An ODE to PDE

Math people will understand why that title is clever. Here is a short list for you to enjoy.

25 things I have done that are more enjoyable than PDE homework/tests (in random order):
1. root canals
2. giving up sugar and dairy for a month
3. second-degree burns
4. having your jaws wired shut for a month
5. endometriosis
6. colonoscopies
7. really bad hangovers
8. slicing into a nerve in your thumb
9. totaling your car a month before it is paid off
10. pulling your gluteus medius
11. using your bare arm to catch a pan from a 500-degree oven
12. hot grease popping onto your face
13. tearing all of the cartilage in your knee
14. severe ear infections
15. E. coli
16. UTIs
17. the Nashville flood
18. waiting in line at the DMV
19. being on hold with the IRS for 90 minutes and then being told you have the wrong department
20. breaking your little toe
21. waking up from anesthesia in the middle of a procedure
22. finding a scorpion in your bedroom
23. getting dumped for a teenager when you're 28
24. trigger-point injections
25. watching the Vols lose to the Gators...AGAIN

Grad School: Training for Masochists

So I decided to start blogging again. I don't really write much any more, because I don't have the time, which is a shame. But maybe if I throw some words at the Internet every now and then, that will work. I'm in graduate school now, so the college dropout part no longer applies. I'm working on a PhD in applied mathematics at Arizona State University. Grad school is a great way to take yourself down a few notches. There's nothing like always being the smartest one in the room to feeling like a total dumbass all the time. Apparently this is normal, and good, or something. I teach now, which is cool. My classes last semester and this semester have been awesome - I have great students.

So, for those who want to know the highlights of the last four years of my life, here they are:

- Started dating and got dumped by a recovering morphine addict who left me for a teenager. I cannot make this shit up. I haven't dated anyone since.

- Went back to college and got my degree. Magna Cum Laude, bitches!

- Skipped my graduation ceremony to go to the beach with my mom and Mike. It was awesome.

- Totaled a car a month before it was paid off. Seriously, I cannot make this shit up.

- Bought a car with cash. No car payment!

- Lived in my dad's basement, much like Batman. I'm also wearing Batman pajamas right now, in case I have to unexpectedly fight crime in my sleep.

- Performed in four ballets.

- Performed in four modern dance shows.

- Choreographed for three modern dance shows.

- Had my lower wisdom teeth out.

- Had a root canal.

- Did some math research that got recognized by MIT. Went to multiple conferences to present this research, including one in Paris.

- Learned a lot of French.

- Went to Paris, where French was a handy language to know.

- Moved to Arizona.

- Lost a good friend to cancer.

- Reconnected with my dad's family.

- Got really into karaoke.

- Got really into wine.

- Won the Barrett Award at UT.

- Won Chilihead of the Month at Chili's. I have the plaque hanging on my wall. You can pry it from my cold, dead hands.

- Read a lot of books.

- Got my fourth tattoo.

- Did all kinds of crazy stuff to my hair. My favorite was blonde with pink streaks. I'm doing that again soon I think.

- Got an iPhone. My first reaction was, "It's like I'm living in the future!"

OK, that's enough for now.

"Blue Valentine" Overrated...by the MPAA

I saw Blue Valentine Saturday night, and I thought it was genius. That's not what this blog is about. I remember before it opened there was a big ordeal about the rating. Initially, it was given an NC-17. I'm happy to say they appealed the decision, and the film was given an R rating. Without changing anything. Which begs the question, what in this film would prompt an NC-17 rating?

It turns out, my idea is right on par with Ryan Gosling's, one of the film's stars. The most objectionable part of this film is...wait for it..SEX! Sex! You know, the thing that got us all here. But I'm not talking your typical plain vanilla romp is the sack. Nope, we're talking oral sex here! Horrifying!

Now, I know what you're thinking: oral sex is in TONS of movies with R ratings. I can't even count the number of blowjobs or blowjob references in various movies I've seen over the years. So what was wrong with this film's oral sex scene? It involved a man performing oral sex on a woman. THE HORROR!

Yes, apparently our moral compass thinks it's OK to showcase a man receiving oral sex in a movie, but not a woman. And actually, that's not entirely accurate - Black Swan got an R rating, but that's because it was a lesbian scene and, as well all know, it's OK because a lot of guys think it's hot.

This just infuriates me. A woman enjoying a sex act meant to focus solely on her pleasure is somehow more offensive than, say, a rape scene or a scene of extreme violence? When I think of something worthy of an NC-17 rating (which replaced the X rating in the '90s), I think of something like porn - you know, hardcore close-ups of real people bumping genitals. And I'd classify a video of Osama bin Laden getting shot in the face worthy of that rating as well.

But ACTORS in a sex scene of a married couple enjoying a sex act - come on, there are worse things to watch.

HAIKU, in the Style of Cee-Lo

I need an uplifting post for today, so this is just going to be fun. My wanderlust is coming back hard, and I just want to get on a plane to anywhere but here. Ideally, Europe - just start fresh on a new continent. The American dream doesn't work for me. Maybe the French or Italian one will.

So, while I mull all that over and contemplate my existence, here's a funny for you.

"Haiku" By Wendy Caldwell (with some help from Cee-lo Green)

I see you drivin'
'Round town with the book I love
And I'm like HAIKU!

Guess my Keats, Yeats, and Shakespeare wasn't enough
So I'm like HAIKU
Got to write some, too

See, if I was a poet
I just wouldn't know it
Ain't that some BYSSHE
(Ain't that some Bysshe)
I'm feelin' so stressed, and I'm tryin' my best
To write HAIKU

Five, seven, five, y'all
Well that's how to write it
But I really think that I suck this
Why not a sonnet?
Or an epic poem?
Or a catchy rhyming limerick?

I pity the fool who has to write HAIKU
(What's wrong with my iambs?
Or my green eggs and ham)
Ooh, I got some news for you
Yeah, go on and tell your professor

I see you drivin'
'Round town with the book I love
And I'm like HAIKU!

I guess my Keats, Yeats, and Shakespeare wasn't enough
So I'm like HAIKU
Got to write some, too

Yeah, if I was a poet
I just wouldn't know it
Ain't that some Bysshe
(Ain't that some Bysshe)
I'm feelin' so stressed and I'm tryin' my best
To write HAIKU

I know that I had to borrow
From my local library
Tryin' to read up, tryin' to speed up
On all this awful poetry

I pity the fool who has to write HAIKU
(What's wrong with my iambs?
Or my green eggs and ham)
Ooh, I got some news for you
Man, I really hate this class right now

Now, teacher, teacher, teacher
Why you wanna, wanna, put me through this?
(Through this, through this, through this)
I wrote a rhyming couplet
But you said it was your ass I should kiss
(Should kiss, should kiss, should kiss)
WHY? WHY? WHY?
I still can't, I can't HAIKU!

I see you drivin'
'Round town with the book I love
And I'm like HAIKU!

I guess my Keats, Yeats, and Shakespeare wasn't enough
So I'm like HAIKU
Got to write some, too

See, if I was a poet
I just wouldn't know it
Ain't that some Bysshe
(Ain't that some Bysshe)
And though I did try my best it is time to confess
I can't write HAIKU!

A Little More Talk and a Lot Less Action

IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING: I don't care at all about anyone sending pictures of their body to anyone, unless one of those people is a minor and the other is not. Can anyone guess why? IT'S NOT NEWS! We've had the Internet for how long now? Have people still not caught on that the only reason we keep coming up with better technology is to get laid? Think of cell phones. You could call your significant other when they weren't at home! Then we got texting. And camera phones! Now video! You can actually make a porn on your phone, then send it to someone you met on Twitter and see what happens (hint: it won't end well).

So a few famous people figured this out and it's all over the news. Democrat, Republican, Communist, whatever: No one wants to see your junk. The only people who should see it are doctors and spouses. If you need to show off a little, don't be stupid enough to do it on your OWN TWITTER ACCOUNT! Start a fake account - geez, teenagers have figured this out.

Newsflash, United States: SEX IS NOT BAD. It's fun! It reduces the stress hormone, releases endorphins, and sometimes leads to more people. It isn't bad. It's not bad for you; it shouldn't be taboo. I think we should at least be able to look at this situation and say, "Screw abstinence only educating." The abstinence only people aren't that way because they were taught it in school. Usually that's a religious/moral thing.

So how did I come to this conclusion from a Twitpenis? Well, first off, he denied it. "I got hacked." No, sir. You thought you were good looking, and you wanted to see if you could still get the ladies, so you took a shot (and a photo) with a 21-year-old. Too bad you didn't snap a pic of your balls - they must be huge!

Why would one deny this? I know, he's a public figure and married and all that. But he said he felt ashamed. Ashamed? Of your penis? That's not normal. I'd be embarrassed I got caught and all my friends would be harassing me, but I wouldn't be ashamed. I don't find my body to be shameful. I don't think taking pictures that make you feel sexy is something to be ashamed of. If you pass them out to children, then, yes, be as ashamed as you want. But one adult sharing an intimate photo with another adult does not a scandal make.

Second, telling a teenager not to do something has never worked. Ever. Instead, when your teen is at the right age (not when YOU needed the talk - times change), ask him or her what questions they may have about sex, sexual health, their changing bodies, etc. Really. Start this before puberty. Our teen pregnancy rate is actually going down, so it works. I promise.

Why don't we try being HONEST with children about sex? Let's give them real sexual education, not just about what parts go where, but how you can respect your partner by always having a recent STD test, or how it's OK to wear clothes that flatter your figure. The more you know about sex, the better prepared you are for it.

Here, I present a few sexual mantras I live by (unless you're my grandmother - STOP READING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!) It's cool, guys. She doesn't read this blog.

Wendy's Rule Number One
Get tested. I get tested before and after each new partner, and every six months to catch any false negatives. Many infections transmitted sexually can be asymptomatic, so don't think that because you don't feel different you don't have anything. Better to be safe than sorry.

Wendy's Rule Number Two
Always wait until after your period (or placebo week) before changing sex partners. This is just something I find helpful - at least I won't end up on Maury Povich testing the 12th guy who is still "NOT THE FATHER." Come on, ladies. We can do better.

Wendy's Rule Number Three
TALK to each other, not at each other. If you can't talk to your partner about sex, don't have sex. It's quite simple. It means you aren't ready personally, or you aren't ready as a couple. If you can't tell your partner what you like, it isn't going to work.

Wendy's Rule Number Four
You're never THAT single. I said that to Leslie once, that I wasn't "that single" in reference to a guy. Keep your standards high. It's important to respect your own body just as much as your partner's. Stay safe, keep talking, don't ho it up. That's it!

This isn't just for teens, though. This applies to adults of all ages, and I'm especially thinking of the newly divorced who suddenly find themselves trying to date for the first time in a decade or more. You don't start dating where you left off - if you're dating now, you need to know the game. Set your own ground rules (not before x dates, not until x months, etc.) before you start dating. Talk to your doctor if you have health concerns.

OK. Diatribe over. Now, go send your Congressman a naked pic! (Kidding, but that would actually be HILARIOUS)

I'm Not That Girl

I woke up one day, and I was 28. I wasn't a college graduate as I had intended. I wasn't married. There weren't any kids running in to wake me up. As it turned out, I was in my dad and Laura's house. That can't be right. I'm 28. Why am I living 3 hours away from my friends, most of my family, my life? Where did I go? Or, more accurately, where did I go wrong?

All of this thinking has been in the back of my mind lately, and it's come to the forefront for the strangest of reasons: I've been getting hit on a lot lately. Annoyingly so. I can't go a night without getting several messages from men (usually people who have never met me, mind you). And I'm starting to get pissed off about it. Then I started wondering why it was pissing me off. I should be flattered, right? I mean, to the average person, this hardly sounds like a "real" problem.

Of course, I'll do this obligatory "this is aimed at no one in particular" and "this isn't all encompassing" and of course "I don't think everyone who sends me a message on Facebook or Twitter is a pervy asshole." But, let's face it, some of you are.

You see, I'm not that girl. "The pretty girl." The one who wants male attention 24/7. I look the way I look because of genetics, but it isn't who I am. It doesn't show my character. My looks aren't anything I accomplished. I didn't work hard for it. I just wake up, and this is what I look like.

When I get messages from strangers, men who want to "get to know me," I'm skeptical. Obviously. Why do you want to get to know me, specifically? There are nearly 7 billion people on this planet - that's more than enough. And seeing as how it's called Facebook, I figure it usually has something to do with one's face.

That's all I get. I have a name no one uses. I'm not Wendy to these people. I'm a slew of monikers that are usually used as terms of endearment or words of physical attractiveness. These are words I've used before, but those are reserved for people I know and love.

I like social networking. I like the idea of getting to exchange ideas with people from different places. I like being able to easily stay in touch with friends who live far away. But I don't like being treated like an object, in some twisted Internet version of cat and mouse.

I never really thought about that growing up, what it must be like for the popular girls, always having the attention of guys, always being the OBJECT of desire, not the woman. We all got the genetics we got by chance - by our parents.

Do any of these people care that I'm a good person? Does it matter that I have panic attacks, that I can't sleep at night, and sometimes the hardest part of my day is getting out of bed? Or do they think my life must be easy, must be carefree, and I have nothing better to do than to be courted online because some idiot thinks he's getting sex out of it someday. And I'm the one who needed psychiatric care. Right.

So how did I get here? Do people only value my looks now? Does my brain not matter to anyone? Does it make a difference that I left college because I could no longer afford it? My test scores put me in the top 1% of people on the planet - shouldn't that matter?

I have dreams of someday going to Africa and helping people - handing out latex gloves, mosquito nets; educating children and adults on HIV; building huts and living in a land that has yet to be touched by time. Does that have some value?

I'm a great writer. I am passionate about it, and I have a knack for it. I'm empathetic to a fault. And yet, the impression people get from me is "She's hot. I'd like to hit that." And that makes me deeply shamed. Have I stopped valuing these qualities as well?

I appreciate a compliment if I've put on a dress or done my hair or makeup. And I appreciate a compliment when I make a perfect wrap at work. Both of those require effort. But just looking a certain way isn't cause for celebration.

I have some self-respect. I'm working on more confidence. But I don't need a bombardment of attention when I need to be focused inward. And I suppose that's my diatribe of the day. I don't know where I went wrong, but I know what is making me unhappy in my life.

Oddly, I'm reminded of an episode of CSI in which Catherine tells Sarah about her days as an exotic dancer. Catherine: "Did your dad ever tell you you were pretty?" Sarah: "No." Catherine: "I bet he told you you were smart."

Growing up, that's what I heard. I didn't hear that I looked great. I heard that I was smart, that I had potential. I made good grades, I never got in trouble at school. I was a great kid.

Now what do I hear? From various sources it's a lot of doubt. Am I ever going back to college? Why can't I support myself (I could go on my usual digression of the 11-months of bedrest from crippling chronic pain, but I won't)? Why can't I just get a better job and make more money? Why can't I be thankful for what I have instead of being depressed?

I wish I knew the answers. The short one is that my brain is chemically different from most people's. Add to that my problem-solving nature, and I'm constantly obsessing on my own shortcomings. I can't turn my brain off. Today I was so anxious I couldn't keep my legs still, and I have no idea why. I wake up alone, drenched in sweat, in a 62-degree-room, and no one can tell me why.

But, to the naysayers, it's important to know that I am a fighter. Right now I guess I have to fight for myself, because no one else will do it for me. Three years ago today, I was living a decent life. Eight days later, my life changed forever. But I fought back from that. I got out of the wheelchair. So I suppose I can handle this, too.

And to those of you who think sending me a few Facebook messages means you can see me naked...Go fuck yourself.

1 in 3

I was watching TV yesterday, and while I was looking through the guide to find something to watch, Glenn Beck was on, in his usual form. I would like to preface this blog by clarifying something: I do not have problems with Glenn Beck because I disagree with him. I disagree with a lot of people - Bill O'Reilly comes to mind. And while I do disagree with O'Reilly, and I find he can be condescending, I do not believe he is a bad person. I wouldn't mind sitting down and having a drink with him, just talking. But Glenn Beck is a different story. Glenn Beck is misinformed, and he preys upon the ignorance and fears of others. And yesterday, he crossed an unforgivable line.

Now, I could start this by diving head-first into the George Soros thing, but I'm not going to do that. For starters, it's fairly obvious that Beck crossed a line there. He lost countless sponsors, which he should be accustomed to by now, but the media and pundits have already covered this extensively, drawing parallels, comparing his words to typical anti-Semitic propaganda, and the like. Personally, I don't think Beck is informed enough to realize that what he said was essentially a reiteration of some of the most well known Nazi propaganda, but that is just my opinion. I don't think Beck is a Nazi by any stretch of the imagination, and I'd just as soon let sleeping dogs lie on that one. What he said was wrong, it preyed on the fears of his viewers, and was meant to incite some type of panic or distrust. That's the way this man operates. I don't believe his agenda goes further than that.

Yesterday, he was on one of his usual anti-liberal, anti-progressive rants. He uses the words "liberal" and "progressive" as though they were four-letter words. Progress is not a bad thing; quite the contrary. He had that usual tone of voice he has when he's speaking of one of the progressives or liberals - snide, disapproving, with an air that the individual is somehow dirty or tainted. And what was he referring to? EXTENDING THE LEGAL DEFINITION OF RAPE.

This is a hot-button issue for me. It should be for everyone, because violating someone should never be viewed as anything other than a despicable affront to the human collective. And before we go further down the rabbit hole that is my brain, let's just clear something up: rape is not about sex; it's about power. So what's wrong with extending the legal definition? What's wrong with making it easier to prosecute sex offenders? The statistics on sexual assualts and rape are astronomical: 1 in 3 women, and that statistic is easily five years old. And it isn't just women - this happens to men, too.

Of course, the general opinion is that men don't report it because they're embarrassed. Right. Because women are totally OK with it. Being violated in that way isn't embarrassing; it's paralyzing. Terrifying. It's a kind of fear and loneliness that I don't even have words for. It's a ripping away of innocence much like ripping a Band-Aid, quickly, almost so quickly you don't really remember it, but it keeps stinging after it's gone.

I vividly remember being in the newspaper office in college. We were running a story on sexual assault, and three female staffers - including me - were gathered around a computer reading it. One commented that the 1 in 3 statistic was high, too high to be accurate. My colleagues were quick to put this theory to the test: there were three of us there, and they knew they'd never been assaulted. Then there was a look in my direction, and I just nodded my head once. I didn't say anything, I just nodded. And for all of us, in that moment, the statistic became very real. It wasn't just 1 in 3, it was now our friends, coworkers, people we saw regularly.

But let's get back to the issue: extending the legal definition of rape. This seems like a no-brainer to me. This notion that rape is only a penis being forced into a vagina is outdated. We have several definitions of sex - does no one remember the Clinton years? And if it doesn't take penetration to be sex, it doesn't take penetration to be rape. It's an open and shut thing for me.

So, given the above information, one can easily see how Glenn Back's disdainful attitude toward this makes my blood boil in a special way. We, as a nation, have an epidemic of being unable to respect the rights - and bodies - of others. Violence, rape, sexual assault - they all run rampant. It's time we held our citizens to a higher standard, and that works both ways. We need laws that will empower people to come forward, and then we need those people to come forward.

Why don't people come forward? Well, there are a lot of theories, but I'm sure it's different for each person. For me, it was lack of support. When your family - your flesh and blood - tells you not to talk to the police because "it will just piss him (the offender) off" it kind of changes things for you. If you think that's something that's easy to bring up to anyone in your family in the first place, you are sorely mistaken. But when you actually summon the courage, months after the fact, and are told you shouldn't do anything about it, that leaves scars, too. It isn't something you can just sweep under the rug and pretend that it isn't there. And when you go to the on-campus counseling service, and knowing why you're there they send you to a male counselor, it kind of makes you want to jump on the desk and ask them what qualifications they have for counseling at all, when they clearly can't recognize that you certainly can't talk to a man about this. When you talk a campus officer just to see what protocol is, the officer urges you to come forward but warns that it will likely do no good, as it will be your word against someone else's. So you go back to your dorm room, you have panic attacks when you see his car on campus, and you carry a knife. Because the people who are supposed to protect you, who are supposed to look out for your well being, have abandoned you.

When I hear someone speak of extending the legal definition of rape as anything other than the right thing to do, I go a little nuts. You see, this isn't about me at all. I have cousins in college now, and I have others who will be headed that way soon. What was taken from me can never be returned, but we have a chance to make it a little less likely that it will happen to them. Most offenders have a progression - they usually don't start with penetration rape. If we can do something before it escalates, we can help to protect a generation. Anything less in unacceptable.

A History of Violence ... Leads to a Future of Violence

Hockey season is back, and because I'm now living with my dad, there's a lot of hockey on the television. I always enjoyed going to Predators games, but, like baseball, I just can't get as jazzed about watching hockey at home compared to actually being at a game. But that isn't the reason for this post, as one might have guessed from the title. My main problem with hockey: fighting.

Before everyone gets up in arms over this, let me say that I've already heard that argument that it's part of the culture of the game. So what? And, more importantly, why? And, to be fair, it isn't just hockey. I find UFC to be beyond barbaric, and I really don't get the point of boxing. I mean, I GET the point is to knock out your opponent, but I just don't get how that has any value or purpose being a sport. But that is simply my opinion, and seeing as how the sport is fighting, the fighting aspect can't be eliminated.

But why can't grown men playing in a socially acceptable competitive sport refrain from punching one another, and why don't the officials stop these things? It's a penalty for obvious reasons, yet they don't break it up as soon as it happens. Usually it has to go on a while or someone has to get pulled to the ice before anyone skates in to stop it. My theory: people like to watch the fights. And, yes, I'm aware that that is the bigger problem.

Why do we rely on violence for entertainment? There are plenty of other societies in which hockey is played, and not all of these societies have the kind of violent nature that seems inherent in us. I do enjoy a violent movie, but I would have a far different opinion if I were watching film of an act of actual, real violence. Movie violence isn't real, and it's usually unbelievably over the top. It's easy to differentiate between the two.

If things don't go the way we want, should we resort to violence? At home? School? Work? Our kid's little league game? Where do we draw the line? When do we decide to change who we are in order to ensure a better life for who we will be? We're becoming desensitized to the things that should disturb us. It's entirely possibly that I'm a little too sensitive about this, as I recently brought up the use of phrases like "hit me/you up" and "hit me/you back" - and not just because I imagine that's how Kevin Federline talks. As a general rule, and I'm probably not alone here, I don't like anyone to refer to hitting me in any way, not hitting me up, hitting me back, or hitting that. No hitting. Choose better words - it's why we have so many.

But this pales in comparison to violence toward children. I can see the argument for spanking up to a certain age. Before children have a fully developed moral compass, and before they have the vocabulary and understanding to converse with adults, I understand giving a three-year-old child a smack on the hand when he or she is about to touch a hot stove. Studies show, however, that once a child reaches the age of five, the sense of right and wrong is there. Misbehaving at that point is intentional, meaning the child knows he or she is doing wrong. The important thing is that they understand why the rules are the way they are. But let's get back to the violence argument.

I've been told that I'll feel differently about this when I have children. I doubt that. There's a part of me that recognizes that I don't have the complete experience to say definitively what I will do as a parent. If I have a two-year-old throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of a department store, I may feel a spanking is in order. I don't know for sure. But if I can't communicate with a seven-year-old without resorting to violence, maybe I shouldn't be a parent.

I don't think spanking is the equivalent of bad parenting. I understand it up to the age of five. After that, though, I just don't get it. I've had plenty of conversations with kids that age, and they're certainly capable of talking about and understanding right and wrong, appropriate behavior, and how they feel. But if we teach them that violence is how to control an other out-of-our-hands situation, we're really just increasing the odds that our children will grow up to be violent adults.

Come Out, Come Out, Whoever You Are

Today is National Coming Out Day, and I'm a bit torn by this. First, I am happy that we have a day devoted to such an important milestone in the lives of our friends and loved ones. But then I'm also disappointed, and a bit ashamed of us, that we have to have a day for it. Shouldn't our GLBT friends feel loved and accepted for who they are every day of the year? Shouldn't they be able to come forward without prejudice when they are ready, and shouldn't we, as a society, embrace them?

It saddens me that so many of our citizens are intolerant and/or afraid of 10% of our population, and I wonder why that is. No, it isn't because of God. And if I hear one more narrow-minded talking point about loving the sinner and hating the sin, you're going to need some towels to wipe up the mess that will come from my head exploding.

Now, some people may argue that this is human nature, this notion that love is and can only be between a man and a woman, that marriage and family is only husband and wife. But I do not believe that. And, what's more, I actually have something to support that.

You see, I'm what you may call the black sheep of my family, and if nothing else, I'm certainly the most liberal. And sometimes it seems I'm the only liberal. I love my family, but I don't always agree with them. I was also raised Church of Christ, and being me, one can see how that easily explains my special brand of crazy. But I digress. My cousin, who is 15 now (and don't think that makes me feel young because it certainly does not), was about 5 years old when my sister went to college. She and a friend from church were going to be roommates, and when my then 5-year-old cousin found out that were going to be living together, he asked if they were getting married.

Why did he ask that? Well, my theory is that, in his mind, when adults lived together, they were married. All the adults he knew who lived together were, and it only made sense to him that if my sister were sharing a residence with someone, they must be married, too. It's probably the same reason my other cousin, when she was about 2, called my high school boyfriend "Daddy" - every adult male in her life was called "Daddy" by someone.

My point is this - we aren't born with prejudice. It is learned, developed, cultivated, in the home and in the community. The proverb that it takes a village to raise a child certainly holds truth. If I were to ask my cousin today what he thinks about same-sex marriage, he would probably be opposed to it. So what changed? The village.

If you have children, or if you are thinking of having them, then please consider this: How many people are really raising your child? The scout leader, the Sunday school teacher, the school teacher, the babysitter, the families of their friends, the list goes on and on.

Be prepared to have that conversation with your child when it comes up. When you're at the park and two men are holding hands, think twice before calling someone a "fag" or muttering how "disgusting" it is, or how they shouldn't be "flaunting" their sexuality. Do you think men and women holding hands are flaunting their sexuality? What's the difference really?

And for those of you who are afraid that if you have a gay friend he or she will try to hit on you, relax. You are not that undesirable. Does every straight man or woman hit on you? I didn't think so.

Return to Blogging

I haven't blogged since I got out of the hospital, but it's time to get back on this thing. A lot has happened, but I'm just going to focus on the big one: I moved to Maryville, and I live with my dad, Laura, and Alex.

I made $150 in August because my night job fired me for being in the hospital. So I'm not behind on my bills, my phone will probably be cut off in a few weeks, and my next paycheck won't cover my car payment. One of my creditors had been taking money from my savings account, but they sent me a refund check...to Brentwood. I haven't lived there in 5 months. But, at any rate, when that finally gets to me I can pay for my car and car insurance. Yay me.

And I'm lonely here all the time. I have no friends. I stay in bed, play on the computer, and watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Because I am that awesome...and lame.

I'm becoming more and more obscure. I've barely talked to my family since I moved, I haven't really talked to any friends other than through Facebook chat, and I miss my boyfriend. That's all for now. I'm in pain, my insurance won't pay for PT, so I'm just going to lie here with an ice pack and wait for things to subside a little.

"Enjoy Your Book. Folks Will Be in to Abuse You in a Minute"

I finished my book, actually. That's how long I was at Baptist today. You can read about all the medical stuff here.

But I'd like to elaborate on what it was like for me, queen of hospitals and normal test results, to be in a hospital scared. And I must say this is an accomplishment, as I have been in many a hospital and had more CTs, bloodwork, and X-rays than I can count, and they've all come back normal. So when I was told my bloodwork was abnormal and I'd need more testing on my lungs, I was worried.

Now, Tuesday night is when this started. I had normal blood Tuesday. Later that night, I had the chest pains, and what I am now certain was two minor instances when I stopped breathing. I am sure of this now because while at the hospital my oxygen level got down to 82 and set off that alarm a few times, and my breathing rate looked like a flatline a few times. It set off the alarm, too, because it got down to 5. Frightening stuff.

I talked to my Dad and Laura on the phone several times, and it is not lost on me that these are the only relatives concerned with my health. OK, yes, I know some other relatives pray for me. But praying for me isn't all you can do. It is if you're bedridden and mute or something, but we do have phones and e-mail and social networking and there are umpteen ways to say, "How are you feeling?" "how r u feeling" "Wendy feels good today." "(name here) likes this." But please don't ask "how r u feeling" - it just annoys me. I'm worth the time it takes to spell out 3-letter words.

Laura asked if anyone was with me. I told her no, and she seemed concerned that I was there all by myself waiting to find out if I had some kind of pulmonary embolism, which I didn't because, you know, here I am blogging instead of being in the morgue. Never did hear back from my mom. I texted her because I didn't know how long I'd be at Baptist, and I didn't want to use all of my cell phone battery because I no longer have a wall charger. But I'm not that surprised by this. I usually don't even bother telling family about health issues anymore, except my dad because he asks. But today was scary. I'm OK, but it was scary. And I could still have the beginnings of a blood clotting issue because my D-Dimers were high, and that means clotting issues. But it isn't in my lungs. I guess we'll figure it out someday.

Billie Jean Is Not My Doctor

I posted this on my other blog, but it's worth repeating.

I had more injections today. First off, the woman who did my IV gave me a shot to numb my arm first. HA! I was all, "That really isn't necessary." Naturally, it didn't numb my arm, but I'm so used to needles at this point that I'm not phased regardless.

I woke up from the procedure AWAKE - I was wide the hell awake. After I told the nurse that all three of her had nice skin, I then said, "I'm way too cognizant." Also, I didn't slur the word "cognizant" - weird. I asked the doctor about it later, and he said they gave me some fentanyl, but the also gave me propofol, or as he called it, "the Michael Jackson drug." Apparently, this drug is sometimes called "milk of amnesia," which is funny because I usually forget the first hour or so after waking up, but not this.

The last two times I woke up after the procedure without my usual pain until about 6-8 hours later. Not this time. This time I felt it immediately. This freaks me out. They gave me more fentanyl in my IV before I left the hospital, but it didn't work. It's about 100 times stronger than morphine, so this is disturbing. I told them not to bother with morphine because it doesn't work.

So what happens now? The doctor wants to see me again in three weeks. If this doesn't work, they can try different injections or platelet enriched plasma. Oh good. I can't wait to be tortured some more. Oh, and my pain meds are WEAKER than last time. WTF, doctor?! I already have to chew them to get them to work fast enough, and, you know, that's disgusting, but when I'm at work and the pain gets worse, I don't have an hour or so to kill to wait for stuff to kick in, and I sure as hell can't go sit down. EVER.

Side note: I talked to my dad afterward. Laura's daughter is an NP, and she and Laura had been talking and said that at some point they won't be able to put me under anymore. Dr. Wasudev said they used the different drug this time because last time they had to keep giving me so much that if they used it again I could stop breathing, and they don't intubate for this procedure. But I've dealt with this so long that if surgery would actually help me, I'd let them do it even if they couldn't put me under. Which I know is really messed up but I just want this to be over already.

I'm Supposed to Be Getting Married Today

OK, well maybe not TODAY. But many years ago I decided I would get married on July 17, and I'd like to get married on a Saturday, so this is my last shot until 2021. I have 22 hours to get married, and I'm working a double today, so let's just call this dream one of those things that isn't going to happen and move forward.

Today, I start a new chapter in my life. It has something to do with moving on, on from all the pain, the past, everything I've been holding on to for so long because I was afraid to lose it. And everyone I've kept in my heart because I had nowhere else to put them.

I was remembering this moment a few years ago when I saw someone very special to me. I've had my moments in life, some good, some bad, but there isn't anything else I'd classify as a perfect moment except for this one. And if I could have chosen how I could have spent the last day or two with someone I love, I think it would have played out exactly as it did.

But things change, people change. We change our attitudes, our minds, our clothes, our beliefs. We change cities - sometimes countries and continents - and we change our hair. But, somewhere under all of that change, I like to think there are two people who, for just one moment in 2007, were perfectly happy.

I don't have moments like that anymore. I wish I did. The best I feel right now is when I meditate. It's the only time I don't feel anything, and for me, feeling nothing is as close to perfect as I'm going to get. So now, before I try to sleep before working a 14-hour day later, I will close my eyes, entwine my legs, and just simply exist, if only for a little while.

Stealing My Identity Isn't Just Illegal, It's Also Really Stupid

Today, while I was eating lunch between jobs, the mail came. Now this in itself is no shock, as the mail comes daily (except Sundays). I got the usual stack of bills. I opened one, unfolded it, and immediately marveled at the amount. "645 dollars?!" Then I read the top of the page, which informed me that my payday loan was past due.

Uh, what payday loan? I don't take out loans, but if I did, I certainly wouldn't take out a payday loan. I called the collection agency, and boy did I find out all kinds of neat stuff! First, the woman verified the last four of my social and my birthday. OK, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to get that information, right? Surely more is required for a loan of some kind. Turns out, more IS required, but this information apparently doesn't have to be even remotely related to the name and birthday.

Whoever took out this loan listed an employer and work address (Wal-Mart manager in Louisiana, by the way), home and cell phone numbers (both with a New Orleans area code), two references (yes, I now have their names and numbers), and, of course, the account number and routing number of where to send the money. And, you guessed it, I now have that information as well.

At this point, I'm furious, and also a bit perplexed as to how anyone using my social security number could possibly get a loan, even a payday loan. The woman at the collection agency was very helpful. She told me to contact the police, file a report, and then they would go from there. She also told me the loan was taken out on January 19, 2010. It went to collection on April 26, so it just barely missed being on the credit report I pulled for the bankruptcy. Which is another reason this was obviously not me - all of my debt is being taken care of in the bankruptcy. Also, I have never worked for Wal-Mart, and I've never lived in Louisiana. Hell, I've only been once, 10 years ago, because that's where we sailed from on the cruise.

I called the police, and after some phone tag, finally got through to make the report. I still have to call the New Orleans PD, because that is presumably where the crime was committed. But this isn't just a crime - it's an act of extreme stupidity. First off, I have absolutely horrific credit. My credit score is a sad face. Second, I'm going to catch you. I am well versed in my debt. If this had been a medical bill, then, yes, it's conceivable that one or two of those fell through the cracks, and I forgot about them. But this - an online payday loan in January (when my computer didn't even get Internet-ready again until April) - this is...wait for it...INCONCEIVABLE!

I looked up the customer service number for the Web site, and calling that woman was a complete waste of time. I told her that someone had fraudulently used my information to take out a loan, and I suppose I should have assumed that using words with more than two syllables would not go over well. She asked for my information, and then proceeded to say a lot of really stupid things.

"The address we have for you is the one you just gave me." OK, I know you're lying at this point, or, at least, I know you didn't have this address for me when the loan was taken out. First off, the collection agency mentioned nothing about an address being given, other than the Louisiana work address. They have my address because it's their job to track me down, and with a bankruptcy, it isn't that hard to do. But let's forget the obvious and get to my answer.

"I didn't live there in January." BOO-YAH! There is no way this person used my current address to take out a loan in January because I did not live at my current address in January. Ha! How do you like them apples?

I explained to the woman that I live in Tennessee, but the information used to get the loan (other than my social and birthday) was from a Louisiana area code, and, clearly, this was not me.

"We aren't authorized to give loans in Tennessee. It would have been denied."

OK, what part of "It wasn't me" is so hard to grasp? THE MONEY DIDN'T COME TO TENNESSEE! And, as you have already stated you cannot give loans in Tennessee, there is no possible way, according to you, that you could have had my address because then you would have known I was in Tennessee and would have denied me like a good little worker, right? RIGHT?!

"But it's weird that they would use all of your information."

IT'S NOT WEIRD AT ALL! IT'S FRAUD! That's the modus operandi of frauds! Jesus, lady, you work for a company that gives online payday loans. You can't possibly expect me to believe that this hasn't happened before.

I told her I had contacted the police and they would be in touch about it. Then I hung up because I don't possess the ability to jump through the phone and smack someone in the back of the head. But if I did have that ability, that is exactly what I would have done.

So now I wait. The Nashville police will turn it over to a detective, who will be in contact with New Orleans. I gave them the account number and routing numbers, as well as the phone numbers, so finding the person(s) should be fairly simple. And proving it was fraud is beyond easy. I hope the Web site tightens their security a bit. If they'll take a social security number of someone in one state who claims to have an employer in another, it's time to beef up the security. I assume this didn't require a state-issued ID or pay stubs or anything you should have to present before getting any kind of loan. And apparently the name on the bank account doesn't have to be at all related to the name on the loan. Well, that's reassuring.

Watch out, New Orleans! I will have my vengeance upon you! OK, probably not all of you, but at least one of you is in trouble. And, even though I have what I hope is your real telephone number, I have no powers that translate through a telephone, so I'll just let the cops handle this one. Oh, and I Googled the home number. It is definitely a landline in New Orleans, and I even got a nice picture of the residence, including the name of the street and the block. Those apples are even better now, aren't they?

Stealing My Identity Isn't Just Illegal, It's a

Time for Me

Saturday I gave up clothes - we had a yard sale, and it definitely feels good having a little less stuff. Starting Sunday, I'm giving up half an hour each day to myself. I'm going to start each day with 15 minutes of meditation and end each day the same way. I know 30 minutes isn't much, but I need to start small. I'm horrible about taking time for myself, but I hope to gradually increase the amount of time I spend on me each day. I'm going to eventually incorporate yoga into it as well. I did inversions twice today, and even though I'm hurting, I know it was good for me.

Last Mango in Paris...A Reward for Your Bankruptcy

I'm making a decision, right here, right now, for all of the Internet to see: When I'm done with my bankruptcy, I will be taking my "Last Mango in Paris" trip finally!

Since hearing that song, I've wanted to live out as much of it as possible, and while I doubt I'm actually going to have a third-world girl in Buzios, I'm definitely going there.

I'll start out at Captain Tony's, of course, in the Florida Keys. My parents have been there, and have actually met Captain Tony. Next, I'll eat mango in Paris, head to Saigon via plane, and at some point, I'm going to be on a boat in China. Next is Buzios, Brazil (third-world girl optional), Wall Street (probably not going to have the high fashion model wife, though), then waking up dry beneath the African sky, just me and my Swiss Army knife.

I'm especially excited about Africa. I've wanted to go there for quite some time, and while I sometimes debate doing the Peace Corps thing, I know regardless I'd like to go to Africa. It fascinates me. It's time to follow la via dansante - the dancing life.

Don't Worry, Be Happy

Today was full of drugs and pain so I'll make this quick: Tomorrow I'm giving up worrying. I will attempt, for the first time in my life, to go 24 hours without worrying. I'm not going to think about where I'm going to live, what I'm going to do with my life, how I'm going to pay this bill or that doctor. I'm just going to try to be centered, balanced, and enjoy the day.

"Sometimes a Little Brain Damage Can Help"

And sometimes quoting George Carlin is the best way to start a blog. It's true - brain damage is good for you. At least, it was good for me today. I woke up at pain level 8. Oh joy. Then I went to brush my teeth and came back to find the most annoying child ever in my room - don't worry, it wasn't one who lives here. Then I got rear-ended on the way to work. That came with a bad headache, but fear not! The ER doctor said, "Your head CT looks beautiful." Yup, even my brain is a sexy beast!

In all the concussion, I had to miss work. I tried to work, but I got really dizzy and nauseated, and it was hard for me to stand. Plus I was seeing auras around things and had a brief bout of double vision. They told me to call someone to take me to the hospital. That's when I had my sexy head CT. Go brain!

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, which is surprising considering this is my fourth concussion. Seriously, how do I have higher brain function? Check out my last two concussions here and here.

I need to change some things in my life. I've been horribly dissatisfied for far too long, and I need to do something about it. I am going to do something for myself. I haven't done something for myself in a long time. The last vacation I had was in 2007, and I came home from the airport to furniture on the lawn because my dad was moving out. I think it would be good for me to get away from all of this for a while, just go somewhere, unwind, get away from the daily clusterfuck that is my life.

I need to dance again. I need to meditate more. I need to get rid of all the shit in my head that keeps me up at night. And I need to get rid of all of my shit. I have entirely too much stuff, and it all just takes up space and stresses me out. I don't need it, I don't have room for it, and I think I'd be a lot happier if I had less stuff. If nothing else, it'd be a hell of a lot easier to move.

I need to write more, and not just blogging, though I do need to do that more. I need to write the way I used to write every day. I have all of these thoughts in my head, and some of them are quite brilliant, and I need to devote time to that. I'm always happier when I write. It reminds me of my hopes and dreams, and sometimes it seems less hopeless and more dreamy when I'm writing.

I need to de-clutter my room, my life, my head - pretty much all of it. There's no time like the present, so I'm going to start giving things up every day. Some may be permanent, some temporary, but until I'm in a better place, I'm never going to be happier. The first thing I'm giving up is caffeine. For real. I've mostly given it up, but lately I've been having cherry Cokes at work, and I'll have Malibu & Coke when I go out. I love Coke. I love caffeine. But I don't need caffeine, and it isn't good for me. So, until further notice, I am 100% caffeine-free.

Now I'm going to read Eat, Pray, Love, because that movie looks good, and I imagine the book is even better.

Independence Day

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, most of which has to do with my future. I've got to figure out what I'm going to do in August, how I'm going to get back to school if I ever can, and whether or not to pay $343 for 20 days of COBRA or just send those bills to the trustee.

I've asked for help in all of this, which is a big step for me because I generally prefer to fuck things up all by myself and then wonder why I'm in the same quagmire I was in before. But I haven't had much success there, and my dad is pretty much my only hope, although he's already doing more than his part by taking over my car payment.

I don't know why the rest of the family is distancing themselves so much. One of my aunts paid the retainer for my bankruptcy attorney. It's hard, though, that there isn't anything else people can or will do. I guess that whole "What would Jesus do?" thing doesn't apply here. I mean, Jesus would let me sleep on His couch. He'd probably build me a bed or something - carpenters are skillful like that.

I think they see me as a failure, and I suppose they would be right, on paper at least. I didn't graduate college (because I didn't have the money, and I won't go on that diatribe again but suffice it to say that I didn't grow up knowing I'd have to pay for my own college or I would have tried to come up with some sort of plan). I'm the only blue-collar worker in the family. I work. Everyone else goes to work. It's not that I don't think they work, too, but my work is physical. I don't have a desk. I don't even get to sit down. Ever. I'm on my feet for both jobs, I sweat a lot, I lift up to 70 pounds at a time - and I only weigh 110. Factor in the whole chronic musculoskeletal pain thing and one can see how my day is exponentially harder than most people's.

If I'm in pain at work, I take a pain pill. Why? Because I can't afford to miss work for being sick. I don't get paid to lie at home with ice packs and electrodes, so on the really bad days I bring those to work with me. One morning I came in and it was obvious I was sick. "You look like hell. Go home." I ended up in the hospital that night - shocking, I know - but I went to work that day anyway. And nobody seems to understand that every day is a struggle for me. I suppose if I were of the mindset that there's nothing medically wrong with me or that I "look OK" or "seem fine" I'd probably wonder what my deal was, too.

I look OK and seem fine because I don't externalize a lot of what I feel physically or emotionally if I can help it. I don't want people to see that. Nobody wants to see that. If they could see what I felt, people would be all weird around me I think. That's how it was in the wheelchair - no one treats you the same. Except, of course, my awesome friends, and my cousins who just thought it was fun to push me around in the wheelchair. But I digress.

I know I'm an adult. Believe me, I know that. I'm not able to support myself financially, and that's embarrassing. More embarrassing is having to ask your family for help. Even more embarrassing than that is when people say no. But I did support myself through college. I was fine until I got sick. Turns out, having a chronic condition pretty much sucks your bank account dry and puts a sizable dent in the ones of your friends.

All of this has got me thinking, and I'm OK with not being OK. I've accepted failure, which, aside from VOLCANOES, is my biggest fear. But nothing is scarier than volcanoes. They shoot out rock so hot it's liquid - count me the fuck out! And there are no volcanoes in East Tennessee, so if I have to go there - assuming I'm hopeless here and that it's an option - at least I won't have to outrun lava. I can avoid bill collectors, but lava would kick my ass.

I'm not independent. Not today, not anymore. I used to be, and it was nice. I'm not as dependent as when I was bed-ridden, but I can't really survive 100% on my own, either, and I accept that. Someday I will be able to, but not now. Now I need to focus on my health. I need to get better. I need to work less often if it's going to be on my feet. I need to continue getting enough sleep. I need to lay off the caffeine for real and do something about these thighs. Seriously, why didn't anyone tell me they looked like that? As soon as I get the green light for cardio, it is on.

I'm forcing myself to listen to happy music when I'm in the car. It's hard to be all pensive and introspective when there's a happy song on. I guess I'll try to keep that up. In the meantime, I'll just keep getting through each day until I can come up with a feasible long-term plan.