Squeaky

There's so much to tell you, and I barely know where to start! Firstly, I got to meet someone I met through blogging. Who lives in DENMARK! Because she came to the Americas! Each time I've met someone off the interwebs, there's always a little hesitation - will they be crazy? will it be painfully awkward? will we both be trying to figure out the quickest and most graceful way to get away? But meeting Jennie and her husband was pure joy. Pure. Joy. They were so fun and funny and easy-going and interesting, and and and!

Secondly, it's five months in, and I'm still working with Turkey. He's ... still a turkey. That's never going to change. But working with him at a big law firm provides a buffer for me that was sorely lacking in the other place. He cares very much about what others think of him, so having others around keeps Turkey in check to a small degree.

About a month ago the firm did evaluations and raises/bonuses. I'd barely been permanent for a month so assumed there'd be none for me. Wrong. Turkey and the midwestern girl reviewed me. I had to sit with the HR lady while she handed me the reviews they wrote. Then she told me since I'd just started, they couldn't justify giving me a raise. However, they did want me to feel appreciated, so she went to the head honchos and got them to give me a bonus.

Here's how I envision it went down:
HR: We should give Green a bonus.
Head Honchos: Who now?
HR: You know - the one who's working with Turkey.
HH: Oh, shit. Yes! Here's $20 from me.

And I imagine she just went to every single partner, and then each associate, and then each employee who has ever had to deal with Turkey, getting $20 from each person, pulling together my bonus.

Lastly, today, like most days, Turkey was wearing leather shoes that squeak with every step. We can hear him coming from all the way down the hall. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Everywhere he goes, we can hear him squeak along. At one point, Turkey squeaked his way out of his office, right as a call came in for him. Without even thinking about it, I inquired to the girl who sits next to me, "Where'd Squeaky go?" She was being given instructions by a partner who overheard, and he kind of snickered as he kept talking, and then all three of us were giggling.

The best part was, Turkey was close by - I just couldn't see him! (He didn't hear me.) 

If You Don't Like It, Don't Read It

People say this all the time. Usually when someone comments on a blog with something negative, the blog writer or their "fans" will throw it at the commenter.

I read blogs to see what life is like for people who are different than I am. I already know what I'm like. I want to see what other people are like. Sometimes, they're so different that I don't even understand them. Sometimes, I'm shocked by what they present as a given.

There is a blog called Wardrobe Oxygen. I follow it on Facebook (okay and Instagram), along with almost 7,000 other people. The writer of the blog has a style that is wildly different from mine and even from what I wish mine was.  She often highlights new lines by designers. The other day she posted a picture of a dress that was just ... horrific, in my opinion. I could see it being in a compilation of Nightmare Bridesmaids Dresses or something. Being torn to shreds (threads?) on Fashion Police. Really, just awful.

My comment was "Whoa, so ugly!" Then, the "foot in the mouth" moment happened. The blog owner replied, "Really? I own it." Whoops. Had I known she owned the dress I'd have just kept my opinion to myself. But I hadn't so I needed to own that opinion. So I explained what part of the dress bothered me, found something about it to be nice about, and she replied essentially saying it looks better on a person with a different body type. That was it.

Except that all day yesterday I kept running the interaction through my mind. Wasn't sure why. When I woke up this morning it was clear. I disagreed, and she didn't tell me to stop reading. She engaged me, and tried to get me to see her side. She never suggested that I leave, she didn't block me, we just ... had an exchange. I so respect how she handled it. I was really a bit of a bitch. This could have gone in a very different direction, but I'm glad it didn't.

Note to self: do not insult anything until you are sure the person you're speaking to does not own it.

Name That Boss!

It's official. I am over having a crush on Gay Crush/Boss. It's evolved into a nice sibling-like relationship. With a really hot brother. We take turns bringing over the mail that's mis-delivered to our firm to the company next door full of hot British guys.

I've had positions before that involve only working for one attorney, but never one where there's only one other person. When you're only dealing with one other person all day, everything becomes very intense. I'm not that internally sensitive, but very sensitive to other people's moods, to the point that I have to remind myself not to absorb their feelings.

Gay Crush/Boss has been very stressed for the last couple of weeks. One of the things I really like about him is that he's so mentally stable. Not like Turkey, who craved drama to the point of creating it. GC's version of stressed is to say to you, "I'm so stressed. Okay, back to work!"

Seems easy, right? And it is. Truly. Though I could feel the stress rolling off GC in waves. I put off ordering some supplies we need. Didn't mention how close he is to bumping up against his credit limit on the company credit card. Made sure to search for promo codes before any purchases.

Then on Thursday, there was a glimmer of hope. The glimmer was supposed to arrive at 5pm. The time my workday ends. I was hanging around the office though, and told GC in no uncertain terms that I wanted to be there for this, but he shouldn't pay me overtime. What good is hiring a friend if they won't help you out sometimes, right? Besides, GC created summer hours, which means from Memorial Day through Labor Day, the firm closes at 3pm on Fridays. So if I "give back" those two hours one week, it's not a big deal.

As if Thursday wasn't enough, on Friday that glimmer turned into ... more than a glimmer. The veil of stress has distinctly lifted. I have a list of things to propose we order. This is such a relief.

You know what else is a big relief? That this is how work problems go now. It's as if we're rational adults who are capable of handling any problems that come up. I never feel like I'm working around GC, like I was with Turkey. There's no manipulation. It's beautiful.

*Whoever comes up with a good name for Gay Crush will win my appreciation, a mention on the blog, plus I'll link to any good cause you like.

The Right Writing Style

I don't know anything formal about writing. I took nothing more than the requisite English classes in high school and college. I didn't score particularly high on the English section (or the math section, lest you get the wrong idea) of the SAT's. To be frank, I barely scored mediocrely (perhaps my use of that word is part of the reason why) on either section. My entire trick to writing decently involves attempting to write what I'd enjoy reading. Most of the time I almost succeed, but not quite.

However, for much better tips on how to write well, check out Wide Lawns. When I read her tips, a few of them were things I'd figured out on my own, a couple were things I realized I'd been taught in Composition 101 in college, and several just made total sense even though I'd never heard them before.

This is the type of post that you want to print out and put up on your bulletin board that hangs above your desk. Now all I need is a bulletin board. And a desk. Oh, and an apartment big enough for a desk. Until then, I'm going to make a more conscious effort to write in a more Wide Lawnserly way.

If You Don't Like It, Don't Read It

To which I say, fuck that. Seriously. People say all the time that if you can't relate, don't understand, or don't like something, you shouldn't read it online. I do not understand this.

Here is just a smattering of the blogs I read:

Pat Stack - we have absolutely nothing in common, and I barely understand over half of what he writes about. I highly doubt he reads my blog.

She Walks - she's a married mother who likes to drink wine. I'm single without kids and don't drink alcohol.

Kingdom Twindom - this woman lives ... in New Mexico? I'm not sure. She's republican and very religious. We believe opposite things, basically. To be completely honest, I can only read her blog in small doses.

Jessie Sholl - again, pretty much nothing in common. She wrote a book, I read her book, now I read her blog. I'd read her food-shopping lists.

Noraebang - he is a guy born in Korea, adopted in America, who lives in a part of Florida where I once got horribly lost and cried. I am always excited when I understand even half of what he's written about, and have spent fascinating hours reading all sorts of articles about adoption. I was neither adopted, nor do I plan to adopt. Um, nor am I Korean.

Shelby Fero - she's a freaking teenager! Tweets about her prom and everything! I just read her because she's a funny kid. <---- understatement.

People say if you don't like it, stop reading. I say if you don't like it, challenge yourself to keep reading. Find a piece of that person you relate to, that you can understand. There's a blogger who posts what she'll cook for dinner each night. Most of her meals don't appeal to me, but there's always at least one that intrigues. Wide Lawns has more than double the formal education I do, but we like some of the same books. Should I have "stopped reading" because of a couple of blog posts about her cat, since I'm a dog person? No!

So I challenge you. I challenge you to read something even though you don't relate to the author at first glance. I challenge you to dig deeper. To expand your mind and learn about someone you don't think you'd have for a friend. Learn something you didn't know before. Learn to think about something in a way you never did before. Push yourself to see something from a different point of view.

Let's All Sit in a Circle

I love that rush I get when discovering not only a new author I love, but one who's written tons of stuff. That rushing thrill of New! Reading! Material! Then you curl up inside all that reading, and when you emerge in a daze with the way you think about things changed for life, in the back of your head all that's going through your head is What the hell will I read now? Wow. I guess I just really, really love reading.

I just need to pause to say that my apartment hallway is very echo-y, and I can always hear everyone who walks by, talks, or makes any noise. Right now a very chipper older late is talking to a man with a heavy Spanish accent who is responding to her politely but you can hear in his voice he wants to get away. Anyway, the point is, this woman has the same squeaky voice as my old cousin Clara, who was old for my entire life. She always used to confuse me with my mom, and it really made me twitch when she'd tell me, thinking I was my mom, that she remembers when my mother was alive. My mother *IS* alive, it's *HER* mother who died! Get it right, woman! Of course I could never say that - I'd just listen to her tell me stories about "my" mom and commit them to memory so I could tell my mom later, and she could collect other people's memories about the mother she didn't get enough time with.

Moving on! Back to reading! Good blogs are a great thing to discover because bloggers have archives. Archives mean days of reading material. I'm always flattered when I, my blog, represents that to someone else. People I'd never meet in real life. People who, even if I met, would agree we had nothing in common. Except people will write more than they will say (if their family isn't reading), so you can find those commonalities after all.

Charlene from -lifedramatic- recently found my blog and not only is she reading the archives, but she's commenting on things I'd forgotten about writing. She responded to an old post where I solicited questions with hers, and here's her list, along with my answers.

1. Don't keep me in suspense. Did you ever get a camera? What kind? Where are the pictures?? :)
Yes, I was given a camera. I don't know how to say what kind of camera it is properly, so I've gone meta and taken a picture of it with Photoshop for you. It says it's a Panisonic Lumix, with 5.0 megapixels and um yeah. I really, really want to be one of those people who takes their camera everywhere they go and takes cool pictures of a sewer grate or a businessman fixing his sock that make people stop and think, but I haven't reached that level. Then, before I could keep trying to reach it, my camera used up all its battery juice and buying new batteries for a camera simply is not a priority when you're scraping together money for rent each month, you know? So that's where I'm at with my camera.

A couple of years ago I went to LA, and I did take some awesome pictures if I do say so myself. I crossed a foot bridge in Santa Monica and took a picture of a Coke cup discarded carefully on a step that I really liked (yet can't find now). It doesn't help that I don't understand Flickr - why are the pictures I've taken in Photoshop on Flickr, and how did they get there? Where is my precious Coke cup picture? Where are all the old pictures I took on my camera and (thought I) uploaded to Flickr?

2. You mentioned you were in therapy for a long time. I'm in therapy now. Have been since my first husband started cheating on me, and never left her. I see a lot of things through your posts that I should be doing but haven't been able to yet. For example, doing things to help me not feel depressed. I find that I kind of wallow in the depression, like I'm in a maze and I can't really find my way out. How do you do it?
Wow. Well. Two or three things.
1. I am sorry your first husband cheated on you. It seems more common these days for people to forgive that, and although this may fall into the "you can't know until you're in that situation" I don't think I'd be able to forgive that. I believe in the "if you aren't into me enough to not cheat on me, then just break up with me honestly" religion.
2. Let's be honest here, okay? I'm not always able to snap out of it. Being out of work is very, VERY difficult. A little while before moving out of Florida my messiness reached an overwhelming head, and another person had to come in to help dig me out. I swore to myself it would never get to that point again. It hasn't, but I have been known to send in my unemployment form a week or two late because I lost it in the pile of stuff on my ottoman and haven't had the wherewith all to dig it out. So, I'm not perfect.

At least a decade ago I read an article in Newsday about how people with learning disabilities function better if their outside world is neat and organized. It took me several years to get my life in line with that, and found it was true. My brain is so busy translating what people have said into words and concepts I understand (and then I have to race to listen and process while also listening to their next thought and saving that for translation while responding to the first thing) that it creates more work when things are physically a wreck. So I try to stay neat. When I don't, I have absolutely noticed a correlation between seeing a wreck and my heart sinking and becoming overwhelmed.
3. The way I do it when I'm doing it is, I have a set schedule. So when I'm working, I know what errands I'll run on my lunch hour on which day, and which days I'll go to the library after work. When I wake up I smooth out my blanket to make my bed look neat (tucking in the blanket takes too long). On weekends I buy five breakfasts (or one cardboard tin of Quaker's Instant Oatmeal) so I'll have quick breakfasts each morning I'm at work. I feel no difference (other than hunger) between eating breakfast and not in terms of being productive, but study after study, decade after decade swears eating breakfast is good for you, so I eat a healthy one.

I keep in mind when I'm depressed all the other times I've been depressed (yes, I realize that sounds depressing) and that if I can just force myself to shower and get dressed, then I'll be able to take out the garbage, which will mean I'll be ready to go through mail that's piled up, etc. Things can spin out of control. But they can also spin into the control if you just start the spin. You have to find what will start your spin.

3. What would you do if your neighbor got a pig and you had to hear it grunting and squealing when you were trying to relax? (Seriously, this just happened to me...)
Charlene, this does not sound pleasant ... wait. Is it a baby pig? Because those things are cute! Did you see the movie with that Dawson's Creek kid who played Knox and his friend had a pig named Bacon?

To answer your question, I would ask the city/town if this was legal, and if it was not, because I'm somewhat passive-aggressive I'd consider reporting them. In the meantime though, I might ask the neighbors if they could move their pigpen to the center of their yard so the noise was traveling so well into my space, and I'd look into what kind of white noise I could employ to drown out the pig noise. Wind chimes probably wouldn't cut it, huh?

4. I've always wanted to visit California and SF in general! I love seafood. Do you like any seafood? (I know you said you are a picky eater).
Yes, I love seafood too. Every time I am at Whole Foods I check to see if the scallops are on sale. I'm not sure I've found any stellar seafood restaurants here, but I haven't specifically looked, and don't dine out much these days.

5. Have you ever been to whereever it is you can go to see the seals there? Seals are smelly, but they're cute too.
I think you're talking about Pier 39, where there are sea lions. Yes, I've been there. More than once. Maybe it does for other people, but for me, it never gets old to see the sea lions sunning themselves and pushing each other into the water, and flopping back up to dry off from a swim.

6. What's your favorite thing about SF?
People ask this a lot. I don't have a good answer. This is the first major city I've ever lived in, so I really have nothing to compare it to. I love that the weather makes it easy to spend time outdoors. I love that there's tons of free stuff to do and watch. You can make a full day out of watching the Gay Pride Parade, a full morning out of watching Bay to Breakers take off and then going to the Ferry Building for the farmer's market. You can surround yourself with tourists or escape them by going to the places tourists never know about. You can learn (if you're me) how to become comfortable being the only white person on the bus. Hell, you can learn how to use city buses, something that was foreign and scary to me at first.

This is the place where I learned how to make friends. Where I learned to cut myself a little slack. Where I got to hone the art of agreeing to disagree, of stretching my mind to see other people's viewpoints. I don't know that these things happened because I am in SF, just that they happened while I was here. But when I have entertained thoughts of leaving here and moving elsewhere, I have worried "what if I can't make friends?"

7. I grew up in North Miami, FL. It sounds like when you were in FL you were in the Pompano area. Why did you move there?
You nailed it. I moved to Florida because I wanted to move out of my parent's house. When I looked at apartments on Long Island, they were all depressing illegal basement apartments in the back of people's homes. I distinctly remember looking at one with my dad, and then quietly telling him, "This is the kind of place that's great for committing suicide." My grandpa lived in FL - he had an apartment in an old-people community, and mostly lived at his girlfriend's apartment (in the same community). When I considered the idea of moving to Florida, he allowed me to stay at his place for a few months while I got myself established. I knew of one girl around my age when I moved to Florida, and she was a real estate agent. She showed me four apartment complexes, all places she'd show her sister, and I picked the one with the most natural sunlight. The master closet was big enough for a controlled cartwheel. There was a laundry pantry in the kitchen. There was so much space in that apartment that I had multiple empty cabinets. So that's why I moved to Florida, the specific city within Florida, and the specific apartment complex.

8. Will you please post a comment or two on my blog? :)
Already done!

Morsels

1. Recently I spent several days at my sister-in-law and brother's house. As a joke, my brother left me a type of food he found at Trader Joe's that is called the same thing he used to call me when we were younger (okay he sometimes still does). This morning when I thanked him, he was saying that when he saw it, he just had to get it, and it was only $3. As in, who can't afford $3? Well. Hi. There used to be a time in my life when I would spend $3 without blinking to make someone else smile. I look forward to getting back to that time. Our phone call moved on to other things, but in the back of my head I kept hearing, "... it was only $3."

When I went to lunch, it was raining, and as I walked down Market Street, holding the umbrella the security guards lent me, I saw a man crouching on the sidewalk, holding a cardboard sign that said HUNGRY. This morning I'd brought yogurt and crackers to eat for breakfast at work, and realized I hadn't finished all my crackers. I moved to the side and dug through my bag, my fingers searching past my makeup case, book, and tissue pack to find the ziplock baggie of crackers. Hauling it out, I walked over to the homeless guy. "Would you like some crackers?" He looked up at me, squinting through the raindrops, considering the offer. I almost added, "They're from Trader Joe's," in case he was worried about getting some crappy stale saltines or something. Just when I was wondering if I should come up with some way to "sell" the crackers to the guy, he slowly reached out and took them out of my hand. "Thank you." It was only some crackers.

2. To be blunt, I screwed up planning out meals for this last week of temping, which was why I went out to lunch. I was sitting at the Bistro Burger, eating my chicken Cesar salad without dressing, when a cute guy slid into the table next to me. He immediately started playing with his iPhone, and I went back to reading my book. All of a sudden, he stage-whispered, "No dressing!" Was he talking about me? Was he making fun of me? A lot of people seem to think it's weird that I don't like salad dressing. I looked over. He said it louder. "NO dressing!" He was talking to another guy in line, who was ordering for him. I resumed reading. A few minutes later, the No Dressing Guy's food arrives. I look over, and he has ordered the exact same thing I did! His friend began making fun of him for not wanting dressing. No Dressing Guy looked over at me. We realized at the exact same time we were having the exact same lunch, right down to the water. I almost asked him to marry me. Except you know, he was gay. And I'm shy. And he was playing with his iPhone at the table, which I find rude.

Disclaimer: I do not have an iPhone. Maybe if I did it would be so much fun that I'd play with it everywhere?

Funny thing to note: I have played with two people's iPhones. Both of those people were husbands of friends. I wonder if it's a guy/girl thing - guys offer me their cool toys to play with, and then we bond over it. Girls don't.

I Know Someone Who DIED From That

Many, many moons ago, I worked with a girl who had a tramp stamp in memory of her father who'd died. She also had a teeny, tiny stud in her nose, and her boyfriend had one undesended ball (I'm more mature now, and if you tell me these things about your boyfriend or husband I no longer want to giggle each time I see them, because I immediately try to forget I know the second after you give me this type of information). She also had diabetes. Once, the manager for our department went up to this girl and asked her, right in front of my desk, what she should if she "has a diabetes attack" and so the girl launched into a two minute explanation of some needle that she kept in a certain spot in her desk and where to jab it into her body and how to do it so the insulin would get in. I was on the phone at the time and didn't hear the details, but clearly remember the look of shock on the girl's face when the manager wrinkled her nose and said, "Oh, that's way too complicated, never mind," and walked off.

Recently someone on Twitter raged a few times about people being ignorant when it comes to diabetes. Which made me think, "Umm ... I'm pretty ignorant. Shit, have I said anything offensive about diabetes lately?"

I always sympathize with the ignorant asshole - probably because so often it's me - and this time came up with a way to do something about it. I asked said Twitter-er if she'd like to do a guest post (!) on my blog about her diabetes. And now you will know what not to say when someone tells you they have diabetes. (Thanks to my Twitter Friend for doing this, and apologies for font issues - there was a lot of cutting and pasting going on.)

1. What kind of diabetes do you have? The kind that's kept in check by diet, or do you need insulin shots?

I'm a type I diabetic. It's the kind that they used to call Juvenile diabetes, or insulin-dependent diabetes, but neither of those names are used too frequently anymore. I take insulin, but in my case, instead of taking shots, I have an insulin pump. That's a small computer, about the size of a cell phone, that's attached to me by a teensy little catheter. It holds a reservoir of insulin and the computer gives me a very low dose constantly. When I eat or if my blood glucose is high, I give myself extra insulin. It's a lot more convenient than having to give myself shots. I've also found it's a lot less conspicuous than having to pull out syringes and insulin if I want to have a snack. A syringe tends to draw a lot of attention and curiosity, and that curiosity is often negative.

2. If you have to walk around with needles, how do you get on airplanes with them? Do you carry a doctor's note?

That's exactly what I do, actually. Before I fly, I have my doctor write a letter stating that I am diabetic and must travel with syringes, insulin, my pump, and monitoring equipment on my person. When I go through security, I put everything but my pump and continuous glucose monitoring system in a clear plastic bag so that it's all visible, and I inform the security agent that I'm traveling with medical equipment. Then when I go through the metal detector, I turn my pump off, detach it (which is not at all a big deal), let them X-ray it, then turn it back on and re-attach it. Not a big deal, as it turns out--I thought it would be the first time I flew, but the screeners have seen it all a million times before. Yeah, yeah, lady. Just make sure your laptop is out. What's interesting to me is that I do have to turn off and disconnect my continuous glucose monitoring system, which is a little plastic radio transmitter, when I fly. You know how they tell you to turn off laptops, cell phones, and other devices before the plane takes off? It's just like that.

3. If we know someone with diabetes, should we not offer them sweets?

Oh, wow. That's really a great question. Diabetes treatment has changed so much over the last 20 years, even over the last 10, and most of us can (and do) occasionally indulge without it being a big deal. My first inclination is absolutely to say yes, I do think you should, especially if they're a part of a group and you're offering something sweet to everyone--dessert, for example. Offering doesn't quite have the impact of, say, offering a drink to someone who's in recovery for alcohol abuse or something like that, which is fraught with all kinds of...I don't know. Part of this disease is learning to make good choices for ourselves, and while you might feel a little awkward about offering, we're just fine with saying no thanks if we need to. What's so much worse for us is feeling singled out or excluded for being diabetic. I know a diabetic who was diagnosed at 8. The year after she was diagnosed, at her birthday party, her mother baked a birthday cake, served everyone else but her, and then handed her a bowl of apple slices.

4. What's a good thing to say (other than 'Oh....' or 'Hey, my dad's cousin died of that in the 80's') when someone tells you they have diabetes?

One of the things we struggle with is finding a way to tell people that isn't a total downer or conversation-ender. Most of the time, people notice my insulin pump and ask me about it. People love technology and are curious about things they've never seen before, and I would much rather answer questions about it than hear about how someone's grandmother went blind and had all her toes amputated. Although I'm sorry to hear about that grandmother and her toes, I already got the memo that diabetes is scary. You wouldn't believe some of the things I've heard people say. My all-time favorite is still, "But you're not that fat!" Oooh, thanks, but I've got the other kind. Anyway, I guess the best answer to your question is probably to ask a question. Ask them if they're type I or II. Ask them when they were diagnosed. Most diabetics would much rather answer a question or two--we're always impressed to hear that someone knows something--than hear about the multitude of awful ways we could die.

5. What should people avoid saying?

Ohhh, the internet. A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, and I've been told that I can cure diabetes with cinnamon, cayenne pepper, a vegetarian diet, a vegan diet, the power of prayer, and roots from a certain tree that grows in the U.S. Southwest. Let me just say this: there is no cure for diabetes, and people who try to convince you otherwise are, without fail, pursuing an agenda that has nothing to do with you or your health. I would avoid any sentence that starts out "I've heard you can cure diabetes with..." The implication is that we're fools to still be suffering from the condition, because there's a cure. Believe me, there's not a cure. With nearly 25,000,000 Americans now suffering from diabetes, the word would be out by now.

6. What assumptions do people make about you when they find out you have diabetes?

The usual: I must not be very active or energetic. My health must be very fragile. I'm not crazy about the assumption that someone knows all about me just based on the fact that they have a cursory knowledge of the facts of diabetes. Probably the assumption that I like the least is one that, surprisingly, often comes from medical professionals, and that's that I don't know anything about diabetes. My experience is that many doctors who aren't specifically diabetes experts don't know as much as I do. I had a baby last summer, and when I was pregnant, I had an excellent obstetrician who freely admitted he didn't know a great deal about diabetes. He was terrific about asking questions about things like my insulin pump, how often I checked my blood glucose and what range I tried to keep it in, some of the little foibles of the disease. He was eager to work with me, he said, because my health was very good and pregnant diabetics who are in good shape tend to have fewer complications than those who aren't, and even fewer than some non-diabetics, because we are so knowledgeable about how our body works.

7. How old were you when you got it? Do your kids have it? Are your kids more likely to get diabetes because you have it?

I was diagnosed at 25, in the summer of 2001. I got the flu the winter before, and my doctors think that the virus caused my immune system to mistake the cells that produce insulin for invaders, attack, and kill them. I have no family history of diabetes--nobody in my family has it. Neither of my children have it, and they're not any more likely to get it than any other kid with non-diabetic parents. I'm not genetically predisposed to diabetes--it's just one of those crazy fluke things that happen sometimes. My kids are actually at higher risk for type II diabetes--my mother-in-law has it--than type I. Of course, I'm a mom, which makes me crazy and paranoid, so I went through a terrifying couple of days when my son was 2 1/2, when he began demanding a bottle of water to take to bed with him at night, resulting in a sopping wet bed every morning. I had him tested for diabetes, and he tested negative, but still. Scary stuff.

8. Does diabetes get research funding like cancer? Is somebody working on a cure? Is there such a thing as a cure?

Diabetes does get research funding similar to cancer. The American Diabetes Association, the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, and the Federal government are among those who are working like mad for a cure. Like with all autoimmune diseases, it's tough to find a strategy to selectively turn off the immune system--to tell it to stop attacking one specific cell. There's a really exciting development in Australia: a nanovaccine that does exactly that in mice. It could potentially lead to a human vaccine against type I diabetes. There's also been some promising research into islet cell transplant, or taking insulin-producing cells from a donor and transplanting them--but in the long term, that hasn't worked very well. Transplant patients have to take huge doses of steroids in order to suppress the immune system, and one of the effects of steroids is that they raise blood glucose levels. So basically, in order to make insulin, they transplant these cells, which ultimately raise the demand for insulin so much that they basically end up exhausting the cells that they've transplanted. But 100 years ago, diabetes was basically a fatal, acute illness--there was no real effective treatment at all. So the bell curve that research is on says that we're close to a cure. That'll be a good day.

9. What do you wish people knew/understood about you and/or diabetes that they (we?) don't?

We don't all look like Wilford Brimley. Diabetics are an exceptionally diverse group of people, many of whom take great care of themselves and are proactive about their health. Despite that diversity, we almost universally hate being told what diabetics are "like." It's like trying to describe what people with curly hair are like--just way too broad a category to accurately form a generalization. Diabetes is serious, but it doesn't have to occupy every corner of your life. I give it the same effort as I do raising my kids or maintaining my relationship with my husband, and I do it as much for them as I do for myself. As much as I'd like to see a cure in my lifetime, my assumption is that there won't be one, and so I try to take as good care of myself today as I did the day I was diagnosed.

10. Since you have a catheter in you all the time, do you worry about people bumping into you? Can you not play contact sports because of it? (Do you have to be careful when you're having sex because of it?)

I don't worry too much about people bumping into me. The catheter, which is the part that's actually under my skin, is a little tiny flexible plastic tube that's about the diameter of a thread and less than half an inch long. It's taped in place right near my hip and most of the time I can't feel it, The bigger problem is the tubing--if I don't have it all tucked under my clothes, I've done things like catch it on door knobs and that kind of thing. I've never accidentally pulled it out that way, but it hurts, mostly because of the tape. I have yanked out the catheter pulling my pants on or off a couple of times, which is also not that much fun. I usually forget to carry an extra infusion set and inserter with me if we're just out for the day, so if I do that, it means we have to turn around and go home.

As far as sports, it tends to be a personal preference, but in general it's fine to wear the pump during. They make holsters and that kind of thing, similar to those armbands people use for their iPods, that go around the arm or the leg, which keep it pretty close. Some people will reduce the amount of insulin they get while they're playing sports or exercising, because the activity can cause blood glucose to drop. On the other hand, you don't want to be off the pump for more than an hour or so, because you'll start to become hyperglycemic unless you're really exercising hard. The pump is water-resistant (one of the very first things I ever did with mine was to accidentally drop it in the toilet) but not waterproof, so I take it off when I swim or shower--it's got a little detach mechanism right at the skin, which leaves this little grommet stuck in my side. And as far as sex goes, usually I take it off. It's not that it freaks my husband out, he's adorable and surprisingly non-squeamish about it. It's just that we tend to get tangled up in the tubing or roll over on the pump. It doesn't hurt the pump, but I've ended up with a pump-shaped bruise on my butt before.

A Closed Sign Across Our Hoo-Hoos

I may not be writing much lately, but I am still reading pretty much everything I can get my hands on.

Most recently I just finished Not My Daughter by Barbara Delinksy, a book about a single mother who is principal at her daughter's high school in New England. Her daughter decides, along with a couple of friends, to get knocked up. Hilarity does not ensue, but a hell of a lot of drama does, and it was a fabulous read. Tons of repercussions you never saw coming. I suggest it to anyone who has been pregnant, a principal, likes knitting, or is a person.

On the blog front, I'm a huge fan of Margaret and Helen. There is nothing funnier than seeing old ladies curse. We always think of old ladies as wearing gloves and brooches and being very proper. Such a fun shock when they break our stereotype. Margaret and Helen are two old ladies who write back and forth to each other via the blog about their opinions on things going on in the world. Just last week Helen cracked me up talking about abortion.

Useful Bits of Tid

Penelope Trunk says that bloggers should be useful to their readers each time they post. Well. She blogs to dispense useful and interesting information. I blog to purge my thoughts and feelings before I do and say destructive things. Some people are creative in the kitchen. I can't cook a baked potato, so I am creative when I write, and sometimes when I talk.

But maybe Penelope knows her stuff. Just in case, I will give you three bits of useful information.

Penelope does NOT rhyme with the word cantaloupe (no matter how many times I read it that way).

Court is very, very cold. Bring a sweater.

Read what the Slackmistress had to say about networking. Even if you're not in Hollywood, even if you're not in the entertainment business. Almost all her advice applies to every industry, and it's fabulous advice.

Spreading the Power

So there's this girl Brandy. In Canada. She's funny. She's a teacher. She tweets. She does this awesome Secret Project thing. And she has a boyfriend. A really nice one, from the sound (read?) of it. And, well ... here's the rest, in her words.

My name is brandy. And I have a blog.

And a plea.

I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds. Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog- as personal as the dude that I adore (who I actually met through my blog- single ladies, let that be a very good reason to blog, the possibility of meeting someone as wonderful as my man), but I need your help. And it involves my dude.

He’s a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He’s the kinda guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job. He’s the guy who sent flowers to me at school- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He’s a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred. He’s made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He’s listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.

The holidays have hit us hard. He’s recently been told he may have something called multiple myeloma- an incurable cancer, that gives a person an average of five years of continued life. Though this news has came as a shock, he continues to be exactly who has always been- spending his time worrying about me, rather than worrying about himself. He’s the most selfless individual I know- (he stayed late on Christmas Eve to work, so his co-workers could leave early) and a post like this would never be something that he would promote or encourage but when I’m overwhelmed and feeling helpless, the blogging community has always given me tremendous support and comfort, two things I desperately need at this time.

As I write this, the future is uncertain and we aren’t sure what’s happening. He’ll need to see an oncologist soon, to verify what’s going on in his body. My hope is that everyone who reads this think positive thoughts and if you are a person who prays, could you add him to your list? (You can refer to him as ‘brandy’s hot awesome dude’). If you don’t pray, please keep him in your heart.This cancer is only a possibility and I believe that the prayers and positive thoughts of people can make sure it never becomes a reality.

I want to give a big thank you to the blog owner who scrapped their original blog plans and graciously put this up. My goal is to get as many people as possible to see and read this post. If you are reading this and want to help, copy and paste my plea into your blog or send a link through twitter, so more people can keep him in their thoughts. I would be so very grateful (even more grateful than I am to my friend who first showed me the picture of Ryan Reynolds on the cover of Entertainment Weekly. If you haven’t seen it, Google it. You. Are. Welcome).

I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making- but this is life. Right now. And I’m throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you and if you know anything regarding MM- please email me (my email is on my blog). This isn’t a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It’s just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be with the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next. Maybe it is silly, but I really do believe that positive thoughts can make a huge difference. Thank you for reading this and if you haven’t already? Please tell someone you love them today.

I did.

Failed Dinners

I was reading the Slack Mistress's blog post about last night's dinner, and it reminded me of something from long ago. In the olden days, we Yogurts used to host one of the two Passover seders each spring. My mother would start cooking at least a week before Passover started, freezing cooked dishes in the basement freezer.

Back in my high school years, one night I passed through the kitchen to say good night to my mother before heading to bed. She'd been cooking all day, and would be cooking long into the evening. When I arrived in the kitchen my mother was just about to put two apple-maztah kugels in the oven before going to pee. These kugels are so good that we always had two - one to put on the table for the seder, and one for our immediate family to enjoy throughout Passover.

As my mom went to slide one tin into the oven, she somehow dropped it, and it flipped upside-down before landing all over the floor. We looked at each other in horrified shock. My poor mother burst into tears at the stress of having to clean up a huge mess so late at night while also having to desperately pee.

I decided to postpone bed and told my mom I'd start cleaning up and she should go to the bathroom. When she came back, she thanked me. As my mother handed me more wet paper towels to clean the floor she said to me, "We just won't put a kugel on the table this year."

This was so unlike my mother - to save the remaining one for us, but speaks to how much we all loved that kugel. I still usually make it at least once a year.

Please, join me by sharing your biggest dinner disaster in the comments.

To the Chris Brown Fans

Russell should be nominated for something big and impressive for this post. It's touching and sweet and right.

I Ain't Got Shit To Say

I'm so tired of "having issues" that you must be tired of reading about them. Unfortunately, you can't really run away from yourself, so I'm stuck having my issues until I can get rid of them, which is proving harder than getting off the Val Pak mailing list.

There are lots of other people with shit to say, but since it's bad enough this is a pansy post by passing you off to read other writing, I'll just give you one link, THIS ONE. It's some of the funniest shit I've read lately. Of course, that may be because I've been reading a lot of Thomas Perry books, and he's not known for his humorous writing.

I've also been watching a lot of movies, courtesy of Netflix, but neither Billy Elliot nor Trainspotting are particularly funny either. No, I'm pretty sure that one link above is funny because it's funny, not because I've been surrounded by non-funny things.

Please Join Me

... in wishing Be The Boy a very happy 35th birthday. I am loving the summer blogging hours and am sure you will too.

Thank You Brooklyn!

As of tomorrow, I will see a lot better thanks to you!

How To Make My Head Spin

1. Tell me you're moving out in less than two weeks, after you've already paid me a full month of rent. Then tell me emphatically over and over you won't leave me hanging, but don't define what that means to you.

2. When I ask what the plan is with your move, tell me you forgot to mention it before, but you're moving out at the end of the month now.

So 9am is moving out at the end of April. Four people have responded to my roommate ad, two I didn't even want to meet, and two I set up times to meet. One no-showed. Prick. One showed up, stayed much longer than I would have liked him to, expressed great interest, then never followed up or responded to my follow up. Fucking flakers.

9am is shocked, SHOCKED! that it is taking longer than 1-3 days to find someone to replace him. He can't possibly think I take the first person who comes along, since the day I met him I met two other people (hence, his name here).

Meanwhile, a friend knew someone who was looking to rent out a room in the apartment she rents. I met with her, and as of yesterday am trying to move there, where the rent is $1000. !!! So now I desperately need help to move, and sell some things, like my living room furniture. If you're local and interested, by all means, let me know.

Crazy Girl and Golden Boy have generously agreed to store my dining room set in their garage. I'm thinking of just wrapping them all in a couple of drop cloths and hoping for the best. Is there some better way (that's inexpensive) to store a table and chairs in a garage?

So much to do, and so little time and money to do it with. In the midst of all this, the most awesome thing happened yesterday. I got to meet Shinyung. We'd tried to get together a few times, but in all honesty, I always flaked, not being able to force myself to meet up, for no good reason. As sweet as she seems online, she's even sweeter in person.

Speaking of which, I once noticed how people always gush about meeting other bloggers. Several months ago, I suggested to Wide Lawns how just once, wouldn't it be totally hilarious to see someone rip a blogger they just met to shreds? In the email I sent her, I included a fake write-up.

"She was dressed schlumpily, in clothes that looked like they came from the clearance racks of WalMart and her horribly dyed hair clearly hadn't been washed in over a week. We went to get drinks at a bar and she spilled red wine on my pants. I tried to smile and say it was okay but I couldn't believe she didn't offer to replace my pants, or at least pay for dry-cleaning. She also did this weird sniffling thing constantly that really made me want to shove a pack of tissues up her nose. Which, by the way, is TERRIBLE, so I don't know why she hasn't gotten a nose job yet. We all know she can afford it since she is forever posting pictures on her blog of the latest porcelain doll to be added to the collection that takes up her entire living room and study.

Over dinner she pulled out pictures of her kids to show me and let me tell you, this woman knows how to work the Photoshop, because these kids are UGLY! They barely even resemble the children she posts pics of on her blog. She went on and on about her special snowflakes and when I couldn't stand it anymore, I excused myself to the restroom. From there I escaped out the window and met up with a couple of my real friends three blocks away, where I drank and tried to forget the earlier part of the evening.

I would totally do it, if only I could meet up with someone who sucks. Alas, I always wind up getting together with the nicest people. WHY CAN'T YOU GUYS SUCK?

I Ramble. She Roominates.

Please help out my local blogfriend Catheroo, and go leave her a comment. Why? Because she's trying to get in better shape and for every comment she gets, she'll work out even more.

In other news, tonight 9am decided to try out saying, "Right on." It wasn't pretty. He is way too tightly wound to get away with saying something like that. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he got a shocked look on his face, like, "Oh! That's what that sounds like? That's AWFUL!" Yes, yes it is.

Please bow your heads, for a moment of

HAPPINESS IN A TRAIN STATION! Jennie, why do I feel confident you will know where this takes place?

I know Improv Everywhere is ... well, everywhere, but are they really oversees?

When You Can't Think of Anything to Blog About ...

Go look at what your blog friends are blogging about, and copy Nicole.

1. 9am is off visiting his family for the week, and I'm greatly enjoying having the apartment to myself. I don't have to put on a bra before leaving my bedroom, and don't have to clean up messes in the kitchen that I didn't make. It's also nice to not have to see 9am involuntarily flex his muscles each time he feels his masculinity is threatened, like when I catch him laughing his very high-pitched laugh.

2. I like to walk along the Embarcadero. You can look out at the San Francisco Bay, walk right under the Bay Bridge, and you don't have to pay attention to traffic at all, because, like Boston's Esplanade, there's no break in sidewalk.

3. Not too far from the ballpark where the SF Giants play there used to be this funky candle store on the Embarcadero that I liked to stop in at during my walks. Then it moved. The store listed their new address. I looked it up on a map. I went to where I thought it should be, right in my neighborhood. But it wasn't there. I gave up. It's not like I had any urgent need for candles.

4. Today I bought eggs.

5. On my way home, I saw a sign for the funky candle store, complete with directions in my language (go to end of walkway, turn right, follow curve of street, shop is on the right past auto body store). I was very excited to finally find the store again! Turns out they have changed to mostly selling wholesale, which is why they didn't need such a huge space on the Embarcadero anymore. Also turns out, they were having a sale, and the candles they show on the clearance section of their website that sell for $5 are being sold in the store for $3.

6. Still, I did not buy any. Wasn't that a nice story?

7. I don't really have anything else to share. Nothing else is going on with me these days.

8. Oh wait! Did I tell you about the time a few months ago when I tried to make mashed potatoes and it didn't go well? I wound up having to throw out the whole concoction, which greatly upset me as I hate to waste money.

9. Well, last week, I looked at several recipes for mashed potatoes, figured out what I'd done wrong (hadn't boiled the potatoes, nor had I had a potato masher which while not technically necessary, probably does make things much easier), and tried again while staying at Crazy Girl and Golden Boy's house. With great success! If you ever come over and I offer you mashed potatoes, whip your fork out from your pocket and dig in, because they're fabulous.

10. Lastly, I'd just like to make sure you're aware of FMyLife and FailBlog. Both funny. Both highly inappropriate for work.