Oops

Can we just go ahead and agree that I'm contrite for not having blogged in so long?

Okay. Good.

Now that that's over, let's get down to the reason for my absence: migraines.

Okay, so migraines, layered with work and school, but still: migraines.

They started back at the end of June. Up until that point, I'd had maybe 2 or 3 migraines per month. For most people, that would be a catastrophic amount of migrainage, but for me, it was pretty darn good.

And then... I don't know what happened. I began having multiple migraines per week, first on Tuesdays, then on Tuesdays and Fridays (so I missed work on Tuesdays, but "fortunately", my second migraine was on a day off). And, eventually, pretty much every day whenever my brain felt like it. Except for Thursdays. Usually not Thursdays.

Long story short(ish): I ended up having about 4 migraines per week. Something had to give, what with starting back to school (and missing school) and having to work, and not being able to control the migraines (and nausea. OH MY GOSH the nausea!). So I quit my job.

I had decided that I would be cool, just explain to my boss, give my two weeks' notice. I practiced so I wouldn't cry.

Of course, I cried. But they were nice and didn't make me finish out the two weeks, since it was for a health problem.

The migraine situation is still kind of dicey (I haven't had one since Friday, and it's a Thursday, so there's hope!). I'm seeing a new neurologist in Houston who I like, and he confessed that he had no idea what to tell me, since I seemed to be doing everything properly: no gluten, limited processed foods and refined sugar, minimal caffeine, no HFCS, if I can help it. I'm monitoring my sleep habits, computer time, what I eat each day, what I drink, and any symptoms I have. I take magnesium and a Vitamin B complex and Vitamin D and iodine (because I don't cook with iodized salt). I even take cod liver oil after dinner (lemon flavored to cut the fishiness, naturally).

So, yeah, he had no idea what was causing the migraines. I hypothesized that it might have been increased dairy intake, since my latte and ice cream consumption was off the charts for a while, there. As a result, prior to my first appointment with my new neurologist/best friend, I had already abandoned the consumption of milk, including a painful parting with the ice cream aisle at Whole Foods, and sacrificing my morning mocha latte.

Hopefully, along with my abandonment of dairy will come a return to what I consider to be my "normal size."

Ahem.

See, I gained weight after I stopped working (really, before I stopped working, but after the migraines started and I was less willing to push furniture and constantly pace the sales floor). Because I don't eat gluten, the places I gain my weight have changed.

I used to gain weight "like a boy": in my stomach and love handles.

Post-gluten, however, I tend to gain weight where women are stereotypically supposed to gain it: hips, bum, and - ahem - boobies.

For some unaccountable reason, I still don't gain much weight in my legs.

For my 30th birthday (this coming Sunday!), my parents gave me the funds to purchase a suit for job interviews, come March. I found a suit shape I really liked.

I bought the jacket in-store - where I discovered that I am a size 2 suit jacket at J. Crew.

The pants aren't sold in-store, however, so after a bit of a run-around, I finally got the new pants today.

Because of my lovely womanly derrier, I am a size 6 in the pants. But my thighs are still a size 4.

I know, silly to complain. But this means that I am going to have to have the pants altered to fit properly (not surprising). I would have taken the pants to the tailor, regardless, because pockets on slim-fitting pants are always visible, so I have them removed on pants and skirts that I wear for work. My tailors - a slew of them from Dallas, and now my Houston tailor - are used to the request.

This time, however, there will be the added requirement of taking in the thighs and, possibly, the calves of my new suit pants.

Because, you know...

Off to Dallas!

I am excited.

I am beyond excited.

Ecstatic might be the appropriate word.

I am going to Dallas for the weekend.

Not only will I get to see my family - both biological and the family we've chosen - but I will get to help my mom celebrate her birthday, albeit a little bit early. And I will get to see Major Tom Shadowmaker, who is taking it easy, these days. I miss the old fellow.

Unfortunately, I will have to work some over the weekend.

I am now entering the first stages of design for my 6-8 week studio project, after managing to pull an A on the Run Lola Run film center I designed in two weeks. My long-term project is a research center in Death Valley (again. My choice, though, this time). I'm thrilled, because I will get to expand on some of the ideas I explored in the previous 2 week project, and get to take them further.

For my last project, I buried the majority of my program underground, with parts of it popping out in the form of concrete cubes. This time, however, I'm going all the way. Yup, my program will be entirely buried with the exception of a few canyons/light wells dug out of the earth for entrances and, duh, light.



In other words, I am about to design some high-falutin' Hobbit holes. I couldn't be more excited.

I've always loved "nesting", both in the sense of decorating interior spaces, but also in terms of physically burrowing. My mother used to tease me because I did not sleep beneath my duvet, but wrapped it around myself, like a swaddled baby. I still wrap blankets around myself, although the duvet is now used more conventionally, rather than as a beautifully designed albeit zipper-less sleeping bag.

And my project idea - burrowing into the hills of Death Valley - has precedent in this area: it's how the kangaroo rats of Death Valley keep themselves cool during the day.

P.S. The migraines are better. Much better. I've had one in the past week. Everything's coming up roses!

Le Bron James

I had a massage, this evening, to celebrate my birthday.

Wait. You had a massage? That sounds lame. Yes, thank you for your ego-boosting, dear reader. For a brief few minutes, this morning, I considered getting together a few people to hang out for the evening (hang out = drink), but then I realized I wasn't up to it.

No, I'm not that old, I'm just suffering from a migraine hangover. It's like a regular hangover, but without the knowledge that you were hammered and had a rollicking good time the night before. And you don't usually go to a neurologist every 2-3 months because of hangovers.

Yesterday's migraine didn't have a headache along with it, but it was the worst aura I've ever had in my life, and I threw in the towel after two hours at work. In theory, it shouldn't have happened at all, as I could feel it coming on Tuesday evening, so I took my "rescue" migraine medicine as a preventive measure.

The rescue medicine failed. BIG TIME.

So today, my birthday (Thursday), I was exhausted, and had a little headache, and my shoulders were all tense and achy. I called and booked a 90 minute massage appointment, and scarfed down my birthday cupcake, and went about my business.

My masseuse was new to me. Dell - "Like the computer" she said - was a tall woman. And by tall, I don't mean she could have been a supermodel. I mean she could have started for the Miami Heat.

The tallest fellow I've ever dated still would have had to look up at her, and he was 6'-5". Tall man, short relationship.

Dell knew her business, though, and my muscles are looser than they were this morning. She asked me if I had a high-stress job, and I told her I'd had a migraine Wednesday, and that I had a pinched nerve in my back that gave me trouble by the end of most days.

That's something else I've noticed about the massage therapy thing: my left side - the one afflicted by the nipped nerves - is much more sensitive than the right side. My left knee and foot are ticklish, but not the right. My left thigh hurts disproportionately when massaged, but not the right. It makes sense, I guess.

As an update, my neurologist told me I could try taking an extra neuralgia pill at night if I was in pain. Tried it, and I was so groggy I couldn't function. So now, I'm off to see a pain management specialist. We'll see what he has to say - and what he recommends - when I go see him. After I make the appointment. Which I will do in the morning.

Seriously?

I slept well, last night; it was the second good night's sleep I've had in about three weeks.

I ended up skipping Radio's birthday party because I wasn't well enough to go. Sure, I guess I could have gone, if I'd loaded up on oral muscle relaxers and injected myself full of the other ones, and I did have someone who offered to drive me there and back, but I knew I'd still be in pain, and that my would-be-driver - who we'll refer to as Jonah - would have been forced to dance attendance on me all evening. And by "all evening" I mean "for the one hour I probably would have lasted before either 1) falling asleep curled up in a corner or; B) demanding I be taken home because the pain had grown unbearable."

I have a hunch Jonah wouldn't have minded his role as attendance-dancer-on-er, seeing as he offered to skip the party altogether to come entertain me at my apartment, but my emotional state is somewhat volatile, right now, what with all the trauma/drama/ramalamadingdong going on, and I think the last thing I need is another potential upset, or the guilt from potentially upsetting someone else.

So after skipping last night's soiree, I arose at 8:30 am Sunday - which is a miracle, and I think I should be canonized for it - dressed, and was at La Madeleine by 9:15 for breakfast. I decided I should eat something healthy involving a jam-slathered-croissant before I took my oral muscle relaxer, and La Madeleine is usually a nice quiet place to eat breakfast.

USUALLY being the key word, here. Because on this particular Sunday, it was full of loud blowhard men (I will not call them gentlemen, judging by their coarse language in the presence of ladies) who had no concept of the sanctity of others' solitude or their potential need for quietness. It's a very small La.M., so sound travels very easily. I tried shooting a couple of dirty looks at one of the tables, but that apparently led the corpulent 60-something leading the hard-blowing charge to think I was enamored of him as he just winked at me. I sneered and went back to (vainly attempting to) read my Economist. A few minutes passed and he walked by my table en route to refill his coffee cup.

"Watcha reading?" he inquired.

"I'm trying to read The Economist," I replied.

"Yeah, it's a difficult magazine."

I lowered said magazine. "It's not the magazine that's difficult, it's the loudness of the other patrons and their interruptions that makes the reading slow going." I raised said magazine. He walked off to refill his coffee. He didn't stop by again on the way to the table. In fact, he took a decidedly circuitous route to avoid passing near my table, and I can't imagine why. I'll chalk it up to the dark circles under my eyes and my Seek and Destroy Metallica shirt. The winged skull with fangs is fairly intimidating to the uninitiated.

By the time I left, just a few minutes after my encounter with the corpulent interloper, I was starting to feel weak again - the opposite effect desired after a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, tomato, croissant, and a potato galette. I drove home, took the elevator upstairs, grabbed a glass of iced tea, and fell into bed. The pain was staggering and so was I, despite the fact that I'd given myself an injection before I left for breakfast, hoping to stave off the pain long enough until I got back from eating. I took the oral muscle relaxers, and settled down to read some more of my Economist.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to follow the stories in The Economist when you are half stoned out of your mind? Incredibly difficult. I know who Nicholas Sarkozy is. He's the president of France. No. Wait. He's the prime minister. Damn it. Which one is it? Which one is more important in French government? I should know this. But at present, the only thing I know is that his wife is gorgeous, he's short, and his name is involved in a scandal surrounding the L'Oreal heiress' fortune, but I'd still accept a date from him if he offered it. You know, once he's tired of being married to a supermodel/renowned singer, 'cause I'm next in line.

What am I going to do this next week when I return to work? I can't take the oral muscle relaxers before I leave for the office, since I can't drive for 6-8 hours after ingesting them (neat!), so after taking them at work, that should give me a good solid 30 minutes of work at the office before my level of concentration drops to nil and I start twiddling my thumbs and singing Frere Jacques to myself.

I also have no idea what will happen if I'm on the muscle relaxers and I have to sit up all day. Will they be as effective as they are currently, when I take them and then lie in bed, reading biographies of aristocratic women and trying to focus my eyes on pictures in the shelter magazines that constantly arrive at my house? Would it be unprofessional to set up a cot in my cubicle and move my computer to a cardboard box next to it? Or could I just talk to Oldsmosbile and Radio and see if I can work from home for a couple of days?

And most importantly, will I have to wear pants? I'm pretty sure part of my comfort level at home is the lack of pants involved - I'm taking my cues from the likes of Wonder Woman and Lady Gaga on this one - and I'm afraid wearing pants will interfere with the healing process.

I think the pants might definitely interfere. Think a more Gaga wardrobe could pass muster?

You Say It's Your Birthday!

Well, it's not mine, so congratulations if it's yours. Actually, there are two awesome birthdays, today. Oldsmobile turned 458, give or take a few, and one of my friends/family members had a baby! When I told Olds that my friend had a 10 lbs. 5 oz. baby, on his birthday, his reply was, "That's a wonderful birthday gift." He seemed pleased that someone I love was born on his birthday.

As a consequence of Olds turning 543, today, we celebrated. All day long. Mrs. Robinson decorated his office with balloons and yellow streamers - he was positively delighted - and we took him "somewhere scuzzy" for his birthday, as per his request. When we told him last week we wanted to take him to lunch for his birthday, his request was "somewhere scuzzy." We jokingly told him to bring lots of $1 bills, at which point he remarked that I would need a blind-fold, since my eyes shouldn't be subjected to such horrors.

Where was "somewhere scuzzy?" Adair's Saloon, as mentioned in my May 17, 2009, post (yeah, I had to check to see which one it was. I'm not that OCD). We ordered 2 pitchers of Shiner Bock and hamburgers all around (there were 6 drinking, plus one elderly non-drinking driver - not Olds, thank goodness, but his chauffeur, who is still pretty darned old). Radio, Pacman, and Scooter seemed to think it was amusing to have me drink more than anyone else at the table because I was just doing interior elevations. Thanks, guys.

We returned to the office and ate canasta cake, courtesy of Mrs. Robinson. I think she makes her buttercream icing with Crisco instead of butter, though. It was still delicious, and we all entered a carb/alcohol coma following the meal + drinks + cake. Oy.

I actually accomplished quite a bit of work following the lunch/binge, seeing as we have marketing mailers to send out. The firm for which I work has never sent out marketing materials, before, but we are, next week. As a result, I have 100 mailers to seal after I finish writing this entry. Hooray, work! I don't mind, actually, since I can get through 50 in about 10 minutes. It's just sticking a little sticky tab over the closure. I did 150 at work, today, while I waited for drawings to print.

I'm just good like that.

Then this evening, we had a cocktail party at one of Oldsmobile's friend's homes. So we all left work at 4:45 - a full 3 hours after we finished lunch/drinking - and went and had wine and "horse dervers" at her amazing home.

Her dining room is orange lacquered. The whole thing. I covet her dining room. And, yes, I told her as much.

I met a couple of lovely people at the cocktail party, managed to make them laugh (score!) and then had dinner with Radio, because everyone else had dogs/kids to get home to. Actually, Radio has a wife and son, too, but his wife and son had already eaten, so we grabbed some food. And, because we're in the architectural profession, another beer.

Yay, architecture.

WOW!

I can't believe I only have 8 more posts until I hit the 150 mark! Time flies when you're unemployed, re-employed, and then incredibly busy with your burgeoning social life.

Following the lovely TSA Convention, my week gained speed, as I helped my beloved Mum celebrate her birthday, then visited my best friend from high school, who is in town with the most adorable little blond baby known to mankind. As I pointed out to her, however, with a mom as beautiful as she is and a father as handsome her husband, it would have been impossible not to have a beautiful baby!

I spent every standing moment today wondering if I was appropriately dressed. A few months ago, I bought a grey knit dress that hits about mid-thigh. I wore it to work today with opaque black tights and a grey and black striped scarf and black equestrian boots. Ahem. Because I'm such a horse lover.

Right.

As the day went on, the dress started clinging to things that I hadn't previously noticed it clinging to, particularly my derrier. Fortunately, I spend most of my days sitting down in my corner cubicle, watching cars fly past on the freeway and being thankful that I don't drive a tractor trailer for a living, because people cut you off all the time. The few times I stood up to walk to the loo or to raid the candy dish on the front desk (Krackel bars! Yum!), I felt a bit self-conscious. The skirt is longer than one I used to wear to my old and much more staid office, but it just...

It clings.

Maybe I need to invest in a good girdle to keep that from happening again?

Because everyone knows that a girl in a girdle is hot.

Back In The Saddle Again

I'm back at work now, and it feels pretty darned good. I still have a hacking cough, but other than that, my illness is all gone. The steroids are finished, too, so I finally got a decent night's sleep, Wednesday night.

Wednesday night, which also happened to be my birthday.

I enjoyed my birthday, but I didn't do anything crazy or go out partying. I had dinner with my mom, sister, and brother-in-law, and watched my sister's male dog molest my male dog, who didn't seem to know what to do.

After dinner and the show, we had birthday cake - carrot cake, mmmmmm - and then I headed back to my apartment.

My coworkers were amazed when I arrived at the office Thursday morning with half a carrot cake under my arm. I told them it was my birthday, and they all got upset, as if I'd intentionally hid the fact from them. I shrugged and told them I don't make a big deal out of my birthdays. Friday, we are having a birthday lunch for me, which is apparently how things are done, but only for me (we didn't go to lunch for Scooter's birthday).

Thursday evening, in my own little birthday celebration, I chopped off all of my hair. Yup, all 3 inches of it. For a while, I had what I referred to as long luxurious tresses, which means that my hair was longer than 1 1/2 inches. I had bangs that covered my forehead and part of my eyes, and I got a ton of compliments on the "new do."

But...

I never really felt that confident with my hair that long. Strange as it may seem, I'm much more confident in my femininity when my hair is really really short, as it now is. With my longer hair, and my more casual work wardrobe, I always felt vaguely like a soccer mom. Now, I feel a little edgier and more youthful.

Oh, and I look like I'm about 18, too.

Does this mean I'll look 30 when I'm 40? I sure hope so!