Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Operation Déjà Vu

I don't think my mom likes me anymore.

After watching the news, I remarked that I wished my name were Dick Street just like the fellow who was featured on the previous story.  My dear mother replied, "So do I, because that would mean you weren't related to me."

Then two days ago, my dad asked her what she wanted to drink with dinner and she said, "Hemlock."

Having me living with her is getting to her, I think.

Tomorrow is the big surgery day... or is it?  My cute little brain on some level thinks that it'll be delayed again.  This has helped me sleep at night and avoid being nervous but I have a feeling my brain is in for a big surprise.

Like any good sitcom, my story lines are crossing and tying up nicely.  Supposedly I am going to hear today if the short sale offer I made on that house was accepted.  Totally episode 12 of an HBO series kind of week.

My former trainer Jackie is sending me white light tomorrow for my surgery.  I'll take it along with good thoughts and positive energy.  Again.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Um, About That Surgery...

I got a call this morning two hours before I was supposed to be at the hospital.  My surgery was cancelled due to a delay from the doctor.  This shouldn't surprise me because this whole injury and recovery have been such a clustercluck but still, it seems a little psychologically torturous.

Bright side: rescheduled for November 28th December 1st. This is before the end of the year so my insurance won't reset its deductible.  Also Thanksgiving will be a lot better now that I won't be recovering.

Sorry for the cliffhangers, folks!

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Hippie Hippie Shake

Tomorrow is my big hip surgery!  I am so excited.  If I had found a reputable YouTube video depicting the surgery, I would have attempted to do it myself at this point.

I would appreciate good thoughts sent my way.

Waiting for me to get home will be my new mannequin head, a gift from my aunt and beautiful goddaughter.   This is Natasha, but you can call her Tasha if you are a friend.  She's already had a haircut, two shampoos and I knitted her a hat.

Yes, the time has come to get this over with, regain my sanity and move on with my life.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Last Words of the Bird

A couple of weeks ago, I heard my sister Kerry call for my mom from the bathroom.  She had been showering with her cockatiel (as you do) and somehow the shampoo had fallen and splashed on his nose and face.  It didn't seem to be an emergency situation and Kerry was asking for advice on how to make sure the bird would trust her in the future.  In short, a typical night at the Wright Family Nuthouse.

I updated my Facebook

News that could only come from my family: Cody the 22 year old cockatiel was taking a shower with my sister and got shampoo in his eyes. Emergency vet being considered. Sister worries the bird will never trust her again. As the Wrights Turn will continue after the break.

Two hours later, I was at the emergency vet with Kerry and we were having the poor bird put to sleep.  He had been poisoned by Head and Shoulder shampoo, and that combined with his 21 years of life were just too much for the poor thing.

Sooooo, I felt really bad.  For one thing, our family has had this bird since he was a baby.  My sisters absolutely adored him.  Kerry had taught him how to say her name and his name.  She showered with him, took him on vacation, bought him treats, the whole shebang.  I was not a gigantic fan of Cody or of having birds for pets in general, but I knew my sisters both felt a very real sense of loss and I felt terrible for making fun of the situation on Facebook.

At the same time, there was some humor in the situation.  On the way home from the vet (thirty miles.  Not too many emergency avian vets apparently), Kerry was upset and was talking about how many times the veterinary staff came in and told us how much everything was going to cost.  At one point she said, "I can't even believe they were going to charge us to give the bird the last rites!"

Now, in case you did not grow up Catholic, the last rites is a sacrament that involves praying over the dying and anointing them with oil.  I didn't remember the subject of bringing a Catholic priest in after midnight to bless the cockatiel into heaven coming up at the vet.

"When did they say that?" I asked gently.

"You heard them!  They asked us if we wanted a postmortem!!!"

That would be more like an autopsy.  I do like the image of getting a priest out of bed to rub oil on a bird head, though.

So rest in peace, Cody the cockatiel.  I deleted that Facebook status about you, I promise.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

The Comeback (Part 3)

Remember when I started this blog two years ago and it was all about losing weight and getting back into shape?

Yeah, neither do I.

Bed rest and extreme taking-it-easiness have not been kind to my fitness plans.  I'm sure physical therapy helped a little, but I had to stop that two or three months ago.  I can't walk for more than a minute without crutches and I can't sit for more than fifteen minutes or so.  This makes extreme gym work very difficult, as you can imagine.

The good news is that I've been totally having "Rocky" moments in my own brain recently.

I got cleared to walk, with crutches, for up to fifteen minutes on a track.  Two weeks ago, I joined a gym to do just that.  I motor around the track, listening to books on my iPhone.  The first time I did seven laps in fifteen minutes and I was so excited thinking that eight laps was a mile.  I was still fast, even with crutches!  Who needs an intact muscular system?  Not this lady.

Then I found out that a mile was sixteen times around the track.  Ooofff.  Dreams of accidental fitness squashed.

I walk slowly around the track getting passed by senior citizens and stroke patients.  It's a little humbling.  But as I walk, I imagine how great it's going to feel when I finally get my body back to working order.  I'll walk around the track or on a treadmill and remember the days when I dragged myself around at a snail's pace, pain with every step.  Talk about starting from rock bottom!

Of course, because I'm me, this little mental trip ends with me on the medal platform at the 2020 Olympics, age 42, tears rolling down my face, gold medal shining on my chest, and the national anthem blaring.

Right now, I'm happy to feel like I'm getting fit again, one teeny tiny step at a time.  

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Strange Things are Afoot at the Circle K

My dad has become obsessed with the Kardashians.  He is 66 years old.

"Did you hear about Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries?"  This was asked breathlessly on the day he returned from golfing in Nevada.

"Um, yes... that's a, um, shame."

"I think she's a gold digger.  He seems like a nice enough guy, just dumb as a box of rocks."


"You know who I don't like?  Her sister, Choe-lee.  She's got a nasty mouth on her."

All of this is interesting because I do not watch the Kardashian's show.  My mom and my sisters do not watch it either.  I have never seen it playing in the ten soul-crushing months I have been living here.  This means that my dad, age 66, has been keeping up with "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" at work.

A few days later, I told him that TMZ reported that Kim was flying to Minnesota to meet with Kris.

"Oh I hope so!  I was just raking leaves in the backyard and I dropped the rake and got on my knees and prayed that they'd reconcile."

I think he was kidding.  Please let him be kidding.

I was Khloe Kardashian for Halloween in 2009.  It required three throw pillows stuffed into a pair of panty hose to give me a booty.

Also strange is that I keep getting receipts from iTunes because my beloved mother has been downloading games for the iPad.  Mirror Mysteries, Mystic Diary, Murder in Rue Morgue, Stray Souls.  She apparently has become quite the supernatural gamer.

The other day I ended up with another elderly hitchhiker in my car.  Yes, this is a pattern for me.  This time, the guy had seen me crutching my way across the library parking lot.  He held up his cane.  "One day at a time, right sweetheart?"  We were limpin' buddies.  I had to drive him the two miles to the grocery store.

We had just started out on our journey when a squirrel ran out in front of the car.  I braked and let it pass.  "Oh you're just like me!" Edward the hitchhiker exclaimed.  "I don't like to kill anything any more."

Immediately I thought about this season of "Dexter."  There had been an elderly man who was a serial killer back in the day who may or may not have started up his hobby again.  No spoilers from me.  Anyway, I suddenly knew that this guy was a former murderer and now he was sitting next to me in my beloved Buick.

Yeah, nothing happened.  I dropped him at Walt's and he let me know that he didn't care for the name Taryn at all, much preferring Karen.  I thanked him and went on my way.

If I am found murdered, please tell the police about Edward.  He would be the number one suspect, followed by Choe-lee Kardashian, followed by my supernatural video game obsessed mother.  Thank you in advance.

Saturday, November 5, 2011


Eight years ago today, I adopted a weird little dog named Cooper.

A thousand costume changes later, I can say for sure it was one of the best decisions I ever made.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Kimmy Gibler, Meet Your Match

Like every good 80's sitcom, my life now includes a sassy neighbor as a supporting character.

Cameron is eight years old and he comes over to play with me a couple of times a week.  We play iPad games, teach our dogs tricks and set up photo shoots with our puppies.  Mostly, though, Cameron and I spend our time ragging on each other.  He calls me lazy and makes fun of my "artwork" (can you even imagine??!?!) and I mock him for being born in 2003 and for having a small brain.  Somehow, our friendship works.

The best thing about Cameron is that he's my own personal Webster or Arnold from "Diff'rent Strokes."  He's a cute little black kid who is wise way beyond his years.  Cameron will show up at our house and say things like "I'm sorry I'm late.  I had forgotten Taryn had extended an invitation towards me until a few moments ago."  Very Oliver Twist.  He will fondly reminisce about things that happened when he was "a kid."  My favorite thing about Cameron is his capacity to both receive insults and dish them out in return.

One day we got on the subject of the fact that every time he sees me, I am laying on the couch in my pajamas.  He told me that he feared I would die alone.  Here is a quote, which I immediately wrote down so I would never forget it.

"You're never going to get married.  You'll be alone alone with a lot of cats, eating ice cream right out of the carton.  You won't have dogs, because for some reason lonely women have a lot of cats."

Warmed the heart!  Another day he told me he had decided he wanted to be the President of the United States when he grows up.  I was very encouraging, imagining him thanking me in his inauguration speech.  I told him I'd vote for him.

"Really?  You would?"  He seemed touched.

"Of course, Cam.  I think you'd do a wonderful job."

"Well great, you can vote for me.  If you're still alive by then."

Occasionally Cameron will behave like an eight year old.  This comes as a huge shock to me when it happens.  One day he acted like a dog for over an hour.  I was embarrassed for him until I remembered that he was eight years old and this was typical.   It usually ends quickly and we go back to making up dances to Michael Jackson songs and debating the merits of the Chris Brown Christmas album vs. Mariah Carey's and Garth Brooks'.

 He will also get his facts a little mixed up every once in a while.  On St. Patrick's Day, Cameron came over and proudly announced he was celebrating because he was part Irish.  My mom said, "Wow, we're Irish too!"  This little African American kid looked at her suspiciously.  "YOU'RE Irish?  You guys don't LOOK Irish."

My new favorite awkward Cameron story happened last week when he came over to show me his Halloween costume.  He was dressed as a nerd, complete with suspenders and cracked glasses.  "Cam, why would you be a nerd for Halloween?  You're a nerd every day."  I am so good at snappy insults.

He looked right at me and said, "Oh yeah?  Well you're a SLUT every day."

Deep breath, Taryn.  Act natural.  Don't laugh.  "Cameron, do you know what that word means?"

He proudly nodded.  "Yes, someone who's LAZY."

I guess I am a slut then.  Even an eight year old sidekick can figure that out.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Exciting Anniversary!!

One year ago today, I bent down to pick up a pen while working and my wonderful hip and back injury adventure began.  Glorious.

This picture is 100% meant to distract from the bum-outness of that fact.  

It certainly has been an interesting year.  Two ER visits, many doctor visits, two physical therapists, two MRI's, diagnoses ranging from simple bursitis to possible bone tumors to the one we've settled on, tendons and muscles torn from my hip bone.

Total medical bills:  $33,308, plus about $8000 in physical therapy.   My self-paid insurance has shelled out $19,000.  I am grateful for that and I'm now happy I signed up for it even though the five years I went without so much as a cold made it seem like a waste of money.

Books read: 78.  

Paintings Completed:  7

Scarves Knitted: 3

Hours of Netflix Watched: countless

Obviously, this injury has changed my life quite a bit.  I sold my condo and am waiting to move to the burbs.  My empathy for people with injuries or illnesses has skyrocketed.  I've learned a lot about looking on the bright side of things and taking stuff one day at a time.  It's been an accomplishment not to have become depressed or to get overwhelmed by this whole thing.

Two weeks till my big surgery and then I will finally be in recovery instead of waiting around to heal eventually!  I'm looking forward to it like it's Christmas.

How awesome will it be when I can post about something other than laying around and doing nothing???  I know I can't wait!  

Thanks for bearing with this whole thing, guys.  I appreciate it.