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Friday, April 29, 2005

Phenylketonuria

Guy #3 has threatened to remove me from his "list" if I don't update my blog. Kristine and Mrs. Pissy Britches have been questioning my whereabouts.

I don't know what has come over me. I've been so TIRED lately. I get up, go to work, come home, and go to sleep. That's right, people...I go directly to bed. With the exception of Monday (went downtown after work) and last night (went out drinking) I have been sleeping from 5:30pm (as soon as I get home) til 7am (when I wake up.) My need for massive amounts of sleep, my recent strange cravings for gallons of Raspberry Yoplait Yogurt, and the fact that I was late, put me into a panic. Which stressed me out even more and perpetuated my downward spiral of crabbiness, grogginess, and yogurtness. I never prayed so hard in my life for my Aunt Flo to visit, except for maybe that one time when I was 13 and absolutely convinced that I was the only girl in my entire middle school who hadn't become a woman yet. Anywho, to make a boring story short, I am now welcoming my ever-so-painful cramps with open arms and carrying around my tampons with pride, ala Statue of Liberty.

So I'm off for a mini-vacation. Will be back on Sunday. I promise to totally update my bloggie-poo then.

Love,
The Merry Widow

posted by The Merry Widow at 4:26 PM | 9 comments

Thursday, April 21, 2005

My psychiatrist told me I was normal

I knew it!!! It's all the rest of y'all who are weirdos!

You Are 65% Normal
(Really Normal)



Otherwise known as the normal amount of normal
You're like most people most of the time
But you've got those quirks that make you endearing
You're unique, yes... but not frighteningly so!



But does this mean that I'm also boring?

posted by The Merry Widow at 5:08 PM | 10 comments

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

I should have gotten a pedicure yesterday.

I have foot-in-mouth syndrome. It's been under control for awhile, but it flares up every so often, just like my allergies do. All of that pine pollen in the air these days has really been making me sneeze, making my nose run, making my eyes itch, and making me blurt out things that I need to keep to myself.

So today I found out some very personal information about a friend. Some information that was entertaining, intriguing, and most of all TMI. I internalized this information and kept it to myself. You see, one of my resolutions for myself is to refrain from spreading gossip. And this little piece of information was just BEGGING to be unleashed from my mouth. But still, I refrained. I bit my tongue. I held it in.

But you see, this piece of information was made public. Not by me, but by the infamous piece of webspace what we call blog. Awww yes...sweet, dear, funny, not-so-anonymous blogs. The place where people vent, whine, recount, and reveal.

Anyway, while going through my list of 8-million-blogs-that-I-have-to-read-everyday-or-else-I-might-die, I come across the juiciest little tidbit that would have normally just rolled off of my back. Except for one little, teeny, itsy, bitsy fact: I know this person. But like I said, after reading it, I laughed to myself, internalized it, and tried to go on with my day. Until I received the following email: "Hey, M-Wid...did you, by chance, read so-and-so's blog today?" At which point I wanted to immediately call up my email friend and yell out, "OMG!!! I TOTALLY READ IT!!! TMI! TMI!!!" and then talk about it at length. But I didn't. I simply replied with, "Yes. Gross." And that was it. I kept it in.

But then I couldn't just be satisfied with holding it in. Oh no...you see, that's one of the symptoms of foot-in-mouth syndrome. No matter how hard you try not to say anything, no matter how many people you want to tell and don't, something still has to give. I had to let so-and-so know that I knew. I didn't even give details. I simply said, in passing, "Dude, you're weird." That was it. But that was all it took. I could see the embarrassment in so-and-so's eyes. And then the guilt took over my soul more than any Sunday at church ever has. I felt the immediate need to repent. But no matter how many Hail Mary's and Our Father's I recited, I still felt horrible. Just for the one little sentence..."Dude, you're weird." Why, oh, why did I have to say anything???

Then I started over analyzing. That's what I do when I'm stressed. I came up with the theory that so-and-so probably thinks that I'm spreading gossip...so-and-so probably doesn't know that email friend also reads blogs and that I didn't tell email friend anything. Email friend found out all by him/herself. So-and-so is probably going stop talking to me. I mean, did you see the way so-and-so threw stuff into the garbage can today. Didn't it seem like so-and-so threw it in there a bit harder and louder than usual? That's a clear indication that so-and-so is going to hate me FOREVER. Right?

Then came the apology issue. Should I apologize? On one hand, I so wanted to run over and say sorry. I wanted to get on my hands and knees and say, "I take it back! I'm not judging you! I'm weird too!!! In fact, I'm probably weirder than you!" But on the other hand, I didn't want to make an even bigger deal about it. Maybe so-and-so wanted me to drop it. Maybe if I ignored it, it would just go away.

So here's my solution:

1. I'm blogging it. (Sidenote: blog as a verb, rather than a noun, makes me giggle.) I know that so-and-so reads my blog from time to time. So when that time comes, I want so-and-so to know that I AM SORRY. But like I said, I have foot-in-mouth syndrome. Oh yeah, and I might also have Tourette's. Bad combination.

2. I'm getting my mouth sewn shut. This should take care of the foot-in-mouth, Tourette's, and I will also be able to lose weight. (Bonus side effect!)

Do you think that my insurance will cover this?

posted by The Merry Widow at 11:39 PM | 18 comments

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Reason #4 Why I Love My Grandpa

He passionately plays the piano for hours...even though he has no clue how to play it.

posted by The Merry Widow at 8:59 AM | 7 comments

Reason #3 Why I Love My Grandpa

Even though he does not speak English fluently, he surprisingly knows all the words to John Mayer's song, "Daughters."

posted by The Merry Widow at 8:57 AM | 2 comments

Reason #2 Why I Love My Grandpa

He is always singing. But not real songs...he sings about whatever he sees or is currently doing:

"Eeeeeeeesssssstoooooooooooy laaaaaaaaaaavaaaaaandooooooo miiiiiiiii caaaaaaaaaaraaaaaa.....
yyyyyyyyyyyyy eeeeeentoooooooonceeeees voooooooooy a laaaaaaaavaaaaaar miiiiiis dieeeeeeenteeeees..."

(All his songs are in Spanish.)

posted by The Merry Widow at 8:54 AM | 4 comments

Reason #1 Why I Love My Grandpa

He wears a light yellow "Member's Only" Jacket.

posted by The Merry Widow at 8:52 AM | 5 comments

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Anything you can do, I can do better...

"You two are like an old married couple."

A perfect stranger at the bar made that comment to me and my friend (aka Guy #3) last night. And I can understand why...we spent the entire night playfully bickering, each trying to out do the other. It was the kind of poking and jabbing that you do to someone with whom you are comfortable, someone with whom you can match wits...a sibling, a significant other, a good friend.

"What do you wanna do?"
"Your mom."
"Don't talk about my mom or else I'll cut you."
"Hey, ask your mom if her rates are still the same."
"Shut up. At least my mom's not a bitch."
"My mom's not a bitch."
"Yes she is. She's the biggest bitch ever."
"Nuh uh."
"Uh huh."

It's hard to believe that we're both college graduates. We both have professional science jobs at a reputable company where we are trying to develop a cure for cancer (among other things.) The future of science and medicine lies in our hands. We're smart, we're problem solvers, we are working day in and day out...measuring...calculating...doing the nerdy science things that science people do. But above all, we are figuring out ways to dis each other's moms. Neat, huh?

So back to last night: Guy #3 and I were maturely discussing the pronunciation of the word, "Gastrocnemius."

"The C is silent."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is."
"No it isn't. It's not Gast-Rock-Nee-Mee-Ous. It's Gast-Ro-Nee-Mee-Ous. Silent C."
"You're wrong."
"No, you're wrong."
"Um, hello! I totally studied that in school. The Gastrocnemious muscle was totally like my second favorite muscle.* So I know."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do. And just to prove you wrong, I'm gonna look it up when I get home."
(This is the part where I turn on my PDA to remind myself to look up the pronunciation of Gastrocnemius when I get home.**)
"See...you can't even spell it."
"Shut up and go to hell."

Now this is where the perfect stranger (who was easy on the eyes, by the way) interjects, "You two are like an old married couple."

After we both awkwardly laugh, I turn to Guy #3 and say, "You know, you are one of my favorite people to argue with." (Normally, I wouldn't end my sentence with a preposition, but I was a little drunk at this point in the night. Sue me.) And he turns to me, gazes into my eyes, and replies, "Awwww...that's sweet. You're totally NOT my favorite person to argue with. You always have to have the last word, no matter what, and the argument never gets dropped until I shut up and let you have the last word." "That's not true!" "Uh huh!" "Nuh uh!"

Now, of course, this is another one of his playful jabs. But at the same time, I knew he was being truthful. He's right...I do always have to have the last word. I thought back to all of the debates of which I've been a part, all of the hissy fits that I've thrown, all of the argumements in which I've participated. Even if I know that I'm wrong, I still have to end with "You're mama!" or "Bend over and I'll show you!" or "Why don't you kiss my J-Lo ass?" or "Oh yeah? Well you're a cracka-ass-cracka!" or something equally classy and eloquent. I always have to have the absolute last and final word.

So why am I so adamant on having the last say? Is it low self esteem? Is it because I'm a spoiled brat? Or is it because I'm always totally right and everyone else (i.e. Guy #3) is always totally wrong? Well let's see...I used to have low self esteem, but I think that I've overcome that as I've grown older. I'm definately a lot more confident in myself and in all that I can and cannot do. I mean, have you taken a good look at me lately? I'm totally hot and I'm like the smartest person that I know. I'm practically late to work every morning because I can't tear myself away from the mirror. My beauty is just so mesmerizing. So I don't think that self-esteem is an issue here. As far as being a spoiled brat goes, well, my dad totally won't buy me a new beamer, no matter how much I whine about it, so that can't be it. I even threatened to never speak to him again if he didn't buy me the car of my dreams and he still didn't buy it. Can you believe that? Spoiled brats always get the car of their choice from their parents, so obviously I don't fall under this category either. So I think that I'm gonna have to go with option C, by default: I am always right. Therefore I must always have the last word.

OK, seriously, maybe my self esteem gets a little on the low side every so often and maybe I am a bit of a spoiled brat. And every so often, I might be wrong too. Maybe I can work a little on letting matters drop and not having to have the last word. That would probably be the mature thing to do. I really should try it every once in awhile.

I went to the same bar tonight with Guy #3 (again.) While I was there, I became acquainted with a new friend (Hi, Sarah!) and at one point in the night she said to me, "Wow. You are so grown up," at which point I laughed and said to her, "If you only knew...I am so far from being anywhere near grown up." Guy #3 then replied with some sort of jabby remark about me and how old I was. And you know what? I let it go. I let him have the last word. Maybe I am finally growing up just a little...PSYCHE! (I was totally right about Gastrocnemius! I win! Haha!)

Footnotes:***
*Yes, not only do I have a favorite muscle, but I also have a second favorite muscle. And yes, I realize that this is nerdy.
**Yes, I also realize that taking one's PDA to a bar and then using it to remind oneself to look up "Gastrocnemius" while at afore mentioned bar, is also nerdy.
***And finally, yes, I do realize that having footnotes in my blog is the nerdiest thing of all.

posted by The Merry Widow at 4:01 PM | 8 comments

Sunday, April 10, 2005

And you wonder why I don't trust guys anymore...

Guy #6: "That's not my girlfriend. I just gave her a ride here. That's all."

Me: "Then why is she glaring at me while I talk to you?"

Guy #6: "Because she's a bitch."

Yeah, right.

posted by The Merry Widow at 2:57 AM | 12 comments

Friday, April 08, 2005

Yes, I've gotta have faith-ah, faith-ah, FAITH-AH!

I can distinctly remember telling my dad that I had a brain tumor. "It's not a tumor." He would say to me in his best Arnold accent. (You haven't lived until you hear a Mexican immitate an Austrian.) For 1 whole year I complained to my dad about my brain tumor. My head always hurt in the exact same spot, every day. My best friend would come by my house and ask me, "Wanna go to the park? Or is your tumor acting up again?" And I complained and complained and complained about it, but my dad never listened. Well, as luck would have it, my tumor miraculously dissipated. All of those prayers to JP2 must have helped.

That was the same week that I developed a flesh eating disease called Necrotizing fasciitis, also known as group A streptococcus. "Daddy, I have Strep-A." That's what I called it. But he just thought I was trying to speak like a Canadian. As in, "Daddy, I have Strep. Eh!" And he would say, "Go eat a spoon full of honey. It'll help for your sore throat. And quit speaking like a Canadian. We're from the other border country." And I would say, "No, Daddy, not Strep Throat. Strep-A. As in Group A streptococcus. As in Necrotizing facitits. " "Mija, where do you learn all of these words?" "From the Merck Manual that you gave to me." "Mija, I gave you that Merck Manual so that you could look up diseases and figure out that you didn't have any of them. Not so that you could diagnose yourself with new ones." "Well, Daddy, I looked in there and according to the manual I have a flesh eating disease." "Well then go wash your hands." "Daddy, I have a FLESH EATING DISEASE and that's all you can think to say to me?" "No. I also want you to go do your homework. Oh yeah, and give me back my Merck Manual." And by the miracle of God, Himself, my Strep-A finally went away, 2 weeks later. All of those prayers to the Virgin of Guadalupe must have helped.

Things were fine and dandy until I went away to college. When out of the blue, I developed ovarian cancer. "Daddy, I have ovarian cancer." "Mija, just go take some Midol. That should help." "Thanks for the sympathy, Daddy. Is that what you tell all of your patients? You are so gonna miss me after I die from this." "Mija, why do you think you have ovarian cancer?" "Because!!!" I said in my most whiney voice. "I'm really crampy and stuff." "Yeah, your mother gets grumpy too when she gets her period." "DADDY!!! NOT GRUMPY...CRAMPY!" "Yeah. I heard you. Your mother gets grumpy too," he said with a giggle. "YOU WON'T BE LAUGHING AFTER I DIE!" I screamed, right before I hung up on him. Luckily, my ovarian cancer went away after a trip to the gyno. All of those Santerian chicken sacrifices that I made must have helped.

Until I developed Neurofibromatosis. "Daddy, I have neurofibromatosis." "No, mija. It's just a wart." "Dammit, Daddy, are my diseases never good enough for you?!?" "Come by the clinic tomorrow. I'll freeze it off for you." Well, I went, and he froze it off and it never came back. But I still don't think it was a wart. I think it was the fact that I prayed the Rosary that night. I'm sure it helped.

Then, one day, I met the man of my dreams. And I became The Merry Wife...the perfect picture of health. And all of my diseases went away.

Until last week...

I'm pretty sure that I have tonsilitis. This, of course, means that my tonsils have now grown back. (I had a tonsillectomy about 8 years ago.)

I'm also pretty sure that the Strep-A ("Strep. Eh!") has come back and has taken over my face. Specifically, it's eating my nose.

And did I mention that I think I'm going blind? I totally am... slowly... like Ray Charles style. I better hurry up and learn piano. If I'm gonna go blind, I should at least be a good musician.

Hello. My name is Merry Widow, and I'm a hypochondriac.

OK, OK...I'm a smart girl. I know this. You know this. So maybe I didn't really have a brain tumor, Necrotizing facitits, Ovarian Cancer, and Neurofibromatosis. Maybe it was just a sinus infection, an infected scrape, bad cramps, and a wart. And maybe I don't currently have tonsilitis, Necrotizing facitits (again,) and I'm not going blind. Maybe it's just a sore throat from smoking too many cigs the other night, a big zit that I won't stop picking, and red/itchy eyes from seasonal allergies. But then again...maybe not. I better pull out my prayer rug and figure out which direction points towards Mecca, just in case.

posted by The Merry Widow at 12:49 AM | 8 comments

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Thou Shall Not Steal

I'm stealing this directly from Jessie's (aka Hornblower) blog (What's up, girl!?!) who stole it from some other blog. I thought it was pretty neat-o.

1. YOUR PORN STAR NAME (Name of first pet / Street where you live):
Tiggy Bitterwood

2. YOUR FASHION DESIGNER NAME (First word you see on your left / Favorite restaurant): Volare Kobe

3. EXOTIC FOREIGNER ALIAS (Favorite Spice / Last Foreign Vacation Spot):
Cayenne Cuernavaca

4. "FLY GIRL/BOY" ALIAS (First Initial / First Two or Three Letters of your Last Name) :
M-Wid (Mine doesn't sound as cool as J-Lo. Damn.)

5. ICON ALIAS (Something Sweet Within Sight / Any Liquid in Your Kitchen):
Blow Pop Tequila

6. DETECTIVE ALIAS (Favorite Baby Animal / Where You Went to High School):
Kitten Academy

7. BARFLY ALIAS(Last Snack Food You Ate / Your Favorite Alcoholic Drink) :
Moon Pie Woo-Woo

8. SOAP OPERA ALIAS (Middle Name / Street Where You First Lived:
Kansas (I'm not telling you my middle name. So there.)

9. ROCK STAR ALIAS (Favorite Candy / Last Name Of Favorite Musician):
Kit Kat Corbey (I'll give you a dollar if you notice this reference...you know who you are.)

10. YOUR STAR WARS NAME ( First 2 letters of your first name and the first 3 Letters from your last name makes your first name. Take the first 2 letters of your mother's maiden name and the first 3 letters of the city you were born in for your last name) :
MeWid DeEdw

posted by The Merry Widow at 6:10 PM | 9 comments

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Live from Houston, Texas...IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT!!!

1. Ran into ex-boyfriend while he was on date. Awkward.

2. Ran into girlfriend of Guy #6. She gave me the evil eye all night.

3. Watched a guy with a lazy eye try to hit on my friend.

4. Watched husband of other friend imitate guy with lazy eye.

5. Watched drunk guy dance like a fool and make an attempt at singing. (Note: he was friends with Mr. Lazy eye)

6. Got free shots from bar manager.

7. Ran into friend of Guy #6, who assumed that I was still hanging out with Guy #6. She proceeded to ask me questions about Guy #6 all night.

8. Went to different bar.

9. Mr. Lazy Eye and drunk friend showed up 10 minutes later.

10. Gross 40 year old man kept trying to flirt with me. Blah.

11. REALLY gross, curly-white-hair, old, mullet man told me I was pretty and asked me if he could sit next to me. Double blah.

12. I told gross mullet man that I was saving seat for Mr. Lazy Eye.

13. Good looking boy and I start talking while the song, "The Humpty Dance" is playing in the background.

14. Good looking boy and I talk about how much we love this song.

15. Good looking boy and I keep talking.

16. I find out Good looking boy lives down the street from me.

17. And is an Architect.

18. Good looking boy talks about how he loves to buy nice purses for his girlfriends.

19. I fall in love with good-looking-architect-purse-buying-boy.

20. Good-looking-architect-purse-buying-boy gets my number.

21. Good-looking-architect-purse-buying-boy leaves.

22. Really drunk 30 year old man sits down next to me and tries to convince me to go to IHOP with him.

23. After I decline invitation, 30 year old drunk man asks for my number.

24. After I refuse to give him my number, 30 year old drunk man tries to kiss me.

25. After I back away, 30 year old drunk guy tells me I'm a slut.

26. I laugh.

27. Mr. Lazy Eye leaves.

28. Friend leaves.

29. I leave.

30. Good-looking-architect-purse-buying boy calls me.

31. Am on my way to watch movie with him right now.

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posted by The Merry Widow at 9:26 PM | 11 comments
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