I fought the law(s of physics) and the law won . . .

This is the last disclaimer I'm going to give about the length of a post. You can see the scrollbar on the right and read at your leisure. Just sayin . . .

I've spoken extensively about my battles with geography. The planet pretty much wins every time, compass in hand or not. It turns out that I also battle with bedding. I fought with my new duvet for 3 ½ hours on Wednesday night - for the record - it won. In case you're wondering (which - really? things that I say and do surprise you?), yes - I lost a battle with a blanket. In my defense, I was tired and physics was not working in my favor. Perhaps I should explain . . .

My cat, Hayley, though very cute, can be a giant brat. When she feels I have failed her in some way, she expresses her displeasure on my clothing and bedding. After learning the hard way several times, I became expert at making sure no clothing stayed on the floor when not in my direct line of sight. Unfortunately, Hayley is very aware that my comforter will be on my bed at all times and I will most certainly notice the unpleasant smell. Though I'm not a terribly fast learner, after the second ruined comforter, I learned to only get bedding that is machine washable. My (now former) comforter served me pretty well - lasting about a year and a half - but its' seams were not so much sewn together anymore and the beautiful stitching and delicate sequins were but a memory. Fed up with constant trips to the laundromat in order to use an industrial-size washing machine, I figured there must be a better solution. Which brings us to the predicament with the duvet.

I went to Bed Bath and Beyond and explained my dilemma to the highly knowledgable people in the bedding department. We came up with a solution involving a queen sized down comforter, a king sized waterproof mattress cover, and "easy to use" comforter clips. Here's a tip - anything that is marked 'easy to use' is inherently going to require a PhD in Useless Skills (yay Liberal Arts degree!). I also bought a duvet cover there that I liked but wasn't in love with. I found a different duvet on Target's website later that evening, so ordered the Target one and returned the original purchase to B³. I'm always hesitant to buy things online that require adequate sizing/color matching, but I went with it cause it was so darn pretty. The package arrived at my office, I opened it, and I immediately noticed that the colors did not translate well online. There was more yellow and orange than I expected and it was sort of a bust. To shorten the story, we'll say that I shopped online for several more days, and trekked to Macy's, JC Penney, and Kohls. In case you find yourself in a similar situation - I will caution you that none of these stores have much - if any - merchandise on site. Almost all duvet purchases seem to occur online because those of us in the market for a duvet clearly don't care about the color or texture of our bedding. Even the beloved B³ has a limited selection in store. One of the employees at Kohls made a passing remark that Ikea seemed to have a great selection of duvets.

Those of you familiar with the behemoth that is Ikea know that no trip there is short or simple. Three floors of every imaginable product found in a home/apartment/condo/dorm/tent spread out for eternity do not make for a quick shopping experience. I hadn't had dinner at this point, so was grateful that it is entirely possible to quite literally live in an Ikea as they also have a cafeteria. Once I'd had sustenance, I trekked on and found myself in the bedding department - surrounded by a seemingly endless selection of duvets in every color and pattern. Let us please remember that I am a) indecisive, b) easily distracted, and c) all about texture and feel, so this was quite a feat. I narrowed it down to two that I liked (in a mere 90 minutes), searched endlessly for the right sizes and managed to also pick up several organizing baskets. I made my way to the self-checkout after last call and drove the ten-ish minutes home to finally assemble the duvet that had been sitting in my living room since the previous Friday.

This is where physics and I battled it out. I suppose you could also say that I fought geometry, but I think my general lack of spatial skills is all-encompassing, so draw your own conclusions. I'm sure you asked yourself the question earlier, why get a mattress cover instead of a duvet cover? This was the only option I had. No duvet cover that I could find (online or otherwise) appeared to be reliably waterproof, or even water-resistant. So I fought for an hour and a half with the comforter and the mattress cover, trying to figure out how to effectively clip the corners of the down comforter to the non-existent corners of the mattress cover. Of course, as I think on it later, it seems pretty obvious. Stuff the damn comforter in the cover - take advantage of the giant zipper, and clip the corners of the comforter to either the top or bottom part of the mattress cover. My response? Bite me! Where the hell was that answer at 9:30 on Wednesday night?? I'm sure you've done the math and realize that I fought with the duvet for an additional two hours after finally getting the stupid comforter into its cover. Let me also pre-emptively say that I considered (multiple times) throwing in the towel and just using the comforter as it was - with the intention of trying again after a good nights sleep. As is my way, I told myself I was almost done and to just finish the process. Then it was 11:00. Then it was midnight. Then this whole 'turn the duvet cover inside out, clip, and flip' concept made me want to commit mayhem. Then it was 1:00 AM and I had finally managed to effectively clip all layers together and place the duvet on my newly made bed.

I now realize that I probably should have gotten a king size duvet cover instead of a queen - but that's going to wait for another time. It was also brought up to me that this much trouble went into putting a duvet cover on that will (by design) be coming off, so perhaps I should reconsider. Here's my response: if you would like to pay the tab at the dry cleaner - have at it.

In conclusion (as expected) Physics: 1, Becca: 0.

Why I'm Angry - or why the other stages of grieving are irrelevant

I warned in the description of this blog that some of the posts would be serious. I think we all know that I possess a quick wit, so there may be a funny moment or two, but for the most part, this is no laughing matter.

I was hurt very deeply by someone I'd grown quite close to last week. Our relationship was precarious from the start, but the potential for growth, both personally and professionally, was too much to pass up. So I continued to stay in this relationship, often against my better judgment. After putting an ungodly amount of work into a particular project, I was unceremoniously removed from all aspects of it. Passwords were immediately changed and there were some words spoken that were both untrue and uncalled for. I was devastated. The accusations against my character were pretty ridiculous and left me questioning all I had finally learned to love and accept about myself. What up with that b*tch?

Which I think brings us to my current state in the grieving process - this was a loss after all. I know more than enough about the stages of grieving, which is an unfortunate circumstance of the events in my life. But hey - if I can help others, power to me. I even did a webinar in April, thereby proving that I know what I'm talking about. In this webinar, I reiterated what many will say - which is that the stages of grieving are not necessarily experienced in order and not all stages will occur for every person and/or every loss. I can safely say, therefore, that I was never in denial about the loss. I started off at sad and went straight to angry - rather quickly actually. Frankly, I have every reason to be angry. I did everything to the best of my ability, took accountability for the things I could have done better, and was still told - in different words mind you - that I suck at life.

So now comes the what to do about it part. I've realized that I have a hard time being angry when there doesn't seem to be a "reason" for it, which is likely why this didn't come up earlier. Scratch that - it did come up earlier, I made the same mistakes, the same things happened - sounds like a pretty damned good reason to me. So do I send the (admittedly long) email I composed - explaining why I was upset? I'm thinking  . . .  no. I'm going with calling friends and sending an S.O.S message to a few people:

"It's been a pretty rough week and I could definitely use some time with caring, awesome people. Guess what? You guys are all caring and awesome!! Not sure what your plans are for the next few days but I'd love to hang out. Feel free to invite other caring, awesome people. "


I'll tell you that nothing beats a night of Mitsuwa, "Hamburgers", and a random Blues Brothers drive-by. Some of the residents of Mount Prospect may have been confused, but the three of us sure enjoyed ourselves. I will admit that the anger has waxed and waned over the last few days. There have been a few emails working out some logistics and there's still a part of me that gets that crappy feeling in my chest when this person's name pops up on Facebook, Twitter, or the Instant Messaging client du jour. Mostly, though? I'm dealing. And if that doesn't work - hey, that's why God invented kickboxing!!

'I forgot Todd' a comedy of errors - or Four Weddings and a Funeral

So technically, this post has nothing to do with the four weddings I'm attending throughout the summer and fall, it's actually about the funeral part. Perhaps some explanation is in order.

My childhood best friend's father passed away between Christmas and New Years of last year. Though he didn't have a will, he did have an advanced directive - requesting a party be thrown in the event of his death. Additionally, the directive was marked with a happy face. The party was thrown back in January and, unfortunately, I was unable to attend. It was especially important to me, therefore, to fly out for the ceremony at the cabin in Northern California where we were going to spread his ashes.

I'll spare you the details of the flight, as, all told, it was not terribly eventful, particularly considering my affinity for messing things up while travelling. The flight was delayed, so I didn't get into San Francisco until about midnight - 2 AM to my sleep-deprived body. I waited patiently for Becca (yes - my best friend's name is Becca) to pick me up. We got in the car and I noted that the heat was on full blast. Granted, it does get cold at night, but this seemed excessive. Becca explained that - despite getting a full tune-up on her car - it was acting kind of funny. We got to her place in San Mateo and quietly carried our - well *my* - stuff upstairs so as not to disturb the family Becca nanny's for.

I don't remember if it was in the car or in the house, but Becca told me her mother had called in a panic - "I forgot Todd!!". Becca's immediate reaction/response was that he didn't need to be fed or anything - seeing as he's dead. Then she realized - oh, you forgot Todd/Dad, his ashes need to make it up to Pinecrest. Umm, oops. Given that it was pretty late and we were both tired, we were kind of punch drunk for the evening and I was tasked with remembering several things that needed to make it up to the cabin once we stopped at Becca's parent's house. Dad, Salmon, Ice, Cake, Pillow. I sort of feel like the ice wasn't in the initial list, because I would have made a much better anagram/acronym if there was a vowel, but whatever. We got to sleep pretty late - I would guess 1:30 - with the intention of leaving by 6:00 AM. We were both aware that it would be a great success if we made it out of the house by 6:30, which is why we were quite pleased that we were in the car by 6:10. Becca brought out bottles of water, which I assumed were for us to drink on the drive up. She turned on the car and noticed that the heat was up incredibly high. She knew she needed to put water in one of the tanks, but was a little unsure as to which one. With my handy iPhone and iPad, I was sure I could find the manual for her '97 Honda Civic. In case you're curious - it's virtually impossible to find - particularly in a format that can be read on a mobile device. She eventually decided that her initial guess was probably right, and we headed to the house. I remembered the fish, she remembered the pillow, we were basically good to go.

We got to the house, went inside, and saw the list on the table of what we needed to bring. It was placed on top of the urn - so as to make sure it wasn't forgotten. It occurs to me now that I'm not entirely sure how the list was there in Eve's handwriting and yet the contents of the list were not, but I digress. First on the list was 'Daddy', which made me laugh. We had all the necessary items, went out to the car, and noted that it was still overheating. We decided, again, that this was a bad thing. I looked up a list of mechanics and determined nobody would be open before 8:30 anyway. Figuring we both needed to eat, we went to breakfast at a place within walking distance. After breakfast, we got back in the car and drove it to the nearest mechanic. He looked at the car, determined everything looked as it should but the car was clearly not acting correctly, and apologized that it was a holiday weekend and no other mechanics were available. Being the calm people that we are, Becca and I freaked out a bit.

With the car parked at the gas station, we frantically made phone calls to everyone we knew who might be willing to lend us a car for the weekend. My rabbi - who was on his way to shul - recommended we just rent a car, as he and his family had three drivers and two vehicles. My credit card didn't have a ton of money available and Becca didn't own a credit card, so we were at a bit of a loss. After searching through Enterprise's website, I came upon Hertz. Thankfully, they were able to accept a debit card, so we got the address and drove over. Refer to previous posts about my sense of direction and note that Becca was relying on her iPhone - not necessarily a wise choice. We drove back in the other direction and I had the bright idea of looking at the numbers on the buildings, until we eventually found our destination. After several mishaps involving a credit check I wasn't sure would go through, we managed to put the rental on a debit card and make a decision of which car to use. There was an economy car of some sort and a bunt orange convertible. Ah - the age old question of substance or style. Naturally, we chose style.

We (again) drove to Becca's parents house, rearranged the luggage and such, and quickly realized that the convertible didn't quite accommodate the makeshift cooler required to transport the cake and the fish. Back inside we went, until we came upon a small bin that seemed to be fine for the task at hand. Inside the green bin were at least seven Apple keychains (the rainbow kind from the 80s and 90s), and I begged to claim one. Becca said she would ask her mom because she wasn't entirely sure who they belonged to and didn't want to make assumptions. I pouted, but we got in the car, packed things quite well, and went on our way. I should note that I had to be careful to not put my seat all the way back so as not to crush Dad (in the wooden urn). Top down, sunscreen applied, we were finally on our way, albeit four hours later than planned.

We drove for quite some time, realizing that putting our hair up was a wise decision, and eventually landed at the half way point. In Oakdale, we stopped for lunch and enjoyed the bizarre local community and the cop on a horse. A man in a banana suit tried to get us to buy fireworks, but we both have a policy of not buying explosives from people dressed as fruit. I stand by this decision. Realizing that were were transporting rather a lot of dead things (her Dad, the fish, something else I can't remember), we wondered why that wouldn't qualify as enough passengers to go in the carpool lane. Thankfully, it wasn't an issue. After being on the road for five hours, we finally made it up to Pinecrest, unloaded the car, and called the cabin to let them know that  a) we arrived safely and b) we needed the boat to pick us up.

We arrived at the cabin, settled in, and attempted to figure out where we would sleep. Mind you, this is not so much a cabin as a five bedroom house, but still. When we arrived, there were five people under the age of 16 and five people over the age of 30 sleeping in the cabin. The beds were, therefore, all taken. We attempted to setup a pop-tent (that was missing pieces) that seemingly was made during the Vietnam War. Eve (Becca's mother), said that she had a big pop-tent, but we're pretty sure it only seemed big the last time it was used, because Becca was likely 7 at the time, so it wasn't as challenging to fit the family inside. Three of us were required to assemble the tent, and a few not-quite power tools were involved. Thankfully, my tent was pretty standard and had all the required pieces.

Accommodations setup, we decided to go swimming. I should mention that it snowed over Memorial Day, so the lake was only slightly above freezing. Becca and I took a complete lapse of sanity, and slowly made our way into the rocky lake. Thankfully, I remembered that there were several parts of the lake that seemed like they should be open water, but in fact had giant rocks. I consider it a miracle that I made it out without breaking skin. After a long day of travel, we ate dinner and went to sleep.

The following day was filled with activity, as a bajillion more people came in for the memorial service, including several children and a dog. As we setup the table, we quickly realized that 30 people would not fit, despite our attempts to make the table as big as possible. Thankfully, the owners of the cabin next door had a table that we were able to setup and cram the remaining occupants around. We noshed on snacks and admired the craftiness of the family, including the lovely viking ship made of twigs. One of Eve's friends came out and assembled a sandwich, telling us that Eve was pretty sure she had eaten several, but didn't actually have a full recollection of doing so. Anthea (the friend) would therefore witness the act, just to be sure. Eve came out and ate another sandwich, explaining that the boat was in the oven. Thinking we misheard her, Becca repeated - "The boat is in the oven?" Why yes - is that a bad thing?

Alright, so a boat made solely of twigs and now wet (from making sure the boat would float in the water) was in an oven, being watched over by a woman who couldn't remember if she had eaten a sandwich. There was epic fail potential EVERYWHERE. We were assured that other people were supervising the endeavor, but that only made me question the sanity of the others who seemed just fine with putting a wooden object in an oven. Thankfully, all the pieces made it out alive, nothing burned down, and the ship was assembled and lovely. We ate dinner, spoke wonderful words about Todd, and prepared for the service. The occupants of the cabin next door joined us on the rocks overlooking the lake. Though it was a challenge, we did manage to fit 37 people on a rock that probably should have only held 15. Not that we questioned the sturdiness of this rock - it certainly wasn't going anywhere - but there didn't seem to be enough nooks and crannies to ensure everyone would stay put.

Thankfully, we all managed to find a place to sit, brought the citronella candles in a feeble attempt to avoid mosquitoes, and watched Becca, her sister, and her mother, carefully climb into canoes, being handed candles, a lighter, the boat carrying Todd, and the papers and other items assembled for kindling. The three of them set out on the water and made feeble (and unsuccessful) attempts to light the flame to give Todd his final resting place in the lake. We all remarked that Tood was probably laughing from heaven at his three girls trying to make this beautiful memorial come to fruition. Next thing you know, Eve leaned a little too far over and flipped the canoe over - still holding Todd. The 30-some of us panicked, realizing that the water was freezing and praying that Eve would be able to come back up to the surface. Eve eventually bobbed up and we heard the uproarious laugh distinctive to Eve. A few people had the bright idea to get into the boat and save Eve, though she refused the ride and chose to swim to shore instead. Several people grabbed towels, robes, and blankets, hoping that Eve would not suffer hypothermia. We all remarked that this was probably the most fitting memorial for such a wonderful man.

Indeed Tood, you will be missed, but will always be remembered with a laugh and a smile.

Disaster Date

Last night I went to a speed dating event in Wrigleyville. I went to a couple of these about a year ago with mixed results - so I thought it was worth another shot. As the title of this post would indicate, it did not go well.

Let's begin with the events leading up to the date. I apparently chose not to read the email sent to me 3 times stating the speed dating starts at 7:30, so plan to arrive at 7:00. According to JST (Jewish Standard Time), people should begin strolling in around 7:20 - so the fact that I was running a bit late was not of huge concern to me. I wasn't thrilled that my GPS was telling me the travel time was just over an hour, as the radio said it would be looking more like 30-45 minutes - but I pushed through. I saw that my GPS and Google Maps were leading me in the same direction, so I had faith I was going the right way. I ended up here not so much here. If you bothered to follow the links and do the math, you would see that the distance between the two by car is only about four minutes. Let's remember, however, that this is me. After going the wrong way on Clark St, ending up on Broadway, and making my way through Boystown during what is essentially rush hour - in addition to circling for a good five to ten minutes to find a place to park - I was about 30 minutes late. So I walk run into the bar to find out that the dating only started ten minutes prior (I told you it was JST).

Once I finally settled in, I had my first date who asked me if he missed something during the setup or if I was just late. I explained that I was just late because I had gone to Lakeview instead of Wrigleyville. He told me there are devices that can assist with that. I laughed and made a mental note to circle 'no' on the HurryDate form. We talked for another few minutes before it was time to move on. The next guy came and I made the immediate observation that he was awkward, smelled badly, and seemed kind of out of it. We made marginally idle conversation until his nametag was found and then it went downhill. He asked me how I would describe myself religiously and I told him I most enjoy the music and traditions of Judaism. He told me that he doesn't care about tradition and lives his life directly by the scriptures. Let's jus say that it was an incredibly painful four minutes of my life that I will never get back.

There was a bit of a break so I looked at the rest of the tables and immediately spotted a guy I went on a date with a month or so ago. I neglected to call him back and could tell that an epic fail was imminent if I didn't get out of that bar as quickly as possible. I shielded my face a bit as I walked toward the bathroom, asked the leader if there was anyone worth sticking around for, and hightailed it as quickly as my kitten heels could take me.

Lessons Learned:

• Confirm the time of the event before planning transportation
• Prepare for running into someone I've dated and/or talked to before
• Have an escape route ready
• At some point in the process, consume lots and lots of alcohol (as needed)

It's only procrastinating if there's something else you're *supposed* to be doing

The nature of my job is that I fix things when they break. The beauty of my job is that things don't always break. There may be a phone call here and there asking how to print in color, questioning the accessibility of the network, and wondering if I can declare a computer unusable to facilitate an early weekend. For the record, I'm generally happy to oblige. All of my tickets are currently in an 'Awaiting (something)' status, so I'm left to my own devices.

Which brings us to this post. I was talking to my brother this morning and he put my soon-to-be four year old nephew, Yisroel, on the phone. Yisroel is starting cheder sometime in the near future and is excited about it. Let's be honest, though. Four year olds are not known for articulation and enunciation, so there was some question as to what he actually said. I came into work to discover nothing much was required of me, so I promptly Googled 'Cheder' and followed the Wikipedia link. As I read through this article, I learned a number of fascinating things, and clicked on various links throughout. I'm pretty sure I spent the better part of an hour researching Hebrew education, the origins of Haredi Judaism, and the political climate of Israel. The next chunk of time was spent attempting to find an electronic version of the Jewish Book of Why and I somehow managed to buy the new Jen Lancaster book, I Wish You Were Here, from the iBook store. In case you're curious, there is absolutely no link between the two. And yet, I came upon it simply by clicking on links related to other searches this morning.

I contend that this is not procrastinating. One needs a required/expected task to avoid in order to procrastinate. Mind you, when I go home and continue this search and/or read any of the books I downloaded or e-borrowed, I will, in fact, be procrastinating. This is because my apartment is an unmitigated disaster. It is complete and utter chaos and I am generally too overwhelmed and/or tired to do anything about it. As such, I am rapidly improving my scores in Word Flurry and Know or Go. I'd also be willing to bet I will completely discard my random fascination with Jewish tradition in favor of the House Season 1 DVD by the weekend. Maybe I'm mistaken. Maybe I'll actually clean my apartment and take out the trash. Maybe I'll - dude - did you see this video on YouTube . . .

Ten bucks says you'll be watching the associated videos for the next two hours. You're welcome.

Back off Murphy

So it's been a few weeks since I've updated this blog because, really, I wasn't sure how I could bring a sense of humor to the events in the month of April. As it's May, these events are now in the past and I can laugh at them (or at least that's what I tell people). I will say that I've almost always been a real life example of Murphy's Law, to the extent that people stare at me with their mouths agape when I tell them about any part of my life. So - let's take a look at the last 30 days or so . . .

April 4 - Though I wake up relatively early regardless, I'm none too thrilled when there's a knock on my door at 8:00 AM of the plumber coming to do work on my apartment. Though I knew they were coming that day, I thought they wouldn't be there until 9:00, and thus my kitchen and bathroom were not cleaned out for their arrival. They gave me an extra 30 minutes or so, which I appreciated, though still wasn't thrilled with the fact that I had to lock up my cats and wasn't allowed to be in my apartment while the work was being done. I walked out to the parking lot outside my apartment and approached my car. I saw a little glass on the ground and laughed to myself about the beer bottle that had likely been smashed. I stopped laughing when I looked through the window of my car to see that there was no window. Instead, I was greeted with this:

Nope, that's not a slushee, that's the shattered remnants of the driver-side window. I noticed that my GPS had been taken, but they thankfully left my $10 sunglasses (pictured above). Muttering to myself, I went to the leasing office to see if they could send someone out to help me clean up the mess inside and outside of my car. They asked if I had filed a police report, and I replied, no, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I looked up the non-emergency number and was told to call 911. Awesome, glad I spent the time trying to find the other number. I explained the situation and tried to tell the kind police responder my address. Funny thing: when you're in shock, it can sometimes be hard to pull out seemingly automatic information. I stumbled for a bit, completely blank as to the number of my apartment. I gave them some conglomeration of my last several addresses, until I finally managed to walk up to the post outside of my apartment and blurt - oh yeah, 2165. This was after quite a bit of thought, some prodding on the part of the responding officer, and some confusion as to where on my street I lived. It was significantly easier, however, once I came up with the right number.

Alas, the police came, told me that what happened was pretty common and that it's unfortunate I live so close to a highway, as it's easy for a thief to drive in, grab my stuff, and drive out. Why yes, I'm sure it is. Before I called the police (or maybe after?) I called Gerber to see if I could bring my car to them so they could replace the now-defunct window. There were a number of calls back and forth, an amazing maintenance guy at my complex came and helped me vacuum both the inside and outside of my car, and I finally decided to just drive to work minus the window, as it didn't seem like Gerber would be able to get to me all that quickly. I at least had the presence of mind to avoid the highway, as it seemed errant shards of glass would not stay put at 65 mph. I had taken the alternative route to work previously (oddly enough before my spiffy new GPS came up with a faster way), and proceeded to drive bitterly along the (still large) streets. Have I mentioned my complete lack of a sense of direction before? Like quite literally getting lost on my own street when I was 16? Though the route doesn't actually require any turns, I managed to take the wrong exit and get quite miserably lost on my way to the office. I called my boss and asked for guidance to my building. I told several co-workers about the trials of the last several hours, and had one tell me that I really shouldn't have left anything in my car - it's an invitation for a break-in. I made a mental note to turn off her anti-virus software and went about the rest of my day. The window got fixed, I was out about $200, but I remind myself that it could have been worse - the break-in could have occurred several hours earlier during the torrential downpour.

April 7-17: The plumbers came again (at the end of the week) and left me with a giant bleach stain on my carpet - I wasn't happy. A bit later into the following week, I realized that the work had yet to be finished and Passover would be quite soon. Much as I relished the idea of maintenance people rooting through my kitchen during Passover, I requested (strongly) that the work be finished prior to the holiday. Thankfully, my request was accommodated and I chose not to complain about the fact that they had been in my apartment on a day no one told me work was being done. 

April 18-24: Passover was relatively uneventful (aside from a few minor mishaps with plastic plates and an over-zealous microwave), so I thought I would be home free for the remainder of April. As it turns out, not so much. I took a new medication the last (well . . . only) Thursday of Passover and didn't think much of it, as I rarely have bad reactions to medication. I went to a friend's Seder on Friday (yep - Good Friday), and had a small itch on my back, but I assumed it was a bug bite. The red spot didn't go away on Saturday and seemed to get a little bigger on Sunday. By Saturday night, I figured I was allergic to the medication, so I stopped taking it. I called my doctor and said I thought I was allergic to this medicine, do I need to do anything other than discontinue? She recommended that I go to my Primary Care doctor, just to make sure nothing else was going on. She mentioned shingles and I promptly dismissed it - I only get chronic diseases, nothing serious and/or easily diagnosable. A few of my friends (who know who they are) were quite worried and wanted me to go to the ER, as a rash is a "severe and unexpected side-effect". I compromised and made the appointment with my PCP for later in the day. I figured I had an appointment to take care of my computer later that day and I would just move a few things around.

April 25: After a GPS mishap (did I mention my difficulty with geography earlier?) I made it to my doctor's office, albeit 15 minutes late. I showed her the offending rash, told her I was pretty sure I was allergic to the new medicine and expected her to agree. She didn't. She looked at my back, asked me a few questions, and told me she was pretty sure I had shingles. I believe my exact response was "that is so not funny". Mind you, at the time, I didn't really know much about shingles, so I wasn't sure what to expect. She said, well - you're not allergic to (medication x), told me a little bit about shingles, gave me a prescription for an anti-viral, congratulated me for being generally healthy (and thus, conspicuously absent), and sent me on my way. 

I made it to my (rescheduled) appointment at the store, and told the technician what was wrong with my computer. I gave him a quick history of the repairs it had, told him what was done and what I'd tried, and said (perhaps prematurely) 'let's just skip the middle-man and replace it'. The tech-in-question didn't think the issue warranted a replacement and told me he would like to check it in for a repair. I asked who the manager was (being intimately familiar with the staff), and he said he would see if he could find someone. The manager (who I'd worked with extensively) looked at the notes, said the situation was that it didn't qualify for a replacement, but they'd be happy to repair it. I made several arguments to the contrary, backing my opinion up with technical evidence, and the manager smiled and said there were other components that could be replaced. He mentioned one in particular that doesn't exist in a laptop, quickly corrected himself, and said it had been a long day. I said I would check with my boss, we made some idle chit-chat, and I left (silently fuming). Incidentally, I made an appointment at another location, walked in, explained the issue with my computer, and promptly got it replaced. The other store: Dead to me. 

On the ride over, I talked to a few other friends, many who said that shingles is incredibly serious, I really needed to tell my boss about it, he likely would just send me home anyway, and, by-the-way, shingles is really serious. I tried to call my boss, left a voicemail, and made several other phone calls - as that is my way. I waited to go into work as I didn't want to make the drive and be sent home (particularly with gas prices topping $4/gallon). I was given the go ahead (from both my doctor and my boss) and went to the office.  By 2:00, though, I was starting to feel it and suffered through the remaining hour and a half before collapsing into bed immediately upon getting home. I ended up staying home the next couple of days, just because I was in some degree of pain and really didn't want to prolong the illness. 

April 29: Friday morning, I saw my neurologist (for tremors - unrelated), and he prescribed Lyrica. I got home, took the Lyrica (along with my anti-viral) and settled into my recliner with my laptop. An hour later, I noticed I felt shaky. Really shaky. Like, wait, I can't seem to type a message or check email on my phone shaky. Already well-versed in adverse reactions, I called my neurologist's office and told them I was having uncontrollable tremors. Didn't hear back for a bit and things got worse, so I called a friend in my apartment complex and she took me to the ER.

As far as ER visits go, it wasn't too bad. I was there for three or four hours, but somehow the concept of Fibromyalgia + Shingles= PAIN!!!!! didn't translate well. "Does this hurt?" Why, yes, it does. If you do that again, I'll beat you with the litany of heavy cables attached to my left arm at the moment. They eventually decided everything looked ok (aka: I wasn't dying), and gave me some Ativan to theoretically calm my muscles (and me). The thing is, I was calm. Well, as calm as you can be when you're in an ER, the alarm on the medicine cabinet is going off, and you're in pain. Still - all things considered . . .  I'm sure you can guess that the next part did not go smoothly. Huh, medication for anxiety is giving me the symptoms I have when I get panic attacks. Symptoms I have not experienced IN THE PAST FOUR MONTHS. Wait for it . . . Another adverse reaction. Once they decided to discharge me, I mentioned that I came to the ER with pain and tremors, and was leaving the ER with pain and tremors. At least it wouldn't kill me, though!! A different friend picked me up, took me to Potbelly (after I sent her in the wrong direction quite a few times) and dropped me off at home, where I spent the remainder of the weekend in my pajamas, hoping to be safe from the outside world.

And here I am today, in a fair amount of pain, but at work - thereby proving that anything that can go wrong will happen to me. I'm laughing about it though, and that's got to count for something.

caPiTalIZe ThIS

I will freely admit that I am a grammar snob. I get angry with people for using their when they mean there. Run-on sentences with no discernible punctuation make me want to punch kittens. My biggest pet peeve, however, seems to be the random capitalization people use when referring to technology - particularly Apple products.

Here's a little lesson on the right way to spell something and the way to spell something if you want to get shot by a bunch of elitist creatives:

'iDevices'

This is simple, people. the 'i' is always lower case, the next-letter is upper-case, the remainder of the word is generally lower-case. There are, of course, exceptions, but I promise not to maim you if you write out Macbook instead of MacBook (primarily because I worked for the company for three years and I still get it wrong half the time). For those of you who like examples (class, spell it after me):

• iPad, iPhone, iPod, iMac
• MacBook, MacBook Pro, Mac Pro (again, no one will get hurt for getting this set wrong)

The following are incorrect:

• Iphone, Ipad, IPOD, iPHONE, IPad, or (my personal favorite) iphOne
• iTouch - wait - that doesn't look right, does it? All these other handheld products are spelled i-p-(fill in the blank). It's an iPod Touch people -iTouch is an app used by perverts and massage therapists

The computer and its operating system

1. I am typing this on a Mac, not a MAC. I worked for Apple, not APPLE. 
2. The 'X' in OS X represents a Roman Numeral - not a letter. The proper pronunciation is OS Ten. Get it right or I'm going to start telling people that I admire the writing of Malcolm 10. 
3. If asked what operating system you are running, the answer is pronounced Ten Point (Something). You are not expected to remember which cat goes with which number. It is generally beneficial if you know whether the apple in the top left corner is blue or black - but no one's going to condemn you to the remedial technology closet if you aren't entirely sure. 

The Retail Store

You are trekking to the Apple Store. It is not the Mac Store, it's not the iPod store, it's not the iPhone store. Most of this, I am prepared to let slip. As long as you know how to identify an Apple store (Hint: you will not see the word 'Apple' spelled out anywhere) and you have some level of awareness that several types of devices are sold, I really don't give a damn what you call it. 

Case in point: My childhood best friend and I would go to "The Gum Store" - primarily because the only thing she was allowed to get there when she was very young was gum. When I started going with her - we had graduated well beyond gum to several types of candy and other items - it was still "The Gum Store." Though it is worthy of note that we were 6 years old at the time. 

Perhaps the reason this angers me so much is the overwhelming number of people who couldn't find the store at which I spent great deals of time. A giant stainless-steel structure featuring a seven foot tall white apple tends to stick out in a strip mall of connected stores featuring banners with store names/logos/etc. I could certainly understand the issue on sunny days - a white apple on a silver background tends to blend in. But really people - REALLY? You couldn't find it because you didn't see the word 'Apple' anywhere? You're angry because you searched for 'MAC store' and ended up at the makeup company on the other side of the mall? I'm pretty sure all sympathy went out the window when you blamed me for not telling you that the store opened . . . 3.5 years ago . . . 

Hardware, et al.

Here's the deal - provided you don't yell at me because your memory is full or your computer keeps telling you that you're running out of space - you can learn as much or as little about hardware as you like. I don't expect you to know the difference between RAM (Random Access Memory) and a Hard Drive. I don't expect you to know that your computer's memory has nothing to do with the amount of music you just deleted from your machine. There are a great number of subjects for which I have incredibly limited knowledge (ironically, networking terms are beyond me. I know the functional differences between routers, switches, and modems, but I can't remember them half the time). I suppose a general principle is that you can be willing to learn as much or as little about any of these subjects as you feel compelled to do - but if you yell at me for anything or expect me to fix it just because your cousin's ex-boyfriend talked to my brother once in high school, you're dead to me.

-All thE bEst

beCCa - (I capitalized the wrong part, didn't i?)