My mother always said that people will be true to their natures. Tobias Fünke said of feelings, "You can keep them bottled up, but they will come out, Michael. Sometimes in the most unexpected... Hey, where the bleep are my hard-boiled eggs?!"
This type of accidental self-revelation in language or psychology is called a Freudian Slip. In essence, it's unintentionally saying something you're really thinking but shouldn't say out loud.
The remainder of this post has been removed for CYA purposes.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
A Tribute to Cousin Love
I was a bit grumpy after a long and frustrating (that's my polite way of saying crappy) day at work, but you know what cheered me up?
I mean besides imagining the document on my desk punctuated differently (tee hee).
Yes, that's right: cousin love!
When they mention "the hair," it's because they're talking about everyone's romantic life boiling down to (a) the dorky bald guy or (b) the thick-haired hottie. Just so you know.
And that reminded me of some of my favorite parts of one of my favorite TV shows.
This episode isn't the funniest, and you probably won't get a lot of the inside jokes. If you don't know Arrested Development, you could just start at the beginning on Hulu!
I mean besides imagining the document on my desk punctuated differently (tee hee).
Yes, that's right: cousin love!
When they mention "the hair," it's because they're talking about everyone's romantic life boiling down to (a) the dorky bald guy or (b) the thick-haired hottie. Just so you know.
And that reminded me of some of my favorite parts of one of my favorite TV shows.
This episode isn't the funniest, and you probably won't get a lot of the inside jokes. If you don't know Arrested Development, you could just start at the beginning on Hulu!
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Possibly the Scariest Thing Ever
I've been in the mood for a scary movie for a while now, so tonight Tim rented "The Thing" and loaded it up on the ClearPlay.
Holy Crap.
I've seen some scary movies, but I think "The Thing" wins for the most enjoyably frightening monster/alien flick. The filter on the ClearPlay took out all of the cussing and a good amount of violence, but the mutating monsters and "fungus among us" suspense were enough to make it to the top of my horror list. I'll admit it: I love horror, but I'm the kind of person who loses sleep for days over really scary ones. "The Grudge" was so awful I spent the night sharing one of my roommates' twin beds (thanks again, Melissa). After seeing "The Ring," I wanted to carve out the part of my brain that stored the movie's horrible images! But "The Thing" was everything horror should be, minus anything that would get you hyperventilating over its memory a week later.
For something that came out two weeks before "E.T.," it had surprisingly good special effects. Either the FX actually were really well done, or the intensity of the film just gave goop-covered animatronics and stop motion animation their fair shake in the visual effects world. Either way, "The Thing" was definitely worth watching.
Holy Crap.
I've seen some scary movies, but I think "The Thing" wins for the most enjoyably frightening monster/alien flick. The filter on the ClearPlay took out all of the cussing and a good amount of violence, but the mutating monsters and "fungus among us" suspense were enough to make it to the top of my horror list. I'll admit it: I love horror, but I'm the kind of person who loses sleep for days over really scary ones. "The Grudge" was so awful I spent the night sharing one of my roommates' twin beds (thanks again, Melissa). After seeing "The Ring," I wanted to carve out the part of my brain that stored the movie's horrible images! But "The Thing" was everything horror should be, minus anything that would get you hyperventilating over its memory a week later.
For something that came out two weeks before "E.T.," it had surprisingly good special effects. Either the FX actually were really well done, or the intensity of the film just gave goop-covered animatronics and stop motion animation their fair shake in the visual effects world. Either way, "The Thing" was definitely worth watching.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Ooh, Look—Flowers!
You may have already noticed, but I made some changes to the blog. I hope you like it!
Oh what's that? You love it? You're too kind.
Why yes I did create that image myself.
Haha! Go on.
Now wait, that's going to far!
Hey, don't bring my mom into this!
What is your problem!?
Gosh, the voices in my blog are getting mean.
Oh what's that? You love it? You're too kind.
Why yes I did create that image myself.
Haha! Go on.
Now wait, that's going to far!
Hey, don't bring my mom into this!
What is your problem!?
Gosh, the voices in my blog are getting mean.
Monday, October 13, 2008
I Promised Pictures
For a long time after we moved back to Provo, I couldn't find the card reader. I refuse to plug my camera into the computer because stupid Mac OS believes that since I own a Canon, I must want to use iPhoto, and it gives me no other options. I will not be bullied by my computer this way.
Yesterday, I finally found the card reader (in plain sight, of course), so pictures are here! I know how long you've all been waiting to see pictures of my grand adventures. Without further ado (well, maybe a little—I'm an ado-y kinda' girl), Denver:
This one's crooked, but I'm too lazy to fix it. It's downtown Denver looking toward the 16th Street Mall.
Next is a little further up downtown. Below those buildings there is a shop with wonderful cookies . . . or so they tell me.
We spent a ton of time walking around downtown. We saved gallons of gas just enjoying the scenery and entertainment within walking distance. I certainly didn't lose any weight from all of the walking, but it was good clean fun. Yep. Good and clean. Clean and fun. Good and fun. And clean.
Okay, I'm already getting bored of this post. I mean, I already exposed my demented inner self today (Come on! "Capping Be Verbs!?" How is that not both obvious and funny?).
Anyway, blah blah blah, lots of shiny buildings and crap. Now for the less shiny things (I like to think of myself as glowing, thank you very much).
There you go: fake rock climbing and dinner at the Cheesecake Factory (or maybe a few too many dinners, judging my my chubby cheeks and chins).
Oh, and here's a pretty church:
Yesterday, I finally found the card reader (in plain sight, of course), so pictures are here! I know how long you've all been waiting to see pictures of my grand adventures. Without further ado (well, maybe a little—I'm an ado-y kinda' girl), Denver:
This one's crooked, but I'm too lazy to fix it. It's downtown Denver looking toward the 16th Street Mall.
Next is a little further up downtown. Below those buildings there is a shop with wonderful cookies . . . or so they tell me.
We spent a ton of time walking around downtown. We saved gallons of gas just enjoying the scenery and entertainment within walking distance. I certainly didn't lose any weight from all of the walking, but it was good clean fun. Yep. Good and clean. Clean and fun. Good and fun. And clean.Okay, I'm already getting bored of this post. I mean, I already exposed my demented inner self today (Come on! "Capping Be Verbs!?" How is that not both obvious and funny?).
Anyway, blah blah blah, lots of shiny buildings and crap. Now for the less shiny things (I like to think of myself as glowing, thank you very much).
There you go: fake rock climbing and dinner at the Cheesecake Factory (or maybe a few too many dinners, judging my my chubby cheeks and chins).
Oh, and here's a pretty church:
Mental Picture
Occasionally I have a moment of extreme right-brainedness. I'll see something completely mundane and giggle hysterically over a ridiculous association. I'm sure all of you have had something similar happen.
I had one of those right-brain moments today, when I was copied on an email about an editing issue at work. Lisa sent an email that started, "I like capping Be Verbs," (obviously referring to an issue of capitalization). Naturally, this is what popped into my head:
As I suspected, it looked even better in Paint.
I had one of those right-brain moments today, when I was copied on an email about an editing issue at work. Lisa sent an email that started, "I like capping Be Verbs," (obviously referring to an issue of capitalization). Naturally, this is what popped into my head:
As I suspected, it looked even better in Paint.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Technology
Tim and I got this sweet new shredder. It automatically detects useless paper and shreds it into tiny, identity-theft-proof pieces.
It's also very cuddly.
It's also very cuddly.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Endocrinologist
I'd really wanted to wait to call another doctor. I hesitated to build up the hope it would take to devote time and effort into a new doctor. These appointments take a bit of preparation: recording my symptoms, writing down everything I want to say or ask about, trusting the new doctor to actually give a crap.
After the last couple of days' splitting headache, intense nausea, and other aches and pains, I'm ready to make that appointment now. Here's hoping the endocrinologist Tim's calling will be the answer to my prayers.
After the last couple of days' splitting headache, intense nausea, and other aches and pains, I'm ready to make that appointment now. Here's hoping the endocrinologist Tim's calling will be the answer to my prayers.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Playing Dress-Up
It's been a few years since I had a real Halloween costume, and I'm desperate to dress up this year. Unfortunately, the only things I can think of to dress up as are
I thought it would be great if Tim and I could do some kind of couples' costume, but most couples' costumes are either (a) classless metaphors for sex or (b) terrible, terrible puns. If I were Snow White, he could be the prince; if I were Red, he could be the Big Bad Wolf; if I were Drucilla, he could be Spike. I'm just not in love with any of those ideas. There just isn't that much to choose from for a blond guy and his brunette wife. Halloween costumes in general are boring, repetitive, cliché, or disgusting—or they're costume lingerie gone public in a nasty way.
For the Halloweens of my youth, I tended to wear things like Dad's old fatigues or my gymnastics leotard. My dad and I both used to be skinnier. Now, I find myself living in a potential-costume-free zone. In a crisis like this, I find that the only solution is to call my mother.
* * *
Okay, so my mom suggested the following options:
- A vampire (which couldn't be more overdone)
- Little Red Riding Hood (I look good in red . . . kinda)
- Snow White (everyone likes comparing me to Snow White as a way to point out how pasty pale I am and mask it as a compliment)
- Drucilla from Buffy the Vampire Slayer (yes, also a vampire, and yes, a very old reference, but at least she made pale and sickly sexy)
I thought it would be great if Tim and I could do some kind of couples' costume, but most couples' costumes are either (a) classless metaphors for sex or (b) terrible, terrible puns. If I were Snow White, he could be the prince; if I were Red, he could be the Big Bad Wolf; if I were Drucilla, he could be Spike. I'm just not in love with any of those ideas. There just isn't that much to choose from for a blond guy and his brunette wife. Halloween costumes in general are boring, repetitive, cliché, or disgusting—or they're costume lingerie gone public in a nasty way.
For the Halloweens of my youth, I tended to wear things like Dad's old fatigues or my gymnastics leotard. My dad and I both used to be skinnier. Now, I find myself living in a potential-costume-free zone. In a crisis like this, I find that the only solution is to call my mother.
* * *
Okay, so my mom suggested the following options:
- From Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, Sarah Connor or Cameron
- Sarah Palin
- From X-Men, Rogue
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Editing
There are several reasons I dropped my editing minor in my last year and chose to pursue a career in "something else." That something else turned out to be writing. I like writing. Unfortunately, every writer is also an editor in some sense. Today, my editing task has violently reminded me of all of the reasons I abandoned editing as a possible life path.
I'm generally patient with errors in grammar and punctuation. Everyone makes them, and that's why the world needs editors. Royal Skousen—genius, BYU professor, and all-around curmudgeon—taught me the concept of leakage. Essentially, leakage is the errors that a person makes even though they are fully aware of—and prepared to use—the principles that govern a grammatical decision. Leakage is inevitable and must be forgiven.
I believe, however, that there is a difference between leakage and total abandonment of thought during the writing process. A missing comma or dangling modifier here and there can count as leakage, but random capitalization, inconsistent use of single and double quotation marks, inappropriate italics, and what can only be called abuse of the thesaurus—these things witness a disturbing disrespect for the English language.
When a piece of writing displays such patent hatred for the reading public (and for the poor soul underpaid to edit it), I find it difficult to apply forgiveness the same way. For this reason, editing bad writing is a frustrating project for me. I am continually amazed by the inability of people who speak excellent English to produce a coherent sentence on paper. Somewhere is a tall wall between spoken English and written English. Some step over it without difficulty, while others spend lifetimes failing to scale it.
I'll accept that spoken and written English are vastly different. I'll even accept that many of the principles of the language that, when broken, drive me crazy are arbitrary historical and societal assignments that have little impact on meaning. However, when as an editor I'm asked to fix these things, I can't help but resent the fact that a little effort on the part of the document's author would save me significant time.
These unthinking authors simply vomit their thoughts onto paper and imagine that a wave of my magical editing wand will turn it into cake. Next time someone says their document needs my "magic touch," I'm just going to walk away.
I'm generally patient with errors in grammar and punctuation. Everyone makes them, and that's why the world needs editors. Royal Skousen—genius, BYU professor, and all-around curmudgeon—taught me the concept of leakage. Essentially, leakage is the errors that a person makes even though they are fully aware of—and prepared to use—the principles that govern a grammatical decision. Leakage is inevitable and must be forgiven.
I believe, however, that there is a difference between leakage and total abandonment of thought during the writing process. A missing comma or dangling modifier here and there can count as leakage, but random capitalization, inconsistent use of single and double quotation marks, inappropriate italics, and what can only be called abuse of the thesaurus—these things witness a disturbing disrespect for the English language.
When a piece of writing displays such patent hatred for the reading public (and for the poor soul underpaid to edit it), I find it difficult to apply forgiveness the same way. For this reason, editing bad writing is a frustrating project for me. I am continually amazed by the inability of people who speak excellent English to produce a coherent sentence on paper. Somewhere is a tall wall between spoken English and written English. Some step over it without difficulty, while others spend lifetimes failing to scale it.
I'll accept that spoken and written English are vastly different. I'll even accept that many of the principles of the language that, when broken, drive me crazy are arbitrary historical and societal assignments that have little impact on meaning. However, when as an editor I'm asked to fix these things, I can't help but resent the fact that a little effort on the part of the document's author would save me significant time.
These unthinking authors simply vomit their thoughts onto paper and imagine that a wave of my magical editing wand will turn it into cake. Next time someone says their document needs my "magic touch," I'm just going to walk away.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Update: Time for a New Doctor
Before I say anything, I just want to thank all of you who have sent me notes, made comments, or kept me in your thoughts and prayers. I can't tell you how much it means to me that you're sharing my frustrations. Though I'm still not sure how to move forward—or even where to go for medical help at this point—I've felt so much peace for the past few days. Thanks for that.
I'd also like to warn anyone squeamish about "woman troubles" to just stop reading now.
My test results showed normal insulin, glucose, and testosterone levels with no sign of hyperinsulinemia—I'm not insulin resistant. The nurse told me over the phone that my options for managing my symptoms were to either take birth control or have a baby. I explained to her (as I've explained to about 500 nurses, technicians, receptionists, and doctors over the past two years) that birth control makes me really sick and crazy. She said that the best time to conceive was right after getting off of birth control.
Wait, what?
I've heard a lot of things about fertility, birth control, and conception, and that's not one of them. Well, anyway, Tim refuses to let me get back on birth control at all, because it turns me into a frighteningly ill person. Also, I'd like to continue having both a job and friends. So I start talking to her about option two:
"What would you prescribe if I wanted to have a baby now?"
"Nothing, you just wouldn't take birth control."
Hold the phone. That's exactly what I've been doing! And if anything is clear about my condition, it's that I'm not ovulating! So she just says if I don't get pregnant after a while they'll give me fertility pills.
Oh, thanks. Great. Yeah, I'll just keep having two- and three-week-long periods and random bleeding. I'll just keep passing out in the middle of these ridiculous bleeding stints. I'll just keep feeling like I have the flu for weeks or months on end until you people feel like I've suffered enough!
I've seen around seven different doctors over the past two years. Not one has cared enough to figure out what's wrong with me. All they do is say, "Yeah, something's definitely wrong with you," do a few tests, and then give up when they can't figure things out. I don't even know where to go now. How do I find a doctor who will actually commit to fixing what's wrong with me? How bad do I have to let it get before they'll diagnose me with something—ANYTHING—that they can treat somehow?
I hate being so far beyond frustrated, and I hate putting the people I love through worrying about my malfunctioning body when it seems like nobody on earth can do anything about it.
So while I halfheartedly search for an endocrinologist (my last hope in legitimate medicine), I'll be looking Heavenward for help and answers.
(This is the part where I wax spiritual.)
I've always felt like God answers our prayers and blesses us using a lot of everyday things, like doctors or medicine, or like sending a neighbor or visiting teacher rather than an angel. But now I really need a miracle. Doctors have been careless, rude, and unhelpful. Medicine has made me even sicker. I feel like I've exhausted the powers of man, and now all I can depend on is the powers of God that He's given to man. I know God can heal all wounds, and I believe that Jesus walked the Earth and healed the blind, the crippled, the ill, and the dead. The power of God, or the priesthood, can tear things apart or make them whole. I know that God can heal me.
I also know that he will only heal me if that's what's best for me. I trust him to leave my body broken if that is what will make me more ready to come home to him someday. As I seek this miracle, please keep me in your prayers. I know that no matter what happens, your prayers will always have the power to lift my spirits and support me each day.
I'd also like to warn anyone squeamish about "woman troubles" to just stop reading now.
My test results showed normal insulin, glucose, and testosterone levels with no sign of hyperinsulinemia—I'm not insulin resistant. The nurse told me over the phone that my options for managing my symptoms were to either take birth control or have a baby. I explained to her (as I've explained to about 500 nurses, technicians, receptionists, and doctors over the past two years) that birth control makes me really sick and crazy. She said that the best time to conceive was right after getting off of birth control.
Wait, what?
I've heard a lot of things about fertility, birth control, and conception, and that's not one of them. Well, anyway, Tim refuses to let me get back on birth control at all, because it turns me into a frighteningly ill person. Also, I'd like to continue having both a job and friends. So I start talking to her about option two:
"What would you prescribe if I wanted to have a baby now?"
"Nothing, you just wouldn't take birth control."
Hold the phone. That's exactly what I've been doing! And if anything is clear about my condition, it's that I'm not ovulating! So she just says if I don't get pregnant after a while they'll give me fertility pills.
Oh, thanks. Great. Yeah, I'll just keep having two- and three-week-long periods and random bleeding. I'll just keep passing out in the middle of these ridiculous bleeding stints. I'll just keep feeling like I have the flu for weeks or months on end until you people feel like I've suffered enough!
I've seen around seven different doctors over the past two years. Not one has cared enough to figure out what's wrong with me. All they do is say, "Yeah, something's definitely wrong with you," do a few tests, and then give up when they can't figure things out. I don't even know where to go now. How do I find a doctor who will actually commit to fixing what's wrong with me? How bad do I have to let it get before they'll diagnose me with something—ANYTHING—that they can treat somehow?
I hate being so far beyond frustrated, and I hate putting the people I love through worrying about my malfunctioning body when it seems like nobody on earth can do anything about it.
So while I halfheartedly search for an endocrinologist (my last hope in legitimate medicine), I'll be looking Heavenward for help and answers.
(This is the part where I wax spiritual.)
I've always felt like God answers our prayers and blesses us using a lot of everyday things, like doctors or medicine, or like sending a neighbor or visiting teacher rather than an angel. But now I really need a miracle. Doctors have been careless, rude, and unhelpful. Medicine has made me even sicker. I feel like I've exhausted the powers of man, and now all I can depend on is the powers of God that He's given to man. I know God can heal all wounds, and I believe that Jesus walked the Earth and healed the blind, the crippled, the ill, and the dead. The power of God, or the priesthood, can tear things apart or make them whole. I know that God can heal me.
I also know that he will only heal me if that's what's best for me. I trust him to leave my body broken if that is what will make me more ready to come home to him someday. As I seek this miracle, please keep me in your prayers. I know that no matter what happens, your prayers will always have the power to lift my spirits and support me each day.
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