I Am a Cold-Hearted Wench

Everyone pause in preparation for a profound moment of introspection on my part...

Ready? I have discovered that I am a cold-hearted wench (as the title implies). How is this possible?! I am a psychologist! I MAKE A LIVING being the person that people trust with their secrets and hurts and general life junk!! Research would suggest that the strongest healing component of psychotherapy is the therapeutic relationship between patient and therapist, and that this relationship hinges, at least in part, on the therapist's ability to form a connection with the patient. People don't connect to cold-hearted wenches, as a general rule, so how on earth did I deduce the label and apply it with such conviction? Clearly I am off my rocker, as the label is just not logical. The defense (and Mr. Spock - logically) rests.

I have several pieces of damning evidence to present to the jury. For one thing, I hate mushy cards. Seriously, they make me uncomfortable. If any card has more than a paragraph worth of writing in script font, paired with pastels, glitter, rainbows and watercolored graphics, a small shudder goes up my spine and I grit my teeth in a fake smile of gratitude after skimming the words.

Secondly, schmoopy couples make me roll my eyes. I don't like couples hanging all over one another, acting like they cannot stand a moment away from each other or that they are so desperately in love that they don't care about any other people in the room. This is a very big bummer because my spouse kind of likes it when I act like this around him. Bleah. In fact, generally speaking, romantic efforts should pretty much be contained to occasional surprise flower boquets. Hand holding gets too sweaty, sitting with someone's arm around my shoulders hurts my neck and back after a while, and a hand rubbing my arm or thigh makes me want to swat at it. When I see movies with people lying facing one another and blissfully staring at one another, I want to move them apart so they can avoid breathing each other's used up air. Ack! Even extended make out scenes make me think of literally swapping spit or if either of them ate garlic or onions. Another point of proof that my heart is as shriveled as the Grinch's, recently at a wedding, the groom wrote a song for his new bride and sang it while providing guitar accompaniment (which he also wrote, of course) during the ceremony. Normally wedding music only makes me uncomfortable when poorly performed (and there is an abundance of poorly-performed wedding music out there). This was nicely done: nice voice, good tune, well-played. But I squirmed the whole time, avoided watching the couple, and thought, "Akward moment!" Shmoopiness gives me the heebie jeebies.

Beyond the romantic, I have little symptathy for people with annoying sicknesses, like the common cold or sore muscles. Take care of your darn self. Get a tissue, take some Ibuprofen, go to bed, suck on some cough drops, drink some whiskey, whatever you can do in the moment to slightly improve your suffering and leave me out of it. I'm the mom who tells her kids, "You aren't puking, pooping uncontrollably, or have a fever. Buck up and get to school."

So, there you have it. I'll take my Ice Queen crown now. And the bad thing is that I didn't used to be this way. So, if any of you find my romantic/compassionate side, please return it and I'll see if we can have it surgically grafted back on to me. I have a sneaking suspicion that the cynical side will reject the transplant.

Bells and Whistles

Did anyone notice my fancy new feature on the blog? Check above the stagnant tracking space... photos! Turns out, there are many bells and whistles that can be added to the blog. There are games, word-of-the-day things, YouTube links, clocks-of-the-world displays (just in case you have readers all over the globe or are a superdork) and works of art from your favorite dead painters. I went with photos. And I could add great photos from really good photographers, but I have stuck you all with photos from my flickr photo page. Enjoy! And don't say I never did anything to add some more entertainment value around here.

Is This Weird?

For those of you who had not heard, my dog passed away a few weeks ago (same day as Paul Newman, actually). It was very sad for me. I had the dog for about 13 years, and loved her very much. She got very sick and I couldn't stand to see her suffer, so my nice vet came to my house and put her to sleep.

Then we had the question of what to do with her body. Well, she was a 50 pound dog, and technically you are not supposed to bury dead things in your yard when you live in town. I guess they don't want people just making their own personal cemetary in their back yard and then puting the house up for sale... you get the drift there. We were then left with the option of having the vet take her body and disposing of it. He let us know that he sends animal bodies to someone in a nearby town who cremates them and spreads their ashes on their farmland somewhere. This sounded ok, but there was also the option to have her cremated and we could get her ashes back. This cost some money, but we decided to go with option number 3 - have dog cremated and ashes returned for burial in back yard, private services planned, with a luncheon to follow.

Well, the ashes returned to us today, in a tall squareish tin with paw prints on it, with the dog's name printed on the tin. It's so weird. The tin is really heavy and I can hear sediment moving in there if I tip it back and forth. And here's the really weird part: I had this urge to open the lid and just see what the ashes look like, but I am too chicken to do it. I don't think I will open it. Would you?

Newbies

I invited a few more friends to check out my blog, so I thought I would take a moment to welcome which ever ones of them did not roll their eyes at me and delete the invitational email, but acutally popped over and read this. Hi! For you newbies, feel free to post comments (click on the word "comment" under the main post) or just browse others' comments. Half the fun is the dialogue about the posts.

I also wrote this entry to let my regular readers (all four of you) know that I have invited in some new folks, so there is no need for alarm if it appears that random people are posting on the blog. Though, in theory, that would be really cool if random people would post on my blog... Random people like Brad Pitt or Matt Damon, who decide that I am the wittiest writer they have seen since Lori Notaro and ask me to write a book and pay me mega bucks... Whoops! Slipped into a delusion of grandeur there, for a minute, excuse me.

So, thank you for your attention, I direct you (direct me?) back to our regularly random blogging.

A Follower!

Today when I signed in to my blog "dashboard" I noticed this little icon next to my "too phat" headline. It's a generic person symbol - like if you did a bust of any of the symbols on a public restroom, a bald round-headed silhouette - and next to the icon it said "1 follower." What?! What the heck is that?! Turns out that you can identify yourself as a "follower" of this blog! I'm not sure what kinds of benefits this action would have, though perhaps I should throw out a promotional offer to entice more followers to join ranks. Well, you all know that I am a comment junkie, so you can imagine my near-drunk giddy response to finding out that someone was willing to be an official follower of the blog. I feel like I should make an acceptance speech...

I'd like to think my mother for insisting that I have at least a rudimentary grasp of grammar and spelling, and my husband for only being slightly annoyed with the time that I spend writing. I'd also like to thank God and Jesus for, well, just being a couple of great guys who always look out for me (and a shout out to the Holy Ghost - I didn't forget you!). I also need to mention my workplace, for having job requirements that are averse enough to prompt me to justify taking a break to blog (do some paperwork, reward with a blog break). Oh, gosh, there are so many people to thank... my creative writing professor, Dr. Bedard, my sister SAHM for blogging first and not being real pissy when I stole the idea (and for the great writing material), my kids, and of course, the LadaFam for giving me this honor. Sniffle, blink-blink, wipe eyes, whoo! It's just so overwhelming.... but I accept this honor and vow to try really hard to be worthy of this follower and any others that care to join.

New Show

I used to watch "Friends" every Thursday. I really enjoyed it, and when it ended, I was bummed. I had no "show". You know, a TV show that you follow and you know the characters and their stories and have emotional reactions as a result...a "show." We had The Cosbys as kids, Cheers, Night Court, the A-team, Night Rider, etc. Many people tried to convince me to get hooked on various shows, and I gave them a test-viewing. I watched Gray's for a while, but I just couldn't commit. I absolutely love Dancing With the Stars, but I don't think that really counts. It's so time-limited and there's no real story to follow. New Adventures of Old Christine looks intriguing, but I never stopped to watch it, really.

BUT last week, after my usual viewing of the results show for Dancing w/Stars, this show, Eli Stone, came on. It's about a lawyer who has a brain aneurism that gives him visions and may just be a gift from God. His father apparently had the same thing, and THIS week a notebook showed up in his brother's posession that was written by his father, who they thought was just crazy when they were kids, but the notebook is all about Eli and stuff that is happening to him now, 20 years after the stuff was written. Katie Holmes made a guest appearance and somehow they thought it was a good idea for her to sing (they were wrong), but it was a good episode and I was near tears. I may have a new show! We'll see how long it lasts.

I Heart HSM

High School Musical 3 is coming to our local theater (and theaters near you) this Friday and I am very excited about this. Why would I admit this in print? It is liberating. I have watched the made-for-TV HSM movies a billion times and can blame this on having two daughters, but am also ok saying that I enjoy watching them. I can sing all of the songs, including either part from most of the duets (you want to hear the Zac Effron part or Vanessa Hutjens?). I will absolutely purchase the DVD of this latest installation of the very talented Wildcats as they graduate from high school, and probably the soundtrack, and I will know all of those songs in a manner of weeks. Hooray! What will Sharpay do next? Inquiring minds want to know - Inquiring minds, like me, who will go and pay good money for sappy Disney-channel high school romance devoid of smut, alcohol,controversy, and much need for thought. Ahhhh.. entertainment.

Rediscovering Halloween

I like Halloween. As a child, of course, Halloween was fantastic. There was the party at school, the choosing of a costume, and then trick-or-treating and going home to sort my "loot" into categories. My categories were pretty simple: suckers, chocolate, gum, and the crap that I didn't want (Mounds and Almond Joy, popcorn balls). I don't know why I bothered to sort and separate, other than reveling in the ability to have enough candy to sort. I mean, it all ended up back in my bag in a jumble, minus the crap, but I guess I had a mental tally of what was in there.

Then, somewhere in high school, Halloween lost its magic for me. Too old to dress up unless there was a party somewhere (and there wasn't one anywhere), and way too old to trick-or-treat unless you wanted to endure the disproving glares of everyone handing out candy and watch them reach for the tootsie rolls. Handing out candy at home was ok, cuz the little kids were cute in their costumes, but that got boring after a while, too. So, Halloween, blah, whatever.

Halloween started to be fun again after I became a parent. I am one of those parents who dressed her two-month-old as a flower and went around to relatives homes. I love seeing my kids dressed up. And I like going trick-or-treating with them, but NOT when it is freezing cold. Being a good Mom, I buck up and take one for the team, and go no matter what. I've even taught them to tough it out and go the extra couple of blocks in the cold, knowing that the spoils of the toil pay off in the candy bucket, cuz people start giving out handfuls of candy when its cold and they want to get rid of it. And we go home and sort their candy...

All of that is great fun, but LAST year, I rediscovered the fun of costumes. I was new in town and my fantastic new hairstylist (that topic is a whole posting in and of itself), invited me to go out with her, in costume, for Halloween. I was hesitant, but I ran to Kmart, bought a silvery cape and fake eyelashes, wore all black, the cape and dramatic makeup and went as a witch of sorts. There were lots of people with lots of great costumes, and it was FUN. It was fun to see everyone being whimsical and adding alcohol and a dance floor to adults in costumes is just a recipe for a good time.

So, Halloween is creeping toward us again! Hooray! And when our card club got postponed a week, I suggested adding costumes to the mix. The suggestion was well-received. And I wanted my spouse and I to be the Spartan cheerleaders from SNL of old (Will Ferrell, Shari O'Terry) so we could do the perfect cheer for Euchre (You got the right, left, oh you pass. Watch out cuz we'll set your... Spartan Spirit!) But of course this brilliant idea did not hit me until Wednesday, and I would have had to pay for express shipping. Darn. Back to Kmart for me. I tried on several costumes, all marked "One Size Fits Most." "Most" of what? Most people under size 8? Most teenaged anorexics? Most exercise fanatics? Cuz those costumes are not designed for "most" women. But I found one, and I will be a "Fair Maiden" and might add "dead" to the beginning of that concept with some white makeup. I'm so excited to see what everyone else will wear, and to just hang out and have fun with my grownup friends all dressed in costumes. Happy Halloween everyone!

You Put What, Where?

I have regained my voice! Well, it doesn't sound much like my voice yet, but it's at least A voice. But the cold that started this mess has remained. My head is in misery with stuffiness, and my nice coworkers noticed and being a bunch of medical professionals, they all had a resounding endorsement of a remedy called "the Nedi Pot." What the... They pointed me to the pharmacy desk, where our pharmacist, Ron, pulled a box from the shelf and showed me a small plastic blue teapot with a bunch of packets the size of moist towelets.

Ron explained that the Nedi Pot is all about rinsing out your sinuses. See, you take a packet (which contains about a half teaspon of salt - can later be replaced with Morton's pickling salt) and mix it with a cup of warm water in the teapot. Then, and here's where I furrowed my brow and pursed my lips in skepticism, you lean over your tub or sink, tilt your head to the side and POUR THE WATER IN ONE NOSTRIL, LETTING IT DRAIN OUT THE OTHER ONE. Say what?! Pour water INTO my nose?? Wait, isn't that generally bad? It sure is unpleasant the few times it has happened to me at the pool...

Ron assured me that it does not hurt, and that I would not drown myself, though if I didn't have my head tilted correctly it would drain down my throat into and out my mouth - EW! Apparently the salt water is what keeps it from being painful, which made sense to me, given that the water in utero has the same salty concentration as the ocean, and gargling with salt water has often been recommended to decrease the pain caused by inflamation in the throat. Why do I know that? Because it is rediculous trivia that has very little utility and therefore sticks in my head rather than whatever I was supposed to remember to tell my spouse about changes in my schedule that impact him. But I digress...

I bit. I bought the teapot and took it home. I put the water and salt in there and then stood looking at this thing and myself in the mirror, thinking, 'There is no way I am going to be able to do this.' But, I raised the pot, lowered my head and sealed off one nostril with the spout, and poured. This was one of the weirdest sensations, I must say. And the process is, er, messy. I should probably video tape it and send it in to some contest, as I am sure it would be pretty funny to watch. Well, "funny" might not be the right word. I think it would be one of those things that would make you simultaneously open your mouth and cover it with your hand in shocked but curious incredulousity. (I think I just made up that word - incredulousity). Once the water is through one side, you are to farmer blow the offending sinus junk out of yourself and you cannot plug any nostrils to do so - a clear farmer blow if you please - to avoid blowing out your eardrums. Disgusting, I know. Then you start the fun on the other side.

And, gross as it was (and is), it worked. So now I, too, am one who endorses the Nedi Pot in all of its disgusting homeopathic wonder, right up there with Zycam. So, go out and buy yourselves one for all of your sinus headache problems, likely found at your local pharmacy. Just be careful to keep the box if you have young children. Nobody wants to wander into the bathroom to find their child having a tea party with their nose flusher.

Silence is Golden

Unless it is because of laryngitis, which I have. I can't produce any noise above a whisper, unless you count that high squeaky sound that peeps out of my voicebox when I laugh. It started with a cold that did it's usual number on my voice, the "usual number" being one where my voice drops a few whole notes and takes on a rhaspy quality. I've been told it's not unappealing, in a Kathleen Turner kind of way. So, that's fine with me. Annoying as colds are, I can survive.

But this morning... nothin doin, no voice. And I think it is highly amusing, I have to tell you. It's just weird that I go to talk and no sound comes out. People's reactions are really funny, too. Some of them will whisper back to me, like we're sharing a secret except that we're talking about where my car is located in the parking lot (to the grocery carry-out girl) or how the other person is doing (in casual conversation - how are you? fine, how are you?). Some of them have looked at me like I've stopped taking some important medications that make me sane. And others look at me as if I am a completely rude snob who refuses to say hello, but only mouths "hi" and nods.

The only real hinderance is when there is background noise, like my sister running some water. Nope, can't be heard over that. Nor can I be heard over any radio, or by my children in the backseat of the car when I am driving, or if anyone is emptying a dishwasher, or calling me on the telephone in a place where there is one iota of sound besides my whispering voice on the other end of the line. I have already adapted somewhat and have resorted to clapping my hands in a short and sharp series to get my children's attention. I can also whistle a tune, but I am whistle deficient when it comes to those loud piercing whistles that could grab other's attention. I am headed to a crowded festival this weekend.... that ought to be interesting. Let's hope I get some vocal power back soon, or else I'll be out there with a small notebook in my back pocket and pen perched behind my ear. Dorkarific communicado.