Last Minute Craziness

Days till Surgery: 3
Days till Old Age: 12

So today is the day I pack up my comfiest pajamas, make sure all the food in my apartment that could go bad is thrown away, and prepare for a week full of surgery, recovery, and eating entirely too much ice cream at home in Hull.

I am, most unfortunately, at work for the better part of the day today, although I get to leave early to make sure I have enough time to get everything together and actually get to the train on time. For those of you that have had the immense pleasure of traveling with me, you know I like to be early for any train/plane/automobile I may be taking. When I travel Amtrak, for instance, I arrive precisely an hour early, and I sit in the seat closest to the gate, so that when it comes time to line up, I can leap up, push aside the elderly and any small children, and guarantee that I have a window seat. You never know - sometime the train comes from Virginia, and the good seats are few and far between.

I also need extra time to finish packing, even though I have been packing for several days now. I always cause immense levels of stress in those around me when I pack, because I can never make up my goddamn mind. Even when I'm going home to basically sit on my ass for a week, I spend hours stressing over which pajama shirt best goes with which pair of pajama pants - because you never know who may come bursting in your room and judge you on your outfit. Hey, it could happen.

Oh honey, those striped Victoria's Secret loungewear pants are so last season!

So I have much to do when back at my apartment, and a few things to actually do at work before I can take my week long pseudo-vacation. For instance, upon arrival in the office this morning, I had to tally up the first round of the Sweet 16 scores, and see where we all stood in our office pool. If that's not important, earth shattering work, then I just don't know what is. Unfortunately, I am in a tight spot, as I'm currently in last place...

...but! A few of the guys have teams going all the way to the last two (or even winning the entire thing) that have already been knocked out, and since those rounds are obviously worth more points, I may be able to turn the table at the last minute. C'mon, UCLA and UNC! Especially UNC - if I don't win this, heads will roll. Literally.

Once I get home, things will hardly slow down, at least for the weekend. This morning my brother is having oral surgery (goodbye, wisdom teeth!) so I'll spend the weekend helping my parents make sure he's suitably comfortable, and trying to help out as much as I can. I'd feel really bad if he was still really in pain and then I went and had my surgery and stole their attention away, so hopefully things will even out and he'll be in good shape once it's my turn to have Operation played on me. Why we're having surgery so close together I don't know - I don't think anyone really realized what was going on until both had already been planned and it was almost show time. Now we're all looking sheepish and going "Oooh yeah... damnit!" At any rate, this will be one very interesting long weekend.

So now I must say adieu, my loyal readers. I won't be updating for a few days - at least until I can sit up and attempt coherent thought. Hopefully I'll have an update on Wednesday or Thursday, if all goes well. I'm crossing my fingers and already dreaming of a giant vat of Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream. Here's to our dreams.

I'm Screwed

Days till Surgery:6
Days till Old Age: 15

Royally screwed.

I spoke with South Shore Hospital today (if you couldn't guess, it's where I'm having my surgery done) and they informed me that I had to - not if I wanted to, or was inclined to, but had to - come in for blood work prior to my surgery. Problem? They're only open on weekdays, and I'm not going home until Saturday morning. with surgery at 11am on Monday morning, there's obviously no time to come in and have any work done. But, as I said, they stressed that I had to go in.

Of course I've already booked my train home, which means I get to cancel the train, pay the cancellation fee, rebook the train, pay the extra amount, come home a day and a half earlier, take a day and a half more off of work, and attempt not to lose my mind over all of it.

Now, it's great that they're so fastidious about blood work, especially because I have the gene for Factor 7 Deficiency, but the point is, I only have the gene. Technically I do not have hemophilia, it just shows up on certain tests because I carry the gene. The only time anyone is at risk for fun side effects like bleeding into their brain is if I mate with someone else that carries the gene, and 1 out of our 4 children actually contracts the Deficiency. But they still want me to come in to make sure everything's okay, which is fine with me, it really is - better safe than sorry. But it's a hell of a lot to smooth out in order to actually take this precaution.

So now I have a mother who's MIA (how, pray tell, does a Kindergarten teacher go MIA?), a father who's dealing with my grandmother who just had surgery, a brother who's having oral surgery either that Thursday or Friday, and one big mess of a fucked up schedule. I feel like a liquid lunch is in order today - preferably several martinis, with lots of olives.

Surgery, Travel, and March Madness

Days till Surgery: 7
Days till Old Age: 16

So today marks the beginning of several week's worth of insanity. It also marks the beginning of my downfall in our office's NCAA Bracket, but I'll get to that in a minute.

This week is a whirlwind of last minute preparation before surgery next week, including a few doctor's appointments, making sure my surgeon has Factor 7 on hand (just in case I decide to start bleeding profusely out of embarrassing orifices), finishing the limerick book drawings for my mother's Kindergarten class, packing, pre-op stuff, and traveling. Oh, traveling.

I'm heading up to Boston on Friday night, taking my old standby, Amtrak's Regional Overnight. Some people hate taking the train, and I'll admit that it can be difficult to spend anywhere from 8-12 hours (depending on whether or not there are delays) stuck in one seat, but the way I look at it? I'd much rather be comfortable and on my ass for hours on end, than plummeting out of the sky when a plane has a mechanical failure and crashes to the ground in a massive, fiery explosion. Unless I ended up on the Lost island... hmm...

Now this should cure my fear of flying!

Surgery is on Monday, then it's a week on my ass for recovery/binge eating/chocolate consumption. Then, MOST unfortunately, I do have to fly back on Sunday the 6th. I wanted to take the train, but I feel like 8+ hours on a rumbling, shaking train probably isn't the best way to travel so soon after having surgery. I mean, I'm mobile again after about 3 days, so by that Sunday I'll be feeling much better, but still, I figure it's best not to risk it. I'd be so pissed if I felt good, then got on a train and fucked myself over.

So yes, I'm flying, and I'm taking Jet Blue and I'll probably be on lots and lots of happy pills so I can do it, but oh well. You gotta do what you gotta do.

So I get back on Sunday night, and go back to work on Monday. On Wednesday I turn 23 (speaking of which, I found another gray hair this morning - delightful!) and immediately lapse into a coma of self-despair. Luckily, I'm going to the Celtics game that night, and watching then crush the Wizards (while drinking copious amounts of FREE alcohol in our company's Box Seats) will surely cheer me up. Nothing says "Happy Feelings" like booze and basketball.

¡feliz cumpleaños!

I hope the bar in the Box has Margaritas.

The very next day, I drag my hungover ass out of bed, and roll into yet another Amtrak seat, as I'm whisked away back to Boston for my post-op appointment, and more birthday celebrations. Hopefully by this point I'll be walking with ease, and the train shouldn't hurt too badly. I seriously considered flying back and forth for this weekend, but the idea of flying literally makes me so nervous I want to cry, and since I'm already subjecting myself to it once this month, I decided to risk the train. If the appointment were any earlier, I'd fly, but I lucked out. I think. I hope.

Anyway.

I was hoping that after this weekend's NCAA college basketball games, I would at least have the Office Bracket to cheer me up. As of Round 1, I was firmly in second place in our office, with an impressive score of 44 points (which, okay, was only 2 points more than the person in third place, but that's beside the point.) Well, this morning I added up the points after Round 2, and realized...

...What the fuck, I'm in last damn place! By 4 points! When my boss first announced we were doing a bracket, I didn't even want to participate. Sure, I know the basics of the NCAA; I know who's good and who sucks, I know who's favored to win and who isn't, but I had no burning desire to get caught up in the mayhem of it all, especially considering I'm the only female in my office, and everyone takes it very seriously indeed.

But then I got roped into doing it, and now I'm freaking out about it. We're all getting so competitive it's ridiculous, stooping so low as to count and re-count our tally, even when we all know that everyone in the office has counted each sheet about 20 times. One miscount turned into a massive brouhaha, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a certain co-worker so riled up about, well, anything. It was somewhat impressive.

I will fuck your shit up

At any rate, I now know why they call it March "Madness." Talk about insanity. I'm hoping that UNC continues to kick ass - I have them going all the way, and beating UCLA to take home the title. Of course I had Georgetown in my Final 4, and Davidson kicked their stupid ass, so who knows. As long as UCLA and Memphis keep going, and UNC stays strong, I'll be all set. I better fucking win this bracket - there's not only Nat's tickets on the line, there's my pride.

The Great Burrito, Boston Adventures

Days until Halloween: 27

Days until My First Paycheck: 0, bitches

Today is a wondrous day because not only is it Friday, and not only did I just put a tidy sum of money into my pathetically depleted bank account, but because today marks the beginning of Chelsea and Erin's Great Boston Adventure!

Since we want to really rough it, and tackle the elements head on, we'll be taking the regional overnight Amtrak up to Boston (which of course means we'll be subjected to sub-zero temperatures and the threat of Late Night Cell Phone Talkers.) This time we're prepared: we've got pillows, Erin has a fleece blanket, and I have a blanket with stars and moons and other pathetically middle school-era designs on it. Pumped!

Next Stop, Happy Land!

So that's where I'll be this weekend, packing up my belongings in order to finally spread my proverbial wings and flee the nest. My mother is in mourning, and spends her days drinking lots of wine, having lots of parties, and gloating about how she now has the place to herself, and how her money sponge of a daughter is finally on her own. Such a brave, brave woman.

In celebration of the adventurous spirit of the day, Erin and I embarked at lunch time on The Great Burrito Adventure, an expedition no less dangerous or trying than the Amtrak Polar Express. We went to Chipotle, a place where the burritos are 25 solid pounds of meat, beans, and rice. It's enough for me to hibernate on, which is a good thing, in case the train breaks down along the treacherous mountain passages - or in New Haven.

I claim this mountain for American Obesity Rates!

Unfortunately, I am once again locked in an epic battle with my metabolism; since I'm pretty sure I've never experienced this "full" sensation, I'm staring longingly (i.e. drooling) over a Twix Bar hiding in my desk drawer. It's a very trying process:

Stomach: There's a Twix Bar in the drawer.
Brain: Stop it.
Stomach: King Size.
Brain: You just ate twice your body weight in burritos - No.
Stomach: But the Twix has caramel!
Brain: Now that's just not fair.
Stomach: And chocolate!
Brain: Cease the madness!
Stomach: And crispy cookie things!
Brain: Dig in, bitches.

And there you have it, the hardest part of my day - whether or not to give into the Twix Bar before arguing with my deeply demented mind, or after getting a good sparring session in. After the hardships I've faced today, I'll head back to the apartment to pack up my things, collect Erin from the evil clutches of the Feminists, and we'll be on our way. After I cause a scene at the Amtrak ticket booth because they were supposed to refund me $100 last Thursday, but it mysteriously never showed up in my checking account.

We get into Boston at the godforsaken hour of 8am (on a Saturday no less!), then proceed to Hingham to pick up the UHaul truck, and then we'll finally arrive in Hull, a place where everyone knows your name (mostly cause there were like, 8 people in my high school), everyone knows your business (I see what you did there, Mr. Jones), and your soul is immediately sucked out of you, while your empty husk of a body is spit into a pit of despair so deep, you'll never be able to get out alive again. It truly is a magical place.

If, by some freak chance of luck, I make it back to DC, I shall continue to regale you all with wondrous, fascinating stories of the monotony of my day-to-day life. If not, I'm sure you'll shrug, turn off the computer, and put your feet up to watch some Comedy Central. Bastards.

Travels, Jobs, and the Great Cat Rescue

So I once again have survived an 8+ hour Amtrak trip, although this last trip wasn't an over night, which meant that they didn't blast the cold air (so I didn't have to wear two jackets and fourteen sweaters under them), but no one was sleeping so there were people talking constantly and believing (incorrectly) that their lives were interesting enough to share them with me.

When I travel, I don't particularly like making small talk. (When I fly, I'm too busy screaming to manage an actual conversation, but that's another point entirely.) I like to put my ipod on, maybe do a few rousing crosswords, and spend the rest of the time staring out the window and making myself dizzy, or attempting to nap in between people moving around and poking my seat and letting their child scream directly into my ear.

On this trip I had several chatty seat mates, although the strangest of them all happened to be the one that mercifully didn't speak as much. He sat down beside me, and I noticed he was pretty good looking. I gave him a curious once-over, he made some polite small talk, and then he was mercifully quiet. But not long after sitting down, he took a shirt out of his suitcase and put it on - normally this would be of no interest whatsoever, but the shirt was a pale yellow with little cherries and flower blossoms all over it. It was something straight men should run screaming from, and someone gay men should burn immediately. He then proceeded to put on the most heinous pair of horn rimmed glasses I have ever seen, and then he topped off the horrific transformation by pulling out a Star Wars series book and reading heartily.

Seriously, wtf? If you're a good looking guy, why ruin yourself by gleefully reading a book about Star Wars, and dressing yourself like a gender-confused outcast with terrible taste in clothing? I just can't take anyone reading Star Wars books seriously, because 1) the movies were enough, for the love of god!, and 2) I just can't take Darth Vader seriously. Anyone that's part robot, speaks through a water filter, and calls himself Darth just isn't scary. And I tend to associate Darth with Garth from Wayne's world.

Dude! I am your father!

Anyway, I made it through the rest of the trip without further incident, and started my first day as a Grown Up that Works All Day and Goes to Bed Around 10pm After Bitching About Children These Days and How I Was So Much More Mature When I Was Their Age. Seriously though, was I that annoying when I was 18??

My new job is pretty much totally schwing, to borrow some lingo from Mr. Garth. My bosses are relaxed and have good senses of humor, I'll have some projects between my text twist and celebrity blog time, and I generally get to relax and do as I please. Not bad for a first job. Only problem is that I have to go to Omaha next week. OMAHA. Do you know what's in Omaha? Corn. And fields. And people that burst out of cornfields with chainsaws. That's pretty much it. However, our corporate headquarters are in Omaha, and I have to go meet the staff, so I get to go on a trip with my bosses. To Omaha. In a plane. A PLANE. I might get fired before I even get there, as I tend to claw at the person sitting next to me when I fly, and my bosses might not appreciate me peeling the skin from their hands because I'm a giant, giant pussy and am convinced that the plane is going to plummet from the sky at any moment. With my luck, we'll take one of those tiny planes with two rows of seats on one side, and only one on the other - you know, where the stewardess has to move the very fat man on board to the other side of the plane, just so you'll stay in balance and not go careening across the sky.

Next stop, Omaha!

In more friendly and less deadly news (until her parents find out), Erin and I have adopted a giant, fluffy cat named Cleo (or Catzilla for short, per my own twisted mind.) She is the coolest cat ever; very relaxed, very chill, very much a stoner, I think. She seemed a little perturbed at being scooped up and sped away from her home (especially because she's spending two nights as a fugitive in Kristyn and Becca's dorm room), but I think she'll adjust nicely. She played with her toys last night, hunted through the closet, and gave lots of those looks that cats give you which clearly say I'm going to kill you in your sleep. Because cats are intelligent and viciously evil creatures, and all they want to do is murder you and dispose of the body, in order to have full reign over their surroundings.

Courtesy of ICanHasCheezburger.com, perhaps the most frightening site on the entire internet

The Imminent Threat of Small People

While I'm afraid of puppets, I'm not afraid of small people. Well, not all small people. But I am wary of them, especially ones that lurk and turn up in odd places, like behind you, or in the corner, or beneath your desk. There's a very small woman I work with who always seems to be lurking in the shadows, as though at any moment she'll spring and gnaw my ankles off with her tiny, razor sharp teeth. It's very disconcerting, especially because I have a tall desk, and most of the time, I can't actually see the top of her head over it, so I don't know where she is. She could be anywhere. Anywhere.

I'm hiding beneath your couch right now

Speaking of small evil people, Erin's mother is here for the weekend so it looks like I'll be going to Boston a week early. It's not that I don't want to be here to support Erin in her time of need, it's just that I'm afraid her mother might murder me and throw my body in the Potomac because I didn't vacuum well enough. Since I barely even know how to vacuum, I think it's going to be a problem. It's all very trying. Luckily we have hardwood floors at home, so I don't have to worry about things like that.

Another one of my neurotic fears is flying (although personally I think anyone that trusts planes not to blow up in midair or plummet from the sky is insane) so I'll be taking Amtrak for a leisurely, relaxing 8 hour trip. And, exciting enough, I'm taking an overnight train! So I get into Boston at 8am, and then start a very long two days of lots of shopping for pots and pans and bedding and furniture and whatever else it is that one needs to create a functioning apartment. Which is great, since if I was left to my own devices, I'd have enough money saved to buy a beanbag chair, a used pillow, and maybe a box of Ramen, if I panhandled a little bit outside of the closest Safeway.

My mother is very excited for me to come home so we can buy our new household goods and layout the apartment and do all those fun things. I think she's just so happy that I'm finally moving out for good, she's willing to do just about anything.