Monthly Archives: June 2010

Yesterday was the first Monday of Summer Vacation. The kids went to camp, and I began to tackle the 800 chores that were neglected for end of school festivities.

In the early evening we were invited to the Microsoft X Box Kinect reveal. The kids and I went with Tiffany and her son downtown to the Galen Center where we would meet up with my husband and family. Tiffany boldly navigated traffic the likes of which I have never seen before, and then we all waited in line. Oh, and then we waited some more.

There was no food, there were no drinks, there were no vendors. There were water fountains inside, but nothing for the wait in line. This was an event where you could RSVP your children. Note to self: do not bring children anywhere free. The cost of free is high.

After we made it in we put on these wacky white ponchos with shoulder pads that channeled Joan Collins circa 1985, and we took our seats. There was a weird screen between the seated audience and the audience on the floor. The audience on the floor was interacting with the Cirque Troupe while the seated audience watched through a mesh screen. Weird. Not good, not bad, weirdly engaging.

The reveal was amazing.

Seriously amazing. I sat there and poked Tiffany about three hundred times saying, “I want that.” and “Oh wait, I want that too.” And she never ever poked me back, nor did she shush me. I’m pretty sure it’s because she was tired. I’m pretty sure everyone knows that Kinect was previously called Project Natal, and it’s an XBox that watches how your body moves with three little cameras. Instead of holding numchuks like on a Wii, you simply stand in front of the machine and move as if you were  in the game. There are no controllers. It will be available November 4th, and I’m pretty sure that everyone will want one for the Holiday Season. As the parent of kids who have mostly outgrown the Wii, I see this as the next logical step. Oh, also, I want the yoga program. Like I really really really want it.

Here’s a snippet of a family playing a car racing game:

Now I promised you crazy, and I’m going to give you three crazy things that happened last night. I’ll give them to you in chronological order, though certainly not in order of import or oddity.

At the Kinect reveal event I could not find my brother (who I was really looking forward to spending time with), but I did accidentally sit down right behind my ex-stepbrother, his wife, and their two children. The ex step brother and I have no real contact, it’s always strange when we bump into one another. Every few years there’s an awkward “Jessica? Jessica Wilzig?” and I have to remember that I had a different name once upon a time. Our parents divorced in the late 80′s or perhaps the early 90′s? I was absolutely delighted to see him, and it’s been fun watching his wife’s star rise. I tried to explain to my friends who he is, but one guy just looked at me and said, “How does that even happen?” I don’t really have a good answer for that one. It just does.

When we left the Galen Center my husband was ravenous so we drove through Mc Donalds. In my head I’m screaming, don’t do it. Don’t buy this shit, don’t have a salt lick and dogfood for dinner. But the outside of me smiled, and recognized that I’d asked my family along to an event that delighted only me. The kids got hamburgers at 10PM. I said nothing. Everyone in the car recognized the oddity of my silence.

As we turned our car onto our street I glanced at a neighbor’s house and saw smoke billowing from a window. “Honey, I think the pink house is on fire.” As I said the words I thought, oh I’m overreacting, there’s no possible way that the house is on fire. Indeed I was not overreacting, the house was very much on fire.

My husband pulled the car over, told me to dial 9-1-1 and then he went to the front door of the smoking house, and started banging on the door. We could see lights being turned on, and smoke filled every inch of that home. After a moment a man answered the door, I watched my husband talk to him, and then the strangest thing ever happened.

The man walked back into his smoky house.

At this point in time the LAFD was en route, and I was still on the phone with an incredibly well trained dispatcher giving him details as I had them. The dispatcher didn’t react at all as I told him, “the man is going back into the house.” Nothing, no reaction whatsoever. Good work, LAFD our city needs unflappable. I did have the house confused with another, and I was terribly concerned that there were children inside, so it was only after my husband came back to the car and reassured me that that homeowner was not Indian that I exhaled. You see their immediate neighbor is a young Indian family, and the thought of children being in there was just too much to bear.

After fourteen minutes, 29 firefighters were able to put the flames out. My children huddled with other neighbors and we all looked on with horror as flames licked the sides of the pink house. I looked on with horror as my children ate McDonalds.

The homeowner eventually came to our side of the street to talk with the Battalion Chief. His hair was as wild as his eyes, and there was a trickle of snot coming from his nose. The kids wanted to see what would happen, but I had to take them home and to bed. My neighbor was having the worst moment of his life, and now that we knew he was safe it was time to go.

Every part of the evening conspired to have us drive down our street from the wrong direction and notice a plume of smoke.

Thank goodness.

Recently I stated that “I have little respect for my community, yet I adore my audience.” Some folks believe that audience and community are synonyms.

They most certainly are not.

An audience may be an interactive audience, as this one sometimes is. In reality very few of my readers ever comment. Some of you email me, and I delight in that. I don’t need your comments to know you are here. I see you. We have a nice rapport, you and I. If I didn’t want you here, I’d keep a journal. Y’all delight me.

Conversely, it is entirely possible for a community not interact at all, but simply to be present. It is possible that the community can lurk, demean and harass It is possible that my friends would alert me to strange searches on their sites. Entire sites within the blogging community exist solely to destroy other people. Publicists behave like sullen teenagers throwing their weight behind blog posts that take an entire company and pit it against one (very green) mom blogger.

I’m not exactly sure how to proceed. Blogging used to be fun. I met amazing women, I’ve been given great opportunities, and this has been a nice living.

The reality is that my husband and I don’t need this income. I don’t need the feedback, the accolades or the headaches.

I’m back to the same silly place. The community is rancid, but the audience is terrific. We’re going to have to find a way to make this work.

Photo Marfis75 via flickr creative commons

My thoughts are consumed with how to quit.

I have little respect for my community, yet I adore my audience.

Conundrum.

Sunday morning I noticed a little burning when I urinated. Sunday afternoon I roamed the mall and found a giant bottle of Vitamin C with Cranberry, ran home and took two doses of it.

I felt better within a few hours. Better, but not good.

Monday and Tuesday were okay, but it was an extremely busy week, so I just gobbled vitamins and naproxen and hoped it would go away. By Tuesday night I was virtually in tears. I added half an ambien to the vitamin/naproxen cocktail hoping that I would just sleep through the pain, and knowing that I had Jane’s transition ceremony Wednesday morning. (tip: Ambien is not a pain killer, I didn’t sleep well but I was groggy all day Wednesday) I spent Wednesday morning delighted for my daughter, but still very uncomfortable. Going to the bathroom was excruciating. Finally, I called the doctor.

Of course my doctor does travelers medicine. I walked into the office at 2pm, exchanged pleasantries, and went into the bathroom to pee in a cup. The office is tiny, so when I walked back out, cup of urine in hand, I about bumped into a bride and her husband who were getting hepatitis vaccines for their trip to Bali. As I tried to hold back tears, the bride harangued the groom, wanting to know where they would vacation next year.

Because I am an adult I did not ask him what he thought his second wife might be like. Adulthood sucks.

Within moments my vitals were being taken, and then I was whisked into an exam room where I was asked about my menstrual cycle. The phase, “a significant amount of blood” was used. They asked if I had any pain in back, I said “not much,” and the physician’s assistant told me I had to use the prescriptions correctly, “We want to protect your kidneys.” I left with a prescription for antibiotics and something that turns your pee bright orange (Pyridium?), but numbs your bladder so you don’t think you’re dying every time you’re going to the bathroom.

Pyridium will freak your kids out. No matter how many times you flush the toilet it will still look like someone took a radioactive piss. No, I am not showing y’all pictures, I have the smallest bits of pride left (smallest really).

So, I made it to the pharmacy and gobbled Pyridium hoping for quick relief. I was back to the school by three, picked up both my kids, did an errand with them, and basically stuck them in front of the TV while I tried to not pass out. This was the weirdest infection ever.

Until I went to take a radioactive pee, felt like I was experiencing childbirth, only worse, hyperventilated and cried alone on the toilet and then heard *pling*.

The tiniest little rock-like thing was in my urine stream, and I swear to all that is holy, that numbing medicine might have saved me from a heart attack. I heard a sound come out of my mouth, but I still don’t know how I made it, or why.

I’m still really uncomfortable today, and my stepmother reminded me that I should have kept the stone for analysis. Which I totally would have done, were I willing to stick my hands into radioactive pee.

I wasn’t very surprised when the school called last week with Alexander saying he had an earache.

“Does he have a fever?” I queried.

“No, but he looks puny.” Said the receptionist.

“We had a really nice weekend and I have a feeling that he might be angling for a snuggly afternoon so I’d like you to give it another half hour.”

They gave him some Tylenol and told him to come back if he still hurt.

At 12:30 the phone rang and I hardly needed to answer it. I was at the school by 12:45 feeling Alexander’s forehead.

No fever.

“Mom, my right ear hurts a lot I need to be home. But first can I get an apricot and blueberry muffin from Starbucks?” He’s smiling at me now from the backseat and no just isn’t in my vocabulary for the moment.

We get home and shake the crumbs off. Since the pediatrician’s office is closed for lunch from 12 to 2 we have an hour to kill before I can even call for an appointment so I plunk Alexander down have a look in his ear.

I have no idea why I’m even bothering to look but I do see a big wad of wax.

Eh, why not?

I have Alexander lay down on my bed with his right ear up and I’m going to use tweezers to pull the wax out. He’s compliant, I should know at this point that something’s fishy.

I pull his skin taught and gently tug at what I assume will be a soft ball of ear wax.

Stunning when it turns white.

Even more stunning when it’s a half inch long.

“What is this?!” I exclaim.

“I dunno.”Alexander is upright now and rubbing his ear. “I can hear everything now.”

“It looks like paper. Folded up paper.”

“Oh yeah,” He sing songs, “Peter and I lost that.”

“When?”

“Definitely in April.”

I am utterly unprepared for parenthood.

According to the AP The State Board of Medicine says a South Florida surgeon who took out a healthy kidney instead of a gallbladder during an operation wasn’t inept or careless. … Bernard Zaragoza had bad luck.

It’s worth noting that the patient was 83, I’m wondering if the fine is smaller because they figure, meh, he’s 83, one kidney can surely take you through another ten years, the rest is gravy?