Death by Guitar

 

My super-hot boyfriend recently tried to kill me with an acoustic Yamaha.

Just kidding. Actually, he was trying to encourage me.  Little did he know… but we’ll see.  See, the guitar is the only instrument that I’ve ever been intimidated by.  I don’t know what it is but I find the whole guitar thing terrifying.  I’m actually starstruck by guitars.  I’m almost afraid to touch them.  I reach out reverently and then pull my fingers away as if the thing is going to bite me.  I’ve owned three and been loaned a fourth.  Maybe the fifth one will be the lucky winner.  Like I said, we’ll see.

I’ve always been able to pretty much pick up an instrument and play it.  That was the way with the piano, the flute, saxophone, even the trumpet.  String instruments though, they seem so…  intimidating.  I can see how you bang on a piano key and make a note.  It’s not that hard,  then you just string them together and you’ve got a song.  Most instruments I’ve been around look so simple;  you just blow into them a certain way and move your fingers over certain holes and you’ve got music.  The guitar however, seems so personal.  Almost sexual. There’s something so intimate about the way a person’s hands and fingers move, how the instrument itself is against your body, the position in which it’s held.  I think I know it’s one thing I can’t fake.  Maybe I want it so bad that I’m afraid that I’ll suck.  Maybe God is trying to warn me that I have no talent.  Maybe I’ve just psyched myself out.  Either way,  there is a beautiful guitar in my closet that I’m afraid to touch. It might kill me….  but then again,  it might not.

There is a difference this time. Someone handed me this one,  so he must assume I’m worthy.  Every other time, I’ve felt like a poser…    This time it’s different.  Someone other than myself believes in me.  I love him for that.  It also feels more casual, like someone saying “you can totally learn to drive a stick shift-  here, try it out”.  There’s a trust and confidence there, so I’m going to go for it.  I won’t say I’m going to ‘run for it’…  I’ll probably continue to circle around it a bit until I feel my inhibitions fade,  but I’m going to give it another shot. 

It’s not like it’s going to kill me…

Test Drivin’

I like big vehicles.  I love to drive them.  I once held a CDL liscense and drove semis as a very odd part of my job as ’sales assistant’.  I’m a pretty awesome driver, I have to say,  and if presented today with the gift of an Escalade or even an F150, I’d be all over that shit faster than you can say ‘zoom-zoom’.   (Which, on another note, is one of the best marketing campaigns ever! Can you imagine how much the ‘zoom-zoom’ creator has made for that idea?  I’m thinking meeting with boss,  guy has totally forgotten that he has to present his new campaign idea by 8am Monday morning… arrives at the office strung out after along weekend, gets to said meeting. The boss says “what you got for me, junior?” and the guy panics a little bit, twitches in his chair and says the first thing that comes to mind. “Zoom-Zoom.” . “Brilliant!”, says the boss.  “Really?” says junior. Seriously,  zoom-zoom.)

And back to this big car discussion.  Huge, expensive, gas-guzzling SUVs are everywhere these days.  There is actually a mom with onechild who drops her daughter off each day at our pre-school in a Hummer.  Extreme? I thought so at first. Lately, I’ve begun to suspect that she just wants to be the biggest and baddest mom on the road.  Who can blame her?  If I could afford the car and the gas, maybe I’d be matchy-matchy with Hummer Mommy- who knows?  

I risk life and limb daily in the pre-school parking lot.  I drive a ‘crossover vehicle’,  not quite a sedan and not quite a wagon and not quite an SUV.  I’m the smallest fish in the parking lot sea.  I know, I know, size doesn’t matter, but actually it does in this situation. Think ‘rock-paper-scissors’.

If you can safely drive your Tahoe, Hummer, Escalade or Suburban, by all means- Rock It!   My issue is that the vast majority of women (gasp- yes, I’m bitching about women drivers)cannot drive their vehicles without putting others at risk.  I get it,  it’s a big machine, you’ve got kids, coffee, your ipod, DVD player and your crackberry to deal with.  That’s a tall order.  As it would be futile to expect the driver to rid themselves of these ‘necessary’ distractions,  all I ask is that you prove your worth before you drive your tank. 

I have an answer.   We all took a road test at some point…. usually around the tender age of 16, back when nothing was more crucial than the number of car lengths between you and the other guy,  turn signal use was a sacred ritual and EVERYONE ELSE had the right away!  Is it too much to ask that in order to have a valid licence,  a person should have to pass a driving test in the size/type of vehicle they actually plan to drive?   I think it’s a great idea.  The sale of any vehicle larger than a 4 door sedan should automatically prompt a legal obligation to take that new monster down to the DMV and show your stuff.   Parallel parking a Suburban is exponentially more difficult than executing the same maneuver in a 2-door Dodge Neon.  

Just to be fair,  the Hummer Mommy is a decent driver it seems; at least she hasn’t come close to killing me or my child yet. In contrast,  I see a Mommy execute a 13 freaking point turn every morning in her Tahoe.   It’s disturbing.  My only request-  learn to drive that shit!

Contact me regarding my brilliance?

Seriously, maybe I’m missing something here… but I assumed there was a way to click and email me through my blog. It’s conceiveable that you’re reading this and want to say something without leaving it as a public comment. I just added a ‘page’ with contact info.  Send me an email. janedavisblogs@gmail.com
Don’t worry, my name isn’t really jane davis. A girl’s gotta have an alias if she’s gonna pour her heart out on the internet, right?

The Murkey Waters of the Doctor-on-Call

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged, but the combination of feeling like a jerk and the extra time I have on my hands being up with my sick baby is forcing the issue.  I have an incredible amount of respect for the physicians in our life and the last thing I want to do is to bother them or be inappropriate.  I will admit, that I’m more likely to page a doctor when it is about my daughter because, well… it’s about my daughter.  As a mom, I don’t always know what to do when it comes to her illnesses.  A lot of times these things are still firsts for me.  Having a sick baby is always a little scary.

Everyone knows that you can have a doctor paged if the office is closed; the question is how do you know when it is appropriate?  I mean, a true EMERGENCY to me means ‘go to the emergency room’.  Usually, the message states to press ‘0’ if the call is ‘urgent’.  Is it just me or is there a lot of wiggle room in the word ‘urgent’?  The ‘doctor on call’ thing is always murky water at best but last night I felt like what started out as a swamp turned into a sparkling pool, making me look like a total ass and disturbing an innocent (and obviously sleeping) MD.   Camille has been feeling icky for ten days but just seemed to be a combination of allergies and maybe a run of the mill cold until about 48 hours ago.  Friday evening, she developed a fever and her cough worsened.  Friday night, she was unable to sleep because her cough and stuffy nose were so bad.  The good-old Triaminic wasn’t helping so I went out in the middle of the night for some Delsym (plug/ding! This is some good OTC cough stuff for kids and adults- check dosing and my blog disclaimer relieving me of any responsibility).  The Deslym was completely ineffective.  Poor thing kept getting up and saying things like “Mommy, I’m having a little bit of trouble here.  I have some real problems.” 

Thankfully, my pediatrician’s office has Saturday urgent care hours so we were ready and waiting when they opened their doors at 8:30am yesterday morning.  We saw an amazing doctor- which is par for the course at our practice- and Camille was diagnosed with an ear infection and given antibiotics.  We also got a sample of something that I call “Mazel Tov” (I don’t remember the name but I was happy to get it) that was a combo cough med/ decongestant/antihistamine.  I’m not sure if it was OTC or an RX sample, but I was very hopeful that we would get some relief from the cough.  Oh, and we got an Ariel sticker, which is a huge deal.  We spent the day snuggling and reading and listening to music and watching some movies, just being ‘sick’.  Classically, Camille didn’t so much as doze off even though she barely slept the night before.  We got her to bed just before 9pm and the coughing became awful.  We had the humidifier going and kept propping her up on her pillows but her cough got so bad that she was gagging and was totally worn out.  At 10pm, I asked Dave if he thought we should call the doctor.  He said no.  Around 11pm, she was hacking up a lung, gagging like crazy, unable to rest and Dave was handing me the phone.  Her fever wasn’t bad, and she wasn’t wheezing, she just had a bad cough, but it seemed reasonable to call the doctor.  I figured that I had done everything I was supposed to- taken her in that morning, given the right meds, humidifier, even the saline spray and that there was a possibility that something stronger could be prescribed for her cough so that she could get some rest.  This is my first Mommy experience with a really bad cough, so I have no idea what can be prescribed for a 3 year old.  I called the service and they said they would page a doctor.

90 minutes later, it’s late and Camille is finally so exhausted that she’s kind of sleeping and we haven’t heard back (very unusual- we’ve had to page with high fever before and always had quick response).  I called again and was told that the doctors are calling back as fast as they can.  I said that my call wasn’t as urgent as others may be and could wait till morning but was told that they could not take it out of the queue.  If you have kids (and if you don’t, you’re probably not interested enough to still be reading this) then you probably know the drill- you page the doctor and a nurse calls and asks you a bunch of scripted questions and then the doctor calls you.  I forgot about that part.  At 1:30am a nurse calls me and asks me questions that although I understand are important, seem ridiculous (God help the child whose mother answers “yes” to these two hours after paging a doctor!!).  “Is she blue?”,  “Is she limp and unresponsive?”, “Has she stopped breathing?”.  Like I said,  I get it, I do, but I also know when to take my baby to the Emergency Room or to call an ambulance (blue/ not breathing).  So she spends all of this time asking me these and I’m saying “really, it’s just a bad cough. I called hours ago and just wanted to know if she could have something stronger.”.  Next thing I know the nurse is off the line and the phone is ringing again.  It’s nearly 2am and some pediatrician that thankfully I have never met has been woken up from what sounds like a very sound sleep to call me about my child’s cough which has been a bit better for several hours at this point.  This is the point where I feel like a total ass.  I clearly do NOT have an emergency at this point.  I have a child who has a diagnosed ear infection and is being treated for it.  The doctor was very gracious.  He did not think there was any need for her to be on any stronger medication.  He suggested that we keep doing what we’ve been doing.  Even writing about this I feel horrible again for waking this guy up!  I mean really,  what may have been reasonable at 10-11pm “my child’s cough is so bad that she’s gagging- is there anything more I can do for her?” was ridiculous to ALL OF US at 2am.  So, I suppose the lesson I have learned here is that paging doctors is like swimming in murky water…  it’s hard to know when and if it’s a good idea.  Or perhaps the lesson is just that as a parent, you do what you think is best at the time and sometimes you’ll come out smelling like roses and other times…    well we just keep on keeping on and remember to be thankful that some blessed souls went to medical school and have agreed to have a job that includes being awakened by overdramatic mommies in the middle of the night.

 

Strawberry-Kiwi- who’s responsible for this mess?

Okay,  peanut and chocolate- check.  Marshmallows, graham crackers and Hersey bars- check.  Strawberries and chocolate- check.  Cheesecake and Cherries- fine.  Melted cheese and bread- fantastic. But who the hell decided that strawberries and kiwi were better together than alone?  I, personally don’t see any merit in this combination.  I like strawberries, and have no problem with kiwi, although to me they seem like they are just a slimy green fuzz-fruit that only wishes it could be a strawberry instead.  By the way, is kiwi both singular and plural,  or is it ‘kiwis’?  The point is, I am really wishing that just once, I could buy a beverage or something that is simply strawberry flavored.  Leave the kiwi out of the equation for once.  No one seems to though.  It seems that someone out there decided that these two were destined to be together. Forever.   I don’t get it. Strawberry-Kiwi, Strawberry-Kiwi, Strawberry-freaking-Kiwi.  Seriously folks.  Seriously.

Clean FEEL, not Clean CLEAN

 

As a mom,  I understand my responsibilities to protect my daughter from all forms of harm, including but not limited to protecting her precious virginal skin from harmful UV rays and other environmental hazards.  One of the most difficult tasks for me, is to protect her from itchies, aka, mosquito bites.  It seems that I am not the only one who thinks my baby is extra sweet.  These pests are drawn to her like, well, you know.  There is hardly anything more heart-wrenching that waking in the middle of the night to find that your daughter is helplessly clawing at her legs in her sleep,  in a futile attempt to stop the maddening itch from mosquito bites.  After-bite solutions sting and thus have become like dreaded monsters in our house.  Cortisone cream helps,  but takes a lot of careful maneuvering and spy tactics to get it applied.  Basically, prevention is key.  Especially since these little shits not only pack a serious bite,  but can also be filled like a birthday pinata with diseases ranging from malaria (okay not so likely) to West Nile Virus (a real danger).

I despise bug repellent.  Hate it.  I hate the sticky feel,  the smell, the act of applying it, the fact that it’s loaded with chemicals strong enough to repel even the most willful biting fly or mosquito.  I’ve tried the natural repellents and they just seem to lure the bugs even more.  So every summer, I have to squirt chemicals on my child in order to protect her as a good mother should.  Seems a bit ironic, doesn’t it?

This year, I bought a new product. It is called OFF clean feel.  I have to admit, it has no odor and leaves no sticky, weird residue.  The jury is still out on whether or not the actual mosquito repelling properties are what they claim, but I want to say it’s been effective so far.  So last night,  I was looking at the bottle and thought to myself how naive I would be to feel better about applying this rather than the old school type.  I mean, the name says it right there, CLEAN FEEL.  Not Clean,  Clean FEEL.  So it’s just as much a chemical wonderland as the other stuff,  except for magically the company has designed a way (probably using more chemicals) to get rid of the horrible smell and feel of the original.  It dos not claim to be a natural repellent,  same active ingredients, except now I don’t have this horrendous smell to remind me to wash this stuff off of us as soon as possible.  Now we smell and feel clean.

I find this a bit disturbing but have not yet decided on an alternative that still allows us to play outside.  Perhaps my neighbors could treat their koi pond for mosquitoes or something,  or cut down some of the wild jungle brush around the side of the house…  but that’s another blog. 

 

* photos used, of course, without permission.

The Smelly Truth About Splenda

                                                                                

So I’ve beena fan of Splenda since conception.  As in, “since the conception of Splenda” , not of myself of course.   I was really a die-hard fan,  trying to spread the word to everyone I knew.  I swear, the stuff tasted just like sugar to me,  and I really like sugar.  The only difference I always noticed was with coffee.  I like it black with lots of sugar, and although Splenda tastes the same, coffee with Splenda is lacking in texture.  I think Sugar makes it a bit syrupy and yummy.  Until recently though, coffee was the only thing I preferred sugar in over Splenda.  Then things changed.

I had gastric bypass surgery a few months ago and the first thing I noticed was that things tasted different.  Things that used to taste good to me, suddenly tasted odd or even bad.  One of those immediate taste changes I noticed was with Splenda.  It suddenly tastes less like sugar and more like chemicals.  I still used it,  but have not been as satisfied with it.  Today I made a pitcher of tea and was out of Spenda,  so instead of adding the Splenda while the tea was still warm, I put it in the fridge until I could go buy some more sweetener.  Later, when I went to sweeten the tea, it made sense to me to add some warm water to the Splenda to dissolve it and then add that mixture to the pitcher of tea.  When I added the water, I was accosted by a horrendous smell,  very similar to that of paramsean! That stinky feet sort of smell.  It was absolutely discusting.  I was freaked.  I put it in the tea, hoping that it would taste like dirty feet and I would be able to chaulk it up to a bad batch of Splenda or something.  Nope,  it tastes just like it always does.

Now I don’t know what kind of chemical reaction happened to produce that smell,  but I’m thinking I don’t want it happening in my 98.6 degree body.  I’m totally freaked out.  I can’t have sugar since my surgery and I have tried Stevia and find it replulsive, so other than going back to pink or blue carcinogen-in-a-packet sweeteners, I’m up a creek…  without my Splenda.

What I didn’t know, killed them.

   

 

I’m a sucker for earthworms.  Nightcrawlers.  Bait worms.  Whatever you call them,  they tug at my heart when I see their slick little bodies trying to navigate our rough, cruel asphalt.  I honestly don’t know why I love worms, but obviously from my reaction when I encounter one,  I am a true softy. 

 

Last night it rained, and while walking my dog this morning I noticed that there were no worms to be found.  They may have been hiding from me.  See, more than 10 years ago, there was a time when I was a real-life worm assassin.  The thing is, I didn’t know better.  My college had the biggest, fattest worms I have ever seen.  Every time it rained, the walkways were covered with them.  You can well imagine that many got trampled and I hated that and spent a great deal of time trying to avoid causing a single worm such a tragic demise.  One day, in particular, I was late for class and there were worms everywhere.  It was raining so hard that the ground was a giant puddle.  I started picking up worms and tossing them back in the grass.  I became quite obsessive about it.  Felt like I was doing something good for worm-kind.  I actually missed my class that day because I was determined to move as many worms as possible.

Later, much later, I found out the sad truth.  I wa sinquiring as to why earthwoms come out when it rains,  ratherthan stay put and enjoy the wetness.  It turns out that they come out to keep from drowning.  When the ground it saturated,  they can’t breathe.  Who knew?

A Cosmo Girl, I’m Not.

I was prepared for a long day as I entered the hospital gift shop looking for something to read.  I was also distracted by the fact that my dad was in surgery and therefore,  just wanted anything to take my mind off things.  Somehow,  I emerged with the latest issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine.  Not usually my style at all.  I probably haven’t read Cosmo since High School nearly 15 years ago.  I remember all of the hoopla some years back that resulted in the stores having to put Cosmo behind secretive cover at the store,  so I guess I figured at the very least, I would get some racy sex advice or something.

Now, at 32, I’m pretty sure that I’m above the target demographic for this rag,  but even when I put myself back in my 20-something shoes,  I was floored by how ridiculous this entire publication was.  However, a friend once told me that you learn something new every day, so I think I’ll bite.  Here’s what I learned from Cosmo.  (I’ll sum it up so that you don’t have to read it yourself)…

I learned that it’s perfectly normal for my boobs, affectionately referred to as ‘the girls’ by the way, to be lumpy, squishy, or saggy and that these phenomena might happen alternately,  all at once or not at all and that it is also perfectly aceptable for my areolas to be any size from quarter-sized to the size of a saucer and that they might red, pink, brown, purple, black or anything in-between.  (Phew!)  Next, I learned that guys like it when you do swirly things with your tongue as the ‘big finish’.  You think?  Hmm..  oh one of my favorites was a little blurb explaining what a guy’s sheets say about him.  According to this,  my guy must fit into one of these three categories.  A.) plain, and inexpensive sheets.  This indicates that my guy is boring and cheap and that he’s not likely to surprise me in or out of the bedroom.  B.) if his sheets are satiny and sexy, he’s a player. or c.) if his bedroom linens are coordinated, his mom probably bought them for him and he’ll expect me to take care of him the same way.  Hmm…  Maybe I’m nuts,  but I couldn’t think of any guys I had known when I was dating who had satin sheets,  remember some pretty good lovin on some fairly plain bedding and figured that it was pretty normal for a mom to buy linens as a gift for her son.  I can’t decide which one is preferable.  In another feature,  I read that guys like to be touched in public and that guys hate it when their girls touch them in public.  I assume they are indicating the obvious,  that different guys like different levels of PDA,  but couldn’t figure out why they published an article that contradicted itself.

I’m excited to find a $225 cheaper option for the $2500 tunic top that’s so hot for this season.  Now I can afford the $1,995 green espadrilles.

You know what, this blog is as lame as that magazine was.  I can’t go on.

ConFUZEd… How do they make it taste so bad?

Maybe you’ve seen them…  bright, summery-labeled bottles of what promises to be vitamin-rich, fruity refreshment by the name Fuze.  These drinks seem to be showcased in every store I go to lately.  Several months ago,  I tried a tropical flavor of the low-cal Slenderize Fuze drinks,  lured by the picture of a yummy coconut on the label.  I have a weakness for all things pina-colada or coconut.  I threw the drink out after about 3 disappointing sips.  Since then, I have seen very attractive FUZE drink displays all over town and have even heard friends say that they are snapping the bottles up because they ‘look so good’.  So the other day, I shelled out a little over $2 for yet another 18oz bottle of Fuze Slenderize,  this time in Straw-berry Melon.  It’s been waiting for me in my fridge,  looking all cool and delicious.  Finally, tonight I decided it was time for my melony treat.

The first thing I noticed, something which I found very off-putting, was the ridiculous warning on the top of the bottle.  Along with the standard, Do Not Drink If Safety Button Does Not Pop, was the following cautionary line:  Inspect Bottle For Signs Of Breakage Before Drinking.   What?  Are they serious?  By the time I’m holding a glass bottle full of cold liquid,  I think I’m going to notice if the thing is freaking broken.  If the blood oozing out a cut on my fingers from the jagged broken glass doesn’t clue me in,  surely either the beverage itself running down my hand or the total lack of liquid in the bottle, as a result of the break in the glass will.  I mean, really!

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, the drink was once again so terrible that it went down the sink rather than down my throat.  Even a lover of diet drinks such as myself could not force it down.  This drink tastes like dishwater with a slight fruit-like (it’s a stretch) flavor, with a metallic aftertaste that lingers.  A broken and thus, empty bottle would have been an improvement,  or even a cut on the hand would have been more enjoyable than consuming even a teeny bit of this foul stuff.

Pretty bottle.  Pretty dumb warning label. Pretty disgusting stuff.