Rockin' With the Folks

When my brother asked if it would be worth it to shell out some bucks for the Paul McCartney concert, I told him it was the closest we'd ever come to hearing the Beatles perform live. Of course YES!

Knowing that the Beatles were our parents' favorite band, we decided to treat them to the concert at the Hollywood Bowl. Somehow we all managed to make it there on time, amidst the horrific traffic and congestion at the Bowl entrance itself. (Over a decade of attending events at the Hollywood Bowl, and yet they still haven't figured out a solution to the gridlock in the area?!)

Sir Paul was so spectacular, he needed no opening band. The man played nearly 3 hours straight, with more than half of the songs from the Beatles repertoire. Wheeeee! At 67, he's older than my dad and in better shape than any of us. He either played the guitar or piano for every song he sang. Did I mention the awesome pyrotechnics?

The former hippies were also all out in full arm swaying glory for his 70's Wings stuff. The best part? When my parents asked my brother, "Why does it smell like skunk out here?"
Replied my brother, "That's not skunk. It's marijuana."

A fun family outing indeed.

It's All A Sham

A knock on my bathroom door as I finish brushing my teeth. The bf peeps his head in.

BF: I want some cookies.
Me: Um, ok. You want me to bake you some?
BF: :)

I wander over to the kitchen and whip out the frozen Otis Spunkmeyer cookie dough from Costco.

Me: You know, you can bake these yourself too.
BF: ???
Me: They're precut. You just plop them on the cookie tray with parchment paper.
BF: That's it?! And here I thought you baked them from scratch every time! I thought you were slaving over them.
Me: Uh no.... How did you think I was able to bake them so quickly every time?
BF: It was all a lie!

Chest Deep in the Mid Thirties

It's my last day of being 33 and I spent more than half of it NOT working. heh heh... Unfortunately I also spent half of 33 being cursed with an undiagnosed illness which hopefully will be diagnosed next week when I'm 34. Huzzah.

I decided to pamper myself with an overpriced pedicure today but already managed to ruin it by stubbing my toe two minutes into shuffling around at home. That's me, Miss Twinkletoes.

The BF is also now unemployed, as today was his last day of work. He's napping soundly right now after weeks of long hours. At least we're going to Disneyland tomorrow! Wheeeee.....

All in all, a pretty quiet birthday eve thus far. I will continue to navel gaze and reflect on 33 and ponder what life has in store for 34 throughout the week!

Driving Encounters

As I drove to yet another doctor's appointment this morning, I was stuck behind this behemoth of a vehicle. This Mercedes Sprinter was the height of two sedans stacked on top of one another, but the length was still about van sized. I kept wondering how it doesn't just tip right over every time it makes a turn. Dumb looking car. It also managed to block my view of everything in front of me, but just short enough to not block out the sun. Grrrr....

Encounters

Most afternoons, you'll find me at coffee houses these days, just so I don't sit at home and stare at the wall for hours. I may be good at not turning on the TV during daytime hours, but for some reason, staring at the wall seems to be ok.

Last week, I stopped by Tanner's Coffee after picking up my car from the mechanic down the street. It was an especially sweltering day and the internet was down at home. An iced latte at a (hopefully) air conditioned coffee house sounded perfect.

Unfortunately, Tanner's declined to turn on the AC and mainly relied on ceiling fans. Hey, at least there's still free wi-fi I thought, as I unpleasantly stuck to their leather couch. And then there was the guy sitting in front of me, with his bare feet propped up on the coffee table as if this were his personal living room. At least I can't smell him and he's not bothering me I thought, as I moved my coffee to the farthest edge of the table away from his feet.

Barefoot guy finally left after half an hour and a pleasant young man sat down instead.
"What do you do?" he asked me, though I had made no eye contact and was staring straight at my computer managing three IM chats at the same time.
Since he did seem like a pleasant young man, I made polite conversation while continuing to type away at my computer. I learned he was of Lebanese descent and an aspiring architect. Nothing screaming Stranger Danger! I continued to go about my business and let the conversation lull.

"You have pretty feet," he suddenly commented. Well that got my attention. I looked up and because manners have been so ingrained into me, I politely thanked him. Then made a mental note that actually, I really needed a pedicure and the guy must be blind. Five minutes later, I finished my coffee, peeled myself off the leather couch and bid farewell to the pleasant young man with the foot fetish.

The Never Ending Virus - In Which I've Now Become a Drug Addict

SO, it's been 6 MONTHS since I got that little cold back in March. 5 MONTHS since they diagnosed me with sub acute thyroiditis.
It's never good when your doctor calls you a "medical mystery." It seems that after two weeks of steroids, my thyroid continued to stubbornly be inflamed. That was over a month ago. As a bonus, I suffered from withdrawal symptoms at the end of those two weeks - fever, extreme cold, and nausea for days. Those few days of suffering made that day of taking Vicodin a fun little jaunt in the park.
It was back to the primary care physician who took a look at my even more swollen thyroid, lymph glands and bright red itchy neck and prescribed giant horse pill sized ibuprofen, Zantac to prevent my stomach from bleeding as a result of all that ibuprofen (yikes!) and then a Claritin for the HIVES that were apparently afflicting my neck as a result of all that irritation and inflammation. Does it ever end?
Everything seems to only stifle the pain and some of the inflammation, but nothing is FIXING it. My regular doctor shot down my request to continue with the herbal drinks from the acupuncturist/herbal doctor. However, two weeks of six pills a day did not do the job. Back to the endocrinologist who suggested a higher, longer dose of Prednisone. And a huge promise to taper the dosage down a lot slower so I wouldn't feel like dying when I got off the drugs.
Here I am three weeks later, still on a dose so high that my brain is speedy like a run-on sentence, singing songs, planning my schedule days ahead, worrying about every little minutiae... mainly during the wee hours of 12am-3am when I'd really like to sleep. When I tried to taper down after the first week per the doctor's plan, I could feel it. And then the chest pains started whenever I didn't make sure to have a steady stream of the medicine in my system. An hour late with the pills? Feels like someone punched me in the chest. So now I call every Monday to let him know how I'm doing (nothing changes, glands still swollen!) and he just keeps me on this dose.
I asked him a few weeks ago "What if this just doesn't get better?" Both he and my primary physician never even saw it as an option. "It'll eventually get better. It's just taking a lot longer than normal."
Last week, I decided to be more persistent. "I'm getting very frustrated. It doesn't seem like I'm getting any better no matter what medicine or dosage I'm taking. What happens if it doesn't get better and how long do we do this?"
Again the endocrinologist was not fazed. "We can stay on the Prednisone longer. We can do this for a few more months. The last resort is to remove your thyroid. But since it's surgery, that will be a last resort." This means having to take synthetic hormones for the rest of my life. I'm not really happy with the options.
Here's the kicker. For some reason, they only have Prednisone at a certain dose and only allot a certain amount of pills for each prescription. I'm not sure if it's the pharmacy's policy or my insurance policy. I have to take four pills a day and I need a refill every 2 weeks. Insurance only allows monthly refills. Imagine my displeasure when I went to the pharmacy Monday night to get a refill only to be told I didn't qualify for one until five days later.
All I could think of was how bad the withdrawal had been when I tried to stop taking the steroids at the lowest dose. To suddenly be cut off at the highest dose? Someone might have to die. And it might be me.
Hearing myself tell the pharmacist that I needed these pills tonight and that there would be WITHDRAWAL, felt like a new low in my life. Luckily, the lady took pity on me and called the insurance company to sort it out. And luckily, there was someone with power who still took calls for Blue Shield at 11:30pm on a Monday night to allow me to pick up these pills. When I got home and told the bf what happened, he looked at me sadly and said "Probably didn't help that you had dark circles under your eyes."
After much pressure from the parents and the bf, I'm currently seeking a second opinion. We'll see what happens...

How To Know You're Not Ready For the Next Step

I was uncomfortably navigating the aisles of Babies R Us yesterday, looking for that hilarious Wee Block for a friend's baby shower. All of a sudden, a toddler came rushing toward me, arms waving in the air and yelling like a wild banshee. I looked over and almost ran. Instead, I flinched. As if the kid could hurt me in some way. I couldn't get out of that store fast enough.

Thank goodness there's no pressure for rugrats yet...

Things You Don't Think You Need...

Until you actually need them.


This ranks up there as one of the best inventions ever. I haven't personally been sprayed by a wee baby boy, but I've heard stories of those unexpected fountains. Hopefully my cousin will be getting plenty of use/blockage from this cute little gift.

When I showed my brother, he was horrified.
"Dude, if a kid sprayed me while I was changing a diaper, I'd be like, 'I'm OUT! That's it. No mas."
My sentiments exactly.

The "Force" and My Hair

In an effort to save some money while being on the dole, I've started hitting up the library and borrowing books (despite my slight OCD about those books being "dirty" and offering to repair a few of the worn paperbacks I got), holding off on purchasing a new luscious Macbook, eating at home much much more, and attempting to redye the blue streaks in my hair without the help of a licensed professional.
All I can say is that before I started getting my hair professionally dyed years ago, I once attempted to do it myself at home. How hard could it be, I thought? There is still more blue dots all over my bathroom than there ever was on my hair from that attempt.
Anyway, on my last visit, I convinced my hairstylist to sell/give me the leftover professional blue dye so that I can try quick touch ups at home to save money. And, I'm a teensy bit ashamed to say that I swiped a pair of disposable latex gloves from the doctor's office this week after my umpteenth visit (more update on that later), figuring the copays I was forking over should balance it out. After carefully applying the blue dye on the front two segments of my hair, and folding it up in foil like I'd seen my hairstylist do, I managed to get very little dye on any other undesired surfaces. Success!!! As I walked out to the living room to grab a drink and wait for my hair to dry, the bf looked up and stared at me with the two patches of foil on each side of my head.
"You look like a metallic Princess Leia," he remarked sweetly. Star Wars reference. Double success!!!

Anger Issues

Don't judge me but I did something bad the other day. I keyed some woman's shiny silver Benz. Just a little bit.

I've always wanted to do something like that, talked about it many times after several encounters with rude drivers. But it was always just talk. That day, something snapped inside of me. Maybe it was years of frustration with doing the right thing and feeling that life was really just that unfair. Or maybe it was some latent rebellious streak striking out at the one millionth customer. Who knows. I think I'm just going to blame it on hormones.

Let me back up and explain. I was at one of those ubiquitous Chinese shopping plazas near my parents' house, stopping off to run an errand. I waited patiently for a couple to get into their car and pull out of their spot in the busy parking lot, my signal light flashing for all to see. Unfortunately, as their car pulls out, a shiny silver Benz pulls forward from the other side to take their spot. Completely irrational as she had a spot on the other side - no need to pull forward like that, especially as I was waiting there, gesturing to her to indicate this fact. Instead, the beeyotch stares at me, then shuts off the car and ignores me. To top it off, someone else has already pulled in behind her to take the other spot so that I'll have to continue to circle the lot.

After I found another spot, surprisingly near her car, I couldn't help sticking out my key near my hips as I brushed by her car. Call it a moment of devilish weakness as my id took over and knocked the ego over its head momentarily. She'll probably never notice it and likely has more than enough money to buff it out. She fit the mode of middle aged spoiled Asian housewife. Yes, sometimes the stereotypes are true. Asian women can't drive. Asian drivers are rude. And women are crazy. Especially nicely repressed Asian women. Have a nice day!

Young Love

As I sat here torpidly on my couch trying to move as little as possible, a young couple just walked by arguing. I missed most of the argument, but this is what I caught from the oh so eloquent boy as he skateboarded by with his girl.

"That's what I was trying to explain to you and your thick ass f***in skull!"

*Mental note to self, do not use this line while fighting... Wonder if they'll last...

It's All About Me

I've become one of THOSE people. I have an armada of individuals focused on my health and well-being, like those crazy old rich ladies. Except that I'm not rich nor hopefully crazy and old.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE my doctors and health care network. They check up on me, squeeze me in for appointments when I'm not feeling well especially often as of late, and for the most part don't ever make me feel like I'm constrained by the limitations of an HMO. All of them are worth the long drives and worth every penny.

But as I was counting how many different people I have in my heath care rolodex (physical, mental, and emotional well-being), I felt a bit self-indulgent:
1) Primary care physician
2) Nurse Practitioner/gynecologist
3) Dermatologist
4) Dentist
5) Podiatrist (only once every 3 years)
6) Endocrinologist (he's new, thanks to my ill tempered thyroid)
7) Masseuse (she's also become my friend, that's how much I love seeing her)
8) Chiropractor (also new thanks to the pain of swollen thyroid thrashing my head and neck)
9) Psychologist (thanks to the stresses of my old job, though tapering off)
a) Hairstylist
b) Brow lady

I put the last two separately since they technically don't contribute to my health. However, I believe that they contribute to my emotional well-being to look decent and feel good and should be considered part of Team Whatchamacalit.

I briefly considered adding an acupuncturist/herbal doctor to the team when I was desperate for anything to make my head and neck feel better from the thyroid. That has been put on hold pending how the drugs do their job over the next week and a half! Until then, holding strong at just under a dozen folks on the propping up of Whatchamacalit.

The Never Ending Virus - The Bug Lives On...

"Guess what honey? I'm gonna be a dude!"

Thyroiditis - the itis that never ends. After a good month of Advil taking and slight improvements, the obstinate thyroid of mine took a turn for the worse about two weeks ago. It became flaming hot itchy and started swelling up again, just in time for a road trip up to San Francisco.

Back to the endocrinologist, who prescribed me steroids this time. Prednisone, which is supposed to be a super powerful anti-inflammatory drug that they use as a last resort for stubborn inflamed things. Apparently athletes use it. Then die at like age forty from heart failure.

The doctor gave me five days worth, hoping it would knock this thing out of my system for good. But as soon as I started tapering off the pills last weekend, my neck started swelling up again and the annoying itchiness came back. Back to two more weeks of super duper steroids!

So I don't think it's the type of steroids that'll make me a dude, but it was still fun to say that to the bf. Here's crossing my fingers that two weeks of 'roids will finally do the trick and kick this thyroid's ass.

Walking in LA

No one walks in LA? I try to but sometimes it's just not convenient. Yesterday, however, I spotted two very odd people walking around in LA.

1) A bum in Marina del Rey holding a sign "Spaceship broken. Need new parts." I give him points for humor and creativity.

2) A white dude sporting a Manchurian Ching dynasty style braided queue. Seriously, the dude had most of his head shaved except for the spot of long hair in the back braided down his back. I thought he was also a bum at first but then realized he was a semi-normal dude waiting at the bus stop. Also props to him for creativity and bringing back the look of Chinese males from the late 1800's/early 1900's.

Slackers, Generation X, Y, Z, or the Funemployed. Call It What You Will

To all those people who keep asking me in that disdainful tone of voice "So... what is it that you do all day?" or "are you looking for a job yet?"

Dude, I'm just part of a national trend. Suck it.

My brother's retort? "Lazies."

A Letter From My Goddaughter

My goddaughter handed me this card before I left for the day, with clear instructions to not open it till I got home. She even tucked it into my purse for me as a special surprise.You should click on the picture and see the letter for yourself because I can't do it justice. It's a combination of her curiosity, randomness, and cuteness all rolled into one. Them eight year olds sure are smart. And listen in to everything you talk about with their parents...
In case you can't read the letter very well, here's what it says:
Dear Auntie (Whatchamacalit),
Sorry for not writing to you for a long time. I am glad you came. Why did you want to get lade off.
Love, (Sweet, curious, eight year old goddaughter)

Little Girls and Basketball

After a six month absence, I was on track to becoming a deadbeat godmother. Yesterday, I finally spent a day with my second family, starting with attending my goddaughter's basketball game around noon.
I used to love watching my younger brother's soccer and basketball games when we were kids. What better than watching a horde of little kids run around in circles, while frustrated adults try to instill concepts of offense and defense to an audience more concerned with what flavor Gatorade juice drink they'll get after the game?
I forgot how intense parents and coaches can get. It was an Asian league, so the parents were relatively subdued compared to the games I grew up watching. However, the coaches were yelling things like "BOX THEM OUT, ladies!" "Find a man! "(to guard presumably... or else we'd have a whole slew of other issues going on.) All I could think was Dude, they're SEVEN. Just chill. I mean the final score was something like 12 to 6 and the basketball was bigger than their heads. One little girl let out an "URGHHHHH!" every time she hurled the basketball into the air to attempt a basket. Actually, I think it helped her because she was the leading scorer for the opposing team.
In the end, my goddaugher's team lost but they did have fantastic snacks. Seaweed wrapped rice with egg and ham in the middle. Japanese snacks sure beat American ones. At the game, I also bonded with my 4 year old godson by playing video games on our IPhones together. That kid can work his dad's phone better than I know how to operate mine.
By the time we got back to their place, it was pathetically group nap time for the adults while the kids played on their own quietly. I remember when it used to be the other way around. Gosh they're growing up fast.

Swine flu masks and you

Really? Surgical masks preventing you from infectious diseases as fashion statements now? Why not, right? The other day as I drove down Sawtelle for lunch, I spotted two businessmen in suits walking down the street wearing surgical masks. Only one of them had his pulled down a little bit so that he could SMOKE his cigarette. I really really wanted to pull out a camera and take a picture of those two loons but alas, a traffic jam would would have ensued.

On another swine flu related note, this has been my favorite quote so far. I'll be attending a wedding in Mexico later in July and here is a lovely update from the bride-to-be.

"Hi everyone!

I hope this email finds you all excited for Mexico!! Seems like our destination area has been in the news lately, but I have spoken with my wedding coordinator and she says that no one in the area has gotten sick and that the risk is very low. I'm sure you were thinking the same thing but just to reassure you. My dad says everyone in Mexico will either be dead by July or the virus will be gone, so there is nothing to worry about. Spoken like a true doctor."

2009 - Year of the Crazy, Er Year of Change

I'M STILL ALIVE!!! Blog I've missed you but been otherwise sidetracked with a couple of things.

1) Getting laid off from work. Yippee!
2) Dealing with unemployment, cobra healthcare, and other misc paperwork
3) Running amuck routine-free, sleep deprived, and pulled in a million directions
4) Fleeing and hitching a free ride up to San Francisco the first week out of work
5) Trying to get back into exercising at the Y
6) Catching a nasty cold the second week out of work after a particularly tough cardio class at the Y. Grrrrr. Exercise=evil
7) Exacerbating said cold by going up to Mammoth Mountain for a snowboarding/sledding on butt trip last weekend
8) Battling extra gnarly cold which came back with a vengeance as an upper respiratory infection
9) Becoming big fat lethargic Whatchamacalit all short of breath and chronically tired this past week
10) Making good on my promise to flee to Paris (and Belgium) this year. Leaving next week!

Gonna touch on each subject a little more in separate posts!

Why I'll Never Be an Olympian. Or Rock Star

Misocrazy stopped in town earlier this month so of course, we had to have a Rockband party at Polar Opposite's place. I love me some drums. It doesn't even have to be a song I know. I'll just sit there and live out my dreams of being a rock star drummer until my next life.

Of course that night, the bottom of my shin (or is it the front of my ankle?) was throbbing. As if I had been snowboarding all day. Except that it was only my left foot. Strange. True, we had snowboarded a week before. And gone bike riding the day before. But why just my left foot? Even the weight of my blankets at night aggravated it.

Then it dawned on me. I used only my left foot for the foot pedal in Rock Band. Could it be? Nah... Must have been the residual snowboarding or bike riding... How stupid could that be? Rock Band injury... Pshaw!

When I mentioned it to my fellow rock band friends, they laughed and then one slowly came forward with similar tales. They also mentioned different methods of foot pedaling without straining our weak little ankle joints. How sad is this? I mean I guess many of us did get sore arms playing Wii sports... Next thing you know I'll be straining my thumbs playing Little Big Planet...