There are a couple of things that make me smile out loud these days.
One: This blog. I gotta say that when I got Nathalie's comment yesterday asking where my post was, I was flattered.
Nathalie, aka AmeriBrit with a birthday coming up, was our first reader. And ... she's still reading. Now, it's true that she's a complete dork as well as a total slacker at work (this is why our legal system is in the state it is).
And I say, good on ya, mate!
I love writing this blog. I get excited when I come up with another topic or title. HRH and I have discussed it via IM. It usually goes like this:
HRH: I love our blog
LP: Me too! I'm posting right now.
HRH:I am too!
LP: Get out.
HRH: Totally
LP: I love us.
HRH: If I couldn't be me ...
LP: I'd be you.
I should probably be ashamed of this, but really people. We started a blog with the subtitle: Stories from two girls who find each other extremely funny. I don't really think our egoism is such a big secret.
Two: The new music I purchased for my iTunes! Yes my millions of adoring fans, I have moved into 2007, musically speaking. In particular I am quite fond of Lil'Jon & The East Side Boys' "Get Low". Now, I realize this song is from circa 2002, but I bought other current songs (The now 18-year-old Chris Brown's "Kiss Kiss" for example), but "Get Low" makes me grin like Erica smelling bacon in the morning. The first thing that gets me is them saying, "fifty-eleven" times. This phrase was such a huge part of my childhood in Georgia. "You already made me rake the yard like fifty-leven times!" A good childhood memory, for once.
Then, every time I hear it, especially the, "Stop! Oh - Then wiggle with it!" line, I can see my friend Pink Tracy (best known for performing with Dee Trayn in a chicken suit to Michael Jackson's, "Thriller") stopping and wiggling with it.
If you know the infamous Tracy, then you know how she wiggles, and you're probably laughing about it right now. "Bend over to the front, touch your toes!"
When I was thinking about all of this on the walk to work this morning (my best thinkin' time since bathroom time has, for some bizarre reason, become a family meeting opportunity for Erica and Chulo. What is that about?) I realized that blogging makes me happy - the blog made me buy new music (I also bought Fergie's London Bridge and listen to it obsessively) - the new music makes me happy -- thinking about how the new music makes me happy, gives me a reason to blog.
That, my friends, is white light.
PS. I changed my name to La Principessa because, otherwise, the IM conversation would have been between HRH and TP.
Unacceptable.
10.24.2007
10.23.2007
The Problem with Boobs
The story of my life these days is centered on boobs. And when I say boobs I mean boobs in every sense of the word.
One -- Mom's breast cancer and continuing health issues as related to this illness.
Two -- My new mammogram-a-thon that I've been going through because the imaging center found something that might in some remote possibility be problematic for me. (Left side, if you're interested.)
Three -- My family. The whole lot of them ... a bunch of boobs.
Here's what happened.
Yesterday afternoon I notice that V my niece (slash sister according to whether you're going for the biological or legal definition of our relationship) is online and I send her an Instant Message.
me: hey
her: hey
me: what are you doing?
her: nothing
[V is 11]
me: how was school?
her: i didn't go today
me: why not?
her: mama's in the hospital so i went to visit her.
[i had not been notified about this hospitalization]
me: what's wrong with her?
her: well, it started with her heart.
[this is when i reach for my Klonopin]
her continued: she went into atrial fib and she was supposed to come home today but she got a migraine so she's staying again
This is the reason I ended up posting only a subject line last night. What went down was, I got home, told Erica that I had been told my mother was in the hospital via IM from my 11 year old sisterniece. Then I called them.
My sister A answers the phone: I was gonna call you tonight after 9.
[because telling me my mother is in the hospital is not worth paying daytime rates.]
me: so what's going on?
A: well, thursday i saw mama getting her stethoscope from the car and i knew she must be in atrial fib
[mom's a nurse, thus the stethoscope. atrial fib = quite problematic irregular heart beat that my mom has had issues with since chemo]
A continued: so, i asked her and she said, "yep. i'm in atrial fib." so i said, let's go and i drove her over to tifton and they put her in the hospital.
me: thursday?
A: yeah. she was supposed to get out today but she got this migraine this morning and they didn't want her to leave with a headache so they're keeping her tonight. she's supposed to call in a minute to let me know what's going on.
me: thursday?
[yesterday was monday]
A: yeah.
We get off the phone because Mom's calling and they don't have call-waiting on their home phone. A calls back about 30 minutes later.
A: mom's back in ICU.
me: mom was in ICU before?
A: yes. that's where they put her thursday.
Listen people. Who should have to put up with this? My sister and I ended up being on the phone for a couple of hours talking about how fucking insane my mother is and how A has to take charge of the situation down there.
It gets better.
As the conversation goes on, A is describing what happened at the hospital yesterday prior to the doctors announcing that they were keeping Mom for an additional night.
She woke up, had a headache and asked for pain medication. They gave her a Vicodin.
Then later they gave her another one. Then they gave her a Lorcet. Then they gave her Demerol. THEN she says, "I usually take Maxalt at home. Maxalt always helps."
So they give her that.
Somewhere in this process Mom starts vomiting non-stop. She says that this is due to the overwhelming pain.
Well, Mom has had migraines all of her life. And she has vomited from them all of her life. (Or at least for all of my life.) We even had a cheer for her:
Regurgitate, Regurgitate
Throw Up All The Food You Ate
V-O-M-I-T
VOMIT!
Now, being awfully fond of pills myself, I hear this story and I realize. My Mom isn't a migraine sufferer ... she is a pill head. Apparently her DOC [drug of choice] is downers. And, of course she was vomiting. Look at the drugs she ingested in a single day.
I don't know about you, but I'm a big fan of Vicodin and I know what two Vicodin can do to a person. But two Vicodin, a Lorcet, a Demerol AND Maxalt? Seriously people. Who wouldn't be puking? I get a little nauseous just writing about it.
I am so frustrated with the whole lot of the Georgian Boobs that I could barely unclench my jaw enough to eat lunch today. And it was Thai food. I love Thai food.
So, I apologize for the Title Only posting, but after I got off the phone with A the second time last night, I was too exhausted to do anything but catch up on America's Most Smartest Model.
One -- Mom's breast cancer and continuing health issues as related to this illness.
Two -- My new mammogram-a-thon that I've been going through because the imaging center found something that might in some remote possibility be problematic for me. (Left side, if you're interested.)
Three -- My family. The whole lot of them ... a bunch of boobs.
Here's what happened.
Yesterday afternoon I notice that V my niece (slash sister according to whether you're going for the biological or legal definition of our relationship) is online and I send her an Instant Message.
me: hey
her: hey
me: what are you doing?
her: nothing
[V is 11]
me: how was school?
her: i didn't go today
me: why not?
her: mama's in the hospital so i went to visit her.
[i had not been notified about this hospitalization]
me: what's wrong with her?
her: well, it started with her heart.
[this is when i reach for my Klonopin]
her continued: she went into atrial fib and she was supposed to come home today but she got a migraine so she's staying again
This is the reason I ended up posting only a subject line last night. What went down was, I got home, told Erica that I had been told my mother was in the hospital via IM from my 11 year old sisterniece. Then I called them.
My sister A answers the phone: I was gonna call you tonight after 9.
[because telling me my mother is in the hospital is not worth paying daytime rates.]
me: so what's going on?
A: well, thursday i saw mama getting her stethoscope from the car and i knew she must be in atrial fib
[mom's a nurse, thus the stethoscope. atrial fib = quite problematic irregular heart beat that my mom has had issues with since chemo]
A continued: so, i asked her and she said, "yep. i'm in atrial fib." so i said, let's go and i drove her over to tifton and they put her in the hospital.
me: thursday?
A: yeah. she was supposed to get out today but she got this migraine this morning and they didn't want her to leave with a headache so they're keeping her tonight. she's supposed to call in a minute to let me know what's going on.
me: thursday?
[yesterday was monday]
A: yeah.
We get off the phone because Mom's calling and they don't have call-waiting on their home phone. A calls back about 30 minutes later.
A: mom's back in ICU.
me: mom was in ICU before?
A: yes. that's where they put her thursday.
Listen people. Who should have to put up with this? My sister and I ended up being on the phone for a couple of hours talking about how fucking insane my mother is and how A has to take charge of the situation down there.
It gets better.
As the conversation goes on, A is describing what happened at the hospital yesterday prior to the doctors announcing that they were keeping Mom for an additional night.
She woke up, had a headache and asked for pain medication. They gave her a Vicodin.
Then later they gave her another one. Then they gave her a Lorcet. Then they gave her Demerol. THEN she says, "I usually take Maxalt at home. Maxalt always helps."
So they give her that.
Somewhere in this process Mom starts vomiting non-stop. She says that this is due to the overwhelming pain.
Well, Mom has had migraines all of her life. And she has vomited from them all of her life. (Or at least for all of my life.) We even had a cheer for her:
Regurgitate, Regurgitate
Throw Up All The Food You Ate
V-O-M-I-T
VOMIT!
Now, being awfully fond of pills myself, I hear this story and I realize. My Mom isn't a migraine sufferer ... she is a pill head. Apparently her DOC [drug of choice] is downers. And, of course she was vomiting. Look at the drugs she ingested in a single day.
I don't know about you, but I'm a big fan of Vicodin and I know what two Vicodin can do to a person. But two Vicodin, a Lorcet, a Demerol AND Maxalt? Seriously people. Who wouldn't be puking? I get a little nauseous just writing about it.
I am so frustrated with the whole lot of the Georgian Boobs that I could barely unclench my jaw enough to eat lunch today. And it was Thai food. I love Thai food.
So, I apologize for the Title Only posting, but after I got off the phone with A the second time last night, I was too exhausted to do anything but catch up on America's Most Smartest Model.
10.22.2007
Deodorant is Not Optional
I have long made it public knowledge that I possess (please note that due to my horrible spelling skills I almost wrote posses which I think might have some Freudian implications about how much I detest Williamsburgites) an extreme disdain for all things Williamsburg, especially the L train. It’s not that I haven’t at times enjoyed things about Williamsburg, such as the cuisine or the art, but still even for yours truly this is not enough to make me climb onto a train packed with those who aspire to be Euro-trash. Though, I did recently hear that APC has a surplus store in Williamsburg so…well, you know I do enjoy shopping.
My main issue with Williamsburg is that I have never felt “cool” enough to hang with its IT crowd. I like a person who looks put together, one who cleans under their finger nails and isn’t a fan of heroin chic. My body has never been capable of producing the gauntness necessary to be described as such and therefore I have developed a loathing for an appearance that says, “I subsist on drugs, booze and cigarettes.” I am not frightened of freshly laundered clothing. In fact I’ve been known to squeal in delight when I grab a towel at the gym that is not only fluffy but still warm from the dryer. But mostly I have a great love of deodorant. An appreciation of deodorant really. I appreciate it in the same way I do toothpaste, or chewing gum, or the tiny mirror I carry in my purse to keep me from walking around with things stuck between my teeth.
Now, the residents of Williamsburg are not huge fans of deodorant. Somehow they have gotten the impression that it is an unnecessary toiletry like décolletage creams. I am here to tell you it is not!
This morning, climbing onto the always packed L train (seriously, why is this train always packed?), I stood next to a girl who was in her mid-twenties, cute hair, nice outfit, and the worst BO ever. Seriously, I thought I was going to pass out. Of course the train was crowded leaving me with nowhere to escape to. I was forced to endure the entire train ride with her stench wafting over me sending extreme feelings of repulsion through my veins. I couldn’t help but wonder how she couldn’t smell herself (and let me tell you people, when you can smell yourself, you’ve got serious problems). It was horrible. Then I started to think, what kind of friends does she have? Well, obviously other stinky people, because that’s the only way they could handle it. I mean, if The Princess was smelling up the place, I’d let her know. And you better believe nothing would bring her more joy than to say, HRH, “you can not raise your hand, because you are not Sure.” Then I started thinking, what must that be like, stinky girl and her friends when they get together, stinking up the whole place. Horrid. Then I started feeling bad for the people who do her laundry. Imagine what they must feel like when she comes in, with her bag of clothes. Repulsed? I know I would be.
I am happy to report I did make it to 14th St. without passing out. Though I have no idea how her coworkers have faired.
Please stay tuned for a blog entitled, “The Joys of Antiperspirant.”
My main issue with Williamsburg is that I have never felt “cool” enough to hang with its IT crowd. I like a person who looks put together, one who cleans under their finger nails and isn’t a fan of heroin chic. My body has never been capable of producing the gauntness necessary to be described as such and therefore I have developed a loathing for an appearance that says, “I subsist on drugs, booze and cigarettes.” I am not frightened of freshly laundered clothing. In fact I’ve been known to squeal in delight when I grab a towel at the gym that is not only fluffy but still warm from the dryer. But mostly I have a great love of deodorant. An appreciation of deodorant really. I appreciate it in the same way I do toothpaste, or chewing gum, or the tiny mirror I carry in my purse to keep me from walking around with things stuck between my teeth.
Now, the residents of Williamsburg are not huge fans of deodorant. Somehow they have gotten the impression that it is an unnecessary toiletry like décolletage creams. I am here to tell you it is not!
This morning, climbing onto the always packed L train (seriously, why is this train always packed?), I stood next to a girl who was in her mid-twenties, cute hair, nice outfit, and the worst BO ever. Seriously, I thought I was going to pass out. Of course the train was crowded leaving me with nowhere to escape to. I was forced to endure the entire train ride with her stench wafting over me sending extreme feelings of repulsion through my veins. I couldn’t help but wonder how she couldn’t smell herself (and let me tell you people, when you can smell yourself, you’ve got serious problems). It was horrible. Then I started to think, what kind of friends does she have? Well, obviously other stinky people, because that’s the only way they could handle it. I mean, if The Princess was smelling up the place, I’d let her know. And you better believe nothing would bring her more joy than to say, HRH, “you can not raise your hand, because you are not Sure.” Then I started thinking, what must that be like, stinky girl and her friends when they get together, stinking up the whole place. Horrid. Then I started feeling bad for the people who do her laundry. Imagine what they must feel like when she comes in, with her bag of clothes. Repulsed? I know I would be.
I am happy to report I did make it to 14th St. without passing out. Though I have no idea how her coworkers have faired.
Please stay tuned for a blog entitled, “The Joys of Antiperspirant.”
10.21.2007
First Dumbledore. Now this?
So. J.K. says Dumbledore is gay. Well, J.K. ... duh.
Know who else is gay? Neville. And that Looney girl. And Moaning Myrtle. Before Myrtle died and moved to the toilet, she was the star rugby player. Know what I'm saying?
Moving on.
Hi my people. How's your weekend? Mine has been just chock-full-o excitement. Yesterday I spent 13 hours packing and organizing and entering everything into my Excel spreadsheet. It rocked. Truly -- I love that kind of shit. I threw out old clothes, I FINALLY talked Erica into getting rid of her ancient and hideous Rollerblades, as well as her equally ancient and hideous super-sized, multi-pocketed fanny pack. Praise Smoking Baby.
This morning, we got up and did the ACS Breast Cancer Walk with our friend Edna. Five miles through Central Park and then down Central Park West. We get home around 1:30 and as we're taking off our Bosom Buddies, We're Walking With Edna 2007, t-shirts, I ask, "We should at least wait until tomorrow to throw these away, right?"
I'm awful, I know, but I'll never wear it again. I don't sleep in T-shirts. And I just decided yesterday to do a Tim Gunn style editing of my wardrobe, so it's got to go. What can I do?
Anyway. The thing that really prompted me to post today. Years ago HeatherJeanne and I were at a Miss America Pageant Party at Dan & Patrick's place. We were all instructed to come as our favorite contestant and be prepared to compete in a talent contest. The talent competition was won by a woman who performed Dancing Queen by Abba in sign language.
Obviously, we forced her to perform it over and over until we could all do it.
So, for years HeatherJeanne & I have performed it everytime it came on the radio. Or when we heard it in a club. We performed it frequently at karaoke.
We taught other people.
Today HeatherJeanne sends me a YouTube link to this video.
People. If this woman knows sign language better than she knows fashion then, all this time, all these years, all those nights at karaoke ... we were doing it wrong.
Now, I struggled with revealing this link to my adoring fans ... many of you have seen me perform Dancing Queen. Some of you asked to be taught. And I taught you. So I allowed myself to feel ashamed. But, who wouldn't? HeatherJeanne claims to have seen this video several years prior to sharing it with me this morning. My first reaction was to hate her for allowing me to continue performing Dancing Queen incorrectly for all this time, but then I understood that HeatherJeanne had been suffering the same shock and humiliation I felt this morning. And she's been suffering silently all these years.
I decided, "No. I will not allow this knowledge to eat at me. I will be honest with my fans." And I thought, my fans aren't really with me all the time, so I could still do Dancing Queen ... I'd just have to be more cautious about not doing it in front of actual deaf people.
And then I thought, even if I did perform it with one of my fans around, the only one who would ever be horrible enough to call me out on it would be HRH. So, I just will never do it in front of her.
Sadly, the truth is, I plan to obsessively study this woman's moves (sans bad dancing) and keep on showing off like this never happened.
Know who else is gay? Neville. And that Looney girl. And Moaning Myrtle. Before Myrtle died and moved to the toilet, she was the star rugby player. Know what I'm saying?
Moving on.
Hi my people. How's your weekend? Mine has been just chock-full-o excitement. Yesterday I spent 13 hours packing and organizing and entering everything into my Excel spreadsheet. It rocked. Truly -- I love that kind of shit. I threw out old clothes, I FINALLY talked Erica into getting rid of her ancient and hideous Rollerblades, as well as her equally ancient and hideous super-sized, multi-pocketed fanny pack. Praise Smoking Baby.
This morning, we got up and did the ACS Breast Cancer Walk with our friend Edna. Five miles through Central Park and then down Central Park West. We get home around 1:30 and as we're taking off our Bosom Buddies, We're Walking With Edna 2007, t-shirts, I ask, "We should at least wait until tomorrow to throw these away, right?"
I'm awful, I know, but I'll never wear it again. I don't sleep in T-shirts. And I just decided yesterday to do a Tim Gunn style editing of my wardrobe, so it's got to go. What can I do?
Anyway. The thing that really prompted me to post today. Years ago HeatherJeanne and I were at a Miss America Pageant Party at Dan & Patrick's place. We were all instructed to come as our favorite contestant and be prepared to compete in a talent contest. The talent competition was won by a woman who performed Dancing Queen by Abba in sign language.
Obviously, we forced her to perform it over and over until we could all do it.
So, for years HeatherJeanne & I have performed it everytime it came on the radio. Or when we heard it in a club. We performed it frequently at karaoke.
We taught other people.
Today HeatherJeanne sends me a YouTube link to this video.
People. If this woman knows sign language better than she knows fashion then, all this time, all these years, all those nights at karaoke ... we were doing it wrong.
Now, I struggled with revealing this link to my adoring fans ... many of you have seen me perform Dancing Queen. Some of you asked to be taught. And I taught you. So I allowed myself to feel ashamed. But, who wouldn't? HeatherJeanne claims to have seen this video several years prior to sharing it with me this morning. My first reaction was to hate her for allowing me to continue performing Dancing Queen incorrectly for all this time, but then I understood that HeatherJeanne had been suffering the same shock and humiliation I felt this morning. And she's been suffering silently all these years.
I decided, "No. I will not allow this knowledge to eat at me. I will be honest with my fans." And I thought, my fans aren't really with me all the time, so I could still do Dancing Queen ... I'd just have to be more cautious about not doing it in front of actual deaf people.
And then I thought, even if I did perform it with one of my fans around, the only one who would ever be horrible enough to call me out on it would be HRH. So, I just will never do it in front of her.
Sadly, the truth is, I plan to obsessively study this woman's moves (sans bad dancing) and keep on showing off like this never happened.
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