Apparently I Have Eyeball Issues

May 18, 2012

I cut my eyeball with a cardboard clothing tag.

I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in the whole world who has ever done this.  If I’m wrong, and there’s someone else, we totally need to bond over margaritas.

How it happened is a really long story involving a trip to the Brazilian Consulate in Los Angeles, a Marshall’s and a pair of baby pajamas that had a cute bunny on the butt.  And having to be led blind and crying back to the car while Mason, sensing that we weren’t on our A game, kept trying to make a break for it.  And then suffering through two hours of eyeball pain and nausea (I get car sick if I’m not driving) before we got back home.

So that little incident?  Was SEVEN MONTHS ago.  I got slightly better every day, so I didn’t go to see an eye doctor.  Actually, I didn’t really know that I was supposed to go to one.  Not until Blaine on Glee got his eye injured and had to have SURGERY did I think, wow, maybe I should get my eye checked out.  Because after seven months, it still wasn’t completely healed.  Yes, I’m a total idiot.

My appointment was yesterday, and I should’ve known when I felt the urge to throw up in the waiting room that the whole thing wasn’t going to go well.

First, dropping liquids into your eye is COUNTER-INTUITIVE.  That’s what blinking is for.  So getting the numbing and dilating drops into my eyes was a bit of a challenge.  The doctor ended up having to push my head against the headrest with his arm, and hold my eyelids open.  And then I cried, and we had to do it a second time.  And then it STUNG.  And then he sent me out  into Costco to wander around by myself for 20 minutes with a tissue to dab at my watering eyes.  I didn’t want to go far because I looked like a mess, so I just went up and down the electronics aisles, ending at the 3D televisions.  Only I didn’t know they were 3D and thought the drops were making me go blind.

And then the doctor tried to get a piece of lint out of my good eye with his FINGER and I started crying again.  Sobbing, actually.  And I made him promise he wouldn’t touch my eyeball again.  Or the other one, the one I was actually there for him to take a look at, emphasis on look.

After more examining and a few unsuccessful attempts to lighten the mood, he said, “I guess I shouldn’t joke around with you!”  And that made me realize how far I’d fallen, because I’m usually the one cracking jokes, especially in hard times.  And I was so disappointed in myself that the tears started rolling again.  Though part of it might have been due to my fingers hurting from clenching the chair arms so tightly.

I wouldn’t be surprised to find that I’ve been put on the DO NOT SEE AT ANY COST list.

The good news is that it’s a clean slice, and some super salty drops will help the flap adhere back to my eyeball and my eyelid won’t rip it open anew every morning when I wake up.  Kinda nice to know what was causing all the pain, in a NOT sorta way.  From now on I’ll be attaching a No Details clause to all my eye appointments.

What I figured out from this whole debacle, besides GO TO THE FREAKIN’ DOCTOR RIGHT AWAY IF YOU HURT YOUR EYE (I was told that I was very lucky),  is that I can add Eyeball Touching Phobia to my fear of heights.  And spiders.  Oh, and my fear of anything that can come out of a child’s head (puke, snot, slobber, eye boogers, ear wax, etc.).  Seriously, what’s one more?

I keep thinking back to that walk we had to do from the store to the car, and laughing.  It was a bumpy one!  I even tripped down two stairs.  Let’s just say that if Gilberto and I were ever on Survivor and we were playing that game where one person leads the blindfolded, I would not nominate Gilberto for that role.  Or I would not be blindfolded.  Either way.

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Netflix Is A Dangerous Place

May 12, 2012

When I saw Gabi splayed out on the couch, remote in hand, channel surfing and not able to turn it off despite complaining that there was nothing on, I decided that, dagnabit, we didn’t need a TV anymore.  Gilberto talked me off of that ledge and we opted to get rid of live TV and rely solely on Netflix and Hulu Plus memberships to see us through any dark times that might arise.  I envisioned us all having much more productive days, full of learning and crafting for the kids.  I’d even get to the ironing pile!  And finish Gabi’s baby book!  And just add an occasional show to fill in a cold and rainy Saturday night.

Any illusion I had that getting rid of cable was going to cut down on our TV watching time has been busted.

(I also discovered that I’m a bit lacking when it comes to self control.  Though my WHOLE LIFE probably should’ve clued me in on that one.)

It started with Glee.  I was hooked 10 minutes in, and proceeded to watch 58 episodes in the next 6 days (44 on Netflix, 14 on Hulu Plus).  That is a LOT of high school and emotionally driven singing to take in in such a short amount of time.  I started having dreams about all the characters and getting lost on choir trips and kept waking up in a panic thinking I was 17 again.  It was such a relief to finally catch up to the current season.

My next series obsession was a joint venture with Gabi.  We started watching an Australian show called H2O, Just Add Water.  It doesn’t even matter what it was about (three young girls that turn into mermaids whenever they get wet), we were really just watching it for the accent.  We spent weeks trying to copy it, including Gilberto, because he was in the unfortunate situation of having his computer within earshot of the TV, and I was the only one who couldn’t do it.  I just end up sounding like I’m drunk.  It’s one of my greatest disappointments in life.

Next up was My So Called Life.  I was so excited to find it, and was ready to relive some of the best TV of my youth.  But, y’all, I am too old to be watching angsty stuff like that again!  It was seriously STRESSING ME OUT.  I guess I can only take so much drama in a day before I start siding with all the adults and declaring the kids crazy and in need of some long term boarding reform school.  They should’ve been in Glee club.

After that I moved on to more peaceful stuff like Shark Week, Portlandia and Lilyhammer.

Once I start, I can’t stop!  I need some serious intervention.  But not until after I watch Madmen and Weeds.  At the rate I’m going I’ll be free in about two weeks.

We should’ve just dumped the TV when we had the chance.  I blame Gilberto.

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Two Bear Stories, Only One Happy Ending

Aug 22, 2011

I have a sick fascination with bear stories.

I hate blood and gore and terror, but wrap it up with a bear and I’ll take it any way you give it to me.    Just hearing the word bear makes the hair on my arms stand on end and my pulse quicken.  As long as I’m not directly involved, of course.

I have no logical explanation for the why of it, other than that my first seven years were spent in Alaska and I probably heard my fair share of bear stories in that time, imprinting a beastly esteem on me.

When I came across this tweet on Twitter, it was like I’d just discovered a delicious desert.

 

 

The whole close call with a bear part was enough to capture my attention, but the hashtag, that thrilling little addendum, alluded to a wonderful, hair raising story.  It did not disappoint!  In fact, FearfulGirl has a whole section on her blog dedicated to close calls while traveling, and they are a pretty awesome read.

My family has also had a few personal encounters with bears.

My Aunt had gone to visit some friends deep in the Alaskan wilderness, and while she was there a man who lived in a cabin on the other side of the lake ran up screaming for help. A bear had broken into their house and he and his wife had escaped through a second-story window onto the roof. His wife distracted the bear so he could jump down and run for help.

My Aunt’s friends grabbed their guns and headed to the cabin, but by the time they got there, the bear had found a way onto the roof and mauled the woman to death.

The rangers told them that the bear had probably smelled that it was the woman’s time of the month

How’s THAT for a bear story?  A good reminder not to live out in the middle of nowhere if you don’t like the possibility of getting eaten.  Just sayin’.

When Gabi was two, we went to Alaska to visit my dad, step-mom and little sister.  Gilberto was obsessed with seeing a bear, and luck was on his side a few nights in when we were woken up by a bear in the backyard going through the trash.

My dad stood to the side of the sliding glass doors with his gun as the bear climbed up the steps to the deck.  We  huddled in the living room, Gilberto excited beyond belief, me frozen in terror.  A pane of glass will not stop a determined bear, and it was my time of the month.  I just KNEW that bear was going to break into the house and eat me, just like what happened to that poor woman on the lake.

I obviously survived.  Luckily the bear didn’t see, or, ahem, smell anything of interest, and moved on down the road.

So while I love talking about bears, and hearing about bears, I do not like putting myself in the paths of bears.  No more camping for this girl.  Not even in a camper.  A bear would have no problem prying that thing open like a sardine tin and plucking us out one by one.

Do you have any exciting or scary animal encounters?

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