There are times when you stand on the edge…..teetering like a drunken fool between that fine line which separates soothing sanity from raging madness. We’ve all been there, you included…. but probably me more so. You see, my life violates all boundaries of rational existence, with about 95% of my insanity deriving from parenting my 16-year old teenager.
So herein commences what I shall term the “cell phone fiasco”.
Mini-me’s cell phone (I believe her 8th so far) has been through the ringer, thrown into hell and resurrected twice since she’s owned it. And as a result, many components of this phone no longer worked, including the ability to talk to someone with it. So I, being THAT mom that spoils her rotten (yes, my bad), made the decision to pick her up a new cellphone a couple of Fridays ago. And given that I was in a pretty good mood when I ventured into this purchase, she ended up with a fancy little LG Eve smartphone running the Google Android system, complete with a 5 mp camera, full touch screen interface, slide-out QWERTY keyboard, and a $495.00 hit on my wallet (total cost).
I’ll be up front about this: I’m not a Lady Gaga fan, (or Man Gaga – whatever). Yes, there is definitely vocal talent there, but it’s been swallowed up by the fame machine and now she’s just way too freakish and fake for my liking. Take a look at this early video of her and you’ll see what I mean.
But I have to admit…this Bad Romance song is pretty damn catchy and has totally grown on me. It’s been a slow process mind you – I didn’t like it when I first heard it – not one bit actually. The whole rah rah ah ah ah ah part didn’t jive. But now? I can’t help but belt that song out in the shower….and while I’m driving….or picking bean sprouts at the grocery store….quite literally, everywhere….(and I profusely apologize to anyone who can hear me).
Now…excuse me while I go throw some white latex and jewels on and resurrect Michael Jackson through this crazy robot dance…….rah rah ah ah ah ah….
I can totally understand the little research studies conducted on stressful life events. Moving is right up there in the top three. And holy shit, I can see why.
This is crazy stuff. As far as selling goes, I have to contend with last minute boots out of my house while potential buyers rummage through everything. In addition, I have to keep my house in a condition where it looks like nobody lives here.
Author’s note: This blog entry was originally published on April 14, 2009, but then later removed because I took some serious hell for it. It was one of those little things I never lived down. Not only did it trigger a very important text message: “putting it out there when the body is still warm…classless”, but it was brought up again and again and again. Even when things were good, I’d get the jabs about it…..countless references to Open…..over and over…even though it was long removed from this blog.
I have decided to re-publish it, because I think it’s an important piece to the entire picture.
I have no clue how I do some of the stupid things that I do….but I do do them, and that’s a given. Call me clumsy, call me an idiot….but somehow I managed to launch (and I do mean, launch…as in 3 feet up in the air and 3 feet back down) my iPhone….my own personal f*cking jesus….straight into the toilet at work today. No bounce. No deflection. No rim shot. Nothing. STRAIGHT IN. I don’t know what I did. I don’t know what I was doing. Except that when I was exiting the stall, the door did something funky as I was making my way out, and as I tried to push it back, my religion left me and made for satan’s pit. And NO. I don’t normally take my phone with me to the can here…. but I was on my way down for a smoke afterward…so I had it.
You know that sound a cat makes when you step on it? That was what came out of me, followed by the quickest toilet dive you will ever see on this side of…um…the US border…and I had it pulled out in under 3 seconds. I made that scene from Trainspotting look amateur. Hell. Toilet diving to save your iPhone should be an Olympic sport. I’d fucking win it, hands down. My reflexes even made Pablo’s from Tuesday night look like they belonged to a 3 month old baby. Man I’m quick when I want to be. Or in this case, need to be.
After I managed to get my heart going again, I immediately began to perform CPR on my baby. *pump pump pump….BLOW….pump pump pump….BLOW….pump pump pump…BLOW*
Polarities: The presence or manifestation of two opposite or contrasting principles or tendencies
The concept of polarities has fascinated me since my university days and a certain Philosophy class that could only be defined as one of those pinnacle, life-changing moments for me. Students packed in for a high-demand Philosophy class – the art of arguing and lateral thought – is a perfect breeding ground for polarities, especially when you’re dealing with issues like abortion, capital punishment, and lifeboat ethics, to name but a few. Needless to say, it nearly reached a point where all shoes, purses, books, and any other item that could be thrown or used to beat anyone to death would have been disallowed in class.
And even though this is starting to sound like your typical Jerry Springer show, it was nothing short of beautiful. The emotion that ran raw, the passion that drove our individual beliefs, and the ongoing exposure to opposing ends – polarities - battling over these issues was nothing short of heaven for me. Mix into that my major – Psychology – and I was a wide-eyed, awe-struck kid again, giddy at all the presents under the tree on Christmas morning.
I lived for that course. I would have repeated it 100 times if I could. It was just that freaking cool. I learned many things from it, including a newly discovered fascination with the whole concept of polarities…and the basic principal that one cannot exist without the other. It’s the ultimate logic – the purpose of the theory of relativity, and all physical life.
I despise going to the doctor, which is why I avoid it like the plague. I think it’s based in a deep-seeded fear of getting bad news. My mother was always burdened with medical problems when I was growing up (she still is, actually) and it seems that I have inherited many of them, (not my sister, not my brother, just me). Therefore, every trip to the doctor is preceded with panic and worry that this will be the visit where she tells me I have the big C.
Which takes me to last Thursday morning. It’s been at least three years since I’ve had a full physical. After two years of dodging the bullet, my family physician finally told me she wasn’t going to give me any more prescriptions for my BCP (birth control pill) until I booked an appointment for that annual spread-your-legs trip into the pits of pap smear hell. So, in my ongoing pursuit of avoidance, I spent a solid 12 or more months travelling from one walk-in clinic to the next, wielding fables and tall tales about not having a family doctor, or having one but not being able to wait 3 months for an appointment, to having one who’s away on holidays, and it goes on.
But eventually, my luck ran out. I had exhausted all of my options and the last walk-in doc (bastard) prescribed me a different BCP that wreaked absolute havoc on my system for 6 weeks following. Something about my age and my on again off again smoking habits. Blech. Nonetheless, I was forced to pick up the phone and make the dreaded call to book the mother-of-all doctor’s appointments.