You Think You Know?

This post came to me today as I was eating leftover soup out of a mixing bowl and staring at the internet. I just saw something on Facebook and was so inspired to write this. I think it's just so important that everyone knows.

Before you judge someone...

That girl you teased for wearing a sweater that didn't match her leggings?

That's the only sweater she has right now, because she hasn't done laundry for like three weeks and it's too hard because you have to sort it and stuff, and there are a lot of cat videos on the internet to catch up on.

That girl you laughed at for eating cereal out of a mug with a plastic fork?

She doesn't have a dishwasher, and washing dishes by hand is a pain in the butt and it's gross sometimes, so she doesn't have any cereal bowls or silverware left. Plus the plastic spoons are on a high shelf that she can't reach.

That girl you scoffed at for climbing over her own back fence?

The wind blew really hard and all the leaves piled up in front of the gate and then it rained and froze, and the rake is in the front yard so it would be too long of a walk to go get it and bring it back. Plus now they're all soggy and nasty.

That girl you made fun of for still having her Halloween candy bowl out even though she put up the Christmas tree like a week ago?

She's just trying to keep the holiday spirit alive all year round. All of the holiday spirits. And also she hasn't really figured out what to do with the bowl, and besides, the Halloween candy isn't gone yet.

That girl you called a loser for trying to balance the last piece of garbage on top of the huge pile?

She doesn't have shoes on to take the garbage out, so she'd have to go find shoes and socks, and it's kind of cold outside so probably a sweater too. Plus there's a giant pile of leaves in front of the back gate.

You think you know them! Guess what? You don't!

Repost if you are against bullying. I bet 99% of you won't, but share this if you're that 1% with a heart.

Once I Got Mono

This week is my birthday and also I am sickly. 

This time spent wallowing in my illness has caused me to reflect upon the time I was the sickest I have ever been: The time I got mono.

It was about two years ago, when Daniel and I were first engaged...

"How did you get mono?" you may ask. From my sister, I may answer. It's a long story... well, no it's not. My sister got mono, I assume from smooching a lot of people, and then she licked me. Or maybe she just spit in my drink or something, I dunno. But I got it from her. 

Time for a science lesson! Mono, also known as infectious mononucleosis, is a terrible malady caused by the Epstein-Barr Virus and transferred primarily through saliva. By the age of 40, over 90% of adults will carry and have developed an immunity to the virus. It doesn't have much of an effect on kids, but by the time you are a teenager/young adult, the symptoms can be AWFUL AND A HALF.

Other fun facts about mono: 

It is very rare to see actual cases of the illness in developing countries, since people are exposed to it at a younger age and therefore don't really show any symptoms before they develop an immunity. Also, one of the less common but life-threatening symptoms of mono is swelling of the spleen, which can rupture if you participate in certain contact sports or especially strenuous physical activity. And finally, once infected with the virus, it can be up to 6 weeks before you actually manifest any symptoms.

Most everyone knows the signs of what one of my friends recently referred to as "the STD for 8th graders," so when I came down with it, I knew right away what was wrong. I went straight to the doctor to find out what to do next.

The nurse told me that to find out what exactly was wrong with me, they were going to do three tests: A mono spot, which would take about 5 minutes, an Epstein-Barr test, which would take about 48 hours, and a broad spectrum bacterial test to see if there was another cause. 

"I'm like 94% sure it's mono, but okay, sounds good," I said. 

She sent me back to get three vials of blood drawn by what appeared to be a 12-year-old phlebotomist. Three entire vials seemed excessive, but I'm no medical professional, so I complied.

The kid drawing my blood, bless his little heart, obviously had no idea what he was doing. Eventually he managed to fill three small vials with my precious life-juice and I went on my merry way to await the results of my tests.

A few days later, I received a call from the clinic saying "Your mono spot and Epstein-Barr came back negative for mono, so you're probably fine. Walk it off."

"What happened to the third test?" I asked.

"What third test?" they asked back.

"Um... there was like... a broad something bacteria something? They took three vials..."

"No, I only see record of two tests on here. There was no third test."

So, I don't know what ever happened to the rest of my blood. For all I know, that pre-pubescent phlebotomist took it home for his collection or something, or perhaps that clinic is just so grossly negligent that they regularly lose people's bodily fluids. We may never know.

What I did know, however, was that I was definitely not fine. I kept getting sicker and weaker, and it definitely wasn't a cold.

Finally, Daniel and I decided to go to the clinic at the university. I wasn't exactly a student at the time, but I still had my ID number, so it wasn't hard to sneak me in. 

I had been to the university clinic several times before crying mono, but each time it had turned out to be a false alarm, and they sent me away. I've always been a wee bit of a hypochondriac, so it was to the point that one of the nurses recognized me in public once. 

I was so sickly by the time we went to the clinic that I couldn't even sit up by myself. When the nurse came out to call me in, I was slumped over a chair in the waiting room, hovering on the edge of consciousness.

The nurse had me sit on a little examination table while she took my blood pressure and pulse. She ended up having to prop up the back of the table so I could even sit up on my own. My resting heart rate, in my fevered delirium, came out to over 120 beats per minute, so she sent for the doctor. 

This particular doctor had seen me a few times for my previous mono scares, among other things, so we had developed a routine. This visit was clearly different from the rest, though, and he poked my finger to take a single drop of blood for another mono spot test.

Might I point out... one drop of blood. Not a gallon and a half.

Anyway.

Daniel and I waited for a few minutes, and the doctor came back in with the results.

"You have mono!" he sang, and did a little dance of joy. Daniel was weirded out, but I got it. At last, I was proven right, hooray! But at the same time, I was less than thrilled to be correct in my internet-prognosis. Having mono seemed fun and fashionable until I actually had mono. 

"What do you prescribe, good doctor?" I asked, but more likely probably mumbled unintelligibly. 

"Well," he said, "there is no real treatment for mono. You just have to get over it. Get lots of rest, drink tons of fluids, and have you gentleman friend here wait on you hand and foot. Doctor's orders."

That sounded like a decent prescription to me, and he gave me a doctor's note to take the next three weeks off work. THREE WEEKS, people. That's how long it took for me to be able to walk up stairs again. 

Fortunately, once you get mono and suffer through the terribleness, you never really have to worry about it again. You do, however, carry the virus for the rest of your life, and it can occasionally flare up again and become infectious without any real symptoms or illness. 

For all you know, you could be spreading the virus RIGHT. NOW.

Thanks a lot. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Things I Say To My Cats

This post was inspired by a Facebook status update I posted earlier today, which was inspired by me realizing how much I talked to my cats when I was home alone with them on my lunch break from work.

This is just a small taste of the colorful conversations we regularly have.

Bad Hair Decisions

This is a story about bad decisions.

WARNING: This post is rated R for extreme hair choices, hair-related violence, and graphic incompetence. Not recommended for people who have a heart condition or are hairdressers and know better. Reader discretion is advised.

Part 1: "I need a haircut."

Once upon a time, it had been almost a year since I got it cut or colored, so my hair was pretty sad looking.

I knew it was long past time for a haircut, but I kept getting too busy or forgetting or just putting it off. 

My hair may not have a voice of its own, but I can always understand when it's trying to tell me something. When it gets too long between haircuts, it starts to reach out. It grabs on to anything around it, like seatbelts and tree branches and other people. A while back, Daniel and I were walking out to my car with one of his friends, and I made the mistake of wearing my hair free. It tried to attack him.

Part 2: "Let's get ombrés!"

Finally I decided to listen to my hair and started thinking about going in. At the same time, I was going through a mid-life crisis (at 21, I know, apparently I'm not going to live long) and decided I needed to do something drastic to my hair. I thought about doing something like this:

A friend of mine messaged me on the day of The Terrible Decision and said "Let's go get ombrés! I made us appointments for tonight!" 

"Oh, um. Alright then!" I said.

She picked me up from work and we drove to our hair appointments. That's when I realized... our appointments were at Paul Mitchell Hair School. That's right. A school. For people who don't know how to do hair yet.

"Well, alright," I thought, "I wanted to do something drastic, I guess this is it!"

I told the hair girl what I wanted, and then decided that I wasn't even going to look until it was over. If I thought about it too hard, I was definitely going to freak out. And for good reason...

During the course of my hair adventure, the instructor came over a couple times to check out the progress. The girl doing my hair seemed... less sure of herself than I would have liked. 

Since my hair was so far past its expiration date, at one point it actually took two girls to brush through it. Once it was brushed, they both worked on coloring it, since I have a lot of hair. While they were putting the color on, one girl said to the other "Are we doing this the same way?"

But I didn't care, because I was doing something drastic.

Finally, three and a half hours later, my hair was done. They turned me around to show me the finished product, and uh...

It ended up looking more like this:

Yikes.

Part 3: "I can fix this..."

I tried really hard to live with my new hair. I really did. But it takes a lot of effort to stay in your happy place that long, so I knew eventually I'd have to do something to fix it. 

I had already spent an egregious amount of money on the first dye job (they charge by bowl of color, which my hair takes... several), so I was wary about going back to a salon. Plus I have developed some pretty severe trust issues when it comes to hair, having lived twentyish years with a gigantic mass of curls.

Suddenly, the thought crossed my mind... Why don't I just take matters into my own hands?

I'd heard horrible things from my hairdresser friends about grocery store hair color, and plus I was a little afraid to use it on myself, so I took to the internet to find a safe and natural way to fix my hair. I found the answer I was looking for: Hydrogen Peroxide.

The Internet told me to just spray it on, leave it for a bit, and wash out. That seemed easy enough, so I took to the bathroom to solve my hair woes.

One thing I forgot to consider was that H2O2 will also bleach your skin.

Photo has been enhanced to show detail
(because I'm already white enough so it's hard to see)

It turned out better than I expected, in the end. My hair didn't all fall off of my head, and the color came out semi-normal. 

My eventual plan is to try the H2O2 a couple more times, maybe bleach the rest of my hair all the way to blonde. Of course, I've resolved to treat it a little better, you know, blow dry it less and use better hair products. And I will definitely make sure to cut it sooner next time.

But the most important lesson that I've learned out of all this experience is that my ponytail is my ponytail, no matter what color.

Onomatopoetry: Cat Version

Here's some more of this stuff, yo. Enjoy.

Charizard Uses Bite... It's Super Effective