So, get this. I went home over lunch to try and clean up around my apartment. My dad is coming to visit, and I know how he'll complain if my dwelling is as messy as it has been lately. Everything's going well, and I decide to take out the trash before I leave.
The way my building is set up is that it is one big building containing 8 units. the dumpster is off to the left side, which kinda sucks and makes me want to take the trash out less often than is required. It's also kinda sketch over there. But I digress.
I was walking down the sidewalk over to the bare area where the dumpster is, carrying my box o trash and minding my own, when suddenly, I lose my step.
Now, I don't know who is to blame—my balance, my box-packing skills, my ability to walk and do other things at the same time, gravity, or the stupidfuckingsidewalk.
I've decided to go with the stupidfuckingsidewalk.
Where was I? Oh yeah. I lose my step, along with my balance. My trash box hit the ground, peppering the ground with my trash bits. I hit the stupidfuckingsidewalk with my hand, but not before I braced myself with my right knee, which took the brunt of the fall. It was awful. I also expelled my frustration by making several grunt-like whimpering noises and eventually, crying.
I tore my knee up, and my big toe on my right foot got it pretty bad: The sidewalk (excuse me, the stupidfuckingsidewalk) + the force with which I fell tore the skin away from my toenail leaving me with a giant gaping hole at the top of my toe. Which hurts. It's as bad as it sounds.
The mailman saw the whole thing.
I proceeded the only way I knew how: I cried a little to myself and felt sorry for me, and then I called my mother.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
a sexy cosmo-not.
Once again, I have to thank the brilliant writers over at Cosmopolitan magazine for these sexy, sexy tips.
Temperature Tease
Forget about just stroking your man with a simple pair of satin panties! For a real treat, pop those silky numbers in the freezer a day before you're ready for action. Then loosely wrap the icy fabric around his package and gently slide it up and down.
And if you happen to forget the panties in the icebox, voila! Instead ice cube for a sexy cocktail. And I do mean cocktail…but seriously. Panties in the freezer? The only thing more ridiculous than planning this sensual man-member massage ahead of time is the after move listed below…
But act fast — the heat coming off your man's below-the-belt region will melt the chill rapidly. So once the panties hit room temp, go the opposite route and really warm things up. Paget suggests microwaving a damp washcloth for about 15 seconds. Then use it to rub his member in an up-and-down motion, just as you did with the underthings.
“Wait, honey hold on! Hold that thought! I have to run into the kitchen to microwave this damp washrag for 15 seconds! It’s going to be so sexy, I swear!”
Naked Chef
Incorporating food into your passion play is a classic carnal activity. Turning your bodies into a sexy buffet is a fresh, tasty spin. Take a few of your favorite erotically appealing flavor combinations, like peanut butter and honey or whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Put a dollop of, say, peanut butter on an area where you'd like to be licked (avoiding your genitals). Then dot the honey on the same spot on the opposite side of your body. Instruct your man to first lick off one flavor and then make his way over to the other, providing a pleasurable sensation for you and a flavorful sensation for him. Continue mixing up yummy treats in symmetric spots all over your body.
Okay, since when is peanut butter an “erotically appealing” food? I have never (okay, maybe that one time) found myself so completely turned on whilst preparing myself a satisfying PB&J. And I feel like people that take advantage of this tip are just asking for ants. Honey? Cool whip? Chocolate sauce? What is this, your bedroom or the dessert bar at Ryan’s Steakhouse?
Pleasure Map
Okay, now this is going to sound a little out-there, but trust us, guys say it feels un-freakin'-believable. Heat up some massage oil, and put it into a turkey baster. Then use the baster to draw shapes, spell out naughty words, or create trails on his body — from his neck, over his arms, then down his back, butt, and legs. "The hot oil moving in specific lines will excite the skin more than a broad stroke of oil would," explains sex therapist Ian Kerner, Ph.D., author of He Comes Next. Once you've left your hot, slippery mark, knead your designs.
Ooookkkk…..I’m thinking, if I’m a guy, about to get it on with a girl, and she comes at me with a turkey baster, I’m outta there. All I have to say.
Body Paint
For a unique sensation, use a clean artist's paintbrush to tickle each other's skin. "Take turns running it across the inner arms, behind the knees, over the tops of the feet — any area where you're very sensitive," explains Paget. "The bristles arouse the nerve endings, sending a message to the brain that you're yearning for more touch and sensation." For varying effects, test out different brush sizes.
Wow, nothing sexier than a great, big, bristly…paint brush.
Naughty Pearl Necklace
Believe it or not, this country-club accoutrement can be a passion prop. Pick up a 36-inch fake strand (this trick will ruin the real deal) and wear it all day so your body warms up the balls. "When you're ready to romp, take off the pearls and cover them generously with lube," suggests Paget. "Coil the pearls around the shaft of his penis comfortably but snuggly enough that the beads rest against his package."
I have to stop right here and say that the phrase “wear them all day so that your body warms up the balls” has to be the greatest phrase ever printed. Ever.
And I also like the idea that you have to tell someone not not to use their good pearls to douse in oil and wrap around your man’s shaft as an “erotic passion prop.”
Intertwine your fingers and place the palms of your hand on either side of his penis. Next, slide your hands up and down in a wave motion, causing the warm, smooth beads to roll over the length of his shaft.
Has anyone ever worn a pearl necklace? Have you ever had your hair get caught on one? Do I need to say anything more?
Scrunchie Tip 2007
If you've kept up with your Cosmo sex tips, you may remember reading that a scrunchie can be used on a man's member to help him maintain an erection. Now we're upping the ante and taking that technique in a new direction. Start by stacking six scrunchies on top of each other over his package. "Then remove them one by one using your lips and tongue," says St. Claire. "As each piece is removed, it releases a little bit of pressure in his penis, which will make his orgasm more intense when it happens. Plus, the movement of the fabric will feel wild on his skin."
I want to meet the woman still wearing scrunchies in 2007 that is getting laid. And I also want to meet the man who wants to have six scrunchies stacked on his member. Of course, I’m sure there are…height requirements for this raunchy ride as well. Just how big are the scrunchies in question? This just doesn’t sound sexy to me.
Frisky French Kiss
Mix up your usual oral sex routine by having him take his above-the-neck technique below the belt. "Even if his skills are already stellar, it's a fun, unique, and pleasurable experience to have him French kiss your down-there area the way he would your lips," says Jane Bogart, coordinator of health promotion at the University of California at Santa Cruz and author of Sexploration. He can tickle the area with his tongue, wiggle it in a circular motion from top to bottom, and gently suck the skin.
NO comment. (Except this: Did we really read this in ninth grade???)
The W
When moving down south, many women converge on their man's General, inadvertently ignoring the surrounding areas. But his pelvic region has tons of sensitive spots aching for attention of their own.
His…General?
Stuck on You
During intercourse, you're all wrapped up in each other. So extend that carnal concept even further by literally tying yourselves together. Take a really long piece of sturdy plastic wrap (long enough to fit around your body about eight times). Then fold it in half, twist it into a long rope that fits snuggly around both of your bodies twice, and secure it with a knot at your waist so you're locked together. (You can also use a Pilates stretch band or a knitted scarf that has a bit of give.) Whether you then get into girl-on-top, missionary, or straddle him face-to-face, you won't be able to move more than a few inches from each other. "This not only increases the intimacy but also the fun factor, as you find inventive ways to move in sync," says Bogart.
This is absolutely ridiculous. It sounds like too much work.
Passion Prop Play
To put a creative spin on standard missionary, stroke his back with a few sensual, around-the-house items. Keep a paddlebrush, a soft scarf, and a baseball (yes, a baseball) on your bedside table. While he's on top, alternate between scratching his back and butt with the bristles of the brush, stroking him with the scarf, and rolling the baseball over his skin. "The changes in sensation will keep him on his toes during the act and provide him with an extra dose of pleasure," says Kerner.
What? Doesn’t everyone keep a baseball on their nightstand?
Not-So-Hot Moves
These may sound hot, but they're not.
The move: Using food below the belt during oral sex
Reality check: Tasty treats can be erotic, but putting sugary edibles down south can lead to a vaginal infection.
The words "vaginal infection" are sure to stop any ambitious bedroom chefs dead in their tracks.
The move: Dripping warm wax on your erogenous zones
Reality check: If it's too hot, the wax will adhere to your nipples or inner thighs and sear your skin.
Sexy.
The move: Going way too far with the superkinky stuff
Reality check: Light love taps can make the action more playful; tying each other up can feel dangerously lusty. But anything more extreme (wooden paddles, whips, chains) may be too intense for most.
Yeah, screw that. Wrap me up in Saran wrap instead any day.
Temperature Tease
Forget about just stroking your man with a simple pair of satin panties! For a real treat, pop those silky numbers in the freezer a day before you're ready for action. Then loosely wrap the icy fabric around his package and gently slide it up and down.
And if you happen to forget the panties in the icebox, voila! Instead ice cube for a sexy cocktail. And I do mean cocktail…but seriously. Panties in the freezer? The only thing more ridiculous than planning this sensual man-member massage ahead of time is the after move listed below…
But act fast — the heat coming off your man's below-the-belt region will melt the chill rapidly. So once the panties hit room temp, go the opposite route and really warm things up. Paget suggests microwaving a damp washcloth for about 15 seconds. Then use it to rub his member in an up-and-down motion, just as you did with the underthings.
“Wait, honey hold on! Hold that thought! I have to run into the kitchen to microwave this damp washrag for 15 seconds! It’s going to be so sexy, I swear!”
Naked Chef
Incorporating food into your passion play is a classic carnal activity. Turning your bodies into a sexy buffet is a fresh, tasty spin. Take a few of your favorite erotically appealing flavor combinations, like peanut butter and honey or whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Put a dollop of, say, peanut butter on an area where you'd like to be licked (avoiding your genitals). Then dot the honey on the same spot on the opposite side of your body. Instruct your man to first lick off one flavor and then make his way over to the other, providing a pleasurable sensation for you and a flavorful sensation for him. Continue mixing up yummy treats in symmetric spots all over your body.
Okay, since when is peanut butter an “erotically appealing” food? I have never (okay, maybe that one time) found myself so completely turned on whilst preparing myself a satisfying PB&J. And I feel like people that take advantage of this tip are just asking for ants. Honey? Cool whip? Chocolate sauce? What is this, your bedroom or the dessert bar at Ryan’s Steakhouse?
Pleasure Map
Okay, now this is going to sound a little out-there, but trust us, guys say it feels un-freakin'-believable. Heat up some massage oil, and put it into a turkey baster. Then use the baster to draw shapes, spell out naughty words, or create trails on his body — from his neck, over his arms, then down his back, butt, and legs. "The hot oil moving in specific lines will excite the skin more than a broad stroke of oil would," explains sex therapist Ian Kerner, Ph.D., author of He Comes Next. Once you've left your hot, slippery mark, knead your designs.
Ooookkkk…..I’m thinking, if I’m a guy, about to get it on with a girl, and she comes at me with a turkey baster, I’m outta there. All I have to say.
Body Paint
For a unique sensation, use a clean artist's paintbrush to tickle each other's skin. "Take turns running it across the inner arms, behind the knees, over the tops of the feet — any area where you're very sensitive," explains Paget. "The bristles arouse the nerve endings, sending a message to the brain that you're yearning for more touch and sensation." For varying effects, test out different brush sizes.
Wow, nothing sexier than a great, big, bristly…paint brush.
Naughty Pearl Necklace
Believe it or not, this country-club accoutrement can be a passion prop. Pick up a 36-inch fake strand (this trick will ruin the real deal) and wear it all day so your body warms up the balls. "When you're ready to romp, take off the pearls and cover them generously with lube," suggests Paget. "Coil the pearls around the shaft of his penis comfortably but snuggly enough that the beads rest against his package."
I have to stop right here and say that the phrase “wear them all day so that your body warms up the balls” has to be the greatest phrase ever printed. Ever.
And I also like the idea that you have to tell someone not not to use their good pearls to douse in oil and wrap around your man’s shaft as an “erotic passion prop.”
Intertwine your fingers and place the palms of your hand on either side of his penis. Next, slide your hands up and down in a wave motion, causing the warm, smooth beads to roll over the length of his shaft.
Has anyone ever worn a pearl necklace? Have you ever had your hair get caught on one? Do I need to say anything more?
Scrunchie Tip 2007
If you've kept up with your Cosmo sex tips, you may remember reading that a scrunchie can be used on a man's member to help him maintain an erection. Now we're upping the ante and taking that technique in a new direction. Start by stacking six scrunchies on top of each other over his package. "Then remove them one by one using your lips and tongue," says St. Claire. "As each piece is removed, it releases a little bit of pressure in his penis, which will make his orgasm more intense when it happens. Plus, the movement of the fabric will feel wild on his skin."
I want to meet the woman still wearing scrunchies in 2007 that is getting laid. And I also want to meet the man who wants to have six scrunchies stacked on his member. Of course, I’m sure there are…height requirements for this raunchy ride as well. Just how big are the scrunchies in question? This just doesn’t sound sexy to me.
Frisky French Kiss
Mix up your usual oral sex routine by having him take his above-the-neck technique below the belt. "Even if his skills are already stellar, it's a fun, unique, and pleasurable experience to have him French kiss your down-there area the way he would your lips," says Jane Bogart, coordinator of health promotion at the University of California at Santa Cruz and author of Sexploration. He can tickle the area with his tongue, wiggle it in a circular motion from top to bottom, and gently suck the skin.
NO comment. (Except this: Did we really read this in ninth grade???)
The W
When moving down south, many women converge on their man's General, inadvertently ignoring the surrounding areas. But his pelvic region has tons of sensitive spots aching for attention of their own.
His…General?
Stuck on You
During intercourse, you're all wrapped up in each other. So extend that carnal concept even further by literally tying yourselves together. Take a really long piece of sturdy plastic wrap (long enough to fit around your body about eight times). Then fold it in half, twist it into a long rope that fits snuggly around both of your bodies twice, and secure it with a knot at your waist so you're locked together. (You can also use a Pilates stretch band or a knitted scarf that has a bit of give.) Whether you then get into girl-on-top, missionary, or straddle him face-to-face, you won't be able to move more than a few inches from each other. "This not only increases the intimacy but also the fun factor, as you find inventive ways to move in sync," says Bogart.
This is absolutely ridiculous. It sounds like too much work.
Passion Prop Play
To put a creative spin on standard missionary, stroke his back with a few sensual, around-the-house items. Keep a paddlebrush, a soft scarf, and a baseball (yes, a baseball) on your bedside table. While he's on top, alternate between scratching his back and butt with the bristles of the brush, stroking him with the scarf, and rolling the baseball over his skin. "The changes in sensation will keep him on his toes during the act and provide him with an extra dose of pleasure," says Kerner.
What? Doesn’t everyone keep a baseball on their nightstand?
Not-So-Hot Moves
These may sound hot, but they're not.
The move: Using food below the belt during oral sex
Reality check: Tasty treats can be erotic, but putting sugary edibles down south can lead to a vaginal infection.
The words "vaginal infection" are sure to stop any ambitious bedroom chefs dead in their tracks.
The move: Dripping warm wax on your erogenous zones
Reality check: If it's too hot, the wax will adhere to your nipples or inner thighs and sear your skin.
Sexy.
The move: Going way too far with the superkinky stuff
Reality check: Light love taps can make the action more playful; tying each other up can feel dangerously lusty. But anything more extreme (wooden paddles, whips, chains) may be too intense for most.
Yeah, screw that. Wrap me up in Saran wrap instead any day.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
shot through the arm, and you're to blame...
...who gave Gardasil such a bad name?
So, at my last doctor's visit, he recommended that I get the Gardasil shot, also known as the HPV vaccine. It's supposed to safeguard you against the virus that causes cervical cancer. As afraid as I am of needles (they cause me to have panic attacks, no joke), I decided this would probably be the best thing for me to do.
The vaccine is three injections, spaced over six months. It hurts like holy hell. The first one wasn't so bad. This last one, which I had on Monday, make me curse and almost punch the nurse (who is lovely, by the way). But like I said, I know it's a necessary thing.
I came to work Monday AM after my second injection, ready to be productive. As I went to the kitchen, one of my co-workers approached me. She asked me how my day was, I replied that it was fine, excepting the early-morning needle vaccine pumped into my arm. I made conversation about the vaccine, saying that they were starting to require it in schools.
"Well, I just don't agree with that," she said. "The government telling me I have to put something my body. I can't believe you did that."
This upset me. When another woman walked in and said her doctor recommended the shot for her 13-year-old daughter, said co-worker went at it again.
"Your daughter is too young! You need to read up on that. There have been complications from that."
???? Like I'm some fool who just wanders into exam rooms and asks to be shot up? Trust me, I wouldn't have gotten the vaccine if I didn't think it was important. She pointed out that there have been problems reported with the shot. However, those are rare and there is still yet to be proof linking so-called "side effects" to the Gardasil shot. People get sick from the flu shot sometimes! But they continue to get it.
When I argued the fact that it protects against a virus that causes a large percentage of cervical cancer, she said this: "Well, no one dies from cervical cancer."
Are you freaking kidding me.
Cervical cancer was once one of the leading causes of cancer-related death in women, according to the American Cancer Society. And yes, the death rate has gone down, but that is due to increased awareness of the disease and more frequent pap smears, no matter how old you are. And regardless if NO one died from cancer, any cancer, it's never a pleasant experience. The way my doctor put it to me was this: Shots may hurt, but biopsies and chemo and treatment hurt more. Do what's best.
I still defend my decision to have the shot, but I was still offended by this woman's vehement response to my choice.
More about Gardasil:
http://www.gardasil.com/
More about cervical cancer: http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CRI/content/CRI_2_4_1X_What_are_the_key_statistics_for_cervical_cancer_8.asp
So, at my last doctor's visit, he recommended that I get the Gardasil shot, also known as the HPV vaccine. It's supposed to safeguard you against the virus that causes cervical cancer. As afraid as I am of needles (they cause me to have panic attacks, no joke), I decided this would probably be the best thing for me to do.
The vaccine is three injections, spaced over six months. It hurts like holy hell. The first one wasn't so bad. This last one, which I had on Monday, make me curse and almost punch the nurse (who is lovely, by the way). But like I said, I know it's a necessary thing.
I came to work Monday AM after my second injection, ready to be productive. As I went to the kitchen, one of my co-workers approached me. She asked me how my day was, I replied that it was fine, excepting the early-morning needle vaccine pumped into my arm. I made conversation about the vaccine, saying that they were starting to require it in schools.
"Well, I just don't agree with that," she said. "The government telling me I have to put something my body. I can't believe you did that."
This upset me. When another woman walked in and said her doctor recommended the shot for her 13-year-old daughter, said co-worker went at it again.
"Your daughter is too young! You need to read up on that. There have been complications from that."
???? Like I'm some fool who just wanders into exam rooms and asks to be shot up? Trust me, I wouldn't have gotten the vaccine if I didn't think it was important. She pointed out that there have been problems reported with the shot. However, those are rare and there is still yet to be proof linking so-called "side effects" to the Gardasil shot. People get sick from the flu shot sometimes! But they continue to get it.
When I argued the fact that it protects against a virus that causes a large percentage of cervical cancer, she said this: "Well, no one dies from cervical cancer."
Are you freaking kidding me.
Cervical cancer was once one of the leading causes of cancer-related death in women, according to the American Cancer Society. And yes, the death rate has gone down, but that is due to increased awareness of the disease and more frequent pap smears, no matter how old you are. And regardless if NO one died from cancer, any cancer, it's never a pleasant experience. The way my doctor put it to me was this: Shots may hurt, but biopsies and chemo and treatment hurt more. Do what's best.
I still defend my decision to have the shot, but I was still offended by this woman's vehement response to my choice.
More about Gardasil:
http://www.gardasil.com/
More about cervical cancer: http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CRI/content/CRI_2_4_1X_What_are_the_key_statistics_for_cervical_cancer_8.asp
Monday, June 16, 2008
I wanna run to you
One thing I've noticed about moving to the city of Birmingham and living and working within the confines of the city: There are so many runners. All sort and shapes and sizes. But the ones that seem to catch my eye the most are the old men.
Daaaaaaaang.
There are all these really old, gray, wrinkly men that run constantly on the street I work on and even where I live. Is it wrong that I saw a man the other day that looked like Wilford Brimley from the neck up and delicious from the neck down and wanted to drool? His legs were amazing, all muscly and sinewy and strong. I mean, really. It's a crime to be that old and look that good.
I wish I had a runner's drive and dedication. But I just can't do it. I never could run when I was in school. I hated it. I got all out of breath and itchy and wanted to throw up. Now, I love a good walk, and you get basically the same benefits without all the stress on your joints, but it doesn't sound as cool to say "I'm going out for a walk" as it does when someone says "I'm going for a run." I used to like to draw a line down the middle and say "I'm going for a jog," because now that I can do. I like to blame it on my knee (which does prevent me from doing much more than a swift walk or light jog), but I really know it's because I hate to run.
But God bless the men who don't hate it. And the girls who are always running on my street? I hate them.
I think I'll stick to walking and yoga.
Daaaaaaaang.
There are all these really old, gray, wrinkly men that run constantly on the street I work on and even where I live. Is it wrong that I saw a man the other day that looked like Wilford Brimley from the neck up and delicious from the neck down and wanted to drool? His legs were amazing, all muscly and sinewy and strong. I mean, really. It's a crime to be that old and look that good.
I wish I had a runner's drive and dedication. But I just can't do it. I never could run when I was in school. I hated it. I got all out of breath and itchy and wanted to throw up. Now, I love a good walk, and you get basically the same benefits without all the stress on your joints, but it doesn't sound as cool to say "I'm going out for a walk" as it does when someone says "I'm going for a run." I used to like to draw a line down the middle and say "I'm going for a jog," because now that I can do. I like to blame it on my knee (which does prevent me from doing much more than a swift walk or light jog), but I really know it's because I hate to run.
But God bless the men who don't hate it. And the girls who are always running on my street? I hate them.
I think I'll stick to walking and yoga.
Friday, June 13, 2008
hey, your son is on line toot...
For those fearful of flatulence, turn away from this blog now.
Ok...anyone still there? Good.
So, today I'm in my office, which is really an open workspace with three other designers, sometimes a fourth. Today, I was sitting at my desk, doing my own thing, when I realize I need to retrieve a file from the drawers under my desk. I lean over, rustle through my papers to find the needed paper, when I did it.
Pfffft.
That's right. I let one go, right there in my office-slash-workspace.
Luckily, there were only two other designers up there with me, and it was not of neck-choking, gagging-for-air variety. It was strictly air. However, i was then thrust into the situation of having to exercise some damage control.
I'm not very proud of what happened next.
I immediately began making happy little farting noises with my mouth. "Pffft, pffft, pfft..." and so it went. That way, I figured if someone said something like "Was that you? Did you fart?" or "Did you hear that?" I could respond with, "Huh? What? Oh, I was making fart noises with my mouth earlier, maybe that was what you heard. Ha, ha, ha, that's me, I'm just so quirky. Pffft, pfft, pfft..."
God, I need help.
Ok...anyone still there? Good.
So, today I'm in my office, which is really an open workspace with three other designers, sometimes a fourth. Today, I was sitting at my desk, doing my own thing, when I realize I need to retrieve a file from the drawers under my desk. I lean over, rustle through my papers to find the needed paper, when I did it.
Pfffft.
That's right. I let one go, right there in my office-slash-workspace.
Luckily, there were only two other designers up there with me, and it was not of neck-choking, gagging-for-air variety. It was strictly air. However, i was then thrust into the situation of having to exercise some damage control.
I'm not very proud of what happened next.
I immediately began making happy little farting noises with my mouth. "Pffft, pffft, pfft..." and so it went. That way, I figured if someone said something like "Was that you? Did you fart?" or "Did you hear that?" I could respond with, "Huh? What? Oh, I was making fart noises with my mouth earlier, maybe that was what you heard. Ha, ha, ha, that's me, I'm just so quirky. Pffft, pfft, pfft..."
God, I need help.
what's the deal, pickle?
Sometimes things happen to me that just make me want to cry. Like, sit in the middle of wherever I am and bawl. Call me overdramatic, I don't care. (Actually, I do, and if you said that to my face, I'd probably collapse in a heap at your feet and commence the over-emoting.)
Anyway. I remember once hearing my mother say, "You know, Autumn and I just think everything bad happens to us. Everything bad really does happen to Summer."
Honestly. If there is a hole to fall in, a banana peel to trip over, or a bucket to step in, I will surely be the one to provided unintended comic relief.
The other day, I went to the grocery store after work. It was pouring down rain, but I brave those falling drops to purchase some pantry essentials. While shopping, a jar of pickles caught my eye. I haven't had pickles in so long! I thought. I picked up a jar and went about my way.
When I got home, it was still raining, and I had several bags. I pulled out my trusty umbrella and walked over the passenger side to retrieve my wares. As I turned one way, I noticed a box of pasta fall out. I hastily picked it up and turned to get my other bags. Then I heard the sound of glass splintering. What the hell was that? I thought. I turned around, wondering what would make such a noise.
It was my brand-new jar of pickles, lying naked on the grass, surrounding by the glass that once held them safely.
This was one of those moments where I wanted to cry. I felt so bad leaving them there, all alone on the sidewalk.
I think a dog came by and ate them one day. At least somebody benefitted from my misfortune.
I returned to the a scene a day later, prepared to mourn.
Anyway. I remember once hearing my mother say, "You know, Autumn and I just think everything bad happens to us. Everything bad really does happen to Summer."
Honestly. If there is a hole to fall in, a banana peel to trip over, or a bucket to step in, I will surely be the one to provided unintended comic relief.
The other day, I went to the grocery store after work. It was pouring down rain, but I brave those falling drops to purchase some pantry essentials. While shopping, a jar of pickles caught my eye. I haven't had pickles in so long! I thought. I picked up a jar and went about my way.
When I got home, it was still raining, and I had several bags. I pulled out my trusty umbrella and walked over the passenger side to retrieve my wares. As I turned one way, I noticed a box of pasta fall out. I hastily picked it up and turned to get my other bags. Then I heard the sound of glass splintering. What the hell was that? I thought. I turned around, wondering what would make such a noise.
It was my brand-new jar of pickles, lying naked on the grass, surrounding by the glass that once held them safely.
This was one of those moments where I wanted to cry. I felt so bad leaving them there, all alone on the sidewalk.
I think a dog came by and ate them one day. At least somebody benefitted from my misfortune.
I returned to the a scene a day later, prepared to mourn.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
how much is a memory worth?
We've all been there before. You bump into someone at the supermarket, or around town, and when they offer up a warm hello, you feel a twinge of guilt because you can't remember how you know them. Or worse, you can't remember their name.
Or sometimes, when you're looking for something, like your keys or your glasses, and you look and look, only to find them in your purse, or perched on your head. You laugh to yourself, and think, "I must be losing my mind."
Now think about this: You're surrounded by people you don't know, but who all seem to know you. It's impossible to find things you need, and even harder to remember where you're supposed to put them. Time is a limitless concept; days and nights and weeks and months all fade into each other. You're in a strange place that you recognize vaguely, but you don't know where you are. You just want to go home.
My grandmother has Alzheimer's, and this is what life is like for her every day. Times ten.
Let me back up a little. My grandparents have always lived right across the street from me. My dad's two sisters live beside us, all three families on the same street across from my Maw Maw and Paw Paw, as we all called them. About ten years ago, my grandfather suffered a massive heart attack. It was so sudden, so unexpected. Just out of school for the day, I was across the street, alone, waiting for my parents to come home from work when I saw all the flashing lights and heard the fire trucks. He died instantly. We were all worried about my grandmother, and my dad would go out to stay with her at night. I spent Christmas Eve there that year. But everything seemed to be okay, as good as it could've been.
About two years ago, my parents started noticing little things about my grandmother. She would lose her glasses, or insist she'd lost them, and they'd be on the dresser. She'd lost a lot of weight, and she seemed to have trouble remembering little things. At first, we just chalked it up to being old. But it got worse. My dad would find pills on the floor. Upon opening a cabinet, my mother noticed an empty fish stick box next an unopened box of crackers. One afternoon, all the spoons disappeared—we soon realized that she'd thrown them all away. She was losing so much weight because she was forgetting to eat. When she almost started a fire on the gas stove in the kitchen, my dad decided that someone would have to stay with her more often.
Then some things were disappearing from around the house.
One day, I noticed some pictures were missing. They were of my sister. One by one, they came down, off the shelves, and off the wall. Then my pictures were gone. It finally came to the point where the only pictures that remained were very old, not including the three family pictures about the couch from when we'd had church directory pictures taken.
With the pictures went the memories.
I called my grandmother's house one day to speak to my dad. I asked for him, and when she said he was gone, I asked her to tell him to please call Summer. "Which one are you again?" she asked. It only got worse after her pacemaker was put in and she came home from the hospital.
She's convinced that my dad has brought her to some house, that he found her somewhere and brought her there. All the mirrors have either been removed or taped over so that she doesn't feel like "that woman" is watching her. She thinks my Aunt Phyllis is some girl who my dad has paid to sit with her—she doesn't even recognize her own daughter. The last time I visited her, we'd talk about people and she'd have to ask me who was living and who wasn't.
I live in Birmingham now, so I don't get to see my family as much as I like. I rely on my daily reports from my mother and father to see how she's doing. And it never gets better. I can see the toll it takes on my family, esp my dad. To me, it's sad, because she's my old grandmother. But that's my dad's mom. She used to take care of him, now he has to take care of her. I hope and pray that my parents never have to ask me who I am. Or who they are, as my grandmother is slowly starting to forget herself.
I can't imagine how sad and lonely she must be, and how hard it is for any of us to even begin to understand what she's going through. There are so many moments in my life that I want so badly to forget, but I hope the day never comes when I can't remember anything, even those things that I don't want to.
Or sometimes, when you're looking for something, like your keys or your glasses, and you look and look, only to find them in your purse, or perched on your head. You laugh to yourself, and think, "I must be losing my mind."
Now think about this: You're surrounded by people you don't know, but who all seem to know you. It's impossible to find things you need, and even harder to remember where you're supposed to put them. Time is a limitless concept; days and nights and weeks and months all fade into each other. You're in a strange place that you recognize vaguely, but you don't know where you are. You just want to go home.
My grandmother has Alzheimer's, and this is what life is like for her every day. Times ten.
Let me back up a little. My grandparents have always lived right across the street from me. My dad's two sisters live beside us, all three families on the same street across from my Maw Maw and Paw Paw, as we all called them. About ten years ago, my grandfather suffered a massive heart attack. It was so sudden, so unexpected. Just out of school for the day, I was across the street, alone, waiting for my parents to come home from work when I saw all the flashing lights and heard the fire trucks. He died instantly. We were all worried about my grandmother, and my dad would go out to stay with her at night. I spent Christmas Eve there that year. But everything seemed to be okay, as good as it could've been.
About two years ago, my parents started noticing little things about my grandmother. She would lose her glasses, or insist she'd lost them, and they'd be on the dresser. She'd lost a lot of weight, and she seemed to have trouble remembering little things. At first, we just chalked it up to being old. But it got worse. My dad would find pills on the floor. Upon opening a cabinet, my mother noticed an empty fish stick box next an unopened box of crackers. One afternoon, all the spoons disappeared—we soon realized that she'd thrown them all away. She was losing so much weight because she was forgetting to eat. When she almost started a fire on the gas stove in the kitchen, my dad decided that someone would have to stay with her more often.
Then some things were disappearing from around the house.
One day, I noticed some pictures were missing. They were of my sister. One by one, they came down, off the shelves, and off the wall. Then my pictures were gone. It finally came to the point where the only pictures that remained were very old, not including the three family pictures about the couch from when we'd had church directory pictures taken.
With the pictures went the memories.
I called my grandmother's house one day to speak to my dad. I asked for him, and when she said he was gone, I asked her to tell him to please call Summer. "Which one are you again?" she asked. It only got worse after her pacemaker was put in and she came home from the hospital.
She's convinced that my dad has brought her to some house, that he found her somewhere and brought her there. All the mirrors have either been removed or taped over so that she doesn't feel like "that woman" is watching her. She thinks my Aunt Phyllis is some girl who my dad has paid to sit with her—she doesn't even recognize her own daughter. The last time I visited her, we'd talk about people and she'd have to ask me who was living and who wasn't.
I live in Birmingham now, so I don't get to see my family as much as I like. I rely on my daily reports from my mother and father to see how she's doing. And it never gets better. I can see the toll it takes on my family, esp my dad. To me, it's sad, because she's my old grandmother. But that's my dad's mom. She used to take care of him, now he has to take care of her. I hope and pray that my parents never have to ask me who I am. Or who they are, as my grandmother is slowly starting to forget herself.
I can't imagine how sad and lonely she must be, and how hard it is for any of us to even begin to understand what she's going through. There are so many moments in my life that I want so badly to forget, but I hope the day never comes when I can't remember anything, even those things that I don't want to.
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