There are a wide variety of immunizations that people get. Some when they are young. Some every season. Whether it's the flu shot, polio vaccine or tuberculosis innoculation, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
I don't buy it.
Years ago, my mother received a flu shot, had an allergic reaction and became paralyzed from the waist down. Though she can walk like a toddler now, the long-term effects more than outweighed any flu symptoms she could have incurred.
Ever since that day, I've been a little skeptical of vaccinations. I would have rather had the flu thandeal with life-long complications. That's like prescription drug commercials: Have a chronic 'going' problem? Take our little blue pill. Side effects might be skin rash, nausea, irritable bowels...spontaneous combustion. But, as long as you don't pee yourself in public, all is right with the world.
Last week I had a TB shot. I waited the 72 hours to get my test results. They came back negative (obviously, or I would probably be taking a little pill that gave me the runs, preventing me from writing this blog). A couple days after my negative results, my arm started feeling heavy and there was a small, red ring where I was administered the shot. It looked like I had ringworm.
On Monday, I told my husband I didn't feel well (he's heard that so many times, I'm surprised I even solicited a reaction from him). He told me to get a good night's rest and I'd probably feel better in the morning.
I got up in the middle of the night - as I typically do (one would think I have a 'going' problem) - and couldn't feel my legs. I could barely make it to the toilet. Every muscle ached, my feet felt numb. But, I didn't want to wake my husband, so I went back to bed thinking it would go away.
When we got up the next morning, I stumbled downstairs to feed the dogs. I could barely stumble back up. I went to lay back down and barely remember anything after that.
I could hear my husband try to wake me up. I couldn't respond. Opening my mouth took too much effort. I couldn't walk. I couldn't stand. I couldn't even put my shoes on. That's when we knew we had to go to the Emergency Room.
I called work and slurred that I wouldn't be in and then I zoned out in the car. When we reached the hospital, my husband carried my sore, achey body through the doors. As we passed by two employees - engrossed in their own conversation - nobody rushed to help us. They kept on chatting away. It is so NOT like it is on television, where a handsome George Clooney comes rushing to the patient's aid.
After 12 hours of IVs, MRIs, multiple blood draws and no food - I was ready to go. Though the doctors wanted to admit me for more tests, I had had enough. I could finally stumble my way out. If I could walk...I was walking out the door.
What was the culprit? Stress. Stress from the TB shot, not TB. Stress from work. Stress from my everyday life. And what does stress do to your body boys and girls? Wipes out your Vitamin B level. Whereas the normal level for a woman my age is more than 200...mine was at about 30.
So, now I'm taking vitamin B complex ultra, super-strength gel caps to boost my energy level. I hope they don't give me the runs...because then I'd have more reason to stress and teh cycle would continue!
Monica Stoneking
Friday, May 21, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Big 3-NOOOOOO
Everyone reacts to birthdays in a different way. Some refuse to celebrate the reminder that they aren't getting any younger. Others like to shout it from the rooftops no matter the age. Some spiral into a deep depression when they hit thirty while others wait until the big four-zero before plummeting into a mid-life crisis.
My good friend turned 30 this weekend and I was reminded of my thirtieth birthday (spoiler alert - break out the violins).
I love birthdays. I think because I always had to share mine with my sister, I've always wanted people to make a big deal out of mine. Nobody has yet, but I figure I've got 50 good years left in me.
On my 16th birthday, I knew not to get my hopes up for a new car, a used car, or even access to a car. But, I was still excited because it was a turning point, validating my legality in being able to drive a car. But, there was no big family party, no mentions really, of my birthday at all. My brother and sister were away at college and I honestly think my parents forgot.
For my 21st birthday, I had to work. By the time I got home, my two college roommates were already hammered and didn't feel like going out. I had to hold their hair back while they puked everything out. I waited three weeks before celebrating with some friends in Kansas City - and got hammered off of one tequila shot (it was a REALLY big shot).
For my 30th birthday, I was hoping for a big shebang. Nothing. There was no surprise party. No bells and whistles. In fact, my husband and I invited a lot of people to meet us at a local bar to celebrate the milestone. Long in short - and very pathetic - nobody showed up.
As the years pass, excitement for my birthday dwindles. I've learned to keep my expectations low and not hold out for anything spectacular. Like clockwork, I'll receive a magazine subscription in the mail from my parents, calls from the siblings and cards from friends. As long as I have my husband and kiddos to 'celebrate' with, all is good on the birthday front.
Too all of those who think their lives are over at 30, I have to say, you're life is just beginning. The thirties have brought such happiness in my life. I'm married. I own a home. I have a great job. I have two canine companions. I have true friends. I have grown up and have learned to appreciate life.
You're only as young as you act and feel. Never 'act your age'. I may be in my thirties...but, I don't necessarily act it.
Wisdom comes with age. What I thought was the end of the world at the age of 16 wouldn't even be a blip on my radar today. Through the years I have learned how to love, who my true friends are and I have learned who I truly am and who I strive to be.
Sure, it's unfair that men get better looking as they get older and women get...saggier. But, I believe that beauty comes from within. I may have more wrinkles. I may have more gray hairs. I may have more sags. And I may have more desire for cat naps in the middle of the day. But, I wouldn't change a thing because every wrinkle, every scar, every gray hair has a story behind it.
So, to my wonderful friend who just turned the big 3-0 --- Congratulations! You have entered the best time of your life. A time when ever-present gray hairs, wrinkles, sagginess and exhaustion is a thing to celebrate not fear!
My good friend turned 30 this weekend and I was reminded of my thirtieth birthday (spoiler alert - break out the violins).
I love birthdays. I think because I always had to share mine with my sister, I've always wanted people to make a big deal out of mine. Nobody has yet, but I figure I've got 50 good years left in me.
On my 16th birthday, I knew not to get my hopes up for a new car, a used car, or even access to a car. But, I was still excited because it was a turning point, validating my legality in being able to drive a car. But, there was no big family party, no mentions really, of my birthday at all. My brother and sister were away at college and I honestly think my parents forgot.
For my 21st birthday, I had to work. By the time I got home, my two college roommates were already hammered and didn't feel like going out. I had to hold their hair back while they puked everything out. I waited three weeks before celebrating with some friends in Kansas City - and got hammered off of one tequila shot (it was a REALLY big shot).
For my 30th birthday, I was hoping for a big shebang. Nothing. There was no surprise party. No bells and whistles. In fact, my husband and I invited a lot of people to meet us at a local bar to celebrate the milestone. Long in short - and very pathetic - nobody showed up.
As the years pass, excitement for my birthday dwindles. I've learned to keep my expectations low and not hold out for anything spectacular. Like clockwork, I'll receive a magazine subscription in the mail from my parents, calls from the siblings and cards from friends. As long as I have my husband and kiddos to 'celebrate' with, all is good on the birthday front.
Too all of those who think their lives are over at 30, I have to say, you're life is just beginning. The thirties have brought such happiness in my life. I'm married. I own a home. I have a great job. I have two canine companions. I have true friends. I have grown up and have learned to appreciate life.
You're only as young as you act and feel. Never 'act your age'. I may be in my thirties...but, I don't necessarily act it.
Wisdom comes with age. What I thought was the end of the world at the age of 16 wouldn't even be a blip on my radar today. Through the years I have learned how to love, who my true friends are and I have learned who I truly am and who I strive to be.
Sure, it's unfair that men get better looking as they get older and women get...saggier. But, I believe that beauty comes from within. I may have more wrinkles. I may have more gray hairs. I may have more sags. And I may have more desire for cat naps in the middle of the day. But, I wouldn't change a thing because every wrinkle, every scar, every gray hair has a story behind it.
So, to my wonderful friend who just turned the big 3-0 --- Congratulations! You have entered the best time of your life. A time when ever-present gray hairs, wrinkles, sagginess and exhaustion is a thing to celebrate not fear!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The Tale of Two Working Girls
Everyone has their own definition of a 'working girl'. I tend to lean more toward the Harrison Ford/Melanie Griffith movie-version of the title. Others may lean toward the female American Gigolo version of the label. Regardless, a working girl makes money, whether it's donning a pin-striped suit for business or answering to a man in a pin-striped suit for business.
Last week, I made a trip to the booming metropolis of Flint, MI for business (why else, really, would people travel there?). I stayed overnight in a hotel I got off of Priceline - nice plug. I've had bad experiences with hotels - contracting bed bugs from a shady bungalow in the Thumb area - but I needed to save money and put in my bid.
I was estatic when The Baymont Inn & Suites took my bid. They're a national chain. I've never had a bad experience with them, and the original room rate was for more than $100. What could possibly go wrong.
I got in on Thursday night to meet a co-worker at the hotel and sat on a small, quaint bench right outside the lobby to wait for her. As soon as my butt hit the wood paneling, I was accosted by a very drunk, self-proclaimed millionaire and war vet. He wore a Hawaian shirt and cargo shorts, accented by a farmer-style ball-cap which displayed all of his medals. Here is the conversation:
"Damn. You are beautiful," he slurred to the best of his ability.
No response. Minimal eye contact from me.
"Do you know who I am? I'm a war vet."
"Well, thank you for your service," I said as I tried to dodge his flying spit.
"Oh, it's too late for that. It was 40 years ago. This country sucks." He was pretty defensive as he continued to encroach my limited space.
"Well, I wasn't around 40 years ago, so thanks anyway."
He then proceeded on a long tirade about how he was meeting two girls at the hotel that night. His wife didn't know. He lived in Mexico (afterall, he HATES America). He's a millionaire who invented NASA or something. And then he looked in my eyes (or tried to) and stated once again that I was beautiful.
Just then, my co-worker arrived. I was relieved. I didn't want to be rude, but I needed windshield wipers to hold a conversation with him and a breathalizer test when the conversation was over. As I turned to greet her, a huge glob of something landed on my leg and Mr. Drunk Man tried to wipe it off. Needless to say, I jumped up and declared that we were late for a meeting.
He still didn't leave. So, we went inside the hotel and the clerk asked if he was bothering me and I asked that if my room was anywhere near his, I wanted to be relocated. No need. She called the cops and had him escorted out. Guess he wouldn't be able to meet his two lady friends after all.
Seeing as I had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to do a live radio interview, I left my room at 5 a.m. and headed to my car. Coming out at the same time was a group of ladies sporting fishnet stockings and hoochie mama attire.
As they held the door open for me (very polite) I overhead, "Dang girl...THAT was a workout." Mental note - they just got finished working.
I began loading my car when a decked-out pimp mobile cruised by with two young men scouting the parking lot.
"Damn girl, you a working girl?" With the ladies of the night nowhere in sight, I felt obligated to answer him.
"Um, I think you and I have two different definitions of what a working girl is," I replied with as much nonchalance as possible. I wasn't scared, just annoyed.
"Well you sure are fine. You married?"
"Yes."
"Where he at?"
"Inside, packing up the rest of the stuff." (Lie)
"You faithful?"
"Yes."
"Damn girl. You are fine. If you ever decide to be unfaithful..."
"Have a good morning."
When I got in my car, I didn't know whether to feel complimented...or dirty. I started second-guessing my conservative suit. Did it look slutty? Only if one thinks Laura Bush or Hillary Clinton look like hookers too.
I decided to take the comments from drunken, anti-American spitter and Pimp-Daddy, creepy guy in stride. While they could never hold a candle to my husband, who compliments me daily, they've got me thinking - if this whole job thing doesn't work out...perhaps I could make it as a 'working girl' (in Flint).
Last week, I made a trip to the booming metropolis of Flint, MI for business (why else, really, would people travel there?). I stayed overnight in a hotel I got off of Priceline - nice plug. I've had bad experiences with hotels - contracting bed bugs from a shady bungalow in the Thumb area - but I needed to save money and put in my bid.
I was estatic when The Baymont Inn & Suites took my bid. They're a national chain. I've never had a bad experience with them, and the original room rate was for more than $100. What could possibly go wrong.
I got in on Thursday night to meet a co-worker at the hotel and sat on a small, quaint bench right outside the lobby to wait for her. As soon as my butt hit the wood paneling, I was accosted by a very drunk, self-proclaimed millionaire and war vet. He wore a Hawaian shirt and cargo shorts, accented by a farmer-style ball-cap which displayed all of his medals. Here is the conversation:
"Damn. You are beautiful," he slurred to the best of his ability.
No response. Minimal eye contact from me.
"Do you know who I am? I'm a war vet."
"Well, thank you for your service," I said as I tried to dodge his flying spit.
"Oh, it's too late for that. It was 40 years ago. This country sucks." He was pretty defensive as he continued to encroach my limited space.
"Well, I wasn't around 40 years ago, so thanks anyway."
He then proceeded on a long tirade about how he was meeting two girls at the hotel that night. His wife didn't know. He lived in Mexico (afterall, he HATES America). He's a millionaire who invented NASA or something. And then he looked in my eyes (or tried to) and stated once again that I was beautiful.
Just then, my co-worker arrived. I was relieved. I didn't want to be rude, but I needed windshield wipers to hold a conversation with him and a breathalizer test when the conversation was over. As I turned to greet her, a huge glob of something landed on my leg and Mr. Drunk Man tried to wipe it off. Needless to say, I jumped up and declared that we were late for a meeting.
He still didn't leave. So, we went inside the hotel and the clerk asked if he was bothering me and I asked that if my room was anywhere near his, I wanted to be relocated. No need. She called the cops and had him escorted out. Guess he wouldn't be able to meet his two lady friends after all.
Seeing as I had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to do a live radio interview, I left my room at 5 a.m. and headed to my car. Coming out at the same time was a group of ladies sporting fishnet stockings and hoochie mama attire.
As they held the door open for me (very polite) I overhead, "Dang girl...THAT was a workout." Mental note - they just got finished working.
I began loading my car when a decked-out pimp mobile cruised by with two young men scouting the parking lot.
"Damn girl, you a working girl?" With the ladies of the night nowhere in sight, I felt obligated to answer him.
"Um, I think you and I have two different definitions of what a working girl is," I replied with as much nonchalance as possible. I wasn't scared, just annoyed.
"Well you sure are fine. You married?"
"Yes."
"Where he at?"
"Inside, packing up the rest of the stuff." (Lie)
"You faithful?"
"Yes."
"Damn girl. You are fine. If you ever decide to be unfaithful..."
"Have a good morning."
When I got in my car, I didn't know whether to feel complimented...or dirty. I started second-guessing my conservative suit. Did it look slutty? Only if one thinks Laura Bush or Hillary Clinton look like hookers too.
I decided to take the comments from drunken, anti-American spitter and Pimp-Daddy, creepy guy in stride. While they could never hold a candle to my husband, who compliments me daily, they've got me thinking - if this whole job thing doesn't work out...perhaps I could make it as a 'working girl' (in Flint).
Sunday, May 9, 2010
If Leap Year Came Around More Often
I've never met a Leap Year baby. Is it true that they can say they are 10 years old when they reach 40? I don't lie about my age (though I've been told I look - and act - a lot younger than my years) but, it would be wonderful to have a valid excuse for claiming that I was 21 when, in fact, I'm not.
I hear that Leap Year babies can celebrate their birthdays the day before or the day after February 29 if it is a normal year. I would choose the date that fell on a weekend...no explanation necessary.
This past weekend, I watched the movie Leap Year. I learned that it is an Irish myth that a woman can propose to a man on Leap Day. Apparently the Irish haven't entered the 21st century. And if they have, the movie industry hasn't read up on Irish tales. I mean, women propose to men all the time these days...and why not? But, the fact that there is a big enough stigma still lingering on that notion to have a motion picture made about an American girl's travel to Ireland to propose to her boyfriend is...well, sad.
Sadder than the stigma of female to male proposals is the movie that was written about it. Don't get me wrong, Leap Day was a cute movie. The writers and directors did as much as they could with such a weak storyline. It was supposed to be romantic:
Boy takes girl out on their 4-year anniversary. Boy gives girl...nope...not an engagement ring...earrings. Boy then leaves for work in another country. Girl ponders this and instead of telling the guy how she really feels, she decides to let him leave. THEN she managed to book a flight (because those are really cheap) and travel thousands of miles to propose because her drunk father told her that it was still acceptable to propose to him on Leap Day.
Obstacles and intended-hilarity ensues. Girl meets a local in her travels. She finally makes it to her boyfriend who wasn't at all worried that she not only booked this last minute flight but also didn't show up when she said she would. Instead, he embraced her as her male travel companion looked on and THEN he proposed.
Blah blah blah.
Apparently two days spent with a wooly stranger was enough to question her love for the man she agreed to marry. So, all of a sudden we see her in a cafe waiting for her Irish love interest. Surprises him. Expects him to drop everything for her because she traveled (once again) thousands of miles to see a man.
Maybe she has a great-paying job that she can afford all these hair-brained trips. Maybe she already dated everyone in the States. Maybe she hasn't found a good therapist that can talk her through her self esteem issues.
Long in short, don't waste your money on a rental. If you spent money on Leap Day in the theatre, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for you because you can't get your money back. If you haven't seen it, wait until it plays every day on Lifetime or Oxygen and you're sitting at home with nothing else on but 90210 reruns on SoapNet.
Right after this train wreck of a movie, we lept into Avatar. I give it an A for special effects. But I have a hard time understanding a universe where a human falls in love with a blue alien...so much so that he wants to become one. It was uncomfortable watching potential beastiality occur. Maybe I lost the ability to have a convention of disbelief agreement on romance after watching Leap Day.
I'll probably watch Avatar again - my husband thinks it's 'own-worthy'. But I think I'll watch a couple episodes of the Smurfs beforehand to warm up to the idea that blue creatures do exist and they do have feelings. Maybe there's an episode where Smurfette falls in love with Gargamel.
I hear that Leap Year babies can celebrate their birthdays the day before or the day after February 29 if it is a normal year. I would choose the date that fell on a weekend...no explanation necessary.
This past weekend, I watched the movie Leap Year. I learned that it is an Irish myth that a woman can propose to a man on Leap Day. Apparently the Irish haven't entered the 21st century. And if they have, the movie industry hasn't read up on Irish tales. I mean, women propose to men all the time these days...and why not? But, the fact that there is a big enough stigma still lingering on that notion to have a motion picture made about an American girl's travel to Ireland to propose to her boyfriend is...well, sad.
Sadder than the stigma of female to male proposals is the movie that was written about it. Don't get me wrong, Leap Day was a cute movie. The writers and directors did as much as they could with such a weak storyline. It was supposed to be romantic:
Boy takes girl out on their 4-year anniversary. Boy gives girl...nope...not an engagement ring...earrings. Boy then leaves for work in another country. Girl ponders this and instead of telling the guy how she really feels, she decides to let him leave. THEN she managed to book a flight (because those are really cheap) and travel thousands of miles to propose because her drunk father told her that it was still acceptable to propose to him on Leap Day.
Obstacles and intended-hilarity ensues. Girl meets a local in her travels. She finally makes it to her boyfriend who wasn't at all worried that she not only booked this last minute flight but also didn't show up when she said she would. Instead, he embraced her as her male travel companion looked on and THEN he proposed.
Blah blah blah.
Apparently two days spent with a wooly stranger was enough to question her love for the man she agreed to marry. So, all of a sudden we see her in a cafe waiting for her Irish love interest. Surprises him. Expects him to drop everything for her because she traveled (once again) thousands of miles to see a man.
Maybe she has a great-paying job that she can afford all these hair-brained trips. Maybe she already dated everyone in the States. Maybe she hasn't found a good therapist that can talk her through her self esteem issues.
Long in short, don't waste your money on a rental. If you spent money on Leap Day in the theatre, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for you because you can't get your money back. If you haven't seen it, wait until it plays every day on Lifetime or Oxygen and you're sitting at home with nothing else on but 90210 reruns on SoapNet.
Right after this train wreck of a movie, we lept into Avatar. I give it an A for special effects. But I have a hard time understanding a universe where a human falls in love with a blue alien...so much so that he wants to become one. It was uncomfortable watching potential beastiality occur. Maybe I lost the ability to have a convention of disbelief agreement on romance after watching Leap Day.
I'll probably watch Avatar again - my husband thinks it's 'own-worthy'. But I think I'll watch a couple episodes of the Smurfs beforehand to warm up to the idea that blue creatures do exist and they do have feelings. Maybe there's an episode where Smurfette falls in love with Gargamel.
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