U Is For Ulcuscle

Today’s word is actually also an explanation for why I’m so far behind on the A-Z challenge.

Ulcuscle – noun, a small ulcer.

Which I, apparently, might have…although, not sure it’s a small one.

Here’s what happened:

Earlier in the week I was getting ready to go teach my evening class when I got a terrible, incapacitating pain in the middle of my chest/upper abdomen. It was like a gallstone attack, only worse. I started sweating, I couldn’t breathe…and I certainly couldn’t call Opie as this has happened twice before and he kept telling me to “GO TO THE DOCTOR!”

And I had put it off, saying “It’s probably nothing; it goes away after ten minutes or so.”

Which probably makes me sound like an idiot. 

But the truth is, I’m not an idiot, I’m a bit of a hypochondriac.

And, yes, I know that this is a condition that normally makes people run to the doctor’s office.

But I’m a hypochondriac who knows she’s a hypochondriac.  So, even when I have something serious going on, I assume I’m overreacting in hypochondriac fashion and put off going to the doctor until it’s the last possible choice.

So, when the incredible abdominal/chest pains lasted for over half an hour, I did what any sane, normal person would do…I called my mom.

“I’m in Illinois!” My mom reminded me. “I can’t do much from here.  You need to call your doctor!”

“But what if it’s something stupid like gas pains?” I protested. “Then I’ll feel like an idiot.”

Then she reminded me of what my dad always says in these situations, that there are a lot of people in the cemetery who didn’t want to feel stupid.

Which kind of put things in perspective.

So I was going to call my doctor but I couldn’t seem to find her direct line, only the scheduling line. Which meant I had to call Opie at work after all.

And since I’m always completely calm in the face of an emergency and since I was now convinced that I was dying, I very calmly shrieked that I was having some unexplained attack, that I was probably seconds from death and could he spare a few minutes to look up our doctor’s number before I collapsed unconscious on the floor?

I bet he looks back on all those years he was single and alone and just weeps thinking about how interminably dull his life was then.

Anyway, since he IS calm in the face of an emergency, he got the number, gave me the number and as soon as he hung up, began making arrangements to leave work and called the neighbors to get me some help until he got here.

In the meantime, I called the doctor’s office and explained things to the nurse who said “Kimberly, I’ll ask the doctor what to do…but if you’re having severe pain IN YOUR CHEST, we both know what she’s going to say.”

“Take an aspirin and lie down until it goes away?” I suggested.

Oddly, no, that’s not what she thought the doctor was going to say.  And she was right. The doctor said I needed to go to the Emergency Room IMMEDIATELY and get an EKG in case I was having a heart attack.

Though, in my defense, I was pretty sure it wasn’t a heart attack since if it had been some sort of cardiac event, I already would have been dead.

Wait, that doesn’t sound like a defense at all!

Anyway, everyone else apparently suspected all along that I needed to go to the ER as the neighbors were on their way over to drive me and Opie was already planning to meet me there, and my mom sounded not one bit surprised when I called her back.

Weird.

However, I would like to take this moment to point out that I was right, I wasn’t having a heart attack. The EKG was totally normal.

Which was relief largely because once they ruled out heart trouble they could give me the good drugs and the pain finally started to subside.

Unfortunately for Opie, I was still nestled in the sweet embrace of the dilaudid when he and my mom started a texting conversation and he mentioned to her that this has happened twice before.

“Don’t tell her that!” I yelled.  “Next thing you know I’ll be grounded and won’t be able to go to the big dance.”

I have the feeling I would make a very annoying drug addict.

Anyway, the most frustrating thing is that they still don’t know what’s wrong. All they know is what’s not wrong…no heart attack, no gallbladder attack (which I already knew since I had it removed a few years ago) and no kidney stones. 

Possibly a hiatal hernia, maybe liver trouble, most likely an ulcer that was causing stomach and/or diaphragm spasms…

“It can’t be an ulcer,” I said. “I’m too easy-going.”

“Stop saying that!” Opie said. “You are NOT easy-going. No one thinks you’re easy-going! I’m the calm one in this relationship--you freak out about everything!”

Sometimes I feel like he doesn’t know me at all.

In any case, I have an appointment with a GI specialist in 2 weeks…and I guess I have to go because when I suggested to Opie that in two weeks I’ll probably be totally fine and there was really no reason to waste everyone’s time, his head almost popped right off.

Which, pardon me for pointing out, just doesn’t seem easygoing at all.

My Favorite Part of the Day

It’s Finish The Sentence Friday and this makes two weeks in a row that I’ve participated—it’s like a Friday miracle!

In any case, this week’s sentence is The best part of my day is...

Since many of my fellow bloggers are moms, I’m probably not going to get a lot of sympathy with this one but the best part of my day used to be the 10 minutes between first and second alarm.

At our house, the alarm goes off at 5:35 am.  Which is insanely early—as my niece, Abby, always says “God himself doesn’t get up until 7:00.” So, I do what any normal person does: I hit the snooze. And then I get back in bed, I snuggle up next to Opie and we have a few minutes to just laugh and talk and get ready for the say.

It used to be the best part of the day.

Until Princeton P. Kitty decided we need a chaperone and started resolutely entrenching himself between us.

 

 

Now, Princeton is my first cat; I was strictly a dog person before I got him.  And prior to getting him, I would have said “What’s the big deal? Just MOVE THE STINKING CAT!” However, now that  have a cat, I know it would be easier to solve the problems in the Middle East than move a sleeping cat who doesn’t want to be moved.

To rephrase Yoda, “Try or try not. There is no move.”

So we started trying to snuggle around the cat.

Unfortunately, this just convinced Bubba that it’s 100% appropriate for animals to wriggle their way between their owners.

 

 

And if you think it’s hard to move a cat, you should try moving a dog that is half-Rottweiler.

Then, to make matters worse, we just got a new puppy.  We aren’t crazy enough to let her in the bed (yet); she sleeps in a playpen. But when she hears the alarm go off, she doesn’t really care about the snooze option.  She begins an immediate litany of:

“Mom! Mom! I’m awake too! Is it time to get up? Is it? I’m ready, Mom! I’ll get up! Mom!  Did you hear me? I’m up!  Totally up! Wide awake, Mom! Ready to go! Do you want to see a trick? Here, I’ll do a trick!  Mom, are you watching? Mom! Mom! Mom!”

(I’m translating here, of course, but I happen to be fluent in dog.)

In any case, there’s no sleeping through THAT.

So, that has kind of put the kibosh on the favorite part of my day, at least for now!

Something Might Be Out There

So, got home late last night after teaching my night class and this is the sign that was on the back door:

 

 

I, of course, took this with my usual stoic calm.

 

And by "stoic calm" I, of course, mean that I began running around trying to figure out what danger was lurking in our backyard...after all, this:

 

 

is not a tiny dog.  This is a dog who protects our home.  If SOMETHING MIGHT BE OUT THERE that threatens this dog, then clearly that danger must be dealt with immediately.

 

And by "dealt with" I, of course, mean that I would locate the danger then wake Opie up to face the peril.

 

Why didn't I just assume Opie had already investigated, determined there was no immediate danger, and left the sign as a precaution?

 

Because my brain doesn't work that way, that's why.

 

It made much more sense to creep out on the back porch with a flashlight and shine it all over the yard, looking for an intruder and jumping at the smallest sound.

 

To be fair, I'm pretty sure Opie completely regrets this decision as my next step was to go upstairs, get in bed, snuggle oh-so-close to my darling and hiss "SOMETHING MIGHT BE OUT THERE?!" in his ear.

 

"Yah," he agreed sleepily.  'Something."

 

"WHAT?!"  I demanded.  "A snake? Bigfoot? A MONSTER?!"

 

"No," he said. "Probably another armadillo. Or a skunk...I've seen a couple of those lately."

 

I'm not sure if that was supposed to be comforting but the thought of a herd of wild skunks rampaging through the yard doesn't make me feel better AT ALL. 

 

But I am a reasonable woman, I only yelled "SOMETHING MIGHT BE OUT THERE!" fifteen or twenty times before drifting off to sleep.

 

And let me end by saying that yes, Opie does consider himself the luckiest man alive...just think how BORING his life must have been before I came back into it.

 

 

 

 



 



How Not To Renew Your License Plates

So, Sunday I washed my car.

Which probably sounds like a normal, everyday activity—even for me.

And it was…right until the moment when I was hunched down behind it, scrub scrub scrubbing away, and I took a good look at the license plate.

‘That’s odd,’ I said to myself. ‘That looks like my license plate expired in June.’

Sunday, in case anyone’s wondering, was JULY 7^th.

And I had a vague memory of Opie waving some little postcard thing at me a while ago and saying something about “renewing your tags.”  And he might have reminded me once or even twice since then.  And it’s possible that I responded, “I know, I’m not an IDIOT.”

Which meant it would have been a really bad idea to wander into the house and ask him if he had any idea where that pesky postcard had disappeared to…especially since when this same thing happened in Missouri, (Yes, that’s right, the exact same thing happened just a few years ago.  Don’t judge me. I am a CREATIVE TYPE and a FREE SPIRIT, I can’t be expected to understand things like deadlines and government regulations.)

Anyway last time this happened, the state of Missouri charged me some ridiculous fine and few things infuriate Opie more than throwing money away.

Besides, whenever I am facing a problem completely of my own creation, I prefer not to tell Opie until 1 of the 2 following things have occurred:

1.      I have solved it myself.

Or, as is more often the case,

2.      I don’t solve anything but stew about the whole thing for hours, exaggerating the situation in my head and imagining the worst case scenario.  Then I erupt into hysterics, shouting things like “I can’t believe I forgot to renew those stupid plates! But I did and now they’re expired and it’s probably going to cost us THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS and even then I’ll probably still go to prison.  PRISON!  CAR PRISON!  I’M GOING TO CAR PRISON, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

Seriously, it’s hard for me to imagine how interminably dull Opie’s life must have been before I came back into it.

In any case, first thing Monday morning, I got up, spent half an hour searching for the postcard and then realized that I also needed my proof of insurance.  Which was supposed to be in the car but was missing because someone had mysteriously moved it into the house and hidden it in a stack of other important papers (I suspect the cat). 

Finally, I gathered everything together, got to the office at the exact moment they opened and was somehow still fourth in line, got to the counter, muttered “I’m a little late” and braced myself for the worst.

“Oh, honey,” the clerk said. “Everyone forgets, that's why we give you a 30 day grace period.”

I think there might be hope for life Oklahoma after all!

If This Is The New Math, I Don't Get It

It’s been quite a long time since I’ve posted a “Life In Oklahoma” blog—heck, it’s been awhile since I’ve posted any blog at all—largely because I am currently working not one, not two, but three different jobs.

That’s right, after months of not working at all and then scurrying from one crazy gig to another, I find myself definitively over-employed.

Here’s what happened…the local university offered me another writing class. Since it only meets once a week (albeit for three hours), I agreed.

Then I got a callback on a job application that I turned in months and months ago…for a part time online monitoring job in which I spend hours at a time admiring and then deleting penis drawings and other questionable content from a website geared toward children (you can read all about that here or here). It seemed interesting and I got to work from home so I went for it.

Shortly after signing a 6 month contract with the penis patrol, I got a call from the publishing company that I have subbed at several times over the last year. They had a position open and they could be flexible with the hours but they needed me to start immediately—while I was still under contract for jobs 1 & 2.

“You have to take that job,” Opie said. “First of all, you like it there. Second, you need to actually interact with GROWN UP PEOPLE once in awhile.”

Apparently, he finds it disconcerting when I spend dinner explaining to him all the things the animals and I have talked about during the day. “You know they can’t actually talk, right? RIGHT, KIMBERLY?” he has asked more than once.

And if you think those kind of stories bother him, you should see his reaction when he walks in after a long day of work and I yell things like “You would not believe how many penises I’ve seen today! It’s like penis-palooza!”

So, I signed on with the publishing company and now I’m working 3 jobs. Which is kind of exhausting…but on the bright side, screaming “I have three jobs!” wins a surprising number of arguments before they even start. Like Opie will be all, “Ewww…did you know that the milk expired two weeks ago and has actually become a SOLID?” and I’ll start waving my hands in the air, yelling “Milk? How can I possibly think about milk right now? I have THREE JOBS! How many jobs do you have?!”

And, miraculously, the milk carton just disappears from the house, never to be seen again.

It’s great fun, make no mistake.

As far as the jobs themselves, they’re great too. Teaching college is still not as different from teaching high school as one would expect…as evidenced by the fact that I still have a surprising number of students who don’t realize that COMING to class and DOING THE WORK are necessary components of passing the class.

Like this one girl who sent me an email back in February after missing 3 weeks in a row. I have copied it verbatim below:

“Sorry I was not at class the last few weeks I was not feeling well. I know you don’t want us us to miss any more than one class so what I am really trying to ask is do you want me coming tonight even though I am still feeling sick? You probably don't want me to come. Question what did we do the last weeks and tonight since you probably don't want me to come?”

But she was wrong. I did want her to come, if only because I find it challenging to re-teach 12 hours of class in a single email.

However, that was 4 weeks ago and I haven’t seen her since…until last night. Just in time to get her midterm report.

“This can’t be right,” she said. “This says that I have an EIGHT PERCENT.”

I assumed that she was expecting it to be lower but, no, she was under the impression that after coming to 2 out of 9 classes, turning in 3 ten-point assignments and taking—yet failing—1 quiz that she would at least be passing.

At this point I inquired if she happened to be enrolled in a math class this semester and, if so, how that was going for her?

It is interesting to note that this particular student doesn’t think I am funny AT ALL…Especially when she started asking how many points she needed to get in the next few weeks to pass the class.

“Well,” I said “we have about 1000 total points each semester. We have about 500 left…you have 42 points total…”

I trailed off, thinking she might realize that her Comp ship has already sailed for the semester but she obviously just thought I was too stupid at math to figure it out myself. So she got out a piece of paper and began doing a little computing…”So,” she said thoughtfully. “I need to get 558 points to get a D but 658 points to get a C!”

“We only have about 500 points left,” I reminded her.

“It’s going to be tough,” she agreed. But walked out in a much better mood, presumably coming up with some elaborate MacGyver-like plan to get at least 115% on every assignment we do for the rest of the semester.

Or maybe her plan is based on those strange “imaginary numbers” that I’ve heard about but never really understood.

Either way, I feel a nearly overwhelming urge to look up her Algebra teacher and find out if I’ve missed some groundbreaking new twist in simple computations.

I have a feeling I’ll be seeing her again…



In any case, that’s part one of the latest Life In Oklahoma…but stay tuned, I have a pupdate on Peek, stories of mole murder, and a contest on who is the worst patient coming soon!


kimbo325 is a writer and a teacher (as well as an internet moderator and publishing company worker) laughing her way through life. She’s not too great at math herself but even she knows when to throw in the towel on a failing grade. To read more about her crazy life, tweet with her on Twitter, follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ItIsInterestingToNote?ref=hl#!/or leave a comment below.

A Slightly Neurotic Look At The Election

This is not a political rant. First of all, I think we’ve all had enough of angry politics and are obviously moving toward a more unified society.

Ok, that was a little hard for me to write without laughing…the real reason that this is not a political rant is because I am a liberal living in one of the most conservative states in the Union…a state in which we not only allow “concealed carry” of weapons but have recently legalized “open carry” so people don’t have to go to all the trouble of hiding their guns in their pockets. I’ve gotten used to NOT fully expressing my liberal views in public…largely because I don’t want to be shot.

So this is not a rant. It’s just that I’ve been reading a lot of articles lately about the highlights of the election and campaign and decided to review my personal highs and lows of the 2012 race.

Adventure 1 was registering to vote…which shouldn’t be that hard a task as it is supposed to be accomplished when you get your driver’s license. But getting my new driver’s license was a HERCULEAN task that involved much cursing, threatening, yelling and storming from government buildings in a huff. There was, in fact, so much drama that it was the subject of not one but two separate blog posts:

http://kimbo325.blogspot.com/2011/09/more-life-in-oklahoma.html

http://kimbo325.blogspot.com/2012/01/creative-license.html

In any case, here are the other adventures that are likely to occur when you are slightly neurotic and living through an election year:



1.Read disturbing article—rife with grammatical errors—on friend’s Facebook page about Obama’s “secret agenda to start a race war.”

Wonder if friend is losing her marbles.

Realize that surprising number of friends—conservative and liberal alike—are losing their marbles and posting links to articles of questionable veracity.

Nod understandingly when husband suggests that fact-checking every article posted on Facebook is excessive but feel responsibility to continue since are clearly only sane person left in crazy world.

Continue to fact check…but never do anything with information except scream it at husband when he walks in door after work.

Agree that it is perhaps time to A. Lay off the caffeine and B. Interact with other human beings. Begin job search.



2.Research candidates in new state...get sidetracked by article about Senate candidate from former state (Todd Akin) and his views on “legitimate rape.” Spend rest of afternoon in white-hot rage and begin screaming at husband as soon as he walks in door—as if he coached Todd Akin for interview—explaining all the things would like to do to Akin.

Shout “You know what I’d do if I met that jackass? I’d punch him right in the face, as hard as I could. Right in the face! Then I’d ask if he was in legitimate pain or if his body has some way of shutting that whole thing down.”

Shadow-box around living room, demonstrating practically professional punching technique.

Shadow-box around husband-who dared to laugh at punching technique-shouting things like “What are you talking about? I’m like Muhammad Ali...I’m a freaking Ninja…I’m Muhammad Al Ninja!”

Admit that, perhaps, vodka and Sprite is not an appropriate substitute for caffeine.



3. Secure job at local university. Tell Composition student that she cannot write a persuasive, fact-based research paper on the topic “President Obama is Going To Hell.” Laugh and add that girl also cannot write paper on topic “Teacher Is Going To Hell.”

Realize that girl doesn’t think are funny AT ALL…and possibly believes are going to hell.

Listen to girl complain in loud whisper that liberal atheists are ruining the country for God-fearing Christians.

Wonder in louder whisper “Who was it that said ‘Judge not lest you yourself be judged? Wait, wasn’t that CHRIST?” Smile and add “Book of Matthew, Chapter Seven Verse 1.”

Feel decidedly un-Christian glee as girl storms from room in a huff.



4.Watch debates with husband in effort to nudge him out of his political apathy.

Realize with horror that husband is NOT politically apathetic after all…is politically VITRIOLIC , hating all politicians with equal fervor…listen to husband shout “Lying scum!” and “Thieves, They’re all thieves!” at random intervals.

Suspect that part of this rage is because NHL is still in lockout and husband is going through hockey withdrawal…but suggest that perhaps he is the one who should lay off the caffeine.



5.Take advantage of early voting option…realize that half of the people in town are also taking advantage of early voting option. Drive around block four times to find parking space. Miraculously squeeze tiny car into space—miraculous since are worst parallel parker in history of parallel parking—and dash for building.

Wait in line for twenty minutes, vote quickly, and attempt to leave but become blocked by irate woman who is being refused a ballot because she has no identification or voter registration card.

Wonder if woman has pierced eardrums with shriek “But I’ve lived here my WHOLE LIFE!”

Sidle around woman, go out to car, and realize that some moron has parked huge truck immediately behind own car, literal inches from bumper, in order to get parking place. Two cars that had been in front of car are luckily gone now so this is just annoying not incapacitating.

Grasp the irony of own life as screaming woman from polling center storms toward moronically-parked truck. Decide not to further irritate already insanely furious woman—for now—and don’t mention truck.

Realize woman has witnessed head-shaking and muttering of “What kind of moron…” as she walked up since she immediately shouts, “It’s not like you left me a lot of room!”

Ignore mental warnings and observe “There were two cars ahead of me when I got here and there’s about six more feet of space behind your car.”

Listen to woman snap angrily, “I can park anywhere I want, this is AMERICA.”

Wisely wait until are inside car to lean out window and call “Hey, did you know in AMERICA you need IDENTIFICATION to vote?”

Speed away giggling like a lunatic.



6.Watch election returns and shout play-by-play results at husband who is searching online for news of the NHL lockout.

Calm husband after he discovers that recent reports of the end of the lockout are bogus.

Promise not to yell results of election up to husband as he retreats to bed.

Find promise impossible to keep when Akin is defeated.



7.Realize that, because live in very conservative place now, EVERY SINGLE STATE AND LOCAL CANDIDATE voted for LOST.

Decide not to get upset…because this is America and sometimes that’s the way it goes.




kimbo325 is a writer and teacher who is laughing her way through life. She loves America, her husband, and wishes the hockey lockout would end already! She would love to tweet with you on Twitter at kimbo325 or talk to you on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ItIsInterestingToNote?ref=hl