Friday, November 21, 2008


*warning: several references to the rear-end and its parts. Not for the weak of heart.

Dear Dr. Pain In The Ass,
I want to thank you for my recent sigmoid-whatchmacallit. I've had a few but WOW, this one was really one to remember. Your assistant told me he had pain medication to give me if I needed it. He said I would be asleep anyway but promised the drugs were ready and waiting in case I said "Ouch." Then you, Dr. PITA, came in and we had a nice chat while you injected the sedative into my IV. It went like this: First injection, "Feel Anything?" "Nope." Second injection, "Feel anything now?" "Nope." Third and final injection, "Feel anything?" "Nope, should I?" "OK, let's start!" That's when I had a thought bubble. Why am I awake? Oh well, the Doc must know what he's doing. Suddenly, I felt a unique sensation I never imagined I would feel:


I wouldn't be so freaking mad if my ass actually ended up smaller.
Seriously? Were you looking at my colon or shredding it because that was the most excruciating pain like no other I have ever felt.
And did I get the flippin' pain meds? That would have just been too logical.
I fell asleep after it was all over - probably from the shock of having had rectal lipo.
Oh, and I think I left something behind (no pun intended) in your office. Yeah, a piece of my dignity (and maybe a piece of my ass - or so it feels). Lost. Gone forever.

Most Sincerely,
Someone you owe an major apology and a seriously large tube of Preparation H

Since I still have a sense of humor:

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Facebook - Not Just College Gossip Anymore

As I talk to friends and colleagues about Facebook (don't forget I am of the age group, according to the original Facebook crowd, "Old People Invading Facebook") I notice generally two schools of thought. Those who use Facebook to get in touch with friends, post photos, poke a person or a hundred and those who won't touch Facebook because of its annoying reminders, lack of anonymity, time consumption and well, they're just too cool for school.

I agree, there are times you want to b*tch slap (not my term, you CAN really do this virtually, of course on Facebook - FB) or "throw a sheep" at those people who send numerous daily wall posts and dare I say useless status updates (I'm just as guilty). But step back a moment and look at the revolution that is Facebook/social media and those using it as a change agent for Cause Related Marketing (CRM). Many of us woke up election morning to hundred's of thousands of status updates stating that they voted. The ultimate version of peer pressure via social networking. Did it work? I submit that it did! Voter turnout supports this. And it doesn't stop there...Millions of dollars have been raised for thousands of charitable organizations, social and political causes. Many of them $1 at a time.

Baby Boomers have lost ground as the largest generation in the United States. The new internet, tech savvy, gadget hungry generation of today represents more than 70 million consumers. This generation has been touted the Millennials and 60 minutes reported now as "The Age of the Millenials. Thus social media is quickly becomimg an important part of communications today. The communications professional in me realizes this is innovation at its best. The non-professional in me thinks, "Holy Sh*t, this is so cool! Who wouldn't want ride the proverbial wave?" Organizations, whether corporate or non-profit are gearing up for an exponential change in marketing to this generation. The Millenial consumer is looking for a platform to have a voice and FB gives them this platform. On FB, tens of thousands are voting where charitable dollars should go, discussing political issues, candidates and starting grassroots organizations and causes. I for one, though I swore obscenities at my Blackberry when 20 FB notifications woke me up from my much needed nap, will continue to dig deeper into what FB can offer beyond a god-damned hatching egg!

There is more to Facebook than it's cover represents, in other words - Don't judge a Facebook by its cover.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008


Recently, I thought I was going to die.


I found myself in such horrific pain for three weeks with CT scan after MRI after ultrasound - potential tumor then not, one Doctor telling me one thing and another Doctor something completely different. Not to mention, no one particular Doctor wanted to claim my illness as falling "in their realm of specialty." It's a freakin' human body in pain people. I felt like Sarah Palin's accent...nobody wanted to claim me. And whatever happened to Doctors being diagnosticians? I was never diagnosed with anything, yet I came out of the thick smog that was part narcotic pain medication mixed with a touch of the rank stank of my rarely bathed self (sorry honey) and the delusion that I was no longer human, I had been abducted by aliens who subsequently implanted their embryo into my body and it was fighting it's way out through my belly button. The day I felt some semblance of normalcy, I was ready to go do something as human as possible (besides eating) like invest in the stock market. What? Did I miss something bad? Or I even thought about joining a soccer team or running a marathon. Yeah, I guess the narcotics hadn't quite worn off yet.
I thought I was going to die and I didn't and I'm going to live the hell out of my life. Well, not quite as bad ass as this guy:

Let's all bow in humility.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Life With Logue - Parenting a Gifted Child

When Logue was born, exactly 13 years, 7 months 19 days ago, I knew right away he was an old soul. He didn't like a lot of noise, activity or fuss. He would sit in his bouncy chair and laugh and giggle at a Native American mask a friend's father made for us. He hated sleeping alone as if he knew about solitude already. We started to call him our "Little Bhudda" he seemed so "Zen" (except when we had to put him on the washing machine to calm him down in the middle of the night). At 18 months his daddy asked him how his nasty cut on his eyebrow that he had gotten on the playground was and Logue answered, "It just IS Daddy."

When I took him to mommy and me class he was content to play on his own. If another child neared his area, he just moved on to something else. When circle time came, he was not about to participate. I know now what he was thinking: "Why join in with the others when I can have the Duplos all to myself and reinvent the pyramid?" "Besides, who wants to sing the ABC song when you can design a Lego airplane from scratch and really Mama, the wheels on the bus? We all know they go 'round and 'round." Logue resisted play time up in the gym as well. Other kids were not interesting to him, especially if they were ramming each other with various wheeled, kid powered vehicles. To Logue vehicles (Hot Wheels) were to be lined up in neat little rows, color coordinated and by make and model.

Preschool came and man did Logue put up a fight. Being young, first time parents, we didn't want to cause him more agony than he already appeared to be in every time preschool days came around. You'd think that the resounding "Logue!" shouted from every student in the classroom when he walked in would be a welcoming treat for a 3 yr old. Not Logue. We caved often when those crocodile tears came pouring down, "I don't want to go to school, it's too hard!" Poor teacher Nancy, the sweetest lady ever who adored Logue. She had her work cut out for her. But again, I knew what he was thinking: "What's the point in going to this place where you have to stand in line, run around in a gym and...What is all this nonsense about coloring inside the lines, for God sakes people, think outside the box!" A conformer he was not. Polite, gracious and kind he was (thank God for small favors) which I why I think they let him stay.

Around age four I started noticing Logue reading signs along the road in the car. At first I thought he was just talking, singing - the usual toddler stuff. It started to dawn on me that he might be reading. So, I tested him. "Do you know that sign says stop because you recognize the red octagon?" "No, mama, it says S-T-O-P, stop, just like that sign over there says Cleaners." "Oh, my bad." Soon it was cereal boxes, milk cartons and very quickly our house was bursting at the seams with books. That's when the worrying started. How do we parent this child? Are we supposed to send him to some think tank or boarding school for special smart 4 yr olds? Reading about gifted children and other parents with smart children brought me back down to earth...THEIR children were reading when they were 2 yrs old. Whew! be continued.