Thursday, June 12, 2008

Are you in the Club?

My Mom and I went shopping today. Her 40th class reunion is coming up, so naturally, we had to find a dress for her to wear. After finding said dress, we had to go bra shopping. Which after buying certain types of dresses, you would need to get a new bra. She didn't need a new bra for the dress, but wanted one.

A few weeks ago, she decided to go get remeasured for her bra. Since 80% of the female population is wearing the wrong size bra, she thought she'd make sure she was wearing the right size. But, low and behold, the store she went too didn't do a good job measuring her, and she wanted a second opinion. So off to the lingerie section of the store we went.

Now, I really don't like shopping for underwear. I only buy it if I absolutely need too. I have over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders that are YEARS old, that's how much I don't like this kind of shopping. My Mom explains to the Sales clerk what she's looking for and gets measured. She's in the 80% club. Of course I get sucked into the dressing room to help my Mom find the perfect bra. After about the 10th try-on, she finds one she likes.

I decide at this point to have "the girls" remeasured, since, its been about 10+ years. With age, weight loss, and weight gain, what's the harm? Now, I'm in the 80% club. The Salesclerk is a doll, and goes out looking for bras for me now. It seems I'm defiantly a larger cup size than I thought, and was wearing the wrong 30 something size. Which is why the straps kept falling down, it was riding up my back, and I wasn't ever getting enough coverage in the front.

I learned many things in my bra fitting today. First, a woman can go up a bra size and have a smaller cup, OR go down a bra size and have a larger cup size. Apparently they equal each other out. So, do I want the larger bra size or cup size???? Second, bra shopping is like dress shopping. Maybe you wear a Size 4 for Ann Taylor, but an 8 in Nine West. Only you might wear a 34C in Wonderbra, but a 36B in Maiden Form. Choices, choices. Third, a bra should be put on at the lowest clip in the back, with enough room for two fingers to go behind it comfortably. If you can't put two fingers behind, then it's too small. Too many fingers behind, then it's way too big. Fourth, if the cups make you spill out in the front, you need a larger cup size, if there is a gap between you and the bra, you need a smaller cup size.

It's sad to be 30, and find out how to wear a bra properly.

Next, I start trying on bras. I get critiqued by my Mom and the Salesclerk. Which was amusing. "Nope, take it off, it's too tight. Ohhh that one looks nice. No, it just doesn't do anything for you. Too much skin coming out of the top. Oh, you've got back cleavage. That doesn't look good......."

I find the perfect one. I mean perfect! It felt so comfortable that I didn't want to take it off. My Mom and I were tempted to put on our brand new bras in the dressing room after we paid for them. Our old ones just didn't feel good and we both loathed the thought of walking around for the rest of the day in them. Alas, we didn't change. The minute I got home, the new bra went on, and it is soooooo comfortable.

I can't believe I'm this excited about a new bra. What excites me more, is knowing that I really do have to go shopping for new clothes. Darn.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

The Drama of the Name Change

In my next life, I've decided not to take my husband's last name. I knew that going through the name change process would be tricky and slightly difficult, but honestly, I didn't think it would be THIS hard. One of my friends tells me that according to Native American Legend, I would be considered cursed. Hell, maybe I am.

I decide to change my name from Janell Doe to Janell Doe Adams. Thus making my maiden name my middle name. Simple right?

Last week, I drive down to the Social Security office, because according to all websites this is the first thing you need to do to change your name. I bring my driver's license, my marriage license, passport, social security card, and had their worksheet filled out before I even went in. I wait my turn for a few minutes before being called up. I hand her everything she could possibly need to make this simple little change. At first she wouldn't accept my wedding license, because it wasn't a certified copy. It didn't have the raised embossed seal on it. I explain to her that I got married in Canada, and those lovely BRIGHT RED NUMBERS at the bottom of the license ARE the certification. She doesn't believe me, so she sits at her computer typing away for a few minutes. In my mind, I can picture her saying "Yeah, sorry, we can't accept this. It's not valid. You'll have to go to the court house to get married." And then picturing my husband blow a gasket, because the US Government won't recognize our wedding which we spent obscene amounts of money on. But she accepts it.

She won't however take my driver's license, because it hasn't been changed yet. Hold on...Wait a minute...I can't even get a new driver's license until I get a NEW SS Card. Isn't this a little backwards?????? She will accept my passport. Go figure? A few minutes later, the change is made and I am officially Janell Doe Adams. She hands me a piece of paper indicating that my new SS card will come in the mail in 10-14 days. What????? Aren't we living in a technology age? Can't you just print one up for me right here in the office??? Apparently not.

I ask her if I can now go to the DMV to get a new driver's license. No. Because I don't have the new SS card...And yet, she wouldn't accept my driver's license in the first place.....I want to smack my head HARD, because this really doesn't make sense.

This morning, I went to get my new drivers license, because now I have an official SS card. Yeah! I take the new SS card, marriage license, passport, and driver's license to the DMV. The receptionist, didn't like the look of my marriage license. NOT AGAIN... She takes everything and hands me off to one of those DMV people behind the counter...that's where the real trouble began.

DMV lady is a piece of work. She argued with me over the validity of the marriage license and wouldn't accept it. It's not "certified". Well, the Canadian Government says otherwise. She will accept my drivers license and my SS card. I explain to her that my maiden name is now my middle name. She tells me that's illegal. "It's o.k. for the SS department to have it that way, but THIS is the DMV!" It's illegal???? WHAT THE FUCK ???? How is this illegal? It was a legal name change. According to her, since my parent's didn't give me DOE as a middle name they weren't going to accept it either. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.........

My options at this point are Adams, Doe Adams, or Doe-Adams. I JUST WANT DOE TO BE MY MIDDLE NAME.....WHY IS SHE MAKING THIS SO DIFFICULT?????? She absolutely refused to make Doe my middle name, so now I am listed as Janell Adams on my drivers license. I am so insensed at this point. If I could have reached around the counter to smack her, I would have.

The last kicker, is that my brand NEW drivers licensed needs to be RENEWED on my birthday, THIS YEAR! I get to go back in 3 months and do this all over again. Yippee, I can hardly wait.

Next up is my passport change. I wonder how much of problem this will cause. I really do understand why women don't change their name. Who wants to go through this process??? Who wants to waste their time arguing with idiots over the validity of their marriage license and their choice of a new name. It's not worth it. Because now, I am stuck with the name that I didn't want in the first place. I can understand how women feel as though they lose part of their identity. It's that simple omitance and you're now someone-else.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Bring on the tweezers

I thought I was going crazy this week. I mean I have been slightly depressed. I still don't have a job, and my routine is pretty mundane, so I thought I was going crazy. Then I realized I wasn't.

There is a war going on, daily against me. Unfortunately it won't be won, not ever and especially with me being the victor. This is a personal one. One that started when I was a teen and grew progressively worse through the years. The war I wage, well....it's my hair.

When I said that I was going crazy early this week, I wasn't kidding. Every time I put my hair in a ponytail, I kept reaching for the tweezers. You see I have this one lone gray hair that comes out every once in a while, that just needs to be plucked. After I plucked what I thought was the same hair 3 times this week, I was upset to discover that it wasn't the same hair. Which I was sort of glad about, because it meant that I wasn't losing my mind. No, it was a small patch of gray hairs. A patch! A patch???? I'm too young for there to be a band of merry gray hairs hiding like thieves in there. I must have temporarily eradicated at least 8 of them.

I grew concerned, so I went investing to see how many other thieves of youth were hanging out. To my horror and dismay, I found many, many more. Now, since I get my hair highlighted, I thought it would help cover these rogues into hiding a little more smoothly. Nope. My tweezers had quite the workout yesterday plucking them out, and some were pretty darn long. It won't be too long before I have to start coloring my entire head.

In the mean time, I think it would be best for me to buy another pair of tweezers. My purse needs a pair, just in case those evil little villains decide to make another appearance and this time in a more public place.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Morning Routine

Six months ago, I suddenly found myself without a job. I will say that I did nothing that was unethical, illegal or against company policy. I also won the right to gain Unemployment benefits, just because the circumstances of my not having a job any longer were quite unusual.

I developed a morning routine and I have to say that I love it and will miss it when I have to go back to work. Every morning I would wake up next to my husband, which was nice. I'd make him tea while he got ready or was on a phone conference. I absolutely love going into the bathroom to smell the mix of shaving cream ,tooth paste and cologne still lingering in the air. Feeling the soft shave as I kissed him goodbye. When the garage door closed, I'd sit in the chair watching his car drive by. It was the last glimpse that I would have of him before he came home. That last string that held us together.

Every day, I do the same thing, unless, I have errands to run or he decides to work from home. Each time, I wonder....is this the last time? Will I have to go back to work tomorrow? It's a silly morning ritual. But it's mine. And I will miss it when it ends.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Sleep wars

Fairy tales. All children are read them while growing up and base some of their future expectations on what they read. Watching t.v. and all the happy couples while growing up, leaves a person to believe that certain expectations will also happen for you. Wrong, wrong, wrong. We are sold on an idea and told its the truth, till the truth smacks us in the face and we are left sitting there wondering what the hell just happened. Because that's not the way tv and fairy tales tell us it will happen.

Take for instance sleeping. On tv all these happy couples are entwined with each other all night long. They hug, embrace, spoon and hold hands. I honestly thought people slept that way, because that was what was portrayed all the time. It wasn't until I actually shared a bed with my husband, that I learned that was not the case. We both have different sleep patterns and expectations when it comes to sleep. Sleeping next to him all night long is like a fairy tale...it's Goldilocks and the Three Bears. It's too hot. It's too cold. And hardly ever just right.

It's hard to sleep next to a person. I don't care who that person is. Those experts say that it takes a long time to develop a routine when sleeping next to your spouse. They weren't kidding. I thought we finally got it right until the other day.

We like visiting our in-laws, but have decided we don't like sharing a bed at their house. We have a queen, they have a double bed. Downsizing is not a good thing. My husbands alarm went off the other morning and he reached over to shut it off. When returning to his comfortable position, he manages to slam his elbow right into my eye socket, at the exact moment I was getting up. He managed to slam it so hard that I thought I would end up with a broken orbital bone. I'm sobbing in bed, and it really was an accident. I have to go downstairs and put ice on it for a few hours to get the swelling down. It was red and puffy all day long. A few days later, I have a beautiful black eye. And no the under eye cream didn't help take the "black" away, but maybe a steak would have helped.

I was teasing him all week, that sleeping next to him is hazardous to my health. Those damn tv shows, don't tell you that your husband may end up giving you a black-eye while reaching for his alarm. Do they tell you that you'll hit each other in the head while switching positions??? Or scratch each other with toenails and fingernails, and in the morning you wonder why you have a weird scratch or bruise that wasn't there earlier? Or that the sheets will get drenched in sweat if you sleep with flannel sheets, a down comforter, and your husband????? No. Is it possible to lay your head on his shoulder all night long, or rest your leg comfortably over his??? Sure, if you're o.k. with him getting a limb amputated off the next morning from loss of circulation. We get this nice romantic view of what it should be like. We are sold a lie.

And yet, people today are left wondering why some couples have separate rooms and separate beds. Probably, because it's never "just right" and they also go tired of having limbs go limp, getting kicked, bruised and scratched for years. Sometimes it's a war, over blankets and the room temperature. The battle lines can be crossed and you harmed, all while both of you are asleep. I just hope that we will finally get a routine, where no one else ends up with another black-eye.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

*Sniffle

When your a child and you see your Dad sick, Mom is waiting on him hand and foot. When Mom is sick, Dad is sitting on his behind doing next to nothing to help her. I thought it was my Dad being himself. My Mother warned me that all men were babies when they were sick. I thought my husband would be different. I thought the whole thing was a myth. Nope.

My husband is sick..again. It seems that the lovely sinus infection that he got over Christmas, has yet to go away. I know Christmas...it's March. He wouldn't go to the doctor. It was the "I'm fine, there's nothing wrong with me, it's just a virus that will go away in a few days.", kinda thing that I kept hearing for weeks, that somehow turned into a few months.

I loved hearing the cough, cough, hack, hack, wait there's my lung...go on for weeks. All the while...'I'm fine'. 'I'm not (sniffle) sick.'

I can't tell you how many times that I disinfected the house with his germs, and how many times, I've kept catching his "I'm not sick" virus. Finally, he saw his doctor and Eureka, it's a sinus infection.

My husband's doctor finally convinces him that is sick and gives him antibiotics. On his way home, he decided to fill his prescription at the local grocery store with pharmacy inside. But wait, the line is too long, so he comes home with $30 worth of junk food instead. I didn't realize that those could cure a sinus infection. Had I known that I would have bought them a long time ago.

The next day I take his perscription to be filled...The pharmacist, gets me everything that the doctor wanted along with his antibiotic. $75 later, I'm walking out of the store. I drive home and give him his stuff, and he argues with me about a sinus rinse that I bought. He didn't want to do it, because all the stuff would be coming out his nose. Isn't that the point of a sinus rise, to get all the crap out of the sinus' that keeps making you sick? Do you not want to get better? I'm so confused.

I think I'm getting sick....

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Photography class

Sometimes I wonder why things happen and how I get myself invovled in things without even trying. Take my photography class for one. I took it to get out of the house and not to become one of those boring housewives among other reasons. Being old and jaded around my classmates, well...that's another story.

There are only 17 people in class including myself. I sit in the corner surrounded by these 18-21 year olds and definately feel my age. I just can't relate to them at all not that I haven't tried. One Brazillian exchange student asked about nightclubs and bars to go to in the area. Wow, I haven't been to one in those in years. Couldn't tell her any in the area, just in another suburb 40 minutes away. I gave her the name of the place where I met my husband. Everyone thought that was so romantic to marry the guy that I met in a bar. Ummm o.k.

One day I showed up and started talking to two girls that were sitting close by me. One was complaining about this new medication that she was taking and its side effects. The other girl asked her what medication was making her sleepy. I thought it was a rude question to ask, so that tells you that I'm getting old. Sleepy-head tells her, and my head just wanted to smack the back of the wall in frustration. What was sleepy-head on????? An ANTI-PSYCHOTIC! Sleepy-head then begins to talk about her depression, anxiety, her PTSD and being diagnoised as Bi-Polar. The girl who started all of this then states that she was on that same medication to control her anger and was in therapy to deal with it. I'm really quite at this point, because I don't know what to say, even though I have plenty too say to both of them, like SHUT THE HELL UP. Too much information. They notice my silence and ask me what I do for a living. I tell them, I'm a therapist. Did that scare them? No. They start asking me for advice. I tell them to talk to their own therapist and psychiatrist. Sleepy-head asks me stuff about her medication. The only thing I say it to take it, and the sleepyness should wear off in a few days, if not to call her doctor.

Later in class another girl was asking me what I did for a living. I told her that I was an art therapist. I get a high five. Why? Because that's what she's going to school to become. She starts asking me a ton of questions. Now, I've become a mentor. I don't want to be anyones mentor at the moment. I want to take a photography class.

A few classes go by. The more I go to class the more I find out about my classmates, which makes me want to avoid them. Sleepy-head is no longer sleepy. She's just CRAZY! I determined that after participating in a conversation with her and Miss Anger Management while waiting for class to start. She starts talking about her crazy ex-boyfriend that was stalking her at some point in her short life and how she had a restraining order out on him. She decided to invite him over to hang out. When her roommate came home, he proceeded to beat up ex-boyfriend with a baseball bat. Miss Crazy decided to call the police and have the ex-boyfriend arrested for violating the restraining order, not for the fight currently going on. Ex-boyfriend was arrested, and she laughed saying he shouldn't have come over in the first place. Let me get this straight, you invite your ex-boyfriend over despite a restrianing order, and laugh when your roomate beats the crap out of him, and he gets arrested? Glad to see you accept responsiblity for your actions. Someone doesn't have a consious. At this point, I decided not to engage in any more converstations with either of these two girls ever again, unless it's related to class.

I decide to call a therapist friend of mine. She laughs when I tell her these stories. Laughs so hard she starts crying on the phone. Why? Because she knows me so well, that only strange things like this would happen to me. Only I would go to class and suddenly have the crazy people wanting to engage in a conversation. Only I would take a class where someone who wants to be an future art therapist decides to make me her mentor. Only me. Some how this insanity would only happen to me.

I swear I just wanted to take a simple photography class.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The Doctor's Appointment

So, I went to see the Orthopedic doctor this morning. I love having the first appointment of the day, 8am. You'd think that you'd been seeing a doctor on time at the first appointment of the day. Nope. I didn't see him until 8:20. Nice.

This young nurse escorted me to the exam room, and started asking the general questions. She even had a nice way of poking fun at me, because of my age and the problems with my hip. Just what I needed. Next she handed me a pair of "shorts" to change into for my appointment. They were basically the type of shorts you put on a toddler to cover up their diaper, or on a little girl when she's wearing a dress. And I got to wear a big blue pair! My very own diaper at 8:30am. I'm 30!!!!! I'm so glad my husband wasn't there, because he wouldn't have stopped laughing for one, and two there is no way he ever would've had sex with me again. It was so wrong. Wrong!

Basically, this very sterile doctor came in, and examined me. Diagnosed me with bursitis, and gave me my options. A cortisone shot, or Physical therapy. I chose the cheaper of the two. The shot. It was two injections right into my hip. Ouch. I begged the doctor not to show me the needle, because I have this tendency to pass out from shots and giving blood. I would have made a great nurse huh? I had to lay down twice before leaving the exam room, because the blood was rushing to my head.

I finally made it to the reception desk only to have to rush to a chair before almost passing out again. I was seeing stars, another few seconds standing and I would have been on the floor. The nurse was sweet and gave me juice to drink. I even had to lie down on the couch in the waiting room before leaving. This pregnant couple waiting for their ultrasound was just looking at me like I was crazy. It was so humiliating. In the back of my mind, I couldn't help but think of how bad I was going to be when I actually do get pregnant. They give blood a lot, and have all kinds of needles stuck in them. On my chart is going to be the word "Drama Queen". I can see it now. The worse part is I honestly can't help it. I'm a therapist, and I've tried all these relaxation techniques , and frankly, I have to say they don't work. I'd be more relaxed not having the shot or the blood work in the first place.

It's not yet 9am, I'm made fun of for my age, forced to wear a diaper, and almost passed-out several times. I'd like to say that my day got better, but it didn't. The pain in my hip has made it impossible to get comfortable. I can't stand, sit, or lay down without discomfort. Stupid drug did nothing to ease the pain, only made it worse. If this is what it's like at 30, someone please check me out before I turn 90. And people wonder why the elderly complain so much.