GetSheila

10 Things I Just Don't Get

1. Britney Spears


2. Invisible cat hairs that inevitably end up in my eye but that I can't get out because they're invisible
   
3. Why "stupid-looking" must go hand-in-hand with great gas mileage


4. Packrats (Do you really need that ARCO gas receipt from 1973? Mom?)


5. Uggs (Even more disconcerting when worn with shorts in 70+ degree weather)


6. The MommyBlogger controversy


7. Why my pest control service doesn't cover anything that flies


8. People who don't like cats (maybe it's because they have no soul)


9. Reality TV


10. Justin Timberlake

Really, about #10. Someone please tell me what all the fuss is about. I beg you.

Appliance Parade

The new Cooker2006! Ah, the beauty.

The only cleaners allowed to touch the new Cooker2006!

The new Disher2006!

Look! No sticker-upper thing to get in the way when loading big pots. (And notice I added a few dirty utensils for realism. Do you feel like you're THERE? Do ya? Do ya?)

Up...Down. The top rack adjusts to accommodate taller items. Ooh, the excitement!

The Twins

Secret Ouzo-Hider Compartment

Oh, and I guess you could use the other one for laundry stuff.

Please contain your excitement. I know it's hard. Here, think about actually using the appliances...doing laundry...washing dishes...cooking...

BUZZ KILL!

The Hysterectomy Chronicles: Part 5 - Recovery

The best advice anyone gave me about recovering from abdominal surgery came from my cousin Tricia: pillows. Have one with you at all times and hold it against your belly when you walk, laugh, any time you move basically. Have several more in bed to prop you up from all sides plus one under your knees when you’re sleeping. By god it works!

The Hysterectomy Chronicles: Part 4 - Hospital Days 2-3

I’m still woozy on Saturday so I’m not able to get up and walk around like I’m supposed to. All I can do is lie in bed and practice breathing into my toy designed to prevent bedridden patients from getting pneumonia. Unfortunately, I don’t do so well with that thing so I end up laying around obsessing instead. I’m never going to get over being woozy. I won’t be able to get out of bed and walk around. I’ll get a blood clot in my leg that will dislodge and travel to my heart and kill me, or I’ll develop pneumonia and die here all alone. I used to be such a happy person.

The Hysterectomy Chronicles Part 3 - Hospital Day 1

Blech. I feel terrible. Why is my head so woozy? Where am I? Why am I so hot? Why does my stomach hurt? WAA! Oh, hello nurse-looking person. Ah yes, surgery. Hospital. Internal organ amputation. What? You say I look pale? Is that norm...ZZZZZZZZZZZ?

Oh, hello. What time is it? What day is it? Still Friday? You want me to get up? You mean, get up out of bed? Are you insane! Oh, you’re serious. Um, okay. Er, some help here. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ooch. Ouch. Okay, sitting on the edge of the bed. Whew. Stand up? Are you sure about this? But I just got to the edge of the bed here. Isn’t there some sort of mandatory waiting period between episodes of excruciating pain? Okay, here we go…hoo-ah! That wasn’t so bad. I’m standing, anyway. But what’s that funny feeling? Oh, I know. Barf bucket please. Thank you very much. Most kind. I had no idea one could barf and remain standing. How interesting. Walk? You gotta be kidding. Oh, just to that chair two and a half steps away. Okay, I can do that. No big problem. Oh great. I bet you want me to sit in it now while you make my bed. That’s gonna hurt, you know. Dammit. Bitches! I hate all of you! Oh, you’re here to give me a sponge bath. I do feel rather sweaty and icky. Ahhhh…that feels nice.

The Hysterectomy Chronicles: Part 2 - Preparation

I had six weeks to prepare myself for the surgery, but work being what it is, I hadn’t done much in the way of reflection before I found myself sitting in a friend’s car early one Friday morning being transported to the hospital. I thought about wearing my PJ's for the short trip. My doctor had suggested it, in fact, but can you imagine? What if we were involved in some freak accident on the way to the hospital? I can see the headline now: “Tragic Death of Pajama-Clad Woman...Local Asylums Queried.” I opted for drawstring yoga pants and a knit top.

I had been through surgery before (for my tonsils) so I was fairly certain what to expect. Sure enough, a nurse put me in a cotton gown open all the way down the back, slipper-socks with built-in treads (very stylish) and a rather becoming paper hat just like the ones lunch-ladies wear in school cafeterias everywhere. I had never felt prettier. She also strapped industrial-sized massage stockings on my lower legs designed to keep the blood circulating and prevent blood clots. I closed my eyes and pretended I was at a Spa.

The Hysterectomy Chronicles: Part 1 - Diagnosis

When I found out in 2003 that I needed a hysterectomy, I took it pretty much in stride. I had never wanted children, not really. Oh sure, one day I might meet that special man, fall in love, get married, spend a few years traveling the world and then perhaps settle down and have a family. But I was 38 and there was no Prince Charming in sight. In fact, I didn't even hear hoof beats. So, why not? What the hell. Maybe I'd even lose a few pounds in the process.

Once I made the decision, I actually looked forward to it. Sure it's major surgery and I faced the possibility of death, but that sort of thing hardly happens anymore, right? From my perspective, it was all about No More Periods and taking care of my little peeing problem. Not incontinence, as you might suspect, but rather the opposite. If I let my bladder get too full, I simply couldn't "go" until I went through some remarkable toilet seat gymnastics and sometimes had to resort to a warm shower. It would be funny if not for the pain. Imagine you drank a 32-ounce soda an hour ago. You are already feeling the pressure, yet the nearest bathroom is an hour away. When you finally reach it, the pain is unbearable. The relief you expect, however, does not come. Instead, you sit there in pain, wondering how your body could have forgotten how to pee and how the hell you're going to remind it before you go septic and die. In the bathroom. Alone. With your pants down around your ankles.

The Recycling Police

The Recycling Police came by this morning.

It's garbage day and I noticed a guy in a bright yellow reflector vest opening everyone's recycling bin and poking around inside with a long wooden stick. Naturally I discovered a forgotten bag of recycling that needed dumping and wandered outside just as he was getting to my house.

"Hey, whatcha looking for?"

"Contamination, ma'am. But we're just leavings warnings today. No fines yet."

I must have looked shocked because he quickly added, "Yours looks fine, though," and handed me a gold star. Actually it was an info pamphlet, the same one they send with the utility bill telling you what qualifies as garbage vs. recycling vs. green waste, but it felt like getting a gold star from my kindergarten teacher for good behavior. I ran inside and stuck it to the fridge.

Then I made some tea and reminisced about the days I used to gleefully toss styrofoam and greasy pizza boxes into the recycling bin, thinking I was saving the environment. Ah, youth, when you think you know everything and go so far as to get all self-righteous about it. Only years later did I realize I was a complete neo. "The young think that the old are foolish, but the old know that the young are foolish." Heh.

It was a Gay Day in the City

What has parade floats, marching bands, celebrity Grand Marshals, and Dykes on Bikes?

The 2006 San Francisco Gay Pride Parade, of course. The parade is held the last Sunday in June every year. My friend Micky went last year and said it was a hoot! Micky is a people-watcher from way back, so when I found out she was going again this year, of course I tagged along. In addition to two gawking adults, our party included Micky's teenage daughter Liz and Liz's pal Eric.

We drove to Pleasanton, fortifying ourselves at Starbucks along the way, then took BART into the City. Isn't BART just the best? Not only do you avoid driving, and all the fatigue and distraction that goes along with it, but you also get to watch and listen to complete strangers. If you're not a people-watcher, you have no idea what I'm talking about. If you are, isn't it cool when it's bright outside so you can wear your sunglasses and openly stare at people without consequence?

We exited the Embarcadero BART station right on time for the 10:30 kickoff by Dykes on Bikes. Great opening to the parade! They get everyone all excited and silly with their loud motorcycles, leather, and...ahem...costumes. The highlight of our day occurred when one of the parade transvestites took Eric in an inescapable embrace and French-kissed his right ear. It was fascinating and gross all at the same. I just stood there with my mouth open, camera all but forgotten. (Damn that would have been a great shot!) Liz gave an "oh this is icky!" kind of teenager scream and I thought Micky was going to pee her pants she was laughing so hard. Then the trannie was gone just as quickly as he had arrived, Eric wiped the cooties off his ear, and we went on with our day. He's a good egg, that Eric.

I saw a few celebrities: Jennifer Beals, Elvira, Honey Labrador (No, not a porn star. She is the lesbian among three gay men on Queer Eye for a Straight Girl.), and that tiny little actor who played Karen's nemesis on Will & Grace. Ooh, so close to glamour!

All in all, the day was a complete success. Not only did we have a good time, but we all learned something too. I learned that it's okay to reach out and help your fellow man when I saw Micky ask a homeless man if he was hungry, then buy him a couple of burgers. Micky learned that no matter how persistent you are, the young ones always get more beads. Liz learned creepy old men can be found everywhere, including BART. And Eric learned not to stand so close to the parade barricade when trannies are passing by.

Fluff and Buff

Sugar Scrub: a spa procedure where your entire body is scrubbed with sugar mixed with an aromatic essential oil. The fluff actually comes after the buff. Only it's not really a "fluff," more like a "lube" with a bonus hair dishevelment thrown in for free. And it isn't actually your entire body. Let's just say most of my butt is nicely exfoliated while my stomach and boobs are not.

So after the buff, I was coated in tangerine-smelling sugar (felt like sand - euw). Next, I rinsed off under a rainfall shower in my own private shower room. Sweet. Back to the freshly changed bed for the cocoa butter massage with scalp and hand treatment. Now, perhaps I'm spoiled by Cara, who I see regularly for facials and full body massage, because I was a little disappointed with the cocoa butter massage. However, I think the purpose is more about rubbing cocoa butter into your newly exfoliated skin and less about working your muscles. Maybe that's what a relaxing massage is supposed to feel like. Who knew? I did feel all relaxed and sleepy afterwards.

The scalp treatment? Eh. Just a light scalp massage resulting in the aforementioned hair dishevelment. I guess I expected them to massage in some sort of product for the "treatment." False advertising? The hand treatment was equally disappointing: more cocoa butter applied via a very brief massage, then into plastic bags and terrycloth mitts. That's it. You are left to remove the plastic and mitts yourself before you get dressed. "Relax," she tells me. "Take your time." Followed by, "I will be waiting for you in the lobby." Relax? Take my time? Knowing she is waiting for me, she undoubtedly has another appointment after me, and someone else surely needs the room?

Oops, I just realized I am bitching. I don't mean to! It was incredibly relaxing. And my skin is sooooo smooth today. I thank my sister Kate for providing this treat as a Christmas present that I finally (!!) got around to taking advantage of. I will go back again. Oh yes, I will most definitely fluff and buff again.