Huh.

So, I guess it's about a little over a year ago. I'm in pain. Like all of the time. My head feels like a ticking time bomb. So, I do what normal people do. I ignore it at first and take Tylenol. That goes on for about a week and then I make an appointment with my GP. She says, "well, looks like it's probably a sinus infection. I'm going to write you this prescription. If it's isn't better in another week or two, call me." Well, it wasn't. It was worse.
So, I call back. "It's not better. It's worse." Huh. She's perplexed. "Like in what way worse?" Well, I tell her that I'm blacking out a bit and that I'm hearing a ringing in my ears that is constant. "You're not throwing up, are you?" I tell her that I'm not and she seems relieved by that. I guess that I am too... seeing that she is. Anyway, she gives me another prescription and out I go. Here goes another week and a half. Ringing gets louder. I go to work and do my job and sit there and act like nothing is bothering me. People stand across from me and ask me questions... "can you send this to the Lafayette address instead of local? I really don't think he's going to be around this Thursday..." and I nod my head and say "yeah, sounds great," all the time wanting to rip the back of my skull off, just so that I can stop the buzzing. This goes on for a week or so and I call the doc back. She says, "well, I don't know... we should probably get a scan."
So, we do. A week later, a lab calls with a scheduled appointment. You do the math... my ears have been ringing for a solid month now. Anyway, I'm scheduled and I go in for an MRI. Scan taken... Tuesday afternoon. Results... Friday. My doc calls and she is usually pretty cool. This time, she's kind of acting strange and asks me if I have a few minutes to talk. Uh oh. Anyway, she tells me that they saw a "spot." Now, she doesn't want to "alarm" me, but she wants me to come in again "as soon as possible" and do another scan. Like "tomorrow or the next day" if I could. Shit. Well, alright. So, Monday it is. We do another one. This time, they get close up on the area that they saw the spot. They need to focus in and make sure that it is what they think it is. And, what do you know? It is. So, she calls me back. It is what the doctors like to refer to as a pituitary microadenoma. It is not cancer (my first question). Now, this is pretty cool in my case because, you will notice, I called it "micro." Pituitary is just the type (basically location) and adenoma is a pretty word for tumor. If a tumor in this area is over 7mm, it is considered a "macroadenoma." If it is under 7mm, it is considered a microadenoma. Luckily, mine measured out at 5.5mm. Now, what this means is just that basically, this bitch is uncomfortable and putting a lot of pressure on my pituitary gland and making my life a living hell and we need to shrink it a bit just to make things a little more comfortable for my every day life. So, there are options.
There are surgical options. I was sent to a neurologist specializing in this kind of tumor... he says thumbs down. He thinks surgery should always be the last option. So, boo on that.
There is radiation. He says... meh. Another last resort.
He thinks it's best to shrink through medication. So, for the past year and a half, I have been in medication la la land. I feel like you could poke me with a stick and green gel would come out of me. However, no one tells you how frightened you'll be... especially when you don't even know if it's working.
My next MRI is in a few days and they will tell me if this medication has even worked 1cm. If it hasn't, we have to go another route and I am kind of freaking out a little.
No one ever promised us a rose garden, right? It's just a little tumor. I just watched my uncle go through the shittiest 3 years of his life to cancer and that guy lived like a rock star and never complained. So, boo hoo to me. Let's do this.

Dumb Things I Watched on TV this Week

Monday started out like any other... got up, got dressed, went to work... blah blah. And when I got home, that's when my week started. My tv week, of course. The first thing I watched - The Bachelorette. Now, this has become quite the poison in my life. I hate this show. Every season of every year, I hate it. But somehow, every season starts and I somehow get sucked in to another meaningless thirteen weeks of crying and backstabbing... only to end up ultimately disappointed in the bachelor's/bachelorette's choice. I am sitting there screaming at the television "Are you serious? That douchebag?" But it doesn't matter... there are a series of interviews after the show is over and they take their photos together and do the "good thing" and then six weeks later, OMG reports that, oddly enough, things just "didn't work out." So, once again, those thirteen weeks were all for nothing. But were they? No way... I haven't lost any sleep over it and so, ultimately, it's all for something.
But my tip for ABC is this. They need to screen these applicants a little closer. One of the guys told Ali on the first date that his nickname was "Shooter." She asked why and he said "well, I'll tell you that a little later..." - so anyway... later comes, right? She gets him alone a few hours later and says, "so, Shooter, what's with the nickname?" Basically, he goes into this story about how in his freshman year of college, he met some girl, had too much too drink and "may have prematurely... well, you know..." - O.M.G. Did this guy just tell her that he "may have"..?? Um... Holy Lord! Needless to say, "Shooter" didn't make it through the first rose ceremony. Then they are interviewing him at the end and he says something like "I really put myself out there and was vulnerable and she let's me go... well, I don't want know that I want to be with a girl like that!" Trust me, Shooter... she doesn't want to be with you either. And now that you've told that story on national television, I bet there are a BUNCH of girls who won't be knocking down your door.

Tuesday, I watched what I consider to be possibly the best show on television - Justified (on FX). It was the season finale, which I was very sad about... because now, I have to watch a bunch of crap for the rest of the summer... ah, but I digress. So, if you haven't watched this show yet... run out and watch the reruns. I'm sure that they will run the entire season all over again. It is deliciously written and all of the players are raw and natural. And, my friends, (especially the ladies) let me tell you that it does not hurt that the main player, U.S. Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens (Timothy Olyphant), is a breath of fresh Kentucky air. Lord, lord... let's just say that I have built a lovely home and a life of over 12 years with my loving husband, Robert, which I would throw all away for one afternoon with this gentleman. But, once again, I digress. Characters are well written and definitely worth the your time... the hour FLIES by. Trust me. BTW, love you, honey (if you're reading this). Come on, who am I kidding? He's not reading this.

I also watched another little trashy nugget on Tuesday night called Pretty Little Liars, which is by the same people who write/produce my other favorite little trash fest, Gossip Girl. Anyway, it did not disappoint. The hour was filled with gossip, fashion, backstabbing, pot smoking, no parental guidance, police fraud, lying, infidelity and all of the basic components that make up a good Tuesday night romp. I will be setting my DVR for next week.

Tonight there is literally NOTHING on my television taping, which is why I am writing this. Oh, I lied... Top Chef Masters is taping, but there are only 3 chefs left... and come on... we all know that Susur Lee is going to use those other guys for toilet paper, so it's kind of embarrassing for them. I think he just shows up to promote the latest Pantene products, honestly.

Tomorrow, nothing.

I've got nothing until True Blood comes back on Sunday... thank God for Sookie. So, I guess I'll try to write some more next week (if there is more to say). Until then, see you bitches on the flipside (of ma telly). Love you.

-N.

He Said Yes.

I am married now (thank God). But I remember a time (not so terribly long ago) when I wasn't. This time was called, well, "non-married life." I was "non-married" for 32 years. In these years, some of them more painful than others, I dated people other than my now husband. I went places with my girlfriends and my gay boyfriends and tried to talk to boys that I had nothing in common with. I tried because I thought that you were supposed to try to meet boys - it's what girls did. I didn't necessarily really have actual "connections" with many of these supposed man/boys, but I was in my early 20s and some of my friends were actually having REAL connections with man/boys... and some of them were even (for Christ's sakes) GETTING MARRIED! So... I got out there. I met a few fun guys... and everyone I know that actually knows me knows that I'm totally crazy for people in general. I mean, I love being in love, so it takes me about a week to be totally boy crazy. But everyone that knows me also knows that it takes me about that long to change my mind as well. I change my boyfriends like I change nail polish, so... moving on.
Anyway, you meet them. Fine. Great, even. But then what? You talk at a party. You may even exchange numbers. But you're 21. And fickle. And don't even care that much. So, why do you even care about Dave or the fact that he has a part time job at the Gap? Yeah, he's pretty cute and he kind of looks a little like Jon Spencer and he can rock a mean pair of leather pants, but do I really think I'll feel the same way when I'm 22? So... do I call him again tomorrow? Or do I even bother? I mean, he doesn't even have a British accent. Come on... at least make it worth my time.

When you go out with your girls, you, too, have pick up lines, just like any guy does. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don't. I mean, they aren't JUST like the guys. Let's hope you don't walk around asking guys if they are tired because they've been running around in your head all night. However, there is a method to our madness as well... it's just not nearly as sad most of the time. It's usually a little more subtle. I remember when I met my husband, it was nearing the end of the night and I feared that we may just say our goodbyes and not see each other again. Well, I just couldn't let this happen. He mentioned something about a place downtown that he and his friend were thinking about going to that weekend. Basically, I just said "here's your opportunity to ask me if I would like to go with you. Because if you do, I will say yes." Now, that could have gone two ways. He could have done what he did, which is ask me... and the rest is history.. ta-da! Or it could have gone horribly awry and I could have looked like some sad girl, desperate for a man. Thank God, it turned out in my favor. No girl wants egg on her face.

Anyway, I'm not even sure that this blog has a point. It started out with one... now I'm just wondering where I was going.

Tonight I am taking a trip to the near east side, my friends, to a sad little bar called Si Greene's. It's 90s night - Sally, Shannon, Carrie and I are going to put on our Hammer Pants and trip the light Fantastic. So, if you are in the neighborhood, stop by and do a shot with me. Later, bitches.

The Warm Up...

It's the first day of the American Idol season, children... and I'm warming up my fingers, basically. It's not going to be a full write up, but there are highlights, of course, and we need to discuss. For example, I just saw kimono-making-pink-hair-having-anime-karate-kicking girl screeching through her freakishly yellow teeth. I think she may actually be a serial murderer.
If one more contestant gets up and says that when they sing, music comes out of them from a "special place," I'm going to put a brick through the screen.
Oooh, what's up with the guy that fell out of the tree? Love him! He looks like my cousin Charlie's friend Ron with the Firebird... tight pants... comb in the back pocket... I'm loving it. And him.
I love this Boston thing though... these motor boatin sons a bitches!
Victoria Beckham is looking especially thin tonight... I'm so jealous... it's always been my lifetime dream to get in my car without opening the door.
Dude, that Japanese guy that sang "All By Myself" was classic. I'm looking for the full video of that on youtube later.
I think I teared up a little when the LaToya Jackson impersonator sang that Cascada song... I mean, he was really living his dream right there in front the judges.
But on a serious note, I kind of did get a little misty when the guy from Africa did get through and his dad said "thank you" to the camera... see? I have a soft side, people!
Oooh, church girl... pullin it out! But here's my question. If her parents were totally religious and she wasn't allowed to listen to secular music, then don't you think it's a little strange that she called her parents at the end and told them that she got through to Hollywood and asked them if they were proud? If they had never listened to secular music before, then would they even know what the hell American Idol was? Ah, food for thought...

It's my bedtime, kids... so, I'll see you guys next week... when the subjects will be world politics, peace in the Middle East and American Idol.