Playing With Fire
After writing my last post, I thought of a couple other fire-related incidents I’ve experienced and decided to share:
#1- I was living in my first LA apartment after returning from Hawaii. When I moved in I thought, “Great! I’m right up the street from a fire station.” Then I realized, “Fuck! I’m right up the street from a fire station.” I figure it’s probably similar to the reaction people have when they cheer their proximity to an airport until they realize it’s a bad thing more often than it’s a good thing.
My apartment had new cream carpeting and I took advantage of Hawaiian traditions in requesting that people take off their shoes- everybody. One day there were some repairs being done on the pipes and a couple workers needed to come into my apartment. I saw their filthy boots and requested they take them off. Naturally, they were annoyed but obliged. Of course I felt bad about it (especially since they had to make multiple trips in and out) but I’m sorry, it was cream carpeting.
Later that night, I returned home and as I pulled into my parking space there was something blocking the way. I could see it was some sort of cushion and got annoyed that someone had left it there. I arrived at my apartment to find the door had been busted in. Apparently my cat had knocked over my halogen lamp, which landed on my futon and caused it to smolder. Yeah, turned out the annoying cushion in the parking area was mine. But get this, there was a post-it note on the door that said the fire station that had responded to the call wasn’t the one across the street- it was one about half a mile away. That’s right, because of zoning, the station whose trucks I had to listen to night after night weren’t even the ones who could help me. I was at the mercy of a station that was interrupting someone else’s sleep.
Here’s the real kicker. The next day the workers had to return for more repairs on the pipes. When I opened the door they could see that the walls and floor of the living room were covered in soot. With a sense of satisfaction they asked, “Do we need to take our shoes off?” And all I could do was hang my head down and say, “No.”
#2- This could fall into the category of top ten idiotic moments in my life. A few years ago I was playing chess online in my current apartment. I smelled something burning and saw that the plug was smoking. I immediately thought, “I have to turn off the circuit breaker!” I then thought, “But if I turn off the power, I’ll lose the game!” I’m thoroughly embarrassed to admit that I paused to consider other options before turning off the power.
Not Getting Burned
I just got word that a friend’s house I’d adored when I stayed there this summer was spared in the San Diego fires. You wanna talk about close calls? That’s his house on the left in this photo. All he suffered was some minor damage to the side like a melted screen door. Even the fish in his Koi pond that separated the houses survived. At the time I visited I thought a side yard was an odd place for a Koi pond but who knows? Maybe it helped in some way.
While I can’t fully fathom what it’s like to suffer the kind of loss his neighbor did, I can sort of, barely relate because we had a house fire when I was a kid. Here’s the story:
It was the first day of school in second grade. Dad was still at work and Mom had fixed us cold tuna sandwiches for dinner because it was such a hot day. Midway through dinner we heard the fire alarm go off and saw smoke coming from down the hallway. Mom told us all to get out and I took off running down the street yelling like a maniac that our house was on fire. I passed about five houses before I realized this wasn’t the movies and my house probably wasn’t going to blow.
Mom had been wearing just a bra and underwear so she wrapped a towel around herself to cover up. The man from the house below ours ran up the hill and hopped the fence to help. He grabbed the towel off Mom- I guess thinking he could put the fire out with it- so she pulled out the first thing she could from the hallway closet: a half-length fur coat (don’t hate- Grandpa was a furrier back before it was uncool to do that). So there we were, most of the neighborhood standing in our front yard in 90 degree heat while Mom stood there in a fur coat and no pants (a scene that totally belongs in a movie).
The fire had been caused by a faulty tv that had been loaned to us by the repair shop that was taking way too long to fix ours. While the house didn’t suffer major structural damage, the smoke and water damage was enough to force us to live in a Howard Johnson’s for a month (which, I’ll admit, I really enjoyed because it had a pool and we got driven to school instead of having to walk). And we lost a few items that, at that age, seemed rather precious. There was the carpeting in the playroom that had a bunch of games designed on it and the three story doll house with the elevator that Mom had built for us. And my sister- my poor, poor sister- I think she still has nightmares over the loss of her beloved pair of Dittos. Who can blame her? They did wonders for a fifth grader’s ass.
People always say that in situations like this the essential items to rescue are their loved ones and their pictures/videos. And I take some comfort that in this digital era more and more people will be able to preserve those. I’m just so thankful that my brother recently took the time to digitize about 20 years’ worth of videos so we’ll never have to worry about losing those. I can only hope that other victims of the fires were able to escape with their scrapbooks intact.
People Who Annoy Me #581
… Those who blame every heat wave on global warming.
… Those who say every cold spell is evidence against global warming.
… Those who think Wikipedia is the ultimate resource.
… Those who think Wikipedia is a worthless resource.
… Those who park their SUV’s in spaces marked “compact.”
… Those who drive erratically because they’re holding a cell phone. Buy a damn Bluetooth headset already.
… Those who take me too seriously. Seriously, don’t.
… Those who are new to Southern California who argue that our heavy winds are called “Santana winds.” Maybe that’s the origin but we call them “Santa Ana winds.” You’ll sound like a dufus if you use the former term.
… Those who use a lot of clichés/idioms, usually incorrectly (i.e. “If we just buckle up and grab the bull by the balls, it will be like taking candy from a tiger”). If you can’t hack accurately, come up with some new material.
… Those who say the most important thing in their life is their religion (above family even) but they have a penchant for breaking the Ten Commandments.
… Those who drink gallons of water on a road trip then want to pull over every hour to pee. That’s great that you consume the recommended daily amount of water. Do it when we arrive at our destination.
… Those who think that leaving their phone number on my voice mail is some kind of race. Slow the fuck down. If your message included words like “ASAP,” or “urgent,” you might want to think about repeating the number. S-L-O-W-L-Y.
… Pretty much everybody else.
Dos Anos Aqui
I’ve become such a bad blogger that last week the biennial anniversary of “People are Idiots” passed with nary a word from me. I’m compensating for it by using terms that haven’t been used since Truman was in office and I’m not sure if I’m even using them correctly.
Part of the reason I didn’t post that day is that my damn site was down for 10 hours, instead it was redirected to a page that said: “Account suspended. Please contact the billing/support department as soon as possible.” Naturally I read that 15 minutes before leaving town so all I could do was shoot off a nasty email to my hosting company demanding that they get my site back up. The message included at least one variation of “fuck” because this was the second time that message was splayed across my site in the last two months and neither situation was a billing issue since I pay for the entire year in advance.
When I was able to check on my site again about seven hours later the message was still there so I sent off a few more “fucks.” Mind you, there were no “fucks” the last time this happened, I was actually quite polite but I also made it clear at the time that it better never happen again. I exchanged several emails back and forth with tech support (because their “24/7 phone support” apparently means they answer it 24 minutes out of every 7 days) and they told me that my site was receiving too many connections and exceeding its allotted RAM. I asked what was causing it and they basically said, “We don’t know what’s causing it and there’s no way for you to verify the problem exists while your site is down… but you have to fix it before we’ll put your site back up.”
I informed them that I would work to fix the problem but directed them to their own Terms of Service, which states they can take my site offline for such an issue, but nowhere does it state they can redirect my site to another page, particularly not to one that publicly humiliates me. My demands were ignored until finally I called the sales department (someone always answers the sales phones) and insisted that he get a techie on the phone for me. My man Jude took some time and figured out what the actual problem was and it turned out that some people had posted images from my site on other sites but hadn’t uploaded them elsewhere so I was doing the hosting for them (and actually, it was a breakdown on my web host’s hotlink protection that even allowed that to happen so it was their fault). If anybody reading this did that, allow me to say, fuck you. I renamed the images that were the biggest culprits and fixed the hotlink protection but there were a couple images used by people in MySpace comments that I decided to have a little Photoshop fun with by editing the pictures in profane ways that will surely guarantee removal and hopefully embarrass them into learning not to steal my bandwidth.
All bitching aside, two years and 249 posts later, I’m still here (I know, barely). Way back then I remember looking at other bloggers’ long lists of archives and thinking I’d never last that long but I have. And I want to thank my loyal readers- both of you mean a lot to me and I plan to stick around for a long time to come. Or at least until my web host screws me over again.
The GUYnecologist
This morning I had my annual Pap smear. Yes, morning, as in 8:30 am. That’s because I just love to heap misery upon misery. Actually I always schedule my appointments for that time thinking that having the first appointment of the day will mean I won’t have to wait around but somehow doctors always find a reason to make you wait.
For the last six or seven years I’ve had my Paps done by a doctor I suspect is a lesbian. Probably my main reason for thinking that is her lack of lipstick and nail polish so my assessment may not be correct but I don’t mind if she is because I figure who’s going to know vaginas better than a lesbian? Certainly not a man.
Well, apparently my usual doc was out today so who came in? A man. I think male gynecologists are just plain creepy. Sorry, but there are a ton of medical fields and all the reasons I can come up with for a man becoming a gynecologist make him seem suspect. To make matters worse, this guy was HOT. L.A. is supposed to be the land of beautiful people and it is as far as women go but there seems to be a dearth of handsome men. So sitting in the presence of one had me blushing to the point I had to cover my face with my hand to hide my constant smirk. As he spoke, I kept hoping he was just a nurse giving me the run-down but soon it was clear he would be the one performing the exam. I remembered the Seinfeld episode in which there was a hot male gynecologist and women were making appointments every week to see him but I was having none of that. I just couldn’t risk the possibility of blurting out mid-exam, “Oh yeah. Right there. Right there!” so I had to tell him I wasn’t comfortable with him doing it. I didn’t mention the creepy aspect but I did tell him his attractiveness was an issue and suggested in the future he should enter the room swishing and speaking with a lisp. Complimenting the patient’s shoes would be a good touch as well.
As he exited, I thought for a split second about asking him out then realized if I wasn’t comfortable being the patient of a guy who spends all day with his head between random women’s legs, I certainly wouldn’t be comfortable being the girlfriend of one.
A little while later a female resident and nurse entered and mentioned that the doctor had told them I preferred a female doing the exam. I felt lame that a big deal was being made of it and told them it would just be weird because he’s a real-life McDreamy. They didn’t even feign professionalism; instead both joined me in gushing over his good looks. I’m telling you, this guy was hot.
As I sat on the end of the table the resident opened a drawer of speculums then closed it and pulled one from the lower drawer. I noticed that the first one was labeled “medium” and the second was labeled “large.” I wasn’t too pleased with someone eyeballing me and deciding I must be sporting a big canyon down there and felt a bit of vindication a few minutes later when it was deemed too big and she had to return to the medium. I was under no illusion that I might qualify for small because if I did then someone like Nicole Richie must be having her Paps done with a straw.
Just as the doctor finished and I started to sit up, I heard the nurse say, “Oops.” “Oops” is not a word I like to hear. Sure enough she had dropped the swab on the ground. I don’t know how- maybe she was twirling it like a baton and it slipped- but I knew that it meant I’d have to lie back down and go through the whole procedure again. That’s pretty typical for me- I never get the do-overs for fun activities, just for things like a Pap smear.
Fortunately that’s all done for another year (assuming I don’t get a letter in the mail starting with, “Oops…”) but I have some suggestions for both doctors and patients:
Suggestions for doctors to make Pap smears less miserable:
– Get rid of the florescent lighting. Frankly, I think florescent lighting should be removed from all locations except bikini and fashion models’ dressing rooms. Those girls need a healthy dose of negative body issues, the rest of us already have plenty. Everything the doctor needs to see is on the inside so what’s the harm in track lighting or a soft lamp?
– Offer patients a glass of wine beforehand to soothe the nerves: “Here’s a urine cup and a glass of cabernet. Try not to get them confused if you’re on your period.”
– Crank up the heat a bit to avoid the inevitable embarrassment when the breast exam is performed.
Suggestions for patients to make Pap smears less miserable:
– Wear a sarong and no underwear so you can skip the paper skirt.
– Wear a button down sweater and front clasping bra so you don’t have to wear the paper shirt.
– If you follow the first two, then when the doctor says, “Get undressed and I’ll be right back,” she can’t pull a disappearing act for half an hour while she has sex in exam 2 with McDreamy. Tell her you’re ready to go. Block the door if necessary.
– Bring an Ipod/video phone to prevent the doctor from engaging in small talk and to block out any other unwanted sounds that glob of gel might create.
