I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it

I have gephyrophobia. (It’s ok – I wash my hands all the time and I’m pretty sure that ya’ can’t catch it that way anyway.) I’ve made mention of this in the past – I believe I talked about last in September, when I had to cross an overpass I’d never seen before, on foot, during a half-marathon.

Tim, Scott, Mike ,and Andy have all seen me deal with this fear – and depending on the traffic, the vehicle I’m in, the lane I’m using, which bridge is being crossed, what time of day, etc it is, I can be paralyzed and awful about it or pretty low-key and casual. (I’d like to apologize publically to Scott, Mike and Andy for the incident I had while we went wine tasting last time. I’ve become much more adept at crossing the Golden Gate now that I have to do so four times a week. I’ve now done it so many times that I can do it topless *and* with music.)

Oh, and I can cross the bridge, too!

I have some acquaintances who are collecting data for an experiment and they wanted to measure my stress levels on the four main Bay Area bridges. Happily, it was a beautiful day outside - hardly any wind, great temperature, and lots of great sunlight. It was a good day for science and I had nothing else lined up so I agreed. (They thought about testing my coulrophobia too, but I had to draw the line somewhere. After all, these folks are just acquaintances – they’ve never even seen me naked.)

I started off in the morning with my coffee run and a minor detour when I was pulled over by a local cop – who looked like any other average 14 year old – who wanted to make sure I had a current registration sticker. I, of course, do – I just hadn’t put it on my car yet so after he complimented me on my driver’s license photo, he put the sticker on for me and I went on my way.

The day was uneventful – but we covered quite a bit of ground … literally. I drove over each bridge twice (“up” and “back”). I used my own car, and borrowed a team members’ truck - sometimes there was a car full of folks with me, other times it was just me and a passenger - sometimes we had music, other times dead silence. No results were discussed with me as to how I “did” (it’s not really a pass or fail kind of a thing), and I’ll do this little exercise a few more times with the crew – at other times of day or night and all sorts of varying circumstances – so that the data collected is as reflective of “real life” as possible. Overall though, I’d have to say I was pretty blasé by the experience.

I’m typing this back at home. The next door neighbor has a teenage son who has, apparently, decided to learn to play the base. He is JUST starting out, but I can safely report that he’s mastered getting the amp volume level to 11.

Hmmm … I wonder what my stress level is now?

Extra, Extra ...

I don't read books. No - I inhale them.

I have been known to spend more on books in one month than I have on shoes ... and I'm a chick with sales person from Neiman Marcus who calls me *on my cell* regularly ... so it's a significant thing for me to admit.

I have recently read (and THOROUGHLY enjoyed) "What Would Audrey Do?" by Pamela Koegh. I took the quizzes at the end of each chapter and decided that I still want to grow up to be as awesome as Audrey.

Also, I've read Mary Roach's newest book "Bonk". Mary's "Stiff" was not only a great read, but the cover art (a toe-tagged foot under a sheet) was the BEST way I found to get people to NOT attempt a conversation with me in places where that effort is normally made - like coffee shops and planes. (Take my word for this - buy "Stiff" in hard cover and use that slip-sheet for whatever book you're reading today. It's like solitude guaranteed.) "Bonk" has cover art, too - but two lady bugs "doing it" doesn't seem to be as much of a conversation deterrent as I'd like. It does draws stares but it apparently also encourages conversation ... and really bad pick-up lines.

I recently bought a book by Chelsea Handler, a gal I'd NEVER heard of, just because of the title of her book. (How could I not want to read anything titled "Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea"?) Three chapters into this book I knew that I'd go out and buy her first effort "My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands", and I did so - even before I had finished "Vodka".

I was there to get just one book -"When You Are Engulfed In Flames" by David Sedaris - who is my most famous dear friend whom I haven't met yet. (Strangely, I'm not a fan of his sister Amy - but David? David is a Writing God.) No review on that yet, since I'm still reading it - but the chapter titled "Buddy, Can You Spare A Tie?" had me in tears I was laughing so hard.

I still had "Horizontal" and "Engulfed" in my hands when I saw "Things I've Learned From Women Who've Dumped Me". It has 46 "lessons" from people I've heard of and adore (like Andy Richter, Patton Oswalt, and *sigh* my lover Stephen Colbert - whom I've also still never met) as well as brand new heroes like Eric Slovin and Alex Gregory.

(Side note: Each contributor was allowed - probably encouraged - to write their own introductions. Alex's read, in part: "He has a wife, two daughters, and is an accomplished pilot. The people who harp on the fact that he has never flown a plane or successfully operated a flight simulator are just jealous of his innate flying skills, so if you ever find yourself on a plane he's piloting, just sit back and relax. It's all going to be fine." Clearly, I need to find more of Alex's work.)

Interesting to note about "Dumped" was that midway through the book, I came across a business card for "Wing Girl Nation". The back of the card reads "There is an art to meeting new people. WGN provides personalized training that includes the basics and more. Services range from hourly training to comprehensive packages. Social Coaching, Image Consulting, Physical Training, Interior Decorating and Design."

A quick search on the web shows that these folks are for real and - well, I dunno if they had an "in" with the publisher or what - but putting a business card for what is basically a "how to prevent yourself from being a schmuck like these guys" business card in a book about famous-ish type folks writing about being dumped is marketing GENIUS.

... and that's what my reading list looks like as of late.

Cuts Like A Knife

Regular broadcast news programs tell you the news – all the random, mostly depressing crap, “plus sports and weather” and then finish up with a happy story – the “fluff piece”. Clearly this is just to try to make the viewer forget about all the sadness, ugliness, and general nastiness just shown. I’m gonna do the exact opposite here. The good news: No stitches were required.

And now, the rest of the story …

On Sunday, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t wake up from a headache. For the past few weeks, off and on – but mostly on – I’ve woken with a headache of varying degrees. Never a complete raging head-banger, mostly they’ve just been all-day annoyances … ways to make me to move a little slower than I’d like to. I suspect they could be brought on by dehydration. My intake of hot chocolate has been pretty much the same as the winter months and now, as it is warm out, I guess I should lighten up. So I’ve got a bunch of terrific juices now too – ‘tho I’ll admit that I still go through about three half-gallons of milk in about 6 days.

I awoke, fed the cats, and while in the shower, I gave myself permission to skip church. I justified this by recognizing I’d spent MUCH of Saturday saying things like “Dear Lord” and thinking “Please God – don’t let me hurt this person” while I met with my cousins in a “what are we gonna do about the old folks” day-long extravaganza. I read the morning paper, made a mental list (“coffee, laundry, dishes, read gloriously, and ummm that’s it”) and decided to get my day going. It wasn’t even 8am as I headed out the door for coffee. I caught up with my Barista, John, whom you may remember I’ve forever hooked on Captain Crunch last month. “Have you tried Cocoa Puffs??!?” the poor kid greeted me with. (Apparently, I have created a monster.)

I drove back to continue to go through the paper and slowly start on my very short list of stuff to do. About 15 minutes passed when unexpected (but welcome) family-ish related company dropped by. This isn’t unusual … typically it’s a book request, or a specific recording or, mostly, I think he just enjoys hanging out with the cats at a place where no one will ask him any “parent-type” questions. I started a load of laundry, and decided to start on the dishes.

It was a paring knife and I was trying to get off some bbq corn residue – so pressure on the blade was required. Unfortunately, as often the case, the soap was soapy, the water was wet, the knife was sharp, and the human was imperfect. The blade took a short but deep run across the inner right knuckle area of the index finger, turning the running water a lovely shade of crimson. I turned off the hot water, immediately turned on the cold water, put the knife down, and squeezed the cut to force anything out that maybe shouldn’t have been in there. (I may have also made that “stwwwwwcchhhhththth” sound of sucking in air through ones teeth that one makes when one has hurt oneself.)

I waited 30 seconds, watching at the clock above the sink, and looked at the water, which was still streaming red. Hmmm, I thought – that’s odd. It didn’t look like a long cut. I rinsed for another minute, and then took a clean dish towel from the drawer and wrapped it around my finger, putting pressure on it with my thumb. I held the towel-wrapped hand above my heart, and waited a couple of minutes. I peeked – and unfortunately because of the blood thinners I take to prevent my migraines, any clotting that MAY have started immediately ceased. “Hey kid”, I said finally. “How’s about a run to the hospital for Sunday morning grins and giggles?”

I was in and out of the hospital in less than an hour, and again, no stitches were required. Because I was a bright girl and updated my tetanus shots prior to my Gulf Coast work, no injections were necessary. I told the registration staff that I’d be their easiest patient all day, and I likely was. I’m not squeamish on these things, so I helped them force-rinse the wound (which, of course, re-opened it), helped identify where the cut ended and the knuckle-skin began, and held it together while they glued it shut, attaching a piece of tape over the area to keep things together. They added a splint (to prevent me from bending the finger), and wrapped that together (with the hopes of reminding me to NOT bang the finger on the side of things), and sent me on my way. No harm, no foul, and very little overall throbbing.

According to my chart, I haven’t been treated at an emergency room in more than a decade. (“Urgent care” appointments are a totally different thing.) The only temporary effect is that my typing skills have dropped by about 75%, making for some pretty nifty typos (or “tupis”, as I originally wrote just now).

And now – here’s Hugh Jardin with SportsWatch. Hugh?