Sunday, June 24, 2012

Are you my mother?

*Disclaimer:  This is about real life.  Get over it.

So since I've been on my period for pretty much the last two months, I decided to finally do something about it and make an appointment at the doctor.  Not a sham appointment, the kind I do every few months when Kaiser calls me and says Oh hey we see you haven't had an annual in something like fifteen years, you need to schedule, just to get them off the phone and then cancel it a few days out of courtesy to someone who really needs a gyno appointment at the last minute; a real one.  Where, like, I'm the one phoning in.  And I realized the day that I phoned that these things don't take a couple of minutes to do.  You don't just phone Kaiser and say, Hey, I need a gyno appointment, hook me up.  You have to hit buttons and explain things and get redirected and then disconnected a couple of times and then change your story or forget the one you told the last time and complain at how far out your appointment is and then call back and find someone who finally says, What?  You've been bleeding for the last two months?  Yeah, you should probably get in sooner.  Because my first appointment was for July 28.  And my response to that was, Okay, I'll try to phone you if I have to cancel, but if this keeps up, I'll probably be dead.  Oddly enough that wasn't enough to make her try to find me a better option.

Anyway, it's tomorrow.  And I'm not looking forward to it, because 9am is too early to start drinking and I'm WAY better at this kind of stuff after a couple of cocktails.  The doctor is a woman, though, so I guess it would be a bit inappropriate anyway.  I was never one to care about having a male gyno; actually, I preferred it.  But now with this whole situation I have going on here I figure I'm probably better served with someone who can relate.  To the fact that it's a pain in the ass and really inconvenient to bleed for two months.  

I'm forty-six.  I get it.  I'm probably starting "the change".  In fact, I'm sure I am.  But from what I've read, the beginning part of "the change" can last like eight years and I'm not down with that kind of a time frame.

So I was having coffee with Gay Neighbor Geoff this morning and thinking about the way this kind of appointment is perceived at age twenty-six and age forty-six.  Twenty-six went to the Planned Parenthood because she was too cheap to pay for a real doctor and gyno visits were not covered on her horrific health insurance plan.  Plus if you told the Planned Parenthood you were a full time student you got your birth control for free.  Twenty-six didn't care about the results of the exam, twenty-six just wanted the free birth control.

Forty-six is looking at other options.  Forty-six has been asking for the last twelve years what her uterus has ever done for her.  Forty-six just wants that motherfucker out so she can stop paying $10 for a box of Tampax every month.  Forty-six doesn't want to worry about wearing white or beige or ruining any more of her dainties because that shit isn't cheap and frankly she'd much rather spend that money on Eileen Fisher and trips to Mexico.  Forty-six is sick to death of the whole thing and curses Eve every four weeks and then every three and then every two and then fuck it every DAY when the irony of it all isn't lost on the girl that never ever wanted kids.  Well, except for that one drunk night in Louisville Kentucky back in 1994.  But only that one night.  

So tomorrow forty-six will get to work early and then leave at 8:30 so she can spend an hour convincing a doctor to remove all the icky useless used up malfunctioning parts to preserve her sanity and social life.  Then she'll return to work with a bit of news, who knows what it will be, and a handbag full of Tampax until something is decided and/or scheduled and then she'll come back here and give you her OTHER thoughts about the similarities and differences between having an abortion at twenty-eight and having a hysterectomy at forty-seven.  I'm sure there's something there.

Oh, and this IS real life.  What you believe in or don't believe in doesn't mean it isn't out there.

Saturday, June 09, 2012

I'm good, thanks.

Recently I woke up to a message on FB from someone I don't speak with a ton anymore.  It was sharing a quote that was something like Everything is going to be all right, maybe not today but someday.  It was to me and another person who has been going through a rough patch.  That other person responded with something like, oh that's a great one, I'm going to put that in my "think your way out of this mess" book, thanks, or some dang thing.  I responded with nothing.  Because everything IS all right in my world right now.  

Okay a) I don't really talk to you guys anymore, so b) you don't know what's going on with me, though c) I know what's going on with YOU, because d) for some reason you told me.  Oh, wait, you didn't tell me because we were friends once, you told me because you needed something from me.  And of course I did it, because I cared at one point in my life, and I think you're an idiot, and even though I haven't heard from you since, it really doesn't surprise me, since I figured out a long time ago that you're one of those people who take and don't give.

Which is why a random quote about everything being okay at a later date (as opposed to right now) makes you all warm and fuzzy inside.

I'm pretty sure that if you didn't make a career out of jacking people all the time you wouldn't be in the lousy position you are in right now.  Sure, bad things happen to good people, but, mostly, bad things happen to selfish, self-centered, self-righteous (="bad") people.  So maybe you should put THAT in your book and consider a lifestyle change.  Baby steps.  Right?

Inspiration is a good thing and we all go through shit, but I guess the lesson to be learned here, perhaps, is that if you don't want to wind up in TtheD don't include me in things that just don't have anything to do with me.  Not trying to be smug or anything, but the beauty of being in your mid 40s is that life has presented you with much opportunity to learn how to be a good person.  

Plus I think there's something wrong with my big toe because it suddenly started hurting yesterday afternoon and it still does now, and I'm developing arthritis in my pinkie.  Okay.  Maybe I DO need a little inspriration..

Sunday, June 03, 2012


Finishing "The Stand" for me is like moving to a different city.  Not the arrived at part, but the leaving part.  I always feel a little bit sad when I'm done with it.  I finished it this morning on the elliptical at the gym, and still had like five minutes to go.  It's too dramatic of a novel to just move on to the next one, so I pretty much put my head down and grieved a little bit.  Seriously.  I bet people thought I was tired.  I wasn't that tired.

I've read "The Stand" roughly ten times over the years, but it's been a while since I'd read it last; it hasn't changed.  The only thing I will say is that back when I used to read it, I liked (loved) each and every one of the characters (the good guys anyway; the bad guys I felt pity for) as if I'd known them forever.  This time around, after about ten years, I have to say that if I met Frannie now, we wouldn't be friends.  She whines.  And the crying!  I mean, I realize you're pregnant with a baby that may or may not be immune to the plague that killed 99% of the population, leaving you to fend for yourself while you follow a dream character that becomes the figurehead for all that is good and God-like while you essentially WALK from Maine to Colorado, but come on.  Lighten up a little bit.  That damsel-in-distress gig may have worked on 34-year-old me, but it's not working on 46-year-old me.  At all.

Anyway, grieving done, I moved on to the new John Irving, which, after reading a couple of reviews (seriously, my attention span is getting shorter and shorter when it comes to things like that) kind of seems like it isn't a me kind of book.  But then I have to remember that I really do love John Irving and I'm not being true to my author favor by not reading it.  So I started it this afternoon while trying to work up a nap that didn't take.

I was almost talked in to reading that whole "Fifty Shades" situation but decided, upon reading a review, against it, and here's why:  The reviewer didn't like it because it sounded like it was written by a teenager.  I can handle a lot of things, but I cannot handle bad writing.  And if I read what everyone else on the planet seems to be reading and raving about, and the writing was bad, well, nobody wants to hear me rant and rave about the education levels in the United States again.  I powered through the "Twilight" crap and "The Hunger Games", yes, but at least the WRITING was okay.  Content is nothing if the writing is bad.  I won't subject myself to that.  So don't try to talk me into fifty shades of anything.

I've had the last week off, went to Ontario from Saturday to Tuesday, had a fabulous homecoming, and then proceeded to shop every single day for the rest of the week.  I am pretty sure I'm broke now.  But I have some fun stuff.. It'll be good to go back to work, back to routine, back to structure.

Oh and I quit smoking.