difficult sport to break into, especially with all those island nations out there. I will use that to my advantage, I spend most of my year buried in snow with is just as difficult to walk in and has that annoying squeaking crunching sound, so when I show up all pasty white on the Olympic beach the other Olympians will under-estimate me, but I will find all the seashells! Take that other nations! The USA Beachcombing team of 2012 is going take home the gold!
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Learning by reading paragraphs. I guess it works. Not for learning but for counting. IN elementary school to achieve the double whammy of practicing reading aloud and absorbing whatever new information we were learning at the time. The teachers would have us all open our books to the same pages and go around the room each reading a paragraph at a time. I don't know about anyone else but I would always count ahead to what paragraph I would be reading to see how long it was and if there were any words I didn't know in it. If there were words I didn't know the I would scan the previous paragraphs to see if the word appeared earlier and then wait for whoever was reading that paragraph to pronounce or mispronounce the word to save face when I had to read it. If the word appeared for the first time in my paragraph I would then fret and explore the ways to say it, sounding it out, guessing what it rhymed with or practicing my "I don't care if I say it wrong, you try to get it right inflection". The pre-counting of paragraphs didn't always work. Sometimes paragraphs are only one or two sentences long and then I didn't know if the reader would read the super short paragraph only or read the next one as well. Sometimes the teacher wanted the student to read more than the short paragraph. This always messed up the count. I then would have to prepare myself for reading any number of paragraphs, not knowing how the super short paragraphs would be treated. Another wrench in this plan is not knowing the direction the student to student reading will go, up and down rows, across tables, in a circle, I never knew so I had to determine the pattern of reading first, or guess it. I don't remember actually learning anything from the out loud reading other than how to strategize my potential paragraph.
Once I got to high school, I thought that panic was over.
And yet, this is how I am trained in my pretend job. If I am not being read to from a text heavy PowerPoint slide, I am reading aloud paragraph by paragraph in a group of adults. Doing the same things of course, counting ahead to see what paragraph will be for me to be able to prepare myself and impress everyone with my reading out loud skills.
Good thing I can pronounce more words now.
Friday, May 9, 2008
perfect postcard. I want to lick a stamp the size of
Rhode Island and stick it on Vermont. It is just
Vermont too, sure new Hampshire is nice, but when you
cross the state line it to New Hampshire is there a
speckled doe standing on the edge of the forest at
4:00 in the afternoon? I don't think so. I am sure
that deer is paid to be there because what deer in
their right mind stands next to a highway during the
day, not looking to dart in front of a car? But still,
it was there. And the hippies! Crocheted stocking hats
on adults and children, flowing skirts, sandals,
vegetarian options and wheelchairs with giant
hand-woven baskets attached. They were even teaching
the children dowsing on the State Capital lawn.
Dowsing! Public education and the government endorsing
such a hippie activity!
But the pretty. I can't even imagine the pretty in the
fall with the colors and the leaves. I would explode
and my glistening inners hanging from the majestic
gold, amber and bronze leaves would only make the
pretty even more inspiring and beautiful. My scarlet
blood only enhancing the warm tones of the burr oak
But spring in the Vermont is stunning enough, light
green budding trees laced through gray-brown bare
branches with deep green evergreens punctuating the
display. Talk about composition! It is like a freaking
design school project. Foreground, background, rule of
thirds, depth, landscape, focal points, in Vermont any
moron with a camera is Ansel Adams.
Vermont is where all movies should be filmed and where
foreign visitors can only go. The pretty will improve
the world's view of America, the hippies will dispel
the notion of fat stupid Americans and the pretty will
make everyone want to be nice to us, like how people
are nice to pretty girls, even if they are stupid.
Vermont. Who knew they had the entire pretty?
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
graduate school, I finally did. I even made it to the
interview round at the more prestigious of the three
schools I applied to. And was swiftly sent a rejection
letter. I think I might have been discredited when I
referred to myself as 'artsy fartsy' in the interview
or when I reference a 'triforce' of power in my
discussion of a certain play.
I got a rejection letter from my 'safety school' too.
I guess I am just too awesome.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
My toenail has cracked at the bottom. It is like when you tear or crack a chunk off off your finger nail. It is ugly, ragged but doesn't hurt a ton. Same with the toenail crack. It is unusual because toenails, or at least my toenails, seem to be very thick so for it to crack would take a lot of force. And the crack is not on the outer edge which comes in contact with the largest variety of circumstances.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Today, the inconvenient monsters and I went to the park. They had a great time trying to play on all of the park toys. Alas, disappointment set in when they discovered that many playthings required arms.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
I have unexpectedly become the primary caregiver for an anole. It's a lizard. I call them sidewalk lizards because when I was in Florida they were all over the sidewalks. Hence, sidewalk lizards. Merv Griffin is pretty small. He hitched a ride out of dodge on a load of plants. I, being either soft-hearted, defiant or non-murderous, saved him from the destiny of the underside of an intentional shoe. It was either death or live with me. Make your own joke here: