ILLNESS

Friday, February 25, 2005

Busted

"Would you close your eyes for a second? I wanna tell you a secret about my bra."

I debated about whether I should write about this or not, but since researching the subject online, I have found websites that express a similar frustration. The subject is not meant as titilation, but rather FRUSTRATION.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out what my bra size is. According to certain online calculators, I am a 34 G or yes, even a 40 A (and every size inbetween)!

Someone tell me how I can be simultaneously a 34 G and a 40 A. I haven't been an A cup since I probably turned 20...who knows, maybe even 15. But no, if I add the stupid 5" to the ribcage measurement, round up to an even number, subtract that from the bust measurement, according to some online calculators, the difference gives me only 1" between my ribcage (backsize) and my bust, so that makes me an A cup. Uh huh.

At the same time, I really doubt I'm a G cup. I mean, isn't that like Dolly Parton absurd implant size? But contrarily, according to *other* online calculations, you are NOT supposed to add the 5" to the ribcage measurement, so subtracting that pristine number from my bust measurement gives me 7 inches, which, is a G cup.

Will someone set a standard please? Personally, I think Bra Standards are a helluva lot more important than Web Standards, but what the hell do I know. It's hard enough to find a comfortable bra (which is why I've been doing the Sue Ellen Mischke thing for so many years because my super sensitive pseudo-autistic princess and the pea skin hates irritation and binding and all that uncomfortable stuff that comes with bras), let alone a comfortable bra in the right size.

I don't know how we girls walk around with those things.

It's bad enough to come to the sudden realization that you're not the skinny, flat chested girl you used to think of yourself as for so many years...that you're actually LARGE. I didn't see it happening. Stan said it was like my grandmothers (genetics) were battling it out for control of my shape. When I was young, my dad's mom's genetics were winning, now my mom's mom's genetics have won. But to compound the problem with not being able to figure out what exactly your size is, or find anything comfortable to wear, it's just extremely frustrating and depressing.

Yes, I know this post is chock-full of Seinfeld references.

Posted by Ann on 02/25/05@10:22 AM CST ..::Link::..Whisper or Scream?

Thursday, February 24, 2005

Plethora of really awful dreams

Stan woke me up around 5. Stepped in water in the bathroom, freaked out because I thought it was whiz. Stan assured me it was from his shower last night. Couldn't get back to sleep...he kept snoring. Finally when I did, I had horrible dreams.

Act I: Red Tape
I was in some sort of official state building because I had to pay a fee or fine or ticket or license or something. There were a bunch of charges on on the slip of paper that I held, but I wanted the woman behind the counter to clarify them for me. The fee was over $40, but the actual "fee" part was only $25. The other stuff was just a bunch of taxes and surgcharges. There was one very pricy surcharge that didn't make any sense to me, and I wanted her to explain. I wouldn't take her explanation...I wanted someone higher up to explain because the wording was just nonsensical. Meanwhile, there was a line of people waiting behind me getting impatient. Stan was getting impatient with me too and wanted me to just pay the damn fee. So I take a bunch of dollar bills out of my wallet to pay, and they look like monopoly money. I'm losing track as I count them. Finally, the line of people have left and there is just Stan standing by the counter now, and the woman has been replaced by some guy who slightly resembles Kelsey Grammar (sp?) (WTF?!?! Frasier...I never watched the show!!!) but more average looking. He's handling my transaction and it is taking forever...it's almost as if he's ignoring me. I ask where the line of people went, and Stan tells me they already got taken care of. I get mad and yell that I was next! I also request something of the guy, probably to explain the surcharges. He tells me there's an ignorance hotline (this might have been on the radio at the time, so I might've gotten radio entangled in my dream, but I don't know for sure.). I get mad at him and told him I was not ignorant, and THEY need to be tutored in the proper use of English (or should I say...Grammar? heh) in order to construct surcharges that make sense! I think I'm yelling and wake myself up in the process.

Act II: Loose Pug
I washed Lucifer Sam's fur and it went from soft and shiny to fuzzy, dry and krinkly. I then took him to some sort of dog get-together, but I was the only one there with a dog. It was on the corner of Atwood and that little street near where Pasqual's used to be. For some reason, I didn't have Lucifer Sam on a leash...I was just holding him by his collar. There were some people who came with poodles. Lucifer Sam was straining to see the poodles and somehow managed to wiggle loose from me. I was then trying to catch him, but naturally the more I tried to get him, the more he ran away. I was scared because Atwood is a busy street. I think I might've scared myself awake.

Act III: Guy in Store
Back to the Pug on the Run, I think some guy might have helped me catch him....I think the guy looked like that tall prematurely grey Dr. Ferguson from Alameda East (Emergency Vets show on Animal Planet), but older, probably a bit shorter and more average looking (yes, I do watch THAT show). I think we're in a grocrey store, but it's where Pasqual's used to be. I thank him and he thanks me for some reason. Is he trying to pick me up? There was also something about yogurt, but I think I woke up.

Act IV: Art Supplies and Affairs
Stan is at an Art/Office Supply store in Milwaukee or Denver. Their decor has lots of reds and oranges. Stan is buying some stuff...liquid paper, but not THE Liquid Paper...this is something else. I'm standing in line and Stan has his supplies near an endcap. As it's time for us to be checked out, Stan is nowhere to be seen, so I gather up his supplies and start to pay for them myself. The clerk says something about a discount, and pick up later...blah blah blah, but I tell her we're from out of town. Then I see Stan, but he doesn't look like Stan, he looks more like Bono (ew) with facial hair and narrow dork Bonoglasses. He's talking to a woman who is about 5'8"/5'7" with long dark hair. She's probably around our age. I go after them and confront them up against a wall. I see that the woman has a moustache (not a full-blown put-me-in-a-circus Tom Selleck 'stache, but more of a medical "condition" type female moustache). She would've been attractive except for that. Stan says that there's something that he needs to talk to me about, and I knew that he was having an affair with the bearded lady. I start to hit him, claw at him and yell, and wake myself up.

Posted by Ann on 02/24/05@10:15 AM CST ..::Link::..A Whisper Inside.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Ow! My Eyes!

Ummmm....for a site that advertises a device that eliminates annoying SOUND...it is ironic that it is so LOUD on the EYES.

Nonetheless, I found TV B-Gone, and it is MUCH more affordable than I thought!

Stan, if you want one for your birthday, I would be glad to get one for you! (Just thought I'd check first though...if you think it would make you subject to being tarred and feathered by your tv-addicted coworkers, then I won't. [see comments under the Oprah entry below to see what I'm talking about.])

Posted by Ann on 02/22/05@11:58 AM CST ..::Link::..3 Screamers.

Monday, February 21, 2005

I wish I hadn't seen that...

I turned on the tv this afternoon to catch some news and was immediately hit with a screaming Oprah head. "'The hell?" I thought, and left it on just to see what on earth could be causing Oprah such histrionics, which, probably wasn't a whole lot knowing how Oprah likes to behave like a 5-year-old demanding to be the center of attention. Two women were holding her earlobes, one had a piercing gun. Oprah was getting her ears pierced for the first time. A bit odd, I thought, as I figured that everyone in the world had their ears pierced at least once except for my mom and mother-in-law. But the truly odd part of this wasn't that Oprah (what is she, like 5 years older than I am? In her late 40s?) was getting her ears pierced at that old an age, but the fact that she was putting up such a fuss about it! Each time the gun woman approached with the implement, Oprah protested, "Wait a minute!" and tried to "compose herself" (yes, I know, "compose herself" and "Oprah" really don't belong in the same paragraph) yet simultaneously put on a little diva fit. I watched it. I was incredulous that I was actually watching Oprah, yet more incredulous that someone could behave like such a spoiled little child over getting her ears pierced! I simply couldn't believe what I was watching. I have now decided that Oprah is THE Disney Witch Extraordinare, DW SpokesDiva. She is Queen DW. Throw all attention HER way, she is the center of the Universe. What Oprah Wants, Oprah Gets.

I would guess millions of people get piercings daily, and there's no more benign place than the lobes. I got mine done twice, once when I was 13, and again when I was a few years older. Yeah, it hurts a little, but it's so quick, and then it's over. No need for the spoiled diva fit. I guess I just don't understand...

How do people watch that stuff? Do you have to be a DW to enjoy that show? Makeup tips and how to look younger? I can't think of a more frightening experience than being in an Oprah audience and having to deal with all those comfortable suburban female admirers (or the random gay ones that want to BE Oprah). Yeeeeesh.

After diamond studs were inserted, I turned it off and went upstairs to type this. I am going to try and watch the news now...

Posted by Ann on 02/21/05@04:46 PM CST ..::Link::..4 Screamers.

The Red (neck) States

I talk to people who wonder if I miss the west. They are probably puzzled why I moved from Colorado. Most of these people are from the east or midwest themselves. I talk to people I know in Colorado. I know they are puzzled why I moved to Wisconsin. They seem to be terrified of it, yet they have never been here.

I love to travel in the west, but I do not miss living there. There *is* a cultural divide which most people don't seem to grasp. The experiences they have out west do not present any cultural obstacles for them. When you live and work in, or visit in an insular community of like-minded people, you aren't dealing with the west that I knew and that I see when we visit. When you fly across the great plains, you aren't seeing those "flyover" communities up close and on ground level. You don't stop for gas in Nebraska when you fly. You don't look for hotels on the road trying to tread the fine line between affordable and whorehouse. Your social circle bubble prevents you from seeing Deke and Delbert in their pickup with gunracks at the rest stop on a deserted highway. The ending of Easy Rider isn't isolated to the deep south in the 60s or movie iconography.

The irony is that I am saying this as someone living in an insular community myself (Madison is known as 80 square miles surrounded by reality). Yet I have been outside. And the irony is that those not from here, those who have never been here, those who are scared to come here, would love it here. What are they so scared of?

The weather. I have stretched my brain, and this is the only thing I can think of that scares them off. Western weather nice. Wisconsin weather bad. The truth is, the growing season is longer here than on the Front Range, and certainly much longer than in the mountains. Yes, when it does get cold, the temperature does dip quite low. And of course the humidity is bad on hot summer days. But it is hard to see how a little harsher weather could give people such bad impressions of the place, especially when, politically speaking, they would find the climate quite agreeable.

I don't think this makes me "tougher" or "sturdier" on a physical level, because cold does affect me as does the heat. I think I'm open minded enough to see the good, the bad and the ugly in both regions. But (to paraphrase Magazine) my mind isn't so open that any glorified, romanticized new age western mystique could crawl right in.

Posted by Ann on 02/21/05@09:56 AM CST ..::Link::..Whisper or Scream?

By Ann @ 10:22 AM CST:02:25:05 ..::Link::..Whisper or Scream?

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