I'm the Pirate Pilot of this (Crazy) Ship

My my stupid, ugly, asshead wisdom tooth battle wounds started aching last night on the right side. I looked at my "What to do if..." sheet from the oral surgeon and realized that this should not be happening, especially since I've been pain free for a couple of days. I popped a super duper strength ibuprofen and tried to go to sleep as visions of my face falling off danced through my head.

I woke up this morning feeling about the same as I did last night and was actually quite pleased. I had sort of self diagnosed my condition before drifting off to sleep, which included phrases like "pain so excruciating you'll think that you're dying." Thanks internet, that will teach me for straying from the Mayo Clinic website. I called the oral surgeon this morning and scheduled a visit at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow. If it's what I think it is, he'll be able to help and I'll have immediate relief, but a longer healing process. I'm not going to mention my self diagnosis, because then you'll Google it and hate me for what you find. Boo!! I hate you wisdom teeth!

Can you tell that I'm holding off on solid foods again due to the pain? Cranky Brasilliant is back with a vengeance. I've consumed approximately three giant tubs of yogurt over the course of the week and swallowed whole a number of foods that probably are a choking hazard -- eggs, ravioli, frozen blueberries, and not-so-tiny pieces of chicken. Since I didn't feel like I was dying, just starving, I decided that I needed to take care of a few errands in preparation for our trip to Los Angeles. Given my lack of nutrition, my brain was not firing all circuits. I stopped by Kohls as a last ditch effort to try and find a black cardigan to go with the dress I made last weekend. If you've ever been to Kohls, you know that they are usually located in a strip mall. I spent quite a lot of time in the store, checking out underwear, sheets, and other things that had nothing to do with the mission at hand. I paid for my merchandise and decided to head home.

I walked to my parking spot, which was empty. I shrugged it off, thinking that maybe I just misjudged the row. I walked up and down the rows of parking spots and my car was nowhere in sight. There weren't that many, so it's not like it was tucked behind an SUV. Immediately, I started looking around, thinking that maybe I hadn't put on the parking brake and it rolled somewhere (stupid, I know). I tried to retrace my steps and realized that someone had stolen the car. I went to the bench out in front of the department store and sobbed for a good five minutes. Once I was over my self pity, I called Jesse, but he didn't answer. I didn't want to call 911 because it really wasn't an emergency, so I walked back into the store toward customer service to get the number for the local police department.

While walking through the store, I got really angry because I was going to have to take a taxi home and probably again in the morning to the oral surgeon's office at 6am. As I was fighting back tears again, this time from frustration, I saw natural light shining into the side of the store. What? A second entrance? That never happens at strip malls -- except on days when I'm emotionally unbalanced and clearly not thinking. In the end, I found my car. Just where I had parked it. I also found a rainbow, which was lovely, but seemed to be mocking me. I know, I'm nuts. I also can't wait for this week to finally end!




Cypress Hill's "Insane in the Membrane"

So Over Smoothies

Remember how pleased I was Tuesday with how recovery was going? Well, I could kick myself for thinking that it would be smooth sailing. Day two was much worse than day one -- the swelling, the pain, itching from the Percocet, and voila, a mild grade fever. The itching got to be so annoying that I skipped my 11am dose and was feeling pretty good, except for the fact that my skin felt like it was on fire. I stayed in bed mostly, but was so antsy by 5pm that I decided to go to class. I was also so ravenous that I had Jesse make me scrambled eggs and I gnawed at them with my front teeth like a gerbil and swallowed them whole. I also said something like "If I ever see another smoothie again, I'm going to kill myself." Jesse just looked at me and insisted that he would need a beer after dropping me off at class. As Echo would say on Dollhouse, "I was not my best" yesterday.

I got ready for class in a hurry and put on a turtleneck, scarf, and my winter jacket. About half way through class, which I really didn't want to miss because one of our state Senators was speaking, I realized that I probably had a fever. Why? Because I never took off my coat and was looking around to see who had left open that drafty window. Also, by then, my pain medication had fully worn off and I was a basket case, shivering and in pain. Jesse drove me home from class, I took my medication and sort of sobbed myself to sleep. I also told him that his presence was highly annoying, and begged that he go to a concert rather than stay home with me to wait out the pain. Again, not my best yesterday and am not all that crazy about the way I behaved.

I woke up this morning around 5am in a little pain, so I took all of my medication again according to schedule. Also, the pecan that I was hiding in my left cheek yesterday is officially a chestnut. My "take home patient instructions" from the oral surgeon promises that today is the last day that my swelling should get worse. My fever is gone, though, so that is a huge relief. I feel like a new person, actually.

I have a site visit this afternoon for a potential job with that architectural firm that periodically hires me for consulting work. Not ideal timing for sure, but you know how that goes. (Also, now that I've told the internet that I have a potential job, it will likely crash and burn.) The site visit is informal, just to meet the project team and drive around the town that we'll potentially survey, which is near Salem. Thankfully, my supervisor is driving, because the only way you'd get your mitts on my Percocet is if you pried the pills away from my cold dead hands. I've learned my lesson, no need to be a hero. I just need to ride the itchy wave of pain relief until day 4 or 5 (when everything should be a lot better).

We Need Unmonopolized Access to iPhones, Not Your Stinking Health Care Reform.

Be forewarned, it's Soapbox Thursday and I'm all fired up. No photos today. Just words.

Breaking news: The Justice Department is contemplating whether to bust up the gosh-darned monopoly Apple and AT&T have created with their iPhone deal. Members of Congress (their children) and staffers are strapped with Blackberries because D.C. is dominated by Verizon coverage. Blackberries were so 2008. Waaaah! The people demand iPump Pilates apps. Oh also, insured people are still having to pay $22,000 to birth children.

Just this month, Jesse and I went through the process of terminating my health insurance coverage with my former employer to put me under his plan. It's kind of been a pain in the butt; a necessary pain nonetheless. Because I worked for a small company (under 15 employees) my coverage was provided through a broker in the private market, with premiums paid in full by my employer until I terminated employment. For the past year, I have been able to reimburse my employer for those premiums and keep my old coverage. Maybe if I had read the fine print, I would have switched over sooner.

Today, I read a truly horrifying article about a freelance writer who recently had a baby. She and her partner shopped around for private insurance in Washington, D.C. and signed up for the exact same plan that I was provided by my former employer -- reportedly with the best maternity policy you could find on the private market in the area. To my surprise, I found out that maternity costs are not included in this standard policy, or very many privately purchased plans in the U.S. for that matter. With this plan, you pay an extra premium each month for the "Maternity Rider" or as I see it, the "Let's Dictate What You Do In Your Personal Life Rider."

Shockingly, only 14 states in the country require that maternity coverage be provided in the private market, whereas companies with more than 15 employees are mandated by federal law to include it in their benefits package. Effectively, it's a renegade, unregulated market for anyone who is un(der)employed, working for a small company, or in a non-traditional job and doesn't qualify for Medicare or Medicaid. I don't feel that I'd be incorrect in stating that this is the case for many people in Portland (including me, except I'm lucky enough to be married to someone with coverage). Now this maternity rider, under my former plan, must be purchased before you become pregnant, otherwise your fetus stands as an existing condition and you are ineligible -- some insurance providers even require a 2-year waiting period to be eligible for maternity coverage.

To me, that's akin to submitting a claim for a kidney transplant, and instead of getting approval for the surgery, you receive a form letter reminding you that you didn't sign up for the organ failure rider/your organs failed before the 2-year probationary period. (Kindly though, they provide a list of synagogues to contact in New Jersey. Heh. I kid.) Also, the idea of having to notify my employer (who would then notify my insurance provider) that I intend to get pregnant sometime in the future seems like a giant invasion of privacy, not to mention hedging on rather expensive future events that may not even happen. This is especially true of a small office, like mine, where the designated HR department also happened to be the office manager and the business owner.

Upon reading the article further, I found that the aforementioned maternity rider only covers pre-natal, delivery, and post-natal costs up to $3,000. Anyone who has been to the doctor recently knows that just a standard visit costs upwards of $300, and that merely involves peeing in a cup and wearing an uncomfortable, backless, rigid paper gown. Thankfully family planning, or rather ensuring that ours doesn't expand at the moment, has been a big part of my existence on our current shoestring budget. However, accidents happen. Two of our close friends were surprised (and overjoyed, may I add) with a third addition to their households this past year. Alright, getting to the conclusion:

Health care is a right, not an opportunity for profit. It's a right, not a privilege that has to be earned. It is a right, we should demand a system that works for everyone, not just those who can (or think they can) afford it. It's a right, because someday I, and you, may really need it.

Another piece to check out, if you are so inclined: Bill Moyers on the sneaky tactics of health insurance companies in America. It's shameful.

Unorthodox Workout: All-Day "Intervals"

Brasilliant's Unorthodox All-Day Intervals Workout*:

Interval 1: "A" For Effort
Late morning running attempt: 10 min.
Walk home (sweaty and panting for no good reason): 10 min.
Stretch (and ponder defeat from aforementioned run): 10 min.

Interval 2: Guilt Toning Exercises
Lift hand weights (wonder how 5 pounds got to be so heavy): 15 min.
Crunches (abs groan and puff dust): 10 min.
Lie on floor under fan: 10 min.

Interval 3: Take 7-hour Break
Maintain rapid heart rate by engaging with ass-head in class. Continue to build muscle tone by forcefully sitting on hands (in effort not to choke ass-head as he dishes out a healthy serving of senselessness and condescension while chewing gum. Audibly. While. Talking.).

Interval 4: Speed Training
Sprint for one mile and seethe about ass-head from class: 8 min. 45 sec.
Lose dinner in stranger's bushes: 30 sec.
Walk off embarrassment: 5 min.

Interval 5: Cool Down
Pet the cutest dog ever: 2 min.
Contemplate dog-napping (tired legs disagree): 30 sec.
Jog to prevent muscles from turning to stone: 10 min.
Walk to recover from jog (again panting and sweaty): 10 min.
Stretch bewildered muscles (that haven't seen this much activity in a decade): 10 min.

*Brasilliant is not a licensed trainer. She just plays one on the internets.

The P-Word

According to conservative columnist, George Will, Portland (termed the P-Word in his article) is a dirty cancerous lump of "smart growth" and "new urbanism" and "progressive as all get-out" projects. Seriously? That sounds pretty awesome to me. Think again America, it's an evil plot to rob you of your personal rights, like the right to endure long commutes to your job, and your right to unbridled use of the incandescent light bulb after 2014. At first glance, I thought this might be an opening skit for the Colbert Report.

I wondered why Newsweek even pedaled this garbage. Then, Jesse pointed out that both Will and the magazine probably only grow in popularity (online hits-wise) when they usher inflammatory, borderline insane arguments as opposed to the usual boring stuff. Reading his op-ed piece is like going to a freak show; you don't want to say for long, but can't help looking at the lizard baby again and again. So, that's why I'm not linking to his story. Find it on your own, it shouldn't be that hard.

Eventually, I was able to disregard Will's dismissive attitude on how many people actually ride bikes to work. I get the point, it's insanely small right now. What annoyed me most was his misrepresentation of early suburban history and speaking to the ideals of "scores of millions" of Americans. Let me repeat, Scores of Millions of Americans! In one breath he casually melds the streetcar suburbs of the early 20th century with post-war sprawl that has run rampant in the past few decades. Will conflates this history as some sort of proof that "meatloaf, macaroni-and-cheese, down-to-earth" (i.e. real) Americans have an innate need for automobiles and lots of space to protect their precious personal freedom.

Granted, early streetcars did enable freedom from crowded and dirty center cities. However, these edge neighborhoods were no more than a few miles away as opposed distant places accessed only by freeways and personal automobiles. Oh, and also? Those streetcar suburb dwellers didn't ride in their own trolley car to work. They sat by their neighbors on the trip downtown, willingly participating in "communitarian moments." I personally think a more worthy Newsweek topic might be: How the heck did those generations of trolley riders survive without the advent of mp3 players and noise-canceling headphones?!

Even though 2.8% is still a small number for bike commuters in Portland, it's significantly better than the national average. That has to be worth something right? Portland isn't constantly voted one of the most livable and walkable cities in the country for no reason. As I was reading Will's piece and about to boil over, Jesse got a phone call from the front door. It was the SmartTrips guy delivering (by bike) our bag full of information on enjoying the city by bike and foot. We got an awesome book on walking tours, a nice road map showing city bike routes, a bike safety manual, and a guide for getting around Portland without a car. Oh the delicious irony. I couldn't stop smiling all day -- certainly we must outnumber the George Wills of America.

Mental Health Day

Today started off on a bad note around 5:30am when I woke up to sirens and whir of speeding police cars. I'm not sure where they were going, but they were getting there at lightning speed. I then woke up to Jesse's clock alarm at 6:00am. Usually, this is something that I recover from relatively quickly. Rolling over and zonking out is not usually a problem for me. However, the garbage/recycling truck came by to empty the dumpster promptly at 6:30am and then the street cleaning crew showed up around 45 minutes after that.

I was happy to get up and get my morning coffee (that Jesse thoughtfully prepared and placed in the refrigerator for me) and just chill for a few minutes before facing the world. Then, around 9am, my neighbor (that I have grown to hate more and more lately) started playing his 1990s punk music at full volume and continued to do so until just a few minutes ago. I have talked to him twice about it (after 11pm) when we were either trying to sleep or watching a movie and could hear our walls pounding over a full-volume action flick. He always says he's sorry -- and I do think that he is -- but then I think he forgets and starts up again a couple of weeks after each encounter. I'd give him a pass, chalking it up to him being a stupid, oafish guy, but he's a doctor for god's sake. It's not rocket science (or brain surgery in this case). Turn the volume knob to the left butthead!

I've made the executive decision that I should probably just get out of the house for the afternoon, so I'm off to the library to pick up a couple of books on hold. I will then take myself to a cafe for a second cup of coffee and have an early lunch to try and recover from this morning's activities. I think I will also stop by the hardware store to pick up a couple of rolls of duct tape. No, not to use on my neighbor (although the thought did cross my mind this morning). My Mom alerted me to an awesome project that I want to try this weekend. With a little coaxing, Jesse agreed to be my assistant. I'll have an awesome spring/summer wardrobe in no time!

Videorama

So, after having a near-death experience over my sideways videos yesterday, I took a deep breath and walked slowly over to the mini Mac (the little box that I never touch). I have an irrational fear of Macs, they scare me with their "user friendly" logic. Also, even though I loathe Windows Vista and curse my laptop daily, I'm pretty sure if I ever saw Justin Long in person I'd deck him right on the spot. (Loved him in Ed, but can't stand him in my face smugly touting a product -- no lifestyle -- that I just can't seem to master.)

Anyway, I tend to shy away from Jesse's computer, even though technically it's our computer, just because it makes me feel stupid. However, my insane need to rotate these damn videos led me to the iMovie application. It seriously took me 15 minutes just to figure out where the computer applications were hiding (everything is neatly tucked away in places that I can't ever seem to find). But I found it and tinkered for a while. The results are very crude, but my precious videos have been rotated and edited down to the essential parts. The Dancing Gallagher video lighting has been adjusted so you totally can't see the lead singer anymore, but the Crazy Man's air drums ring in crystal clear. Check it out here.

Hold on to your hats! Here's the promised Marble Run from Christmas in Santa Cruz, complete with Tai (the holiday party paparazzi) demanding a photo op:

Long Weekend Part 1: A Taste of Adventure

As I mentioned earlier, Eric and Lea visited for the long holiday weekend. I was so happy to have them here in our new town. We had a great time just hanging out, exploring Portland, going to a concert, making delicious food, and drinking delicious beer. One of the highlights? Taste testing four grades of maple syrup that Eric brought home from his visit to Vermont this winter. What better way to start a day than with eggs, Ken's Artisan Bakery's Oregon Croissants, and homemade french toast. MMM! That's happiness.

The weekend was packed with lots of adventures, but unfortunately I failed to take very many photos (other than this rad pic). More exciting posts are certain to follow as soon as the weekend photographers share their wonderful shots! Saturday, in particular, was quite a day. We experienced ice, wind of epic proportions, beautiful crisp weather, rainbows, noodle soup, and a concert.

As for now, I need a nap. Big time. I had the misfortune of having some work to finish yesterday that took a lot longer than expected. Unfortunately, I didn't spend much time after lunch doing anything except for writing alone in the bedroom. My meeting this morning went really well, so I'm glad I stayed up late to finish, but now my body is crashing.

Hopefully while I'm napping, a certain stranger will make me very happy by posting her video taken this Saturday on YouTube. She was able to capture Jesse and Eric scaring the ever-loving-crap out of me with their antics on one of our outings. I barely survived the trauma and certainly didn't have the wherewithal to pull out my camera. In case the anticipation is too much to handle, here's a little taste of the conditions at Crown Point in the Columbia Gorge on Saturday:

(This is video footage was taken same day that we visited the gorge...Gusts up to 100 mph.)

Christmas Eve

About 20 minutes after this post, I crawled in bed and passed out. I think it was a combination of the beer, stress, and constant squeezing of my butt cheeks for nearly eight hours on the drive down to Grants Pass. Even after we had cleared the snow and ice, I was still on the edge of my seat. I didn't have the strength to think about what we were going to do next. I just wanted sleep.

Then, at 3am I woke up and my brain started spinning. I thought about our ride the previous day and what we might have to go through again to get over the Siskiyou Pass. The thought of driving for another 4 hours in ice and snow terrified me. I woke up J (after rolling around) and told him that I didn't think I could do it. We agreed then and there that we wouldn't go through the pass unless it was relatively clear and realized that we might not make it to California after all. Then, I realized that I was starving (probably why I woke up in the first place), so we had snacks in bed and went back to sleep around 5am.

J woke up around 8am and went to get a new tires and to call his parents to tell them the bad news. The worst part of all was that we couldn't make it to California, but we also couldn't go back home to Portland because of another front that was dumping snow on the city again. The thought of spending Christmas in Grants Pass, Oregon made me cry, but the alternative (driving over the pass) made me cry even harder.

We had to check out at 11am, so we nibbled at breakfast, did a lot of sighing, and decided to drive around town a bit before making our final decision. While I was checking out, the lady at the front desk asked where we were headed and tears welled up in my eyes. (I'm sure I looked like death since I had only slept about 4 hours the night before and spent most of my morning in tears.) I told her our situation and she immediately started searching on the internet for alternate routes and weather conditions. She found that U.S. Route 199 was pretty clear and a little warmer and travels through the valley so was relatively flat. I thanked her profusely and ran out to the parking lot to tell J that we might have a chance.

He was on the phone with his mom and told her he had to go because we were going to try once again. We hopped in the car and were on the road again, this time heading west towards the coast. US 199 didn't feel unsafe at all and was quite a beautiful drive. The area had gotten snow overnight, but the temperatures were high enough to prevent it from sticking on the road.

Once we reached California, the snow vanished and we were feeling pretty good. I had never really seen giant Redwood trees before, so when we entered into the Redwood State Park I made J pull over. They probably come close to some of the most glorious things I have ever seen (or ever will see). Given our day with the snow, it was also amazing to finally see grass, and dirt, and pools of water! We took a brief moment to walk around and have a mini celebration for making it out of Grants Pass. At that point, I knew we would make it to Santa Cruz in time for Christmas, and even if we didn't, I was so glad that we wouldn't spend another night in the snow.

The rest of the drive was long and tedious. The sky dumped rain all the way from Eureka to Ukiah, which consisted of nearly all two-lane winding roads. Past Ukiah, the rain didn't really let up, but at least we hit the freeway and had a buffer from the oncoming traffic's lights. At least we didn't have to think once about having to use our "ice scraper" or the rest of the kitty litter in our back seat at any point on the second half of our journey. We arrived in Santa Cruz around 11:30pm on Christmas Eve, bringing our total driving time to around 17 hours over the course of two harrowing days. However, we were greeted by the whole family with smiles and a warm fire and delicious crab cakes made fresh for our hungry bellies.

Icy Hell

Today we decided to make a break for it. We had approximately one day of dry weather to get through Oregon before another snowstorm ruined the city again. Before leaving, we checked all of the necessary websites, walked over to the interstate, and talked over our options. We both agreed that the road looked a lot better than yesterday and if we could make it past Salem before dusk we'd be in the clear.

The 44 miles between Portland and Salem was a nightmare. We drove an average of 3 mph in ruts created by cars over the course of two days. In between the ruts were 6" mounds of ice and snow that were impassible unless you were driving a dump truck or a Hummer. Turning around was not really an option, given that we were stuck in the rut and the thought of driving in it again to get home made me want to die.

Literally 3 minutes south of Salem the roads were bone dry and there was not a spot of snow in sight. It was smooth sailing to Eugene where we stopped for dinner and picked up beer for a toast later -- a toast to making it through and to remember that we never want to do this again. We were feeling so good about the conditions that we decided to push ahead until Medford and make the Siskiyou Pass in the morning after sunrise. Perhaps our celebration was a little premature.

Exactly 3 miles north of Grants Pass we got a flat tire. We immediately called AAA, but J was able to put on our spare and we didn't need to be towed. Good thing too, because we would have waited at least 90 minutes for a truck. AAA was great and gave us the name of a tire shop in Grants Pass and a list of hotels just down the street. So now, we're kicking up our feet at a Comfort Inn with our beer. I'm glad to be on firm ground and the free wi-fi is a bonus.

Actually, I'm not really feeling like getting in a car ever again, so we might just live at the Comfort Inn until the March thaw. I mean, Grants Pass is not nearly as hip as Portland, but they have a McDonalds and a local motel/grill/bar. What more could a young couple want from a home? The hotel room has a mini-fridge and continental breakfast, so we're set. I'm sure I could learn to cook with the iron and hairdryer.

Too bad they don't serve sedatives in the morning with the stale bagels.