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...

My Thoughts Exactly...

I love bunnies. I love cartoons. I love this song. And as for the subject matter, so apropros. Sigh. Enough said.

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!!!

Cupid's Cruel Arrows

One of my favorite indie movies this summer has been 500 Days of Summer, which actually warns you that "this is not a love story."

The tag line: "Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love. Girl doesn't." Ouch. This kind of thing happens everyday, right? But rarely do they make a film highlighting this very common and painful phenomenon in such a unique yet matter of fact way.

I don't want to ruin the movie, but let's just say I could identify with the protagonist in the story. You think everything's going well. You want to believe it's going somewhere despite some obvious red flags. (Well at the time, the flags appear more like pale pink until hindsight adds a richer hue.) You want so much for your love to be enough for the both of you, but it's just not - leaving you with a sense of loss, confusion, anger, despair, and the eternal "WHY?!!!"

I wanted to hate the girl in the movie. She was so cool and too cute. However my friend pointed out that the girl was always upfront with the protagonist. He simply got too emotionally attached. The story is also entirely from the boy's point of view. We never get her side of the story or her perception of the relationship. They could probably remake the movie entirely from her point of view. It would be an equally interesting film but I doubt it would affect as many people in terms of connecting with that universal sense of heartbreak.

The beautiful thing about the film is that it resolves things much like life does. It doesn't necessarily end up the way you want, but it opens up other possibilities and you simply move on.

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."

Instead Of Greener Grass, Maybe It Might Be Browner, Yuckier Grass?

The bf and I still bicker. Mostly over little stupid things. New things. Sometimes big things. Often cliched coupley things. Then there are the unique things only to us. Being that we're both neurotic, stubborn, impassioned people, it makes for some drama.

The other week as I was driving home from visiting the godchildren, I put on an old Garbage CD for the long drive and "A Cup of Coffee" came on.


This was the song to describe the utter depths of despair I felt during the dark periods of pining over The Boy. The days of crying on my living room room in the afternoon. And then I thought, hey things could be a lot worse. At least, I'm not going through THAT anymore. At least THIS boy loves me back. Hindsight. 20/20. Blah blah blah...

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.

The Never Ending Virus (Beat That You Stinkin Swine Flu!)

Maybe it's because I'm getting older or maybe it's my body's way of going F YOU!!!!!! for putting us through the mental hell of the past year, but it's getting completely out of hand how long it takes for me to recover from any illness. As luck would have it, the second week of my freedom started with aches and fevers, and I'm still suffering the aftermath three months later. Just so I have a documentation of my own and partially to answer the question that everyone keeps asking ("So what is it that you do everyday?"), I've pretty much been sitting on my ass half the time, too achy and tired to do much more than stare at the wall, stare at the ceiling, stare at my computer, or stare at a book.

Week of Mar 3 - I hitch a ride up to SF with a friend moving up to Pixar and spend a week up there visiting friends

Week of Mar 10 - I'm about to begin my fun and exciting life of leisure, starting with hitting up the free museum day at the LA County Museum of Art but I wake up feeling like someone took a sledgehammer to a giant slab of concrete laying on top of me. Sore throat and achiness ensue, culminating with a mildly irritating cough by end of the week. Figuring the cold had run its course, I go on a snowboarding trip to Mammoth that weekend since we had already planned a trip with friends. SO much fun! And yet such a bad idea. I come back with bruises so big, it looks like I am an abused woman. And the coughing turns into full blown hacking.

Week of Mar 17 - Snowboarding trip turned my cold into a nasty upper respiratory infection and I need inhalers and all sorts of medicine to help me breathe and sleep at night. :(

Week of Mar 24 - I am a glutton for punishment. And greedy to live this life of excitement, whimsy, and leisure. I was starting to get better but decided to go on a last minute trip to Belgium. Poor homesick Wavy had been working out there for two months. All I had to pay for was the flight which was dirt cheap. Hotels, most dinners, taxis, etc were comped by her so I couldn't say no, could I? Unfortunately, Belgium and France during late March is quite cold and rainy. "Wow," Wavy gratefully tells me, "I can't believe you came all the way out to visit me even with having something akin to the consumption."

Week of Mar 31 - I come back to LA, almost as sick and tired as I was when I first went to Belgium.

Week of Apr 6 - Starting to get better, weaning myself off all the inhalers and medicine and lo and behold by the end of the week, I notice that my throat is all swollen and tender to the touch. WTF?!!

Week of Apr 13 - I go to the doctor yet again, but my usual physician is on vacation. Her sub sends me for x-rays, ultrasounds, antibiotics, cough syrup with codeine, and muscle relaxers for my swollen thyroid and to kick that cough's ass once and for all. Cough's ass is kicked but thyroid still swollen as ever.

Week of Apr 20 - Back to the doctor to see my usual physician for a follow up and for them to draw blood. Four vials full!!!! Argh. Yup, your thyroid is inflamed, she says. Take some Advil for the achiness and come back in 4 weeks for another blood test to see how it goes.

Week of Apr 27 - Apparently all my blood work indicates that I am healthy as a horse except for slightly high white blood cells and platelets, indicating possible infection. Thyroid is swollen, and my neck and head so achy I decide to chop off some hair on my head to alleviate some of the pressure from my noggin.

Week of May 4 - Nothing has changed at all. I call the doctor again to gripe about the fact that nothing has changed and I'm still in pain. Her nurse calls back telling me that they've prescribed Vicodin and that I can come back this week for another blood test just to see what's going on. Also, I'm getting a referral to the endocrinologist. Too chicken to try the Vicodin or even pick it up from the pharmacy. But I go back for the blood test where they proceed to take yet another four vials of blood! Ack!

Week of May 11 - Fed up with the lack of progress on this swollen thyroid business, I pursue a more aggressive form of treatment. I schedule an appointment for a chiropractor to help with my neck, call the doctor's office everyday until I can squeeze in an earlier appointment with the endocrinologist this week, and decide to try the Vicodin since I'm feeling particularly achy. I'm not quite sure how people get addicted to this stuff, because even though it was as if my body miraculously never felt pain EVER, I am so nauseous that I pass out for two hours and still lose my lunch after the nap. For the next four hours or so, I can only stare at the wall for fear any movement would add to that nausea. Back to the Advil please...
Ironically enough, I notice some improvement the next day and I know by the time I see the chiropractor on Wednesday and the specialist on Friday, they'll tell me nothing is wrong with me. Such is life.

Week of May 18 - As suspected, nothing much is wrong with me. Yes, my back and and neck are very tight and could use a massage everyday. My thyroid is still slightly swollen and achy. I still take an Advil or two each day. The specialist confirmed that it's just thyroiditis. (Kinda like bronchitis, but it's the inflammation of the thyroid versus inflammation of the bronchial tubes.) It can happen after a particularly nasty cold or virus and takes several weeks or even months to fully recover. Probably just in time for me to have to start working again. Oh, what a life of leisure and excitement...

Kids, Artists, and Herding Cats

This week, I had the privilege of visiting my cousin and observing her teach her 3rd grade class. It's been a long time since I've been around a group of kids, and even longer still since I had a taste of teaching eight year olds. While it was tons of fun to relive 3rd grade and see how everything seems so magical and wondrous through their eyes, the visit left me thinking that things don't change too much as adults.

Similarities between managing a bunch of artists and managing a bunch of eight years olds:

1) You have to keep an eye on them. Or else they wander off and do their own thing. Seriously, it's like herding cats. It was always an effort getting more than three artists together for a meeting in one place at the same time.

2) They need a lot of attention. One kid came up to me and proceeded to show me the contents of his backpack, including a disposable plastic poncho and a pen that folds up and lights up. One of the artists once accused me of not paying enough attention to her in terms of producer/artist ratio of time. Wha???

3) They need a lot of validation. The kids continuously came up to my cousin's desk to show her their work in progress and ask repeated questions. And she patiently smiled at each of them and offered up encouraging words of praise. I have to say the same kind of grin shows up on my coworkers' faces when you tell them they're kicking ass and way ahead of the other guy.

4) They try to get away with stuff. Two of the kids tried to hide their math tests and not turn them in. Much like artists who try to lay low and hope that people won't notice that certain things weren't done.

Differences between managing a bunch of artists and managing a bunch of eight years olds:

1) Hopefully, you get paid more to manage the non eight year olds

2) Most of the time, you can outsmart the eight year olds.

3) You're still physically bigger than the eight year olds. I guess if all else fails, you can pick them up and hurl them? Er, transport them elsewhere like the principal's office?

I may need a return visit for research purposes soon!

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."