shitImadeup.com

So yesterday I woke up with a sinus-y head and by the afternoon, had developed a swollen lymph node in my neck. For my body, that usually means all hell is about to break loose. So I did the only thing I knew to do: gave it a little (painful) lymph node massage! I started trying to remember where I originally heard that this was a good idea, and 3 WebMD searches later, had found nothing corroborating my "strategy." I ventured out into the oh-so-reliable world wide web and found a couple of totally conflicting takes on this lymph node massage business. 

Both "sides" (i.e. crazy people with no medical degree) agree that lymph node massage is a technique that helps increase circulation in the lymph nodes when they become swollen. The circulation then helps them drain, which is their natural function. They usually swell when your body becomes infected and they try to trap bacteria in the nodes, while producing white blood cells to kill the bacteria. Or something.

So the debate is:

A - massaging the lymph nodes is a good thing, because it helps release all those white blood cells into your system to go fight all that grossness.

OR

B - by doing that, you're also releasing all the bacteria that's been trapped into your system, which means you're actually instigating the sickness. 

OR 

C - why the hell are you doing that at all. 

For the time being, my lymph node is un-swollen and I didn't wake up feeling any worse today than I did yesterday, so who knows. But if anyone has heard one way or the other, tell me! I don't want to sit here releasing toxins into my body (not to mention how painful it is to rub something that's already sore) if it's not for the better! Has anyone heard anything about this...ever? Katie, nurse-friend, anything?

mom code

I'm going to commit this week to posts about my mom, because she keeps doing this ridiculous stuff that other people need to share in dammit!

As you've probably gathered from other posts, my mom is the quintessential cop-turned-overprotective parent. Hence why Brian and I received matching emergency hammers for Christmas....in case we ever need to break our windshield from inside the car, DUH. She also does fun things like force me to stay on the phone with her until I'm inside my house ("Is your alarm on? Is your door locked?"), as if I don't complete this feat the other 364 days of the year all by my baby-self. I could go on.

The paranoia was born in a petri dish of bad experiences with criminals, but it blossomed into a whole new animal when she got her identity stolen about 10 years ago. Someone started a credit card in her name and, although it was a pain in the arse to fix, she lived to tell the story so no harm no foul, right? NO. To this day, she refuses to keep any credit cards (check or cash, anyone?) and she is extremely ticky about reading important numbers over the phone. The last time she had to give me a bank account number, she called me from a land line, read a few numbers, then hung up, called me from her cell phone, read the next few numbers, and so on. One time she read a sequence of numbers in chunks and then told me what order to put the chunks in to make the number read correctly.

Although I'm sure it sounds like it, she is not certifiable, by any means. I think she just subscribes to the "fool me once" mentality, and shame on her if she gets fooled again! So, to the point, this week I had to extract her social security number from her for some paperwork. I knew she'd feel like she was throwing her Hope diamond straight into a headwind, so I was excited to see what she would come up with in response. If you think she even touched the phrase "social security number" in her email, you're wrong. May I introduce you to Mom Code? 

By using your own as a model (I know yours), here's a formula to get mine:

 

Take the first number of yours and write that number down.

Write it down again.

Take the second number of yours and add four. Write it down.

Now write that number down again.

Take the third number of yours and subtract the first number on yours. Write that number down.

Take the second number of yours and subtract the fourth number of yours. Write that number down.

Double the fifth number of yours. Write that number down.

Take the first number of yours and subtract one from it. Write that number down.

Take the third number of yours and subtract two from it. Write that number down.

 

Hack that, hackers! Except don't because then I'd be in trouble. 

Plus, because I am the spawn of Queen Paranoia, obviously I changed the numbers :)

evidence

Remember how I was just telling you about my mom's aversion to Mexico? And you probably thought I was being dramatic?

Apparently she was having writer's block the other day (per her Facebook status) and in an effort to cure it, posted this:

Great timing for me to drop my little bombshell...

the $222 beer

Brian was in town for a quick trip this week and it was phenomenally beautiful outside, so we picked up a tallboy and headed for the disc golf course after work. If you've never played disc golf, I'd say 50% of the people walking the course are either smoking a bowl or carting a six-pack. It's laidback, to say the least. So anyway, we each have a measly single can of beer in a brown bag, homeless-style, and we're thoroughly enjoying our afternoon (and I'm thoroughly wishing I didn't suck at disc golf). On about hole four, the group of guys in front of us sits down to pack a bowl, so we jump in front of them. Nothing here to see. 

We follow the path out from behind some bushes, mid-hole, when I hear that dreaded question that's not a question at all: "Ma'am, can you come here for a moment." It's Officer Fuckme.

Now, clearly when Office F. saw such a hard criminal like myself wreaking havoc left and right amongst other innocent marijuana possessors, it made sense to drive his car up on the public lawn to eliminate a deadly 20-foot chase. Clearly.

I have successfully gotten out of three police encounters by being quiet, polite, and submissive. So I assumed my preppiness combined with my sobriety would probably warrant a warning and disposal of the DEADLY WEAPON but that's about it. 

However, when Officer F. looked up Brian's and my criminal records in Texas and saw that they were squeaky clean, he realized what kind of threat we must be to the park, to children, to society. 

Aaaaaaaaand two-hundred twenty-two dollars and a court date a piece later, we were free to go. 

I think it's worth noting that $222 is more than we would've paid if we'd dropped a deuce right in front of the kind Officer. 

But please, don't worry, that pack of scroungy men who were blatantly chugging beers and the trio of under-18ers who were high as balls? They all got to finish their rounds of golf. PHEW!

oh hello school. it's you again.

After my deliciously relaxing six-week break, school is back on like Donkey Kong starting tomorrow (that's right, Saturday morning). But who cares, because it's my last first day at school! 

Ever!

I'm sorry. What I'm trying to say is    ! ! ! ! ! ! !

I'm especially excited about tomorrow's class because it's the capstone, which is a fancy word for the grand finale big deal class. For my grand finale big deal I get to be a part of a consulting team for a start-up nonprofit in central Mexico....we'll be putting together the strategic plan (marketing, finance, etc.) so that the nonprofit can then go and help other schools/businesses learn about Mexican nonprofits. Kind of like we're building a factory that will then make parts to build factory. The matryoshka doll of businesses!

And, bonus, I get to go to Mexico over my birthday! Nothing says the-big-2-7 like diarrhea.

Unfortunately, this also means I have to tell my mom that I'll be in Mexico for a week, and thus she will flip her shit.

  

Not because I got arrested, or had a child out of wedlock, or have a porn circulating Youtube. 

Because I'm going to Mexico. For school.

I haven't told her that Heaven almighty this is really happening, mostly because she already told me a few months ago that she'd DIE if I signed up for it, and I'm not interested in her DYING, but I'm even less interested in watching the dying swan act that usually accompanies the charade of her DYING. 

"The swan" involves a careful step-by-step process, in no particular order. 

1) Reference to a number of stereotypes and hyperboles, including but not limited to "they prey on young American girls" "there's no safe place there" "those people don't act like we do." Think us/them dichotomies. 

2) An assumption that I can't defend myself for shit, because I have yet to operate any of the three guns in my house (don't come here, it's scary). 

3) An assumption that I will run from the group at the first chance I have, only to find myself in the cocaine-lined streets of the ghetto, most likely with my dress around my head, at which point I will have no other option than to get raped, pillaged, murdered, and chopped to pieces.

4) A last-ditch effort, usually correlating Mexico to imminent death. My mother's imminent death.

I'm not sure what gets her so worked up about Mexico (or really anyplace that's not spelled USA). Mind you, I've been to Mexico 5 times...and all 5 times I came back unscathed. This trip should be the least threatening of all of them, seeing as how it's "chaperoned" by professors, in an upscale tourist village, and OH YEAH I'm 26 and have a shred of common sense.

What's that, you say? You'll tell her for me? Excellent. I'll be over there hiding in that bomb shelter.

THE LIST, in all its cinematic glory

Last January I decided I should work on my patience by watching more movies, which used to be irritating sometimes because I felt like there was probably something better I could be doing. So, I started keeping a little list at work of movies as I saw them, just to make sure I was keeping up with my promise. Somehow I managed to keep it going all year, and now I have the entire compilation of new-to-me movies from 2009 - all 50 of them! Now, for a little organization:

Favorites:

Blood Diamond

Angels and Demons

Across the Universe

The Hours

The Time Traveler's Wife

Royal Tenenbaums

Slumdog Millionaire

Save your money:

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

27 Dresses

Wedding Daze (WORST MOVIE EVER)

Confessions of a Shopaholic

Somewhere in Time

Best ones I wouldn't want to watch again:

Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Rachel Getting Married

Best ones you've never heard of:

King of Kong (documentary on Donkey Kong players - go watch!)

Grace of my Heart

Eh:

Tropic Thunder

Role Models

My Blue Heaven 

Kung Fu Hustle

Sabrina

He's Just Not That Into You

Ghost of Girlfriends Past

Yummy talented cast:

Curious Case of Benjamin Button

3:10 to Yuma

Should've liked more than I did:

Billy Elliott

Rudy

P.S. I Love You

The Hangover

Willow

Worth seeing:

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Wizard of Oz

Finding Neverland

Stepbrothers

Sliding Doors

Say Anything

Rushmore

What About Bob

Robin Hood

Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist

The Reader

Made me hate guns even more:

Bowling for Columbine

Lord of War

Good one-time watch:

Point Break

The Last Boy Scout

First Knight

Bride Wars

Brothers

Where the Wild Things Are

Still not sure about:

Two Girls and a Guy

And, on that note, I kicked off 2010 with Avatar in 3-D. We had a company outing at the movies because, as usual, my job rocks, and it was amazing! Granted I felt sick the whole time but the visual effects were incredible, and I think my English major friends who did all that post-Colonial reading back in the day will particularly enjoy it. Kind of makes me want to go back and read Heart of Darkness again. Kind of.

sign-off

A quick note on my most recently discovered pet peeve: I hate it when people sign their business correspondence in a cheesy way. I just got another email saying "all my best". It's like saying I was probably a dick just then in that letter. Want to pretend this makes up for it? I do.

Even "best regards" annoys me. Really? Are you really sending this with the maximum possible regards that you can muster? Because that must be exhausting. And what the hell does "Confidently yours" mean? If you think that's an appropriate ending, then you were probably already arrogant in your letter, so I probably already hate you. Sadly, even my mom does it, and hers is actually worse. Or possibly, the worst. She sent me a letter yesterday to sign and this was the grand finale:

With every good wish, I am  

                              Very truly yours, 

                              Laura 

Honestly, I don't even know what to do with that one, although I think it's best read in the voice of Agador Spartacus from The Birdcage.