I have a secret. Its one I've kept for a long time. I've tried to maintain the illusion, but now, well, I've sort of been exposed and I feel like I really just need to come clean. I need to confess. I need to make a proclamation. I need to say it loud and proud and be done with it.

So...

Here goes...

I am a Saints fan. I always have been. I pretended I didn't really like football. I never told anyone about the times I snuck on to ESPN.com or the sports section of NOLA.com to check scores and stats and read articles, or about the times I listened to the game on my radio in the car all by myself.

Yes, I'm serious.

Ok, so there it is. I've said it. I feel cleansed. Slightly less girly, but cleansed just the same.

Lately, I’ve been having a sort of dull pain in my lower back on the left side. It tends to only happen in the later part of the afternoon. Today, for whatever reason, it felt a bit worse. I told my friend about it, and said I thought perhaps I had a kidney infection or something like that. She suggested I go to the doctor. I said “Nope.” She asked why. I laughed.

And then I told her why…

Here’s what I said:

“This is how it works. K...you get an appointment. You show up 15 minutes before your appointment and pay your co-pay ($25) and then you sit in the waiting room for 15-30 minutes. After that, a nurse calls you back and weighs you and measures you and scowls at you. Then she puts you in a room to wait for the doctor. The room is freezing. You wait and stare at posters of the inside of an ear or nose or, God forbid, human genitalia, and wait some more until another nurse comes in. She takes your blood pressure and temperature and asks what's wrong with you and writes it down in a folder for the doctor. She probably also writes some notes about how fat you are and maybe draws a doodle or two. She leaves and you to wait, cold and alone, staring at the same weird posters. In desperation, you grab one of the pamphlets on the counter. It is probably about arthritis or hip replacements or some other topic totally unconnected to you, your gender or station in life. And you wait. And you are cold. And you try not to fall asleep. Then, after about 30-45 minutes the doctor arrives. He asks questions. You warm up from the sheer feeling of progress. Three to five minutes later, he says he will be right back and leaves. You feel like, this is it, its close. You are going to be home soon. Fifteen to -20 minutes later, once the warmth has left your body and your teeth are chattering, the doctor returns. He writes you a prescription and says you can go. And, you have frostbite on the tip of your nose. You also feel terrible about yourself on account of the scowls and doodles. And you feel violated on account of the weird medical posters. But, you have a prescription! It’s all going to be better! So, you proceed directly to your pharmacy and wait in line to drop it off. The clerk tells you it will be ready…in an hour. So you walk around the store aimlessly, waiting, trying not to buy a travel sewing kit or some lipstick that will no doubt turn out to be a mistake. Then, you hear your name. You pay your $20. You go home. You take the meds. And, you are better in about a week.”

To that, my friend said “Crazy.”

See, my friend lives in Canada. She just decides to go to the doctor one day and goes. She doesn’t have to make an appointment. She doesn’t have to step on a scale. And, she doesn’t have to pay. She just goes, tells them what’s wrong and walks out with pills. No co-pays. No waiting at the pharmacy. Nothing.
This, my friends, is called Utopia…and I, for one, want to live there. If for no other reason than I won’t have to look at a creepy medical poster ever again.

Whenever we have a birthday celebration in my family, we always end up doing a really bad (annoying, ridiculous, hysterical) version of the "Happy Birthday song". This weekend was no exception as we serenaded my youngest brother, Timmy.

Check it out...

Yep, you read that right. I'm going camping. This weekend. In the woods. Well, not so much in the woods as on a campground. But I'm sure there will be a lot of trees and stuff. There will probably be some forms of wildlife,too, like bugs and raccoons and squirrels and possibly even tigers and bears and komodo dragons. You just never know these days. I mean, if the group from Flight 815 have to fend off Polar Bears on a tropical island, I could come face to face with a komodo on a campground. Stranger things have happened.

The good news is, our camp site is very close to the restrooms, so there will be no "doing my business" in the woods. That is where I draw the line. Everyone has there limits and pooping the woods is mine.

Stay tuned for some pics from our camping adventure...

Most mornings, I wake up and fantasize about being able to stay home. There are days when I sit, for minutes, day-dreaming about being a stay-at-home mom, working from home, or even being sick enough to call it a day at 6am and snuggle back in bed with a hefty dose of Nyquil or something. But, on days like today, when I actually feel sick...when I have been up coughing most of the night...when my throat hurts and my eyes burn and I feel like I may even have fever...do I stay home? Of course not...I go in anyway. Instead of day-dreaming about rest and chicken soup and daytime television, I spend my early morning hours thinking of the 10,000 reasons I have to go to work and fretting over getting fired if I decide to opt out of a visit to the doctor. The first part, I blame on my dad for instilling a strong work-ethic in us. The second part, a.k.a. the paranoia, I blame on my first boss at my first adult job. His name was Bill, and one time, after I'd been there for about a year, I felt pretty much like I do today...and I was running a fever of 102. I missed 3 days of work while a sinus infection worked its way through and then out of my system. When I returned, I was accused of lying because I didn't have a doctor's note to prove I was sick.

This happened in 1997...and, I've been paranoid about being out sick ever since.

Thanks, Bill.

Someone is going to have to help me out here. Either, I woke up this morning, went to work, lost a beautiful and RED kitchenaid mixer, tweeted my angst and then received a sweet reply from The Pioneer Woman OR I'm still dreaming OR I died and went to heaven.

I honestly don't know for sure.

Though...I think I can rule out dreaming because, if I were dreaming, I think I would have won the beautiful AND red kitchenaid mixer and danced around my red kitchen with it.

But still...your input is appreciated.

Thanks!

Up until I was in Junior High, I thought "normal" was being in class with the same group of kids every year. Until I met my friend Heather, a Jehovah's Witness, I thought "normal" was being Catholic. Before I turned 30, I thought all "normal" people got married and had children before hitting that milestone. And, before I met my friend, Nin, I thought "normal" people didn't find one of their closest friends on the internet.

Welcome to the new "normal".

I'm beginning to think there really is no such thing.