Friday, March 30, 2007

Girl Parts (Not for Boys)

So, um....Cancer Free!

This past Wednesday, after many delays and rescheduling mishaps, I underwent The Procedure, as we like to call it, and I am officially healthy once more. After months and months of agonizing and stressing and eating Haagen Daazs out the yin yang, it ended up being very much ado about nothing actually. Although I feel some sense of obligation in case some other girl has to go through the same thing and wants the honest truth, I won't go into the nitty gritty since my dad reads this. Here's the glossed over version and you can have your friends email me if they want some extra comforting:

They did ask if a male resident could come observe, and I said absolutely not. I KNOW they have to learn somehow, but I just wasn't in the mood to be gawped at by some weirdo man. I mean, seriously, I can't figure out why a man would go into gynecology. I get the obstetrics part, although all male OBs should look just like Cliff Huxtable and do that moony smiley face as soon as your baby pops out. But male gynecologists just seem kind of...wrong. (Plus I secretly feared that Alex Karev would suddenly come smirking into the room while I was sitting there.)

They stuck a big grounding strip on my leg, which cracked me up for some reason, and the medicine they administered gave me the shakes. But the nice nurse let me knit, which also struck me as being funny (um, ladies, you can picture this...guys, you probably don't want to), and she actually held the yarn ball for me so it wouldn't roll on the floor. Knitting is very therapeutic, and there I was shaking and knitting, knitting and shaking. It was all quick and painless and afterwards Simons got me an orange dreamcicle jamba juice and drove me home so I wouldn't have to park the car. He is a most excellent husband.

So, Holly, thanks for the Hob-Nobs and US Weekly. Melissa, thanks for the lavender plant. Mom and Daddy, thank you for the flowers. Sonia, the Godiva was/is delish. I have such marvelous support.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Okay, first, I didn't knit that bag. Mine is still in progress. Rachel, I'll have to copy it and mail it, because the magazine issue the pattern was in is very hard to find now. Apparently that bag was extremely popular. It's hard though, because it's INTARSIA. Doesn't that sound like a disease? "Oh, I can't come in to work today. I have...intarsia."

Sadly, I have no one to have intarsia with anymore, because damned Sonia has abandoned me for Australia. It's totally unfair, and it made me feel very small deleting her number from my cellphone. Stupid Damion. Actually, I curse Damion twice because whenever he visits, he brings three tubs of ice cream, all of which I eat singlehandedly in front of the computer. If my ski pants don't fit this weekend, I'm totally mailing him Krispy Kreme until his suspension gives out. Oh, and that ginger sesame brittle from haagen dazs...I'm divorcing Simons for it. God, so delish.

Speaking of Simons, does anyone else ever have problems with their spouses' method of "helping?" On Sunday morning, I asked him to please help with the pre-dinner-party cook and clean, and then he went surfing for three hours. When he got back, I requested that he take out the trash and make room in the kitchen while I went to the Whole Foods, a miserable 18-block walk (round trip). When I returned, like a laden pack mule, he was outside cutting wood for the new kitchen shelf he'd designed in my absence. So I cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed, cleaned out the fridge, took out the trash and recycling my own damned self. After this, I denied him goat cheese and things got ugly.

We're off to Reno this weekend, hurrah! I don't know that I'll be up for much skiing, but it will be so lovely to watch Beuls romping around in the her super lame booties. I'm mean like that.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Just doing my part...

I've just come from a meeting with my biggest freelance client yet, and oh my God, I have so much work to do I may perish. At least it's an awesome project, and the people I'm working for are incredibly brilliant, so i leave these meeting overwhelmed but so inspired. Still. So much work. I have to have their entire website completed by April 1st, which is a LOT of copy. Bye bye knitting.

While hiking on Sunday afternoon (saturday was pretty much shot thanks to raging all day hangover), Simons and I were talking about ways we could do more to stop global warming. We sign petitions and make sure our votes go to candidates to are environmentally active. We recycle and have the special light bulbs. We eat pretty strictly organic. I buy environmentally friendly cleaning products, bath and beauty products (plant extracts, not tested on animals, phosphate free, etc). We already walk or take public transportation 95% of the time. But surely there is something else we can be doing. I've looked into buying back our carbon emissions, but I'm not really sure that it makes a lot of sense. The idea is that you pay a company X amount to pay for your car's emissions. That company turns your money around and buys carbon credits from the federal government, that in turn a big power plant or some other manufacturer cannot buy to offset their own, harmful pollution, and must therefore actually make improvements to their plants. But doesn't it just make more sense to make industry cut back emissions anyway? And shouldn't we just get an alternative fuel soon as we can afford it? What do you think, oh wise and splendid internet? What more could we do? What do you do? Any good websites on meaningful changes?

In other news, Simons and I have been running together every night this week, which I now consider a Regime. I like regimes. I even like the word: "Reh-geeeeeeem." It feels very final and respectable. And hardcore. Trust me, with the hills around my neighborhood, even walking Beulah around the block is hardcore. Oh, speaking of Dog, we took her with us on Monday and halfway through, I looked at her and her eyeballs had sunken into her head and were almond shaped. What the HELL? We brought her home immediately and she didn't seem overheated or wobbly, and (thank God) her eyes went back to normal within 5 minutes, BUT WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? And if you think we are taking Beuls to the vet because her eyeballs fell out, think again. I've only got one kidney left people... Remember "The $3300 Duck Debacle" and the "$350 Pooping Catastrophe?" Well they're still awfully fresh in our memories.

The wedding blanket I am knitting for some friends of ours is one-third done and very beautiful. Simons' sweater is back from the finisher's, and is heavenly. He wore it three days in a row (it's really more of a jacket), which was extremely satisfying. I'd post a photo, but my DAMNED CAMERA IS STILL BEING REPAIRED. I also found some gorgeous pink and blue yarn to make this bag. And you can't tell from the picture, but it's really big. Sonia and I went to a few knit shops in Noe Valley yesterday afternoon, which will be our last real knitting jaunt, since she's moving back to bloody Australia. Damion, how could you do this to me?

Also, I've decided that I'm spending entirely too much time by myself in my pajamas (granted, I'm working, but still...I feel a little schlubby). In order to have more social interaction and feel more professional, I've been looking into writers' colonies and there are a few in the city. That way I can take Eudora the Laptop someplace with real, live human beings, and work there instead. Also, I'm planning to take a photography class and maybe some piano lessons. After all, Simons and I do actually own a piano now. It's not here or anything, but we do own one. And maybe one day (YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS from now...ahem) we will have children (or maybe just more dogs) that we will want to sing Christmas carols to, and it ought to have musical playing with it (God, it's just like Oh Brother Where Art Thou). I can't sing, but maybe I can play along while Simons sings.

Also, just because it made me happy, here is my recipe for a tasty snack:
1 banana
2 Tbs low fat peanut butter
2 Tbs Giardelli cocoa powder (I didn't actually measure, so might have only been 1 Tbs)
1/2 c. plain yogurt
1 c- one and one half cups skim milk

Put in blender and blend, and it comes out all tasty. And except for what's in the peanut butter, it doesn't have a lot of sugar. I'm trying to watch it, thanks to California's ceaseless messages about diabetes and the American obesity epidemic. Just doing my part.

Monday, March 19, 2007

How to charm me

"I'm back from the store. I picked up two New York strippers."

"Oh, really? What are their names?"

"Tammi and Cyndi, both with i's."

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Inspiration is dead

My God. It's 12:19 a.m. and I've been working since 6 a.m.


The Girl Scout cookies are lonely.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Rant wherein many of life's questions are answered





(one mystery solved)







(fat mystery solved)




(distraction problem answered)

Thursday, March 08, 2007

People Meeting People

Yesterday, after a very hard day’s work, I realized at about 5:00 that Simons had invited some new people over for drinks, and the house was covered in hair and full of trash. In the scramble to decrapify the apartment, I managed to get an enormous chunk of wood jammed under my thumbnail while dusting, dropped a book on my foot searching for the peroxide, then knocked over the effing jade plant (hateful dying thing) all over the newly vacuumed living room floor, and finally bashed my head on the corner of the DVD player while vacuuming up the mess. I kind of hated these people already.

When Simons came home, I gave him the stink eye and announced I was going to knitting for an hour and he’d better have wine AND CHEESE by the time I came home. He’s so used to my shrieks of pain now, he doesn’t even respond quickly. My legs are bruised, my big toe is black, my thumbnail is a horror…lovely.

This general gracelessness is not is helped by the fact that the doctor’s office last week reported that I’d shrunk an inch and put on ten pounds in the past three months. Lovely. Apparently my enormous ass is dragging me down and pushing me off balance.

Why, God, WHY?

Monday, March 05, 2007

Best. Weekend. Ever.

Evaluation: knees, ankles, back, hips, shoulders, neck, thumbs

These are things that hurt.

Holly and Sean and Simons and I piled everything into the car, including two dogs, Mirren the large and smelly black lab, whom we unexpectedly are dogsitting for two weeks, and Beulah, who has an entire suitcase of dietary needs, seeing as how she has GIARDIA, and drove up to Tahoe on Friday night. I hadn't seen snow since boarding school (read "shivering on sleeping porches") and hadn't skied since our sixth grade French class field trip to Quebec...with Simons, come to think of it.

Perhaps Tahoe is really an industrial town filled with corrugated shanties and dirty winos, but I doubt it. It wouldn't have mattered though, since under three feet of silvery-white snow, every house looked like a Swiss cottage with six-foot glistening icicles and the warm glow of firelight. Our B&B was adorable, although obscenely fish obessed. There was even a three-foot trout on our bed, with which I promptly attacked Holly, and antique painted lures hanging over the potty, including one called, "Wiggly Willie," which amused the boys. (Couldn't be better than the Electric Chicken or the Disco Grub)

Day One
The next morning, while Holly and Sean flung themselves down steep precipices at Squaw Valley, I discovered that the trick to cross country skiing is to pretend to be a roller skating gay man. It works, I promise, and my thanks go out to roller skating gay men everywhere for their inspiration. My God, that is hard work. To our delight, we found that cross country skis are A) half as expensive to rent as downhill skis, so Simons rented instead of using his telemark rig (Sims is a really good skier, but a patient husband), and B) the national parks have perfect trails that allow dogs and are free. We went down some fantastic trails at Blackwood Canyon with fresh powder and views of the mountains and snow covered firs and only saw about 10 other people the whole time. Granted, there was no lodge for mid-day hot chocolates, but there were also no lines, and the joyous dog frolicking more than made up for the lack of humiliation/maiming on the ski lift. Here's me, giving Simons the finger for having snapped a photo of me lying on my back contemplating the tree canopy, the cold snow down my shorts and the blue sky overhead.

We had a snow picnic overlooking a completely unblemished meadow, with cheese, crackers, sausage and trail mix.
Beulah, thanks to her grinch-like feet, had to be outfitted with fancy dog booties, which she felt were deeply infra dig...or infra dog.
What is this white stuff, and why is my nub so cold?

Day Two

While Holly and Sean were off to Squaw Valley again for a second day of intense downhill skiing, Sim and I met some friends from Charleston, Julia and Robert, who now live in Reno and are awesomely cool x's 5million. The nice thing about having friends who are more hardcore than you, is that they push you to do new and exciting things that you would not ordinarily think to do...or necessarily want to. We met for a day of snowshoeing/mountain climbing at Maggie's Peak, which overlooks Emerald Bay. I'd never snowshoed before, but Julia set a kind pace, and up we went. Their 10-year old lab, Goose, also demonstrated the proper snow climbing dog technique for Beulah and Mirren, who thought he was a total stud. This dog apparently goes back country skiing with Robert, and roots in the snow like a blissed out pig, dizzy with pleasure.
Every time we'd get to a lookout point, I'd be relieved and think we were done, but we kept going up and up, for about two and a half hours and over 8,600 feet. And that last 100 almost killed me. Breathing like an obscene phone caller, kick stepping up the steep incline, only pride kept me from saying, "Far enough." It was worth it. I mean...just look at it.
To the east, we could see over the entire lake, with tiny seaplanes that looked like dragonflies, and to the west, the Desolation Wilderness. Robert met some friends of his who had snowshoed up with telemark skis, and was able to advise them on how best not to go down the cliff side of the peak.
We tried a few times for a good picture, but usually ended up with dog hinies or the blur of Headless Simons.

Going down was the most fun, since you can lean back on your shoes and slide down almost like skiing. The boys took these flying troilistic leaps off of boulders, landing in a puffy heap at the bottom, which sounded for all the world like pillow fighting...WHUMP!
As soon as I can move my arms, I want to do it again.

Friday, March 02, 2007

I Heart My Dog

Here’s how the discussion with the vet went yesterday:

Um, yeah, so the dog has some massive diarrhea, right? Really bad.
Since Valentine’s Day.
Oh, no, not the whole time. Off and on. I’d make an appointment to bring her in, and then it would go away, so I’d cancel it.
Actually, there could be a lot of reasons for the “episodes.”
Well, let's see. On Valentine’s she stole some lamb from off the table. She might have swallowed some bones, but I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it was the Bordeaux reduction that made her so sick. But that passed…so to speak. All over the living room. Oh, and the hallway too.
No, no, that’s not all. She’s also been in the mountains and drank some streamwater and got two ticks. That was on President’s Day.
No, still more. She broke into the bathroom and ate everything…toilet paper, soap, cough drops, a bunch of vitamins, but we made her drink hydrogen peroxide and puke all that up. When? Oh that was….last Wednesday.
No, no, she puked up everything she’s eaten for an entire lifetime, so we’re pretty sure she didn’t digest any vitamins. And she didn’t have any diarrhea then anyway.
No, no, still not all…she also climbed onto the kitchen table and stole a really nice loaf of Italian bread from the top of the refrigerator…that was on Friday. Yeah, she crapped up the house pretty good that night. She also ate some butter, I guess to go with the bread.
She’s on Prednisone for her persistent paw licking, and no, we can’t take her off of it. But she was this bad before the Prednisone.
Yes, our dog IS the devil. How did you know?
$202? For this dog, I consider that a steal. Cured!