I know this is an over-done holiday anthem, but I still enjoy it. Maybe it just reminds me of the Christmas Coffeehouses the youth at my old church did annually; seems like someone was always singing this duet. I've heard the original version too, and while I like it, I just can't enjoy this song without hearing the deep, jowly-sounding voice of Leon Redbone. Zooey Deschanel? Meh. She's okay, though I'll admit her voice does seem to lend itself better to this particular song than to some of the others she sings, though; her unusual vocal cadences work well here.
I couldn't get the video I wanted to paste here, so the only picture you get is that of a nice, roaring fireplace. If you want to see the other one, you can find it here. It's a little Deschanel-centric, given that she's singing, but you can still see some fun stills of Will Ferrell too.
02 December 2011
Baby It's Cold Outside
I know this is an over-done holiday anthem, but I still enjoy it. Maybe it just reminds me of the Christmas Coffeehouses the youth at my old church did annually; seems like someone was always singing this duet. I've heard the original version too, and while I like it, I just can't enjoy this song without hearing the deep, jowly-sounding voice of Leon Redbone. Zooey Deschanel? Meh. She's okay, though I'll admit her voice does seem to lend itself better to this particular song than to some of the others she sings, though; her unusual vocal cadences work well here.
I couldn't get the video I wanted to paste here, so the only picture you get is that of a nice, roaring fireplace. If you want to see the other one, you can find it here. It's a little Deschanel-centric, given that she's singing, but you can still see some fun stills of Will Ferrell too.
I couldn't get the video I wanted to paste here, so the only picture you get is that of a nice, roaring fireplace. If you want to see the other one, you can find it here. It's a little Deschanel-centric, given that she's singing, but you can still see some fun stills of Will Ferrell too.
01 December 2011
Christmas Time is Here
Because I have quite possibly lost my mind, I signed up once again to blog every day in December, in spite of the fact that I was looking forward to having a break. Seems the practice has gotten under my skin after all--21 days to change a habit and all. But this time I have a plan. I have been inspired by a friend of mine who has been posting a music video for every day of Advent. I figured that since this month's theme at BlogHer is "Gift," in addition to whatever else I post, I'd gift you all with one of my favorite holiday songs each day.
Today's entry is "Christmas Time is Here" from a Charlie Brown Christmas.
Vince Guaraldi is freaking awesome. 'Nuff said. Welcome to December.
Today's entry is "Christmas Time is Here" from a Charlie Brown Christmas.
Vince Guaraldi is freaking awesome. 'Nuff said. Welcome to December.
Christmas Time is Here
Because I have quite possibly lost my mind, I signed up once again to blog every day in December, in spite of the fact that I was looking forward to having a break. Seems the practice has gotten under my skin after all--21 days to change a habit and all. But this time I have a plan. I have been inspired by a friend of mine who has been posting a music video for every day of Advent. I figured that since this month's theme at BlogHer is "Gift," in addition to whatever else I post, I'd gift you all with one of my favorite holiday songs each day.
Today's entry is "Christmas Time is Here" from a Charlie Brown Christmas.
Vince Guaraldi is freaking awesome. 'Nuff said. Welcome to December.
Today's entry is "Christmas Time is Here" from a Charlie Brown Christmas.
Vince Guaraldi is freaking awesome. 'Nuff said. Welcome to December.
30 November 2011
Goodbye, NaBloPoMo...
This has been an interesting month. When my friend Not Supermom encouraged me to sign up for NaBloPoMo, I admit I did so a bit grudgingly. I knew I needed a push to post more consistently (I've never done particularly well without deadlines), but I also doubted whether or not I could keep it up daily. But I did. And I am better for it.
Sure, I copped out on more than a few days, posting humorous pictures and the like just to fill up space. No doubt I'm not the only one of the 2000+ November NaBloPoMo bloggers to do so. And I'm secretly proud of the fact that I didn't have to resort to using one of the daily writing prompts to get me started. Still, the discipline of a deadline helped and I somehow managed to post each and every day this month--sometimes within minutes of midnight, but daily nonetheless. In the process I have learned a little more about what works for me and what doesn't when blogging, which is valuable information. Also, I have gained 4 new followers over the course of the month, won a Liebster award, and have now had over 4,700 page views. That's quite a significant increase from the the molasses-like creeping towards the 3,000 mark of only a month or so ago, and it boggles my mind.
Hopefully I will be able to take this exercise and use it to my advantage. I'll probably never blog daily--that's pretty demanding, and you never know when something unexpected is going to crop up--but I hope to use this impetus to keep me blogging at least 2-3 times a week instead of once a month.
So thank you, Not Supermom, for encouraging me in the first place and for Liebsterizing me, and thank you BlogHer for providing me a platform in which to share my thoughts and experiences and to trade them with all of the other amazing women bloggers out there.
Pretty cool, when you think about it.
Sure, I copped out on more than a few days, posting humorous pictures and the like just to fill up space. No doubt I'm not the only one of the 2000+ November NaBloPoMo bloggers to do so. And I'm secretly proud of the fact that I didn't have to resort to using one of the daily writing prompts to get me started. Still, the discipline of a deadline helped and I somehow managed to post each and every day this month--sometimes within minutes of midnight, but daily nonetheless. In the process I have learned a little more about what works for me and what doesn't when blogging, which is valuable information. Also, I have gained 4 new followers over the course of the month, won a Liebster award, and have now had over 4,700 page views. That's quite a significant increase from the the molasses-like creeping towards the 3,000 mark of only a month or so ago, and it boggles my mind.
Hopefully I will be able to take this exercise and use it to my advantage. I'll probably never blog daily--that's pretty demanding, and you never know when something unexpected is going to crop up--but I hope to use this impetus to keep me blogging at least 2-3 times a week instead of once a month.
So thank you, Not Supermom, for encouraging me in the first place and for Liebsterizing me, and thank you BlogHer for providing me a platform in which to share my thoughts and experiences and to trade them with all of the other amazing women bloggers out there.
Pretty cool, when you think about it.
Goodbye, NaBloPoMo...
This has been an interesting month. When my friend Not Supermom encouraged me to sign up for NaBloPoMo, I admit I did so a bit grudgingly. I knew I needed a push to post more consistently (I've never done particularly well without deadlines), but I also doubted whether or not I could keep it up daily. But I did. And I am better for it.
Sure, I copped out on more than a few days, posting humorous pictures and the like just to fill up space. No doubt I'm not the only one of the 2000+ November NaBloPoMo bloggers to do so. And I'm secretly proud of the fact that I didn't have to resort to using one of the daily writing prompts to get me started. Still, the discipline of a deadline helped and I somehow managed to post each and every day this month--sometimes within minutes of midnight, but daily nonetheless. In the process I have learned a little more about what works for me and what doesn't when blogging, which is valuable information. Also, I have gained 4 new followers over the course of the month, won a Liebster award, and have now had over 4,700 page views. That's quite a significant increase from the the molasses-like creeping towards the 3,000 mark of only a month or so ago, and it boggles my mind.
Hopefully I will be able to take this exercise and use it to my advantage. I'll probably never blog daily--that's pretty demanding, and you never know when something unexpected is going to crop up--but I hope to use this impetus to keep me blogging at least 2-3 times a week instead of once a month.
So thank you, Not Supermom, for encouraging me in the first place and for Liebsterizing me, and thank you BlogHer for providing me a platform in which to share my thoughts and experiences and to trade them with all of the other amazing women bloggers out there.
Pretty cool, when you think about it.
Sure, I copped out on more than a few days, posting humorous pictures and the like just to fill up space. No doubt I'm not the only one of the 2000+ November NaBloPoMo bloggers to do so. And I'm secretly proud of the fact that I didn't have to resort to using one of the daily writing prompts to get me started. Still, the discipline of a deadline helped and I somehow managed to post each and every day this month--sometimes within minutes of midnight, but daily nonetheless. In the process I have learned a little more about what works for me and what doesn't when blogging, which is valuable information. Also, I have gained 4 new followers over the course of the month, won a Liebster award, and have now had over 4,700 page views. That's quite a significant increase from the the molasses-like creeping towards the 3,000 mark of only a month or so ago, and it boggles my mind.
Hopefully I will be able to take this exercise and use it to my advantage. I'll probably never blog daily--that's pretty demanding, and you never know when something unexpected is going to crop up--but I hope to use this impetus to keep me blogging at least 2-3 times a week instead of once a month.
So thank you, Not Supermom, for encouraging me in the first place and for Liebsterizing me, and thank you BlogHer for providing me a platform in which to share my thoughts and experiences and to trade them with all of the other amazing women bloggers out there.
Pretty cool, when you think about it.
Doctor Earnest, Body Pictionary and the Sparkle Salvo
A week ago today, merely 3 days after my surgery, I hobbled off to see my new primary care physician. I would have simply rescheduled given the circumstances, but I didn't have much choice since I'd completely run out of my blood pressure meds the day before. The hubs had to stay home from work to drive me to the doctor's because I still wasn't allowed to drive myself, what with the being all hopped up on drugs and everything. Every bump was torturous, particularly when I wasn't given enough warning to brace my ouchy stomach against the impact. It's a little pathetic that it took me 16 months to find a doctor down here that was both accepting new patients and my insurance, but there you go.
Mercifully the waiting room was not busy, so I only sat 5-10 minutes--just long enough to see who won Dancing With the Stars (like the war hero was ever NOT going to win)--before heading back to run down my stats and meds with the nurse, after which I was taken to an examining room and told to sit on the table. Yo, Nursie--that's a little easier said than done just at the moment. I stood there contemplating the little step and the distance to hoist my patootie up onto the seat, then climbed up on the step. At this point I was at a bit of a loss, so I ended up turning in circles two or three times like a dog before finally figuring out how to scootch onto the seat with as little pain as possible. Mission mostly accomplished.
Having successfully (more or less) navigated the examining table, I quickly became bored, having foolishly forgotten to bring a book. I looked all around the room, just like I always do, observing all the little jars and contraptions on the counter and all the pictures hung in the room, as well as the inevitable ugly wallpaper. If I'd been less physically compromised, there is every possibility that I would have snooped in the drawers as well, being the curious sort of person that I am. Don't worry, though. I don't look in your medicine cabinets or bathroom drawers (most of the time, anyway). So there I sat, bored and distracted, till I noticed one of the fake "sparkles" on my t-shirt had fallen on the floor. And, just so you know, it was that shirt--the one that got me busted by TSA and resulted in a groping free-for-all, minus dinner first. I brushed my hand against the shirt and a couple more rhinestones popped off. I probably should have just quit at this point, but of course I didn't. After all, it was something new to do. Before I knew it, I'd spent a good 10 minutes sitting on that table, flinging cheap bits of glass and plastic all over the room. Clearly months of laundering had loosened the sparkles because I could get them off both by brushing my hands firmly over them and by alternately slackening my shirt then suddenly pulling it taut so that the sparkles shot across the room like they'd been ejected from a Gatling gun. The more that shot off, the more I wanted to shoot off. I started aiming for things--the chair, the trashcan, the window...I'm pretty sure I even heard a ping in the sink once. By the time I was done, easily half the little black and silver sparkles left on my shirt lay scattered across the floor and step. Clearly I cannot be left unsupervised for any length of time.
When I heard rustling in the corridor outside my door, I rapidly wiped the sparkle remains from my pants and shirt and the table and tried to sit looking as innocent as possible in spite of the refuse peppering the examining room floor. The new doctor came in and got right to business. Let's call her Dr. Earnest, because while she seemed thorough and efficient enough, her whole demeanor screamed bland concern and excruciating earnestness. Frankly, I was slightly put off, being the smartass that I am. I'm pretty sure that Dr. Earnest's sense of humor (if she even has one) would have floundered were I to start dropping F-bombs like I did with the Minor Med and ER doctors. In that respect, at least, I preferred the F**K doctors. Of course, I've also now just made them sound like experts in fornication. Whatever. They're guys. They'd probably like that.
Dr. Earnest looked over my forms, intrigued that I'd just had an appendectomy 3 days before. I really wanted to say it was her own damn fault, considering her office had refused to see me on the Friday before my surgery, but it would have been too much like kicking an overly forlorn puppy. So I didn't. Naturally she wanted to check out Dr. "Don't Call Me" Shirley's handiwork, so she had me lie back on the table. She gently and carefully inspected my abdomen, requesting permission to peel up the fresh bandage I'd put on the day before after my shower. She continued to stand there looking concerned and exceptionally earnest, then said she was worried about the big red spot on my stomach below my navel. I looked down. Red? Please--it was pink at best. I told her I'd just assumed it was razor burn from the nurses shaving off my strip of belly hair, adding that my skin tended to be extremely sensitive; for example, the adhesive from my C-Section dressings caused an allergic reaction, leaving stippled red marks all over my stomach. She replied that she had noticed a reaction to the bandage she'd just peeled off, but was still earnestly concerned about it and said that while they were very good at "bagging the appendix on the way out" (Ewww--so didn't need to hear that) to make sure it didn't contaminate anything, sometimes it could still cause infections. I must have made a face at this point because she immediately put her hand up and rushed to assure me that she didn't think I had any infection INSIDE, but maybe just on the skin outside. She seemed very put out that I hadn't been sent home with antibiotics. I still wasn't particularly fussed about the pink skin; heck, I still had a big red circle on the side of my boob from where they'd put the EKG patch. Even today you can still see the outline where it damaged my skin. Nothing like having an extra areola lying around. Clearly she wasn't inclined to let it go, though, what with all her tutting and fretting. Then she asked if she could draw on me. Um, what? "Okay, suuuuuure." She took her ballpoint pen and put a line around my pink spot, telling me that I should watch to make sure it didn't go past that line, and that if it did, I should immediately contact them to have a prescription for antibiotics called in. She also told me that if it washed off in the shower, I should redraw it. Great. First the extra areola, now this. I'm starting to look like people have played Pictionary on me. Reminds me of when I used to let my daughter draw all over my legs with her gel pens.
Dr. Earnest told me to go ahead and sit up and then stared stupidly at me lying there till I told her it just wasn't gonna happen without her help, considering my ab muscles had recently been sliced and diced. She dutifully (if confusedly) helped me up then gave me prescriptions for my meds, both a 30-day one which I could immediately refill since I was out, as well as a 90-day one so I could finally use the mail-order pharmacy on our insurance. Sweet. Then I went home and spent the next three days being paranoid over whether my pink spot was spreading past the lines or not, ignoring the fact that I was usually looking after I'd just been holding my stomach down while I coughed or sneezed, thus making it redder. In the meantime, my stomach kept itching, so I finally took the Band-Aids off. The big one I'd had around my belly button had rippled on my skin like Band-Aids do, leaving a blister in each ripple pocket. Great. I peeled off all the Band-aids, cleaned everything, put on antibiotic cream, then replaced the big Band-Aids with smaller, "non-stick" ones. I still have scabs leftover from those stupid blisters. Two days later, my stomach was once again itching incessantly and burning (and not just because they had to shave me); I thought that if I didn't get the big bandage off immediately I was going to scream. I ran to the bathroom, peeled it off, and instead of blisters it had rubbed my skin so raw this time that some of the skin came off with the bandage. Awesome. Now the assorted red marks from my various dressings comprise more surface damage than the lappy appy itself does. I seriously need to get myself some of those clear, waterproof dressings that they use in the hospital. Those didn't damage me at all. Needless to say, I loaded up on antibiotic cream once again and stopped wearing bandages altogether.
Here I am, a week later, mostly recovered from my surgery and doctor visit. Scabs are starting to fall off, I can once again lie on my stomach, and I'm only hopped up on blood pressure meds (I stopped the Lortab a week ago) and Allegra. You'll also be relieved to know that the pink patch faded back into a normal skin tone, having never crossed the line. I finally got to drive yesterday and even made it through my penultimate chorale rehearsal before our concert next week. The only thing I still struggle with is a cough and dry throat courtesy of Dr. Jolly ("It will only be sore one day" my ass) and whatever germs I inhaled in the hospital. So much for the zealous protection of my voice and throat during my cold 3 weeks ago...still, it could be worse. It could have gone to bronchitis, but hasn't yet. At least if it does I know that Dr. Earnest will be happy to give me all the antibiotics I want. Every day I move a little more freely and hurt a little less, though I still largely have the stamina of a gnat. But it's coming along. It really has been quite the bizarre year for me, medically speaking, and I fervently hope there are no repeats of it next year. On the plus side, I can only get appendicitis once. Done.
Mercifully the waiting room was not busy, so I only sat 5-10 minutes--just long enough to see who won Dancing With the Stars (like the war hero was ever NOT going to win)--before heading back to run down my stats and meds with the nurse, after which I was taken to an examining room and told to sit on the table. Yo, Nursie--that's a little easier said than done just at the moment. I stood there contemplating the little step and the distance to hoist my patootie up onto the seat, then climbed up on the step. At this point I was at a bit of a loss, so I ended up turning in circles two or three times like a dog before finally figuring out how to scootch onto the seat with as little pain as possible. Mission mostly accomplished.
 |
| "Come here and I will taunt you a second time..." |
Having successfully (more or less) navigated the examining table, I quickly became bored, having foolishly forgotten to bring a book. I looked all around the room, just like I always do, observing all the little jars and contraptions on the counter and all the pictures hung in the room, as well as the inevitable ugly wallpaper. If I'd been less physically compromised, there is every possibility that I would have snooped in the drawers as well, being the curious sort of person that I am. Don't worry, though. I don't look in your medicine cabinets or bathroom drawers (most of the time, anyway). So there I sat, bored and distracted, till I noticed one of the fake "sparkles" on my t-shirt had fallen on the floor. And, just so you know, it was that shirt--the one that got me busted by TSA and resulted in a groping free-for-all, minus dinner first. I brushed my hand against the shirt and a couple more rhinestones popped off. I probably should have just quit at this point, but of course I didn't. After all, it was something new to do. Before I knew it, I'd spent a good 10 minutes sitting on that table, flinging cheap bits of glass and plastic all over the room. Clearly months of laundering had loosened the sparkles because I could get them off both by brushing my hands firmly over them and by alternately slackening my shirt then suddenly pulling it taut so that the sparkles shot across the room like they'd been ejected from a Gatling gun. The more that shot off, the more I wanted to shoot off. I started aiming for things--the chair, the trashcan, the window...I'm pretty sure I even heard a ping in the sink once. By the time I was done, easily half the little black and silver sparkles left on my shirt lay scattered across the floor and step. Clearly I cannot be left unsupervised for any length of time.
When I heard rustling in the corridor outside my door, I rapidly wiped the sparkle remains from my pants and shirt and the table and tried to sit looking as innocent as possible in spite of the refuse peppering the examining room floor. The new doctor came in and got right to business. Let's call her Dr. Earnest, because while she seemed thorough and efficient enough, her whole demeanor screamed bland concern and excruciating earnestness. Frankly, I was slightly put off, being the smartass that I am. I'm pretty sure that Dr. Earnest's sense of humor (if she even has one) would have floundered were I to start dropping F-bombs like I did with the Minor Med and ER doctors. In that respect, at least, I preferred the F**K doctors. Of course, I've also now just made them sound like experts in fornication. Whatever. They're guys. They'd probably like that.
 |
| Speaking of doctors with whom I'd like to f***... |
Dr. Earnest looked over my forms, intrigued that I'd just had an appendectomy 3 days before. I really wanted to say it was her own damn fault, considering her office had refused to see me on the Friday before my surgery, but it would have been too much like kicking an overly forlorn puppy. So I didn't. Naturally she wanted to check out Dr. "Don't Call Me" Shirley's handiwork, so she had me lie back on the table. She gently and carefully inspected my abdomen, requesting permission to peel up the fresh bandage I'd put on the day before after my shower. She continued to stand there looking concerned and exceptionally earnest, then said she was worried about the big red spot on my stomach below my navel. I looked down. Red? Please--it was pink at best. I told her I'd just assumed it was razor burn from the nurses shaving off my strip of belly hair, adding that my skin tended to be extremely sensitive; for example, the adhesive from my C-Section dressings caused an allergic reaction, leaving stippled red marks all over my stomach. She replied that she had noticed a reaction to the bandage she'd just peeled off, but was still earnestly concerned about it and said that while they were very good at "bagging the appendix on the way out" (Ewww--so didn't need to hear that) to make sure it didn't contaminate anything, sometimes it could still cause infections. I must have made a face at this point because she immediately put her hand up and rushed to assure me that she didn't think I had any infection INSIDE, but maybe just on the skin outside. She seemed very put out that I hadn't been sent home with antibiotics. I still wasn't particularly fussed about the pink skin; heck, I still had a big red circle on the side of my boob from where they'd put the EKG patch. Even today you can still see the outline where it damaged my skin. Nothing like having an extra areola lying around. Clearly she wasn't inclined to let it go, though, what with all her tutting and fretting. Then she asked if she could draw on me. Um, what? "Okay, suuuuuure." She took her ballpoint pen and put a line around my pink spot, telling me that I should watch to make sure it didn't go past that line, and that if it did, I should immediately contact them to have a prescription for antibiotics called in. She also told me that if it washed off in the shower, I should redraw it. Great. First the extra areola, now this. I'm starting to look like people have played Pictionary on me. Reminds me of when I used to let my daughter draw all over my legs with her gel pens.
 |
| "Oh, Mommy...ready or not, here I come!" |
Dr. Earnest told me to go ahead and sit up and then stared stupidly at me lying there till I told her it just wasn't gonna happen without her help, considering my ab muscles had recently been sliced and diced. She dutifully (if confusedly) helped me up then gave me prescriptions for my meds, both a 30-day one which I could immediately refill since I was out, as well as a 90-day one so I could finally use the mail-order pharmacy on our insurance. Sweet. Then I went home and spent the next three days being paranoid over whether my pink spot was spreading past the lines or not, ignoring the fact that I was usually looking after I'd just been holding my stomach down while I coughed or sneezed, thus making it redder. In the meantime, my stomach kept itching, so I finally took the Band-Aids off. The big one I'd had around my belly button had rippled on my skin like Band-Aids do, leaving a blister in each ripple pocket. Great. I peeled off all the Band-aids, cleaned everything, put on antibiotic cream, then replaced the big Band-Aids with smaller, "non-stick" ones. I still have scabs leftover from those stupid blisters. Two days later, my stomach was once again itching incessantly and burning (and not just because they had to shave me); I thought that if I didn't get the big bandage off immediately I was going to scream. I ran to the bathroom, peeled it off, and instead of blisters it had rubbed my skin so raw this time that some of the skin came off with the bandage. Awesome. Now the assorted red marks from my various dressings comprise more surface damage than the lappy appy itself does. I seriously need to get myself some of those clear, waterproof dressings that they use in the hospital. Those didn't damage me at all. Needless to say, I loaded up on antibiotic cream once again and stopped wearing bandages altogether.
 |
| Comfort-Flex my ass. |
Here I am, a week later, mostly recovered from my surgery and doctor visit. Scabs are starting to fall off, I can once again lie on my stomach, and I'm only hopped up on blood pressure meds (I stopped the Lortab a week ago) and Allegra. You'll also be relieved to know that the pink patch faded back into a normal skin tone, having never crossed the line. I finally got to drive yesterday and even made it through my penultimate chorale rehearsal before our concert next week. The only thing I still struggle with is a cough and dry throat courtesy of Dr. Jolly ("It will only be sore one day" my ass) and whatever germs I inhaled in the hospital. So much for the zealous protection of my voice and throat during my cold 3 weeks ago...still, it could be worse. It could have gone to bronchitis, but hasn't yet. At least if it does I know that Dr. Earnest will be happy to give me all the antibiotics I want. Every day I move a little more freely and hurt a little less, though I still largely have the stamina of a gnat. But it's coming along. It really has been quite the bizarre year for me, medically speaking, and I fervently hope there are no repeats of it next year. On the plus side, I can only get appendicitis once. Done.
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