Chicken Butt

What hump?

It is not snowing today. It is certainly not snowing so hard I can't see across the street. Nor will five inches accumulate today. I know this because it is March and I've had enough snow this year. Period.

I have an ultrasound of my thyroid scheduled for tomorrow, Saturday at 1pm. I'm doing a decent job of focusing on other things. I haven't even told many people face to face. I'm trying to avoid my typical drama queen role. I'm scared, but there is nothing I can do. I won't know anything until sometime next week. Even then I could know nothing more except that they want to do more tests.

Physical

I am scared. I went for my physical and all was well until she was checking my thyroid. “Hmm,” is not a good sound from a doctor any time they are examining anatomy. She said I could be shaped that way or it could be a nodule. Since she noticed she wants to see what’s there. I want to do more research, but more general info is just going to make the panic worse. I know nothing to differentiate and all the symptoms sound like mine, even though three hours ago I had no symptoms.

I can’t even call the hospital to schedule the test until tomorrow. The paperwork has to be done first.

I’ve talked to a few friends and that helps. Of course I jump to cancer in my mind. When I say it out loud or type it I get scolded for going there. Honestly, where else would I go? I didn’t really go there until I read something about nodules producing excess levels of TSH (or T4 or T3) but that cancer didn’t increase the levels. My levels are all dandy. My shrink checked my levels in February. I brought a copy for my doctor. Wikipedia: blessing or curse?

So, I’m working hard to convince myself that my thyroid is merely lopsided. Otherwise I’ll start thinking about the irony of finally getting my shit together and getting cancer. I’ll start writing the screenplay of a lousy Hallmark movie in my head. Think asymmetrical people.

Note: Posting on WIT too.

I need a bucket!

I’d like to cut back on swearing out loud, especially at work. A muffled blurt of “Shit!” is something I’d like to avoid; unfortunately, it’s more likely to be the F word. Swearing is such a quick release, but childish. I considered switching to French swearing, but I only know merde. I could start saying random nouns in French, then I can say, “pardon my French.” Sorry, that is my father’s humor peeking through. Plus, I only learned a little French while working with a man in Paris, we instant messaged in French for fun sometimes. I can’t speak it and even my typed French is rusty.

In the Discworld novel, The Truth, villains Mr. Pin and Mr. Tulip say “___ing” but I don’t think I could get the pause right before the -ing. I’m not sure it would be a satisfying replacement for a good curse. I used Firefly cursing for a little bit, but it didn’t flow naturally and felt really self-conscience.

There may be too much SciFi/Fantasy influence in my head right now. There are only a few people in my face-to-face world who are as geeky as I. Between devouring all the Terry Pratchet I can get my hands on and Doctor Who the humorous references I see around me would sound like foreign language to anyone I talk with. Honestly, that’s not much deviation from the usual; I know I’d get the fish-eye if I said what I was thinking.

Notice I have no illusions that I could stop swearing altogether. No way could that happen. I'd explode from unreleased pressure like the fat man who ate a wafer thin mint.

The past is past

At lunch I saw a table full of people from my old job: the President, Vice-President and Sales Manager. Just over eleven years ago these people fired me because I complained about the scarily incompetent manager of my department. After a day of closed door conversations I was fired for incompetence. It was shocking and unfair and very good things happened because of it. I've been at my current company for eleven years now. If they had no fired me I might still be working for that incestuous little business.

I had to smile to see them. They look the same and much older at the same time. The Sales Manager looked pasty and sick. I had a crush on him for a while, wonder if he is still a volunteer fireman. I didn't recognize any of the others at the table. I spent so many years ranting about the unfairness of the way they fired me and feeling bitter. Today I don't care much. I wonder if they are still dysfunctional in that special multi-generation family business way. Does the customer service manager still sleep with the factory manager? Does the president's wife still come in to help out during the busy season and piss everyone off? Do the brothers (Prez and Vice-Prez) still share that huge office in the center of the building?

I used to envision returning there one day to show them just how wrong they were to let me go and how successful I'd been away from them. Today I just wondered if I looked at all familiar to them as I passed their table with laughter in my eyes.

Russel T. Davies is a Genius

It's quite possible I'm watching too much British television. I've been re-watching Doctor Who again, commentary, extras, the whole tamale. While I adore Doctors nine and ten and honestly can't pick a favorite, I think I may be in love with Russel T. Davies, writer and Exec Producer. He is brilliant like Aaron Sorkin, but geekier and Welsh. I've started using "Hooray" in conversation. Davies and his co-exec producers use it all the time in the commentaries and it has stuck in my brain. The thing is, I can't get any sort of fantasy from Davies because he is gay. It's not like that is anymore of a deterrent than living in the UK or being a famous television writer. It's not like I have a better shot with Eccelston or Tennant because they are straight (probably straight). It's just that adoring someone's mind isn't enough. A good fantasy requires a possibility, however minuscule, that if the person met you they just might find you attractive (and, because it is after all a fantasy, utterly irresistible). Gaa. Too much time spent in my head.

This weekend I will watch the first three DVDs of MI-5 series two. I'm finding all sorts of Anglo phrases and speech patterns in my self-dialog. I really do like the word flat instead of condo to describe my home. Condo feels so awkward and hard. Home is weird. House is incorrect. Apartment is also incorrect, but often slips out. Flat sounds right to me. I don't want to start getting all Anglophile though. I already have a MINI with a boot and bonnet. I must not get pretentious or silly. Maybe I should switch over to Buffy again, or Gilmore Girls. I could always try to rekindle my obsession with Vin Diesel or Andrew Lauer. (You probably know Lauer as Charlie from Caroline in the City, but I obsessed over him as Charlie in the short-live series, Going to Extremes.) Okay, enough exposing my crazy.

Is it spring yet?

Oh, baby, you'll freeze out there

It may only be 5 degrees F outside, but the sun shone for most of the day and at 5:05 PM the sun was still visible. I'm happy to see tangible proof that the days are getting longer again. Predictably I'm tired of winter and ready for spring. Every year I get stir-crazy in mid-February and start looking up last-minute cruise deals online. I almost planned one for this week in the fall but I didn't get a passport and I thought I'd rather spend the money on electrolysis. Laying on the table last night it did not seem like a fair trade.

Next time my electrolysis lady, Sharon, plans to turn the voltage up a bit. She had to go in multiple times to the same follicle many times. First stick isn't fun, but three or four into the same shaft fucking hurts! I was very sore and questioning whether it was worth it for about two hours after treatment. By bedtime it was fine. This morning you could barely see where she had worked. I think the semi-serious short term pain will be worth it never to shave my pits again. The process involves a lot of trust though. I won't have any idea how permanent the treatments are for at least six months.

Nothing new is happening in my life right now besides electrolysis. My sister's 36th birthday was Saturday. I bought her a Starbucks gift card per her request and made her a mix CD. I put 36 pennies on the jewel cover. One for each year of her life starting with 1972. I would have put a 2008 penny on there too as the "one to grow on" but could not find one. It looked pretty because I cleaned them first with vinegar and salt, then polished them with baking soda. I meant to take a picture of the case but I forgot. I used glue dots from scrapbooking to fasten them on. It worked pretty well.

Happy Valentine’s Day to me!

I wore a red sweater today, but decided my red heart underwear would be too much. I did however give myself a long-desired gift. I had my first electrolysis treatment last night. Weeeee!!!!!

I’ve having my armpits done. Yes, it hurts. Yes, it can take a very long time to achieve permanent hairlessness (could be 12 months of weekly treatments, most likely 18-24 months). Yes, it will be expensive over time. But all I can think of is that someday I will never have to shave my pits again.

I hate shaving. Most people I talk with don’t mind it much, but it is one of those maintenance tasks that seem endless, tedious and expensive. Yet I can’t just let it grow. I am neither a hippy nor European. I tend to grow a bit of a pelt in winter, but now that I do yoga it makes me self-conscience. Plus, if I let the pits go my anti-perspirant isn’t as effective. Long time readers might recall my fear of smelliness.

Did I mention the treated area still hurts eighteen hours later? That is unexpected. Maybe I’m ultra-sensitive? It could be friction from my bra band, she started at the bottom edge of my thatch. I go for a second treatment tonight to start the other side. I’ll ask whether it is normal to still feel it the next day.

I went to this lady because she has been at the same location forever, 23 years, and I don’t know anyone who has had electrolysis done so I can’t get recommendations. Maybe I should try a few places out to get a basis for comparison of skill and machinery. The problem is that the growth cycle for the hair in that area is six months. It will take at least one growing cycle to see how strong my follicles are. There is the distorted follicle element as well. If the follicle is not straight the needle doesn’t get down to the base so it can take many more attempts to actually kill the hair. Plus, many follicles have multiple hairs in them. It is much more complicated than I thought. Everything I’ve read says a lot depends on the skill of the technician.

This could be the start of something beautiful. Or it could be the start of a life-long quest for hairlessness. I can see moving from one area to the next to the next. I would do my legs starting at the ankle next. We’ll see.

Update: The second session went better. Apparently I have more sensitive skin than she thought. Last night she turned down the current a bit (from 65 to 60, whatever that means) and used Benadryl cream before and after to reduce skin reaction. Two hours later the patch was barely pink. This morning yesterday's work was practically invisible and the patch from the day before is still irritated. I was worried, but looks like the side effects are manageable.

Primary vote

I voted in the primary today. I don't think I've ever voted in a primary before. I didn't know you have to declare your party. I usually consider myself independent, but if you select Nonpartisan you only get to vote for Nonpartisan candidates. Apparently the list is short. I chose Democrat so I could vote for Obama. I didn't get to vote in many other races though. My area is dominantly Republican and in many races there are no democrats running.

I decided to become an election judge. My grandparents did it until they couldn't. I asked at the poll how to sign up and the guy said they were desperate for people. It is still run mostly by senior citizens. I'll go to the county building this month to apply.

Update: Wil had me nodding along with his reasons for voting for Obama. He said it better than I could and quoted people that said it better than he felt he could.

Perspective

I got bent out of shape at work over a repeating frustration. I moved through wanting to swear, loudly and repeatedly (but not doing it), into defeat. What’s the point? No matter what I do, or how often certain points are explained, people will fuck it up. It’s simple, but the scale is so fucking huge that people can’t, or won’t, keep the big picture in mind. Maybe they don’t even know the big picture. I feel quite morose.

I’m pulling out of it though. I called a friend whose company is disintegrating. He doesn’t know if he’ll have a job next week. It’s all in the perspective. My team’s deliverables are a holey, redundant, inefficient mess, but I’ll be struggling to improve them until I get moved to a different role and it becomes someone else’s nightmare. If I wasn’t such a compulsive perfectionist I’d just shrug it off as status-quo.

Moving on to another pressing problem, do I buy a new 46” or 52” LCD Flat-panel TV? I’m only considering top-of-the-line Sony models, of course. I don’t want to spend the cash, but I can’t make myself look at the lower end models. Do I buy now for pre-Superbowl sale prices or wait to see if the lousy economy will bring deeper cuts? Do I hold off on this completely decadent purchase all-together? Yes dear readers, my troubles are endless.

I may have another photo opportunity with Colin Powell on Friday. We won’t know until after his presentation whether we’ll get to shake hands with him or not.  It depends on how many people with higher priority are interested. I’ll see him on a closed-circuit broadcast in a classroom down the hall from the auditorium, just like last time. I plan to wear my holiday party jacket and sweater shell just in case. My sweater was a crumpled mess last time and my eyes were closed in the first shot. Wouldn’t it be cool to document my ongoing weight lose through pictures with Ret. General Colin Powell? I’m up to 102 pounds lost.

Which finds me into projecting into distant future times when I consider dating. Gah! Terrifying. I've never managed to not be an ass about boys/men. I'm still mentally riding my bike past their houses a dozen times a day and baking anonymous heart shaped Valentine's Day cookies in mail cubbies. (Where everyone knows it was me, including the guy, but I don't know they know, because I'm an ass.) See how I jump from 100 pounds lost to over 150 as if it were nothing? I have purposefully not re-visited match.com to count how many men in my town are listed. Even thinking about dating makes me a nut-case. Do I blog about the train-wrecks? Do I hide my blog from potential boyfriends? God, no one would return my emails if they had access here. Wow! Problem solved. If I scare people off before the first date we only have the drama of my mind! Phew, glad I resolved one issue today.

Discomboobulated*

I left my cell phone at home today and I've felt naked all day. I had it in my hands and was listening to a voice mail message while putting on my coat this morning. Then I went into the kitchen to grab and apple for breakfast. Half way to work, apple eaten, I tried to make a call on my car bluetooth interface. No phone paired. Crap! It must be sitting on the counter next to the sink. If only I had not washed that stupid apple.

I don't spend all day on the phone, but I do get and receive a few calls a day. I'm also the phone contact for an OA meeting and like to return missed calls ASAP.

I'm bummed that Heath Ledger died. What a waste. When watched the first two seasons of Angel again this winter I wondered again what the actor playing Doyle was up to now. This makes twice I've gone to IMDB to look for new stuff on Glenn Quinn. Twice I've been remembered that he died in 2002 and been sad. Then I forget again. So I know that I'm sad today but that I will forget. Then when I watch "10 Things I Hate About You" or "Four Feathers" I'll be bummed again that that Heath is dead. (Yes, it is all about me.)

*Yes, I've spelled it wrong. This is the way I say it. It made me laugh in Junior High and it still does. Deal with it.