blood is thicker than water...

or in my case, MUCH thicker. I found out early this month that I have a rare mutation of a blood disorder called MTHFR, C677T. Essentially, I have thicker blood than most. With this disorder comes a myriad of problems and complications; greater chances of miscarriage or stillbirths and the risk of stroke or blood clots. I even read that it was linked to schizophrenia (And yes, I realize that I've just left myself open to a lot of jokes. Ha ha.) Anyway, I've been trying to figure out a poetic upside to all this. I mean sure I could die of a stroke at any moment but there's always a silver lining, right?

Perhaps my thick blood is much like having thick skin, you know like I'm tough. Nothing gets to me. But then I remembered who I am and, of course, anyone who knows me can attest to this, that I am nothing like a thick skinned soul. In fact, metaphorically speaking you could say that I have no skin at all. So that poetic analogy of thick blood equating to thick skin, just will not work here. But in ruling out the tough girl option I realized that the opposite of feeling nothing, is feeling everything. 

Maybe when your blood is thick you actually feel it move through your veins as it strains to get to your brain where you can process just exactly what you have or are experiencing. Because it is so thick you feel it moving through your brain and then ultimately to your heart where the real processing takes place. My thick blood, like molasses, pushes it's way through my heart carrying with it all the joy or sadness, pain or pleasure, sympathy or even apathy. The body's own efforts making each emotion that much more palpable. 

the 3:00 coma...

the 3:00 coma is a work place phenomena. it occurs to all of us poor 9 to 5ers on a daily basis. you know what i'm talking about, you're mind and body start slowly shutting down, you start thinking about things like what you would do if you won the lottery and what that personalized license plate meant that you saw on your way to work this morning and why people personalize their license plates and that bumper sticker that you saw at lunch "my boss is a jewish carpenter" and why i so quickly muttered under my breathe "good luck getting that pay check!" and how that may have sealed the deal on me going to hell. and in between nodding off and falling into a hypnotic type daze at your computer screen you recall that there is really only one solution to this...sugar. it is too late for coffee, to close between meals for anything of real sustenance so candy it is.
during just such a moment the other day i finally succumbed to the sugar rush need. so i hopped in the good old envoy and headed down to the corner store to get a mini tootsie roll. i only need a little to get me going and i don't want too many calories so two mini tootsie rolls is the way to go. anyhoo, i get there and the immediate shame of getting candy in the middle of the day without a good reason like going to a movie or something. but i needed just a little fix to get me through the next couple of hours so i decided to give myself a break. i walked in and found the candy aisle. no mini tootsies. all they have are full size candy bars and bags of various sugary delights. this was getting a little out of hand. i then began to notice the other patrons, they were also here for candy in the middle of the day trying to get through the 3:00 coma i that all these people were fat and poor and then i heard to "i'm into money" tune in the background, someone had just one ten dollars on scratchers "i've never won more than five bucks before" the rotund gentleman said "give me two crosswords and a pack of camel lights".
was this my future? is this 3:00 coma going to turn me into a fat, poor, lottery playing smoker? oh no it is not, ladies and gentlemen! i got myself a balance bar and i got the hell out of there.

the morning routine...

The mornings, ahhh the mornings. Not my favorite time of day unless I am on vacation or it is a Saturday that doesn't have an early soccer or basketball game. But the usual day, it starts out a bit like this.
Alarm. Snooze. Alarm. Snooze. Alarm. Snooze. Comment by Cody about how horrible the alarm selection on my cell phone is. It really is terrible, remind me to change it, I'll say. Alarm, sigh. 1, 2, 3, go! Neither of us moves. We rock paper scissors for who will get up first to turn the fan off and light on, it's always freezing in my room (well, not always if you know what I mean, wink). I always win, even if I lose because I give "the face" (it really is cute, even I couldn't deny myself). So he turns off the fan and the lights come on. Covers over my head then a dramatic toss of the covers and...
I'm up.
So I put something on (usually what ever was thrown to the wayside the night before) and walk down the hallway to wake the 17yr old stuck in my 7yr old son's body. Then the 45min stand off with Max begins. "I wish school was never invented" Max says. "If it was never invented then you wouldn't have TV or a computer or WII", I say. This does not placate Max. "I don't care about those things", he says, "I just want to be at home with you". Oh, he's good but I'm a mom, I know how to handle these situations, oh wait…I don't. It's adlib like everyday of your life. You think you have it under control and then they throw in the "I just want to be with you" comment??? I mean, you never know what is coming next and your just pulling things out of places in your mind you didn't know existed. I think that's where the "instinct" is kept. You start saying things like "when I was younger" and "I don't want to have to take away your PS2, you have to make that decision with your actions". WHAT? Did I really just say that? Yes. Yes I did. And the stand off continues…
Max grasps tightly onto the closest part of his bed frame and I begin to pry. Prying is always fun in the morning especially when you are up a story at the top of a bunk bed. There is always the necessary planning for how you will fall from this bunk bed to save your child's life and risk your own (which at this point in time seems inevitable). Roll on my back pushing him away? Or do I grab onto the nearest rung of the ladder and grasp him like they would do at the cliff scene on an Indian Jones movie? These are all legitimate thoughts and fears at this point. I get him out of bed. Ya!!!! But there is one flaw. Beds have legs.
Reinforcement finally arrives.
Cody kind of plays the part of the negotiator. Ya know, the guy with the police that is in charge of talking the terrorists or bank robbers holding prisoners to give up and come out. Well, it works some how. And why? I forgot about donuts! I always forget about the donuts!
Donuts.
So, we all pile up into the car. Max with a scowl, me almost in tears because I'm beginning to think that the reason Max doesn't want to go to school is because some kid is teasing him and then my tears turn into a litany of questions about bullies and how I will personally tell them to leave you alone, or better yet, call their mother. Cody grins, because he thought of the donuts and somehow every morning finds things ridiculous circus amusing. We pull up to the school. Max sees a friend and immediately becomes elated and cannot wait to jump out of the car. I'm going to get that kid's number and have him wake Max up from now on. Things may go a bit more smoothly. Donuts for all.
Then there is work. Let's leave that for another day...

Airport Average...

I remember my brother one time asking me if I'd rather marry an average looking millionaire or the best looking man in the world who was penniless. I answered his question with a question, 'what is their personality like?'. Equal he says. They are completely the same man but one is average looking and rich and the other is drop dead gorgeous and basically homeless. I stuggled with this question, mostly because I was 14 and I wanted to answer in the most impressive and intelligent way possible to impress my older brother.
This is the older brother who used to tell a joke and when I would laugh he would always call me out in front of everyone he'd say "why is that funny?" and of course I was just laughing because everyone else was laughing and had no idea what they were talking about and thusly I would be humiliated. So I was going to answer this one right. Being someone who has never been overly impressed by good looks, fun to look at but not too fun to talk to sometimes, I began to answer that I would take the average millionaire my reasoning being that at least he would be me appreciative of me since I would be the catch. But then Brig said something that has stuck with me forever and I find it to be one of the truest and funniest observations. He said, "before you answer, I'm not talking about the average looking guy that you are friends with or even the most average kid at your high school, I'm talking airport average." Airport average! I didn't quite get it at first but then I took a little trip to CA to see my cousins and I looked around and I noticed...the average at the airport is not and I mean NOT good. It's not even not good, it's terrible. You have people from all walks of life gathered together and when that happens the beauty average takes a significant hit. You've got the 300lb man with suspenders on with his wife in long bottonm pants and a tucked in buttened up sink floral blouse, some people are missing teeth. You have the scary little men who look as though their only option for a career would be as a motivational speaker for odd business seminars. You have it all. I still giggle everytime I think about the phrase "airport average". But this brings me to my next point....Jury Duty Average. WOW! (by the way I know full well that I sound like a total bitch right now) Jury Duty Average puts Airport Average to shame. If they were to meet on the street, Airport Average would just walk away slowly with it's tail between it's legs because he could stand NO chance against the amazing lows of Jury Duty Average.
At least Airport Average had people who could afford to fly so maybe that raised the average a bit. They had some sort or income so they must at one tie or another have to look presentable for their boss or someone. But the people that attend Jury Duty (aside from myself because I am just simply terrified of being fined or jailed for not doing my civic duty) are there because they are probably on welfare and they can make a quick $21.16 by showing up.
So, Brig, I have chosen. I'll take a penniless drop dead gorgeous guy any day over a millionaire airport or jury duty average looking guy. I'm not vain, it just plain scares me. And plus, who says I can't be the sugar momma :)

the sign spinner guy...

Sign Spinner Guy oh sign spinner guy, where the hell did all of you come from!?
I ask myself at least once a day as I pass by that oh so enthusiastic sign spinner (you know that 45-60 year old man or woman wearing headphones and a fanny pack jamming out to god knows what while directing traffic to the jewelry store, who is having a blow out sale, just around the corner.), I ask myself, "where the hell do they find these people?" And how do there seem to be so many people who need signs spun for them? What happened to a good old fashion billboard or banner of some sort? How are these interviews conducted, what do they consist of? I imagine is something like this:
"So I'm here for the sign spinning position"
"Ok, let's see what you got" ~at this point the man who hires out the sign spinners hand the applicant a sign and turns on "foot loose" or "fame" and the applicant spins like a mad man (or woman). If his moves are sweet enough he gets the job. Well, just as long as he has the other requirements- fanny pack and headphones from the early ninties. It just reminds you that dreams really do come true.
I also wonder if perhaps there is some ongoing, underground sign spinning competition betwixt all the spinners. Do they meet at a vacant corner two miles down from a location they wish guide people and spin their asses off until one spinner guides more cars to the location than the other and do they call this "Spintopia"? Or maybe "Spinnmania", there are so many options. I just want to get to go to one of them.
These are all important questions.
I really am interested in gathering some information on whether or not the sign spinner actually works as a way to get people to your store or what not. If, perhaps, there is a high percentage than maybe I will hire one out for the evening. Take him to Jack Rabbit or even Casey Moores and have some attractive, single men directed toward me. I'm not sure what I want the sign to say though. Easy? No, too blunt. Hmm, On the rebound? No, just not attractive. Well, I can work out the details later. First I have to find the perfect sign spinner guy, the rest will all kinda fall into place.
I wonder how much they charge?

the cutest girl, they love me...

Okay, I know, "the cutest girl they love me" may sound a bit, well, overly confident. It's really just one of those stories that your parents always told about you to your grandma and such ie, "emily did the cutest thing". it's one of the classics like "stink your head off" and "but not of pie". But hearing this one always struck a chord... It started a long long time ago..."The cutest girl, they love me! The cutest girl, they love me", those were the words my mother heard me singing, perched on a chair, looking at myself in the mirror. I was 5 maybe 6 years old, she says I still couldn't say my r's right, so I must have been about that age. And I had just gotten my first perm, yes a perm. I still harbor some resentment towards my mother for allowing this travesty to occur. I tried to contact the local CPS, but to no avail. They said that a) since I was 19 and not technically a child any longer it was out of their jurisdiction b) that the fact that the incident happened 14years prior meant that it would be very hard to prove, even though I assured them that I had photo's and c) that I was a little brat and to grow up, that one hurt. But none the less, there I was singing unabashedly into the mirror, smiling and believing every word. "The cutest girl, they love me! The cutest girl, they love me!" honestly, what kinda crap is that? Talk about full of myself. I don't remember this blatant display of narcism, so I really can't be held accountable. But really what kinda bull-shit were they feeding me when I was growing up to make me think for one second that I was the cutest girl and that everyone loved me? Now a days I'm well aware that maybe 30% of all people that I meet "like" me (and i'm using "like" it it's loosest terms), while 60% find me slightly obnoixous, 10% may actually hate me and that leaves me with the final 10% that do truely love me. Now the 10% that love me consist of those related to me (i have a large immediate family and fairly extensive extended one) and a few folks who have known me too long and now their initial annoyance has turned into something like love but maybe more like acceptance that i will continue calling them (you know who you are!). and maybe my 5 or 6 year old self would not have been happy with a measly 10% but the 29 year old me is pleasantly surprised.