welcome, february

my last post was november. NOVEMBER. since then, i've ridden a bike (first bike ride in 22 years) along south beach, moved into a new apartment, tasted multiple rum punch concoctions at the local dive bar (the pink one's the best), added a daily dose of levothyroxine to my pill-popping ways, returned to a semi-regular yoga practice, bought strawberry plants, and, over three very long post-new years days, cleansed my insides with juice, broth, and tea. guess i have a lot to write about.

ding-a-ling

last week i updated my main ringtones. i used to have a one-for-all-and-all-for-one three musketeers approach minus the pointy swords, finely groomed facial hair, and velvet capes. no matter who called me, my phone ribbetted and tweeted like a rainforest. but not any more! ladies and gents, i've finally joined the age of basic-yet-useless technology for dummies age.

when my mom calls, my phone tells me via "mom is calling back" (a parody of justin timberlake's "sexyback"). for todd, i get the smooth, hip hop rhythms of usher. and when my older younger sister calls, i get "scoobydoobydoo." for our real estate agent? house music. umf-uh umf-uh umf-uh.

this morning

this morning as i was walking to work, i looked down, confirmed that my shoes matched, and felt giddy because if it, proof that little things can elevate life from adequate to good. or that i'm a nut.

trashed

a coworker posted this on our work fridge the other day. as he's a data analyst, i was slightly disappointed that he didn't provide some kind of regression analysis of the mold spores and how, based on the amount of compounded growth and factoring in the average fridge temperature over a given work day (allowing for so much variance via a 10-second opening of the fridge door for 40 employees), he had determined that the rotting fruit had been in the fridge for x days. maybe this would be accompanied by an explanatory graph. or a colorful comic. but the note was a good start. and yes, he signed it.

today's forecast: tons of action sweeping through the lower regions

me: why are wednesdays so jam-packed?
em: no idea. it's hump day.
me: so the day is trying to screw me?
em: hahaha

my three lovely lady lumps

introduction
a few years ago, i got my nose repaired due to a massively deviated septum. when i was going through the process, individuals' experiences other than yelp reviews were few and far between. so i hope that my tale helps others out there.

i'm also posting this now because someone i hold very near and dear to me is going through a similar procedure next week--she bashed her nose cycling and now needs her septum repaired. so i'm killing two birds with one stone (only hypothetically. no animals were harmed in the creation of this post) and sharing my experience with her, too.

my story
noses. nobody likes theirs. at least not from what i've found out. crooked, hooked, pouty, pointy, pint-sized, tubular, squished, double-wide trailer sized. it's like hair. everyone wants what they don't have.

when i was in grade school, i had a decent nose. it did a little arch thing, but nothing too hideous. see? i promise you, i looked like this every day, whiskers and all.

then on my bike, i catapulted over the handlebars, imitating superman as i dove face-first over the speedbump and into the concrete. my nose then swerved a tad to the side.

in high school, i had constant sinus infections. i took sudafed and sampled an array of allergy meds (remember when claritin was an only-by-prescription drug???), and my physician recommended having my sinuses scraped at age 15. at the thought of that, i proceeded to feign good health for a short time, only to again and again be plagued by sinus headaches and repeated stuffiness.

in 2003, at the onset of the war in iraq, a friendly sfpd officer introduced his baton to my nose, leading to a bloody snout, swollen face, and an even more wiggly sniffer. my sinus headaches got worse, as did my total inability to breathe through the right side of my nose.

finally, in 2006, i'd had enough. it was time to take charge. common scents prevailed, and i saw a professional, leading to my *gasp* nose job.

i don't take plastic surgery lightly. i really wish we could all accept ourselves for who or what we are. but sometimes nature just doesn't work as intended. i openly admit that before my rhino/septoplasty, i had already had plastic surgery. back in high school, i had massive breasts.

if you think i just went into TMI-land, well, stop ready now. it's only going to get worse.

i'm sure that that song, "do your [blanks] hang low?", was written especially with my mammary glands in mind. i developed early, around age 9. girls sang that hideous song to me in the locker room and the boys tried to grab them any chance they could get. by the time i was 16, i danced 20+ hours a week, and my chest rarely fit into my tutus or unitards--i remember doubling up on special strapless bras and hoping (because i don't pray) that they'd stay in place until i could zip back into the wings and squish 'em back down.

i'm second from the right.

while i don't dance much today (minus the occasional hip hop or ballet class), i openly acknowledge that the breast reduction had a very positive impact on my high school and college years, and even now. my constant back pain went away shortly after my surgery and never reappeared. i could wear normal bras, bathing suits, and dresses. no worries of "should i ducktape the puppies?". i finally wore a two-piece bathing suit my junior year, at our class trip to club med sandpiper. today, i can use the elliptical without fear of whacking myself with my gozungas, and i don't need any special apparatus minus the regular over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder to keep everything solid.

so when i had the opportunity to have my nose repaired and in effect straightened, i jumped at the chance.

the procedure itself
i took great care in picking a specialist. i asked my then-primary care for a recommendation, then did research online looking at patient ratings. i set up a consultation with my top choice, the head of facial reconstruction/plastic surgery at ucsf. after a positive meeting, i did some more follow up, and went ahead with the procedure.

the procedure itself was the hard part. a week ahead, i took arnica montana supplements (provided by the doctor's office for a nominal fee) to ease the post-surgery bruising and swelling. then the morning of, i arrived at the hospital and checked in. after two knee surgeries, the breast reduction, and a gall bladder removal, you'd think that this would have been nothing, but i was freaked out. up until this point, i didn't want to think of if something went wrong. wonky breasts i could hide, but my nose? well, i figured, it was pretty screwed up already. anything HAD to be better.

a very kind nurse took my vitals, got me started on an IV, and then about an hour later, i was led down a hall to the OR where i was set up on table, legs in circulation pumps, and the anesthesiologist started me on a drip, soon after asking me what makes me happy. all i remember after that is dreaming of furry bunnies hopping over ice cream. really.

the aftermath, illustrated with self-taken, mostly horrible non-photoshopped images
then i woke up in recovery, totally burning up. i'm fairly certain that i dozed in and out of consciousness for about an hour. i had some reaction, and my heart rate jumped. a nurse coached me through some slow, regulated mouth breathing (as my nose was packed to help keep the shape and support the stitches), and i was soon discharged, ready to go home.

the first day was hell. well, the first week or two, really. but the first day, i had to wear a nose sling. and keep ice packs on my forehead. i was sleepy and sore, but i watched a lot of daytime soaps.

day 1: this is me trying to smile. i finally gave up and settled for a thumbs-up.

day 2 wasn't much better. i ditched the nose sling--meant to catch anything that might "fall" out of your nostrils, like dissolving stitches--but my face was all swollen and numb. but look, no bruising!

by day 5, i had the tape and stitches taken out, but i was still somewhat swollen.

day 7: i could almost smile. yippee! but why one side of my hair is two inches shorter than the other, i'll never know.

and here is day 12, where the nose packs finally came out (via tweezers). the packs hurt when pulled out, but man, it's all worth it. the nose is also a little dry from all of the trauma it's been through. i have a tad bit of coverup for the under-the-nose scar, but that's it.

today, my nose is great. i'm very, very glad that i had my septum repaired (along with a very minor bump shaving). now, i have maybe one sinus infection a year as opposed to twelve, and i breathe free and easily.

in closing
i didn't go all crazy and get a new nose or have the doctor perform miracles requiring human sacrifices. vanity isn't becoming on anyone. but good health and happiness are important, and for me, i mainly wanted to breathe through my nose and greatly lessen my chance of a lifelong z-pak dependency (and if doc could tone down the minor post-superman bump in the process, why not?). and if i had to do it all over again, i would.

so if you're contemplating something similar, i hope my story offers a little sane, non-real housewives-like perspective.

i see london, i see france

a few years ago, a neighboring tenant across the backyard started hanging his man things in his window. weekly, he'd put a pair of tighty whities up on a wooden board, and hang them in the sun, taking them down every week or so. then the board would be empty for a few days, and then the underpants would return. it's boggled me, but what could i do but glance elsewhere? honeymooning in belize gave me a great excuse to drink frozen, fruity beverages on a nightly basis. somewhere in there, i told todd that i wanted to get to the bottom (ha! get it?) of this fruit-of-the-loom caper. his bright idea: hang my panties in response. little did he know that two days upon our return, i would do exactly that.

so far, no reply. but i'm eagerly waiting with baited breath.

you'd think she would have noticed the rings on my finger.

i jumped through all the hoops to change my last name at work: marriage license, social security card, new W-2 form, etc. with a new email address in hand, i sent a message to those i work closely with, but don't really know on a personal level--those who most likely didn't know that i had gotten married. one of the women emailed me to say that she'd let all of her colleagues know, so that i wouldn't need to send out any more emails to her staff. delegating tasks rocks.

last week, i traveled to one of our other local offices for a presentation, and during lunch, a colleague whom i'd never met before came up to me and said, "i don't know whether to congratulate or console you." to which i replied, "um... but why?" she said, "i received the email about your new last name and that it was because of a "life-altering event." you're so young! why did you get divorced?"

word sensical

i had a work meeting, and one of my colleagues kept using the word commonsensical. as in, "everyone should automatically put a screen lock on their iphones. it's so commonsensical."

commonsensical? according to websters, it's a real word. well, sort of. they list is as an adjective form of common sense. but i haven't been able to find any real dictionary that lists this crazy take on a very basic noun. i brought it up one night with todd.

t: commonsensiwhat?
b: like nonsensical? (caveat: another word that irks me)
t: or logical (or maybe he said tropical)?
b: or testicle.

no, sir, my fingers are sick.

it's so cold in my office, i'm wearing gloves as i type.

i returneth.

today, my sister finally gave me the heave-ho, saying, "your blog has been lacking. unacceptable." eek. when my own sister tells me that i (or my blog) is unacceptable, well, that's fairly serious. according to her, dying my hair pink is encouraged, burping the alphabet would win me a medal (i'm very, very medal-less at this point), and should i choose to dance along the golden gate bridge on a cold winter morning, she would shower me with standing ovations galore. case in point (for her):


the 13 second mark is my favorite, even with the video upside down. so em, here's a photo for you, snapped along irving street in the sunset last month.

oh, and i'm back.

harvest time

over the past few days, todd and i have been talking about one day buying a house. flat. condo. refrigerator box. whatever. now that we're married, it's probably the next, yet far-off, step to take. in the city, condo prices are decreasing, and today i spent a few minutes looking at the mls to see what's out there in the 'hoods that we prefer.

separately, many years ago, for some incredibly stupid reason, i told todd that cotton came from sheep. yes, i knew that cotton grew as fibrous clusters on cotton plants, but for some insane reason, my brain turned cotton into wool. blame it on me being thoroughly distracted by his disheveled curls and adorable grin.

but somehow these two things--living space and my owning up to my past stupidity--converged, when trying to figure out how to have enough of a down payment to have an affordable mortgage.

him: we could sell the dowry of sheep that I'm still waiting for.

me: the sheep coming from florida? man, they're going to arrive as a flat of american apparel t-shirts. there's no resale value in that, except to crappy haight street tourist shops.

him: 100% cotton, right?

me: yep. but don't expect organic. florida* don't roll that way.

*to be honest, i have no experience or knowledge regarding the state of florida's cotton industry, harvesters, or any growing regulations. my florida-related experience extends to my sand-filled childhood and family** who still live there.
**we're just beachy.

baruch a-shark adonai

flipping through the cable guide, i came across what i thought was "the whale that ate jews"* on the national geographic channel and wondered not, "hey, are my eyes failing me," but instead, "what does this whale have against christians?"


*not jews, becca. "jaws"

the tunes in my head

lately, i've been getting all of those catchy summer songs stuck in my head, and while 30 minutes of katy perry isn't so bad, 6 hours of her "california gurls" or any nasely rihanna song can drive a perfectly sane woman nuts. so is it sad that i was overjoyed when cyndi lauper's "girls just wanna have fun" kept playing along in my head today? i really hope not.

not quite botox

thanks to dvr, we have a backlog of movies to watch. this weekend, we hit "play" with the intent to watch the horror flick "drag me to hell" starring one of todd's former high school classmates, alison lohman. we got about 1/5 of the way in before the creepy glass-eyed gypsy woman popped back up, forcing me to scream and grab todd's hand at the same time, all in some sort of movie-watching self-induced couch potato rage.

funny thing, my coordination is (at least that's what yoda would say). scream/shriek+grabbing SO's hand+whipping head away from creepy gypsy lady=my mouth meeting with todd's fist at an alarmingly speedy rate. this morning, my upper lip is still swollen from knocking it between his bony knuckle and my front teeth.

suffice it to say, we deleted the movie at the first mention of domesticated animal sacrifice. and i have yet to leave any more teeth marks anywhere. well, except for my lunch.

thanks, but no thanks

paper source describes the below card as "fun letterpress note cards [that] are wonderful to mail to friends." i don't know what kind of buddies paper source keeps, but i don't want those kinds of friends.

you a-muse me

oh, muse. your one-hit wonder song, uprising, is too catchy. case in point: v sucked the life out of life itself in its debut season--can't erica wash her hair? ever? or buy a jacket crafted sometime after 1991? i mean, really. what woman in her right mind wears a purple leather men's style blazer AND works for the FBI? that in itself is a matter of national security.-- yet your whiny, melodramatic wailing kept me hoping something would improve in the plot development between us gullible humans and the amphibious aliens. really a secret faction of aliens and humans working together is great, but they talk to each other via ping pong balls that, well, when activated, glow blue. blue balls are not our only hope, are they?

in fact, your song is so catchy that when watching the knight & day commercials, i almost sprinted to the computer, ready to plunk down $13 at the kabuki to see tom cruise smarm up the big screen. so thank you for not making it that good. or for having less scientological smarm than joey potter's couch-jumping husband. for that, i commend you.

it's a hold up

today i've had three coworkers ask me if i'm celebrating anti-st. patrick's day (i'm in all black and white). sigh, but no. another one asked the receptionist to verify that "olive green is still green, right?" in other news, my pants are sagging and require a belt to stay up on my hips, but silly me, i don't own one single belt, so i'm wearing todd's. lunchtime plans may now include a trip to tj maxx and a tall, cold beer cider.

give me down-to-there hair

yesterday, i decided to sleep in a little and wear my hair curly to work. the extra 20 min. of sleep came back to bite me in the ass when, upon getting into the elevator at work, my former boss looked at me and said, "oh, are those little ringlets natural? they're so cuuuuuuuuuuute!" i like my job a ton and don't know what i'd do without it, so i fought back the urge to comment on how her highlights nicely disguise her growing number of gray hairs. instead, i told her that i accidentally stuck my finger in a light socket before coming to work.

but the whole thing got me thinking: is cute what i want to be? do i want to be cute or just have cute hair? is there anything wrong with being cute? or is it something, like khaki cargo pants, better left relegated to casual friday?

she's got legs

thanks to lindsay lohan, the legging craze is still going strong. dear god, if i had a brick wall near by right this very second, i'd be introducing my forehead to it over and over and over again... i don't understand the whole leggings-as-pants thing. tight that go under things: sure, love 'em. ankle-length leggings don't really hurt anyone except the short and stumpy... but leggings worn as pants, well, perhaps this might illustrate my issue.



fringe leggings, people. $420 fringe leggings. it's like betsy johnson got inspired seeing drunken flappers throwing up all over a bolt of spandex. if you wear these, how do you deal with camel toe? thong show through? and oh, i don't know, your pride.

p.s. it's possible that not all leggings, worn in pants form, are horrid. all i ask is that you prove it.