Monday, October 29, 2012

Let's Go Giants, Let's Go!

So, the San Francisco Giants won the World Series.  You know me: normally, I'd be all, Isn't that nice, good for them.  What's for lunch?  When I have gone to baseball games at the park with Rob, I brought a book and took a nap.  But this year, for the first time since I was 10 and Joe Montana played for the 49ers and they were in the super bowl, I actually gave a shit.

The last game of the play offs, I said words to my husband that no one, man or beast, ever thought I would say.  I said, "I think I'm going to go in the other room and watch the game."

Can you believe that shit?

Rob wasn't watching the game.  As much as he loves sports of all kinds, he doesn't care at all about my San Francisco Giants.  He's a Reds man, and that's all there is to it.  The only competition he is watching right now is The Voice.  He and Leila are glued to it.  He kept scoffing at my new found fandome of a sports team until finally I had to say, "I have fake cheered for all your stupid teams over the last 18 years, the least you can do is pretend to root for my Giants!" and that did the trick.  He faked it real good.

So, Bored Housewife watched baseball, alone.  And, although I didn't watch every second of the world series, I did switch over to it every few minutes, and I did learn players names and stuff, and I did watch a lot of the final game, which is more baseball than I've ever watched IN MY LIFE.

Its probably a passing fancy.  I'm probably just so bored with all the other offerings on my TV.  But it was fun to be part of Giants fever.  Go Giants!  Woo Hoo!

Friday, October 26, 2012

Reluctantly Reformed Boozehound

Over the course of this little adventure I'm on, I have filled 9 prescriptions at the pharmacy, and picked up 8 over-the-counter drugs.  That's a grand total of... wait a sec... 17 drugs that have made their way through my body and one time or another over the last two months.  All of the prescription drugs, and one of the over-the-counter drugs come with the warning against drinking alcoholic beverages or operating heavy machinery.  The heaviest machinery I have operated is the TV remote (I've left my excavator in the driveway) and, because I am a rule follower, I have not consumed any alcoholic beverages, besides a half a weak margarita and a little sangria. 

I am off most of those drugs now, but still on two with the alcohol warning.  I am driving my car again (never under the influence of anything remotely sedating; I'm no dumb dumb) but I have not cracked open a bottle of chardonnay. 

The other night, I ventured out to a friend's house and she poured me a half glass of wine.  I sipped at it, drank about ten swallows, and I was drunk.  Not falling-down drunk, but enough that I asked instead for fizzy water, and left the rest of the wine. 

This is a big disappointment to me.  There is nothing I love more than going out for a drink or two with some girlfriends, or opening a couple of bottles at home with friends, or just having a quiet glass of wine at home with dinner.  Or having several cocktails and glasses of champagne and not being able to walk a straight line to the passenger seat of the car of the person driving me home. 

Now, it seems, in addition to the physical therapy, the regular therapy, the acupuncture and the doctor's appointments, I'm going to have to build up my tolerance for alcohol all over again!  I wasn't the best drinker in the first place:  If I have a glass of wine with dinner, or any time before Leila goes to bed, the evening just takes FOREVER, and all of my parenting duties are extra annoying.  I cannot start at 4 in the afternoon like some people.  Also, if I am "bad" and have a glass of wine with lunch, which I love to do, I can count on being less than productive for the rest of the afternoon.  I'm also that girl who, on the rare occasion that I actually get drunk, I walk around saying, "I'm so drunk!  I'm having so much fun!  Are you having fun? I'm so drunk!"  Just adorable.

So what to do?  I cannot be the mom that goes out with the girls and has one glass of wine and has to be carried out of the place.  And I don't want to be the mom that just drinks sparkling water or virgin daiquiris.  What am I, Mormon?  So I'm going to have to train.  A few sips at a time.  At home, before I swallow the drugs, and after Leila goes to bed, and without getting that excavator out of the driveway.  Work work work.

Thursday, October 25, 2012


So, if you've been reading me for a while, you know that I try to be the coolest mom ever when it comes to talking about puberty and sex and stuff with my daughter.  My mother, who was so wonderful at so many things, was terrible at this part of parenting, and I swore I would do better.  I'm not one of those moms who wants to be friends with their kid, though; she will have plenty of friends, but only one mom, and that mom has a job to do, and one way I promised myself I'd do that job better than my mom did was to be open and forthright and funny and sometimes completely embarrassing about the tough subjects.  Like when I look at my beautiful daughter we have the following exchange:

Me: "Hey, Leila."
Her: "What?"
Me: "PUBERTY!!!!"
Her: "Mawmmmmmm... dork...."

We have had the period talk, the sex talk, the pimple talk, and all the little talks in between.  I have been gearing up for this stuff since before I had a kid, and thank God I had a daughter because if I had had a son, practicing that period talk would have been a total waste of time.  

Now, she's almost 11 and folks, she's getting her boobies.  I discussed bras with her and told her that when she felt it was time to get a bra, she should let me know and we would go out and get one together.  I told her the whole story about riding my bike to JC Penney with Kelly Fitzsimons to buy my own first bra because I was too embarrassed to ask my mom, and that I never wanted her to feel like that.  I didn't tell her the part about how right I was not to ask my mom seeing as she laughed and laughed when she saw my bra and said, "I didn't know they made them this small!"  See?  Terrible. 

A few weeks ago, when I was really in the thick of all this pain and depression and anxiety bullshit, I was crying one morning in my room and Rob came in and said, "Hey, Leila is in her room freaking out.  Do you think you can talk to her?" and I pulled my shit together and she came in and I told her everything was going to be okay, and that this whole situation was temporary and I know how awful it is to see your mom cry, etc. etc. She listened quietly and seemed to understand.  Then she looked out the bedroom door to see if the coast was clear, and said, "Its time. Can we go bra shopping this weekend?" This is the stuff  I live for.

You may think this is a little personal for me to be sharing with the entire internet, but here's the second part of the story where you'll realize its payback time.

Friday night rolls around, and my mother-in-law takes Leila out for dinner as she sometimes does and they end up at the Gap and... you know where this is going, right?

She bought Leila her first bra.  She wasn't the only culpable one, though.  Leila saw the bras and got excited and decided she just couldn't wait for me, and asked, and tried them on, and there you go.  One of my biggest cool mom moments, stolen from right under my nose. 

I was really upset.  I actually cried.  But I was crying every ten minutes at that point, so that's not saying much.  I talked to Leila about it and she felt really bad.  But as mad as I was, I had the presence of mind to try to not make her first bra story a bad memory like mine, and I let her off the hook.  Her consolation prize to me was that I can buy her her first tampons.  Great, thanks. Can't wait.

The whole time we were talking about this, Rob was locked in the bathroom where he is banished when Leila needs to talk to me about something private.  I asked her to go put on one of her new bras and put a T-shirt on over it to see if it made a difference, so she scampered off to do that, and I let Rob out of the bathroom.

L came back out in a T-shirt and it did make a little difference, and then, after all the secrecy, she pulled her shirt up over her head and said, "Dad! Look!"

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Dr. Douchebag is Back

Update:  I guess I'm doing better.  Its hard to say.  My foot hurts and I'm moody and tired, but that could really describe any day that ends in 'Y'.  I went to the Apple store on Saturday, and that was NOT a good idea. 

I haven't done a normal post in a while, so here's something:

Remember Dr. Douchebag?  The asshole who was such an asshole to me when this whole foot thing started?  Well I Yelped that guy.  I refrained from calling him Dr. Douchebag or using profanity, but I did spell out my experience and gave him one star, which is unfortunately the lowest score you can give on Yelp.  There were two other reviews on him, both bad, and in one of them the patient ended up losing a toe! 

Well, I guess he checks his Yelp reviews periodically because he sent me a letter of apology!  It was a while ago, and I can't find it right now otherwise I would show it to you, but it was clear that he'd read the review.  If you really want to see it, let me know and I'll check if its in the mile-high pile of papers that I need to go through. 

Then yesterday, I got something else in the mail from him, and it was a bill for $10.  Can you believe that?  I can, because usually the billing people have no idea what the doctor is doing and vice-versa, but for a minute I thought maybe he was refunding me the over $100 I spent in his office.  I thought about sending a copy of his apology letter to the billing office and telling them where they could stick their ten bucks, but that doesn't really do anyone any good, does it?  Its just misdirected anger, and no one, especially some poor slob in medical billing, wants to be on the receiving end of that. 

On a more positive note, my general practitioner has been an absolute dream.  I love her so much, I want to make her cookies. 

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Evil Cheeseburger

I'm feeling a little better.  I ate a cheeseburger on Friday night, and even as I was eating it I was thinking, this is a bad idea.  I'm going to live to regret that bite, and that one, and that one.  And you know what?  I was right!  I regretted that damned cheeseburger all night long, and all day the next day, and you know what else? My long suffering husband got to regret it, too!  But I'm back on track now, the slow track to getting back to myself.  I can't possibly explain how a cheeseburger relates to my ongoing anxiety, but it does.

On Sunday night, I had a burrito, but with no beans or cheese or anything good, just vegetables, and I cut it in half right away and was not tempted to eat the other half.  It did not turn out to be regrettable.  I drove my car yesterday for the first time in a month, to a bakery where I got an enormous apple croissant, of which I only ate half during the breakfast hour, and then nibbled judiciously for the rest of the day.  It was not an ativan-free day, however, and I'm trying not to see that as a personal failure.

I had a first appointment with a new therapist.  I had performance anxiety.  So stupid.  He was very psychologisty: grey hair, glasses on the end of this nose, legal pad, soft spoken, and his office had a day bed and a doll house in it.  We didn't have any break throughs or anything, but we covered the big stuff, and I only cried a little bit. 

So that's where we are.  I had a big day yesterday, what with the car driving, and the croissant, so I'm taking it easy today.  I did seven minutes on the eliptical and had to lie down for a half hour afterwards, I took a shower, I made a smoothie, and now I'm going to lie down again. 

Thanks to all my friends and readers who are reaching out and checking in!  You are wonderful!

Friday, October 12, 2012

My Savior

You know what?  I'm bored.  I think this is a very good sign.  I'm going to spend a little time this weekend getting some confidence back by driving my car, and doing an errand or two, all with Rob in tow in case I freak out and he has to take me home.  Baby steps, you know?  I think the worst is over, but I don't want to speak too soon.

I am currently in my pajamas sitting on the couch with my loathsome black cat, watching Barefoot Contessa on the foot network.  After two months of sitting around, I have watched a lot of television.  Let me save you the legwork: there is nothing on TV during the day.  Unless you love reruns of The Mentalist or Law and Order, which I don't.  In fact, crime shows and Kardashians take up most of the channels.  Even HGTV, my favorite, has a remarkably small number of plain old decorating shows.  Most of these shows, even the cooking shows, have either a competitive nature or manufactured tension between the client and the decorator or realtor, and, in my fragile state, I don't need that kind of stress. 

I've seen every rerun of Friends, Everybody Loves Raymond, Gilmore Girls, you name it.  I've also been watching The Cosby Show with Leila which makes me long for a time when you could actually watched sitcoms with your children because every joke and story line wasn't soaked in sex. 

But do you want to know what I think saved me, in addition to time, friends, drugs, and guided meditation?

Downton Abbey

My friend loaned me seasons 1 and 2 of Downton and I watched all of it in 3 days.  I am obsessed.  It was the first thing in weeks that I felt engaged in, that I cared about, that I stayed awake for.  It was a big deal. 

So, thank you Lord Grantham and the whole Downton clan, except for Thomas, you asshole.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Nothing Regular about this Programming

Okay so here's the deal.  I'm not sure about saying this out loud to the whole internet, but here goes:
you've heard about the foot, and the leg, and the pain, and the medical leave; now its time to hear about Bored Housewife's little nutty.  Or big nutty.  Big BIG nutty.  If I were a celebrity, which I am decidedly not (no thanks to you,) I would probably have my PR person tell TMZ that I've been checked in to Promises Malibu for "exhaustion."  But here in Bored Housewife Land, I am my own publicist, and the only place I've checked into is my bed. 

Yes, its true.  My pain lapsed into anxiety which dipped deeply into depression accompanied by more anxiety, debilitating anxiety, and this all lead to doctors and drugs and - oh my poor husband.  I have sought the assistance of medicine, both eastern and western, energy healing, guided meditation, anything to get myself back, and slowly - excruciatingly slowly - I am coming back. 

Today is the first day that I have felt like writing.  I have gone almost 24 hours without a crippling anxiety attack, I have not taken an ativan today, and I made my own lunch, which involved turning on the stove and using a can opener.  This may not seem like a lot, but it is a god damn miracle for me right now.  Also, in case you were wondering, I am bathing and washing my hair, but my legs haven't been shaved in weeks, and my fingernails are luxuriously long from not doing anything but pulling the covers over my head. 

So, now you know.  If a I disappear for a while, it is because "I" have disappeared for a while; if you know what I mean.

Its not all doom and gloom, though.  I had a huge laughing fit the other morning thinking about Pigpen, the dirty guy from the Peanuts gang.  Have you ever really considered that character?  He is completely filthy, has clouds of dust and specs of dirt that follow him around every where, his name is PIGPEN, for heaven's sake, and none of the other Peanuts characters judge him, if I recall correctly, except Lucy and she judges everybody.  Where were his parents?!  Why was everyone so okay with him being so dirty?  What did his house look like?  Where was CPS?  Can you even imagine having a character like this on TV today?  A kid so filthy, he's surrounded by a literal cloud of dirt?  Look at him:

Look at his hair. He looks like he works in a flea-infested coal mine. And he seems happy!  Really consider Pigpen for a moment, and you might laugh like I did.

But I'm fairly crazy, so what do I know?