Ouch not as much

I guess I should update you on the great dr’s appt I had yesterday.   Well, great doctor, lots discussed, and I’m down about another pound, so those are good.  Bad was my blood pressure was high for probably the first time in my life.  I’ll blame work for that one.  All my blood tests were good except the CBC.  As suspected, I’m back down again.  Hemoglobin was a 9, and the last time I went into the hospital for a transfusion it was 8.  I have to take iron pills twice a day until my next appt in a month and they’ll recheck. 
 
We also did a flip flop on my meds, back to something close to what my rheumy had me on in December 2006, since thankfully my dr was able to read what I had been on in the notes.  I’m so thankful that the dr’s office in Dallas really did fax my records over since I hate whining that I hurt to a dr and it looking like I’m a junkie.  So now my daily meds are – AM: cymbalta, zyrtec, and my vit B stress complex.  I’m supposed to have a slow-release iron pill there too, but I thought I had some at the house and I didn’t.  I have to go back to the drug store this afternoon.  PM: mobic, ultram, and another stupid iron pill.  This morning I pulled out one of my lidoderm patches for my lower back too, and I think it might be working some.
 
What was neat was that when I told a coworker who was in the office that I had to go for my appt yesterday, and he pressured me into telling him what it was for, he was surprised.  He told me he would have never known if I hadn’t have told him, and I’ve worked with him nearly a year.  I told him, you don’t see me move too much from my chair though – that’s how you can tell.  He told me that I was always so peppy and stuff that it surprised him. 

And on another note altogether – Happy Clone Wars Day!  I’m taking my young padawan and his big sister to the theater either this evening after work, or more likely, after some back to school shopping tomorrow.  It’s Tax-Free weekend in Texas, but my budget’s so tight this year (thanks to my ex missing his last two child support payments), I won’t really be able to enjoy the shopping experience like I have before.  It’s probably going to be Target for the turkey’s supplies and a couple extra pieces of clothes, Payless for shoes for them both, and 5-7-9 in the mall for the teenager.  I figure after that much stress and walking, it would be nice to sit in an air conditioned theater with a huge tub of fake-buttery popcorn and some junior mints.

Um, popular?

I have been shamelessly courted by VH1’s I Love series.  I’ve seen both 70s series, all three 80s, only one of the 90s runs, and last night, started on the I Love the New Millennium set.  (I had to triple check my spelling of millennium btw)  And referring back to yesterday’s post on bedtimes, this was another special event, as 2002 came on right at eight, the year my son was born, so I let him stay up a bit longer than usual to get a pop culture glimpse into his birth year along with his 13 year old sister and me.

However, a bit more than an hour before bedtime, at the end of I Love 2000, there was a segment on Cast Away, starring Tom Hanks. If you haven’t seen the ending yet this many years later, and still want it to be a surprise, stop reading.  The funny people started commenting on how Helen Hunt’s character was married off by the time Tom Hanks’ character, Chuck, had returned, and someone on screen shouted out the word, “WHORE!”

My eyes widened and I glanced sideways at the five year old.  And he caught me, which brought about this wonderfully uncomfortable conversation: 

Brody: What does that mean?

Mommy: It’s a grown up word, and not something you should say at school, or anywhere else really you shouldn’t use words that you can’t define.

Brody: Ok, but what does it mean?

I was trapped.  The smug smile on my teenagers face taunted me to get out of this conversation without stuttering or blushing.

Mommy: Ok, a whore is someone…someone…a girl….

Brody: (flashed his patented innocent attentive look)

Mommy: A girl who has a lot of boyfriends!  But you shouldn’t use that word to describe a girl with a lot of boyfriends.  You should probably just use “popular.”

I gave a satisfied nod, which prompted the teenager’s first raised eyebrow

Mommy: (to Amy, under her breath) Chup!

Amy: (stifled giggle)

Mommy: (to Amy, louder) Chup!

Amy: (the giggles break through)

Mommy: (to Amy, relinquishing what’s left of her maternal dignity): You’re fired!

RIP George Carlin, 1937-2008

Rufus, see you in the future. 

Eminem makes white people angry

I’m not always a rational person.  Especially when hormones and sleep deprivation play a part.  And I have a rather eclectic taste in my music choices, swinging from musicals to rap music.  When I was pregnant with my son, I had three cds on rotation whenever I got into the car: Home, by the Dixie Chicks, Appetite for Destruction, by Guns N Roses, and The Eminem Show. Quite the mix, huh? I was so enthralled with the Eminem show that on the way to the hospital, where most laboring mothers would be listening to Norah Jones, Enya, or sounds of the rainforest, I demanded my ex play track 3, Business, while gripping the underside of the dashboard.

The movie 8 Mile came out in November, 2002. My son was a few weeks old, so I tucked him into his little car seat, loaded him and his sister up, and brought them to my baby sister’s for a few hours. My ex and I were going to the movies, alone, for the first time in who knows when. I was huge, tired, and leaking milk, but I really wanted to see this silly movie. 

The theater was packed but we managed to find two seats together.  However, sitting in the row directly behind us was a woman with probably six or seven kids, including the youngest looking one, probably around 5 years old, that was in the seat directly behind me.  During the course of the movie, my seat was pushed, kicked, and even leaned on repeatedly, and this little girl could not keep quiet.  Not that I expect a 5 yo to be able to, even if she were watching Finding Nemo.  I really couldn’t even tell you about most of the movie, I was so irritated and distracted.  I kept glaring over my shoulder at the mother figure, and she would shush the girl and pull her back to her seat.  By the end of the movie, I was livid.

As the lights were coming up, and people were crowding out, I marched up to the usher and asked him to get his manager.  I told the manager I wanted my money back for my ticket since I really didn’t get to see the movie.  By this time the mother figure and her van-load had caught up with me.  I didn’t actually want to talk to her, since I thought it was terribly irresponsible for her to bring a kid that young into that movie in the first place.  She apologized and told the manager she didn’t know her daughter was being a distraction.  I glared, and asked her, then why did you keep pulling her back to her seat each time I turned around.  The manager offered to let my ex and I sit through the next showing.  I told him that wasn’t possible, and again glared at the woman, saying that my children were at the SITTER’S.  Then the woman herself offered to reimburse me for my tickets, to which I declined, (again, not very politely) because if she couldn’t afford a SITTER, how could she afford a second set of tickets? 

My postpartum rage drew a little bit of a crowd.  I’m not necessarily proud of my behavior, but really, I can’t imagine taking kids that age to a rated R movie.  I wouldn’t even play the cd when my then 7yo was in the car.  But what sticks out today about the entire experience, was the reaction of the bystanders, one in particular who’s skin tone, its safe to say, was quite a bit darker than mine.  I can now look back and laugh, when I hear his words from that night:

“Man, Eminem sure does make white people angry!”

The Breakup, a movie review by Pav

I can sum it up in one word:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ok, that’s better. Now, if you have any taste at all, avoid this movie. It was painful and tedious. It was not funny. And I didn’t care about either of the main characters enough to consider it tragic either. It. Was. Just. Wrong.

Both thumbs down.