Friday, March 31, 2006

Since my head is the only thing I am capable of writing about

I went to the doctor on Thursday morning. I had the first appointment of the day. In some women's magazine, I once read that getting the first appointment of the day was the thing to do.

I didn't schedule for the first appointment of the day on purpose, but - hey - it can't hurt to have your doctor's brain all fresh and eager, right?


She looked in my ears, which feel as though they are about to explode brain particulate whenever I have headaches. Less fluid than last week, she said. And last week's fluid wasn't substantial.

Soooo...she's put me in an antibiotic and scheduled me for a CT Scan next Friday afternoon.


After my appointment, I traded cars with my dad so he could get Stella's oil changed. Then I went on my very first trip to Trader Joe's and promptly fell in love. Fruit leather! Hummus! Delicious frozen healthy stuff! Ginger cookies shaped like cats that are low fat and delicious and make me happy. I heart that store. Love at first shop.

After Trader Joe's, I went to work. And then, at 9:15 pm, I went home from work. And at 10:15 pm, I got a call from work because there was a "disaster." At 10:20 pm, I drove back to work. At 11:05 pm, I had diverted the "disaster" and I went back home.

And then I went to bed.


Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Gee, how comforting

How to ease your daugher's achy head: tell her that you didn't sleep well last night because you woke up at 2 am, 3 am and 4 am dreaming that her brain tumor was growing and growing.

Great! Wonderful to hear, especially from a college nursing professor.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

At last!

This Headache Whining Blog has been interrupted for this breaking news.

Meg and her "friend," 35 year-old, no-regular-job, encourage-young-girls-to-participate-in-Foxy-boxing-at-strip-clubs, boxing coach Jay are no longer "friends."

Ta da!

I don't know exactly what happened. Meg knows how much I hate Jay, so we've wordlessly agreed to never speak of him. My darling father, however, has passed along the information that Jay hasn't returned Meg's phone calls in approximately two weeks. And she has totally given up on him.


I feel bad for Meggie. I'm sure that she's taking it like a breakup. And he doesn't even have the decency to let her down easy. He's just being the slime that he is, pretending that she never existed (I wonder if he stole that tactic from Colin?). That's not cool. But the result is.

My sister can be my sister again.

She worked for me the past two weekends. I got to spend a good amount of time with her. And it was really, really nice. Like we used to be. I didn't have to censor what I thought about the leech. She didn't have to be offended by my smartass remarks and eye rolling at his mention. Everything felt more comfortable.

But I'm not getting comfortable.

And I'm not getting ahead of myself.

I'm not counting him gone for another six months. At the least.

Monday, March 27, 2006

My achy breaky brain

Newsflash: today I had a headache! Better than the brain bruiser I had on Friday, worse than the wimpy head pangs I had yesterday and Saturday.

I’m on day 12 of The Endless Headache Streak and I know that you guys are sick of hearing about it, but, mostly it is my life right now. So. Um. Sorry about that.

The entire situation is crap.

I’ve made a follow-up appointment with the doctor that I saw last Thursday. My primary care physician, unfortunately, is booked up until a week from Friday. Damnit. She is smart and awesome and really adorable and I’m totally comfortable with her. So it figures that I can’t get in to see her. Tomorrow, I think I’ll call and make an appointment with her whenever I can get in. Just in case I continue feeling like roadkill. Which I hope isn’t the case.

This is starting to really bother me. Not the headaches, which are painful but not debilitating, but the uncertainty of the situation. I keep asking myself if this is all some ridiculous figment of my imagination. I am constantly questioning what I feel and how I’m reacting to pain.

I don’t like second-guessing myself.

And I really don’t like the thought of this all being mental.

For now, per my lovely mother’s request, I will be a good little patient/daughter and I will log my headaches and the severity on a scale of 1-10 and the medication I’m taking and the amount of stress I had that day the color clothes I’m wearing and the music that I’m listening to and hope that it will make my doctor go “ah ha! I know the problem! It is that you are too lovely, talented and perfect to work a full-time job. You will have to stop right now. I know a charming and attractive young man who you are perfectly compatible with and – just your luck! – he is looking for a wife that he can spoil for the rest of his days.”

Now, before I wrap this babble up, I should admit something here: GFF was right on target. Chocolate helps. A customer brought us a 5-gallon tub of the most delicious chocolate ice cream that has ever been made. Creamy. Not too sweet. The perfect texture so that I don’t sprain my wrist when I scoop it. And I swear that my headaches temporarily subside after I eat it.

Oh, chocolate euphoria.

I love chocolate as much as the next girl, but I’m hoping that there’s a solution out there that doesn’t require a steady diet of chocolate ice cream.

Well, actually, I hope that’s the fix.

It’s the size of my ass that doesn’t.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Hockey etiquette

Consider yourself lucky if you ask a goalie with a pounding headache if she’ll stay and play another game and she says yes.

Do not send one of your teammates into your locker room to tell Pounding Head Goalie that, actually, you have a goalie and then, seven minutes later after Pounding Head Goalie is fully undressed, send another one of your teammates into the locker room wondering (in a very anxious, irritating and slightly-too-loud voice) why you aren’t on the ice.

Because then she’ll want to kill you.

And she’s supposed to be on your team.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Cranial explosion

Contrary to what I assume is popular belief, I haven't been avoiding my blog because of my lack of a new job.


I'm mostly over that.

I've been a less-than-prolific blogger because I'm spending every free second cleaning up the gray matter that splattered all over my apartment when my head exploded.

Okay. Maybe that's a bit of a stretch. But today is the 10th consecutive day that I've had a significantly achy headache. It blows. Hardcore. I rarely get headaches. They never last more than a day or two. This situation is slowly making me a miserable bitch. Feeling crappy is no fun.

I caved in and made a doctor's appointment on Wednesday. I went on Thursday morning. Nothing significant was accomplished.

There was a bit o' fluid in my ears, but not an amount that should be making my head so unhappy. Perhaps it's allergy/sinus related. Here's a prescription for Allegra and another for a nasal spray.

It might be your eye sight. It could be stress-related. If it's stress, we could put you on anti-depressants. But not after a mere week of headaches. So take the Allegra. Call me if you're still having headaches on Monday.


Not that I expected the magic potion that would immediately make me all better or anything. But feeling like this sucks a lot of ass.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Well, that's one less thing to worry about

I didn't get the job.

Guess I wasn't the only one who didn't feel entirely enthuiastic about the interview!

Oh well.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

A smattering

Something great has happened to me. I have been chosen to be a Nielsen family. I got a survey (with five crisp $1 bills!) in the mail, anyhow. I feel strangely special. I went to college and I watch only CNN and trashy reality television. Cross-section of America, baby!

It seems that I have possibly scored a really, really fun summer job for my sister. She worked last weekend, did a good job, and was invited to work again this weekend. The job is with a division of my company, actually. A division that treats its employees exponentially better than my division. She’ll only be part-time, anyhow. A little abuse won’t kill her.

I’ve had a horrible, pounding sinus headache every day since last Wednesday. It’s getting really, really old. I am not crazy about feeling as though my brain is about to burst from my ears; my coworkers have tired of me begging them to stand on my temple to relieve some of the pressure.

I’m trying to drink more water and am failing miserably. I used to be so good! Now, coffee is a big draw. And if I’m not drinking coffee (or a coffee/hot chocolate mix), I’m not drinking anything. B-a-d.

It’s really too bad that I won’t have a change to paint my toenails before I go to yoga class tomorrow, because my feet are disgusting. Revolting, even.

Ooooh. A shootout in the Red Wings game followed by 8th and Ocean.

My life. Breathtakingly exciting, no?


Monday, March 20, 2006

A funny thing happened on my way to Chicago

I get off of the plane at O’Hare and, like any moderately intelligent budding socialite would do, I immediately check my cell phone messages.

“Hi Aly, it’s Alan.”


“Call me back please.”

He leaves two numbers.

I only know one Alan. He’s my uncle. But I haven’t talked to Uncle Alan in 2.5 years. And the caller left the uncle prefix off of his name.

Could it be?

I listened to the message a second time, snapped my phone shut and shoved it into my pocket. Not worth thinking about now. Concentrate on finding Aunt Louise and Uncle Ed. Worry about your interview.

On Friday morning, while killing time before my interview, I listened to the message a third time.

Had to be Uncle Alan.

Couldn’t be anyone but Uncle Alan.

I put a call into my dad.

“Did you talk to Uncle Alan?”

“Uh, no.” I was quite certain that was the answer, seeing as none of us had spoken to him in over two years. “Why?”

“I think he called me.”

“Call him back!”

“I think I’ll wait until I get home. Maybe on Sunday.”

“Call him! I want to know why he called! Callhimcallhimcallhimcallhim!”

“Maybe after my interview, dude.”

As soon as I hung up, I called the first of the two numbers he left.

It was his office.

“How’s life?” he asked. There was a slight bit of sarcasm in his voice.

I told him that I was in Chicago for an interview. He told me all about how he would move to Chicago, Columbus, Cleveland, Minneapolis or Madison if he were my age and he could live his live over again.

Okay. I haven’t seen you since I was a senior in college, but, sure, feel free to barge into my life and hurl unsolicited advice my way. I’m certain that I will take your brilliant ideas into account. I may even write them down and tuck them under my pillow.

“The reason I’m calling...this might make you laugh, but I hope it doesn’t make you pee your pants, because you might not have another pair of pants to wear to your interview...”

I laughed a little at his preface, because I knew he was trying to be humorous.

“I want you to teach me how to ice skate.”

No fucking joke.

My uncle, who might as well have been dead the last two years, calls me out of the blue and expects me to TEACH HIM HOW TO SKATE?!

I couldn’t decide between being insulted and amused.

I was speechless. Very confused. Somewhat panicked. And I said that I’d do it.

And that is why I win Jackass of the Year.

Because anyone who spends her precious free time teaching her estranged uncle (the one who didn’t come to her graduation party and who makes her grandma cry on Thanksgiving and didn’t even call his youngest sister over the course of her three-week hospital stay) how to ice skate wins Jackass of the Year. Hands down.

How am I going to get myself out of this one, kids?

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Lots to think about

I made it out alive!

And I am overwhelmed.

I am writing this at the airport; eventually, it’ll post it. If I can put together some coherent thoughts. I am having a hard, if not impossible, time summing today up.

I think I need to eat something healthy.

The interview was nice. Somewhat informal, but nice. I quite like the woman who would be my boss. We had lunch. I met the owner. I left. All is done.

There are two other people who would be working in my department and they were both gone for the weekend. And that kind of turns me off. I sort of feel like I got an incomplete picture. I’m also tired and have basically eaten nothing of substance today, which may be coloring my opinion.

They’re down to two. Me and...someone else. Whoever Someone is, she is coming in for an interview sometime early next week. I’ll find out, I assume, sometime soon.

I don’t know if I want the job.

And that’s because I’m scared.

I cried yesterday, on my plane to Chicago. It was too much, thinking that it would be a flight that I could soon be taking frequently, shuffling between my family, my comfort-zone and Chicago, which is amazing and would offer me awesome opportunities, but still isn’t home. And that’s a hard concept for me to swallow.

I didn’t fall head-over-heels in love with the job. If I had, I think that this would be easier. But my fear may not have let me fall in love with the job. It’s so hard to tell. I am terrified to make the wrong decision.

Mostly, I want to cry.

I really, really thought I was ready for this.

And now all I can do is wait and doubt my gut, my qualifications, my interview, my how I feel about the company and what would be best for me.

I might have a very big decision to make.

They might make the decision for me.

I feel sick.

I need to eat something healthy.

I don’t know if I have the job.

I want to cry.

Thursday, March 16, 2006


Don't do this to me. Come on.

Snow and strong wind gusts in the vicinity of Chicago O Hare airport are creating delays exceeding 90 minutes for passengers scheduled to arrive throughout the night. The wind requires air traffic control to increase the spacing between flights for safety. This does not change your scheduled check-in time.

The winner is:

Most definitely Suit A.

The one I wanted to wear whenever I wasn't letting superstition get the best of me.

So now we have that settled.

And I'm all packed up and pacing nervously about my house.

I killed the day getting a manicure, having my hair highlighted and, uh, um, er, doing just a tiny bit of shopping.

Yeah. Caved in and bought a coat.

I suck. No self control whatsoever. But it's really cute. And I'm really nervous.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

The interview and considering moving to Chicago, I mean. Not the shopping spree.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Help me, fashion police

Okay, my pretties, I need your help.

What suit do I wear to my interview?

Suit A: Chocolate brown pinstriped.

Suit B: Softer brown with ever-so-faint pumpkin stripes.

The anticipated shoes and handbag.

Suit A is probably a little cuter, but I'm leaning towards Suit B because it's what I wore when I interviewed for my internship, and I totally killed that interview and subsequently snagged that job.

Photos (somewhat blurry, but I really don't care enough to retake) courtesy of my craptastic camera, taken in my bathroom while talking on the phone.

(Let us all hope I don't half-ass my interview like I half-assed this picture-posting mission.)

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

This is what makes me nervous

I told my cousin Mara about my interview first, with the “don’t tell Aunt Louise and Uncle Ed” disclaimer.

Mara and I exchanged emails. We got a little giddy. We made plans. Cab to her apartment. Cab to the interview. Cab back to the airport. A tiny bit of cousin time squeezed in late on Thursday night, but mostly I’d be on my own. Fine by me.

Aunt Louise and Uncle Ed are...well...they’re demanding. Their expectations are very high. I feel a lot of pressure from them and I’m just their niece. I can’t imagine how it is for their kids. That’s why I didn’t want to tell them at all. I didn’t want them to know if I failed; I didn’t want them breathing down my neck as I prepared. But logic and my mother both told me that I really didn’t have a choice. They would have to know, eventually, that I was in Chicago to interview. And it wasn’t fair for me to expect their daughter to keep it quiet.

I emailed them on Sunday night.

On Monday, it was decided that they would pick me up at the airport, take me to get something to eat and drop me off at Mara’s apartment.

Today, Aunt Louise emailed me. “We decided that it would be the best if...” Now, I’m staying at their house. Uncle Ed will drive me to the interview. He’ll drop my suitcase off at Aunt Louise’s office. I will call her when the interview is over, meet her at the Starbucks conveniently located between her office and my interview, and we will spend the afternoon together! If, of course, there is time. Perhaps they will love me so much they’ll want to spend the entire day with me. Ha.

Aunt Louise and I will spend a bit of time together. And then we’ll hop on the Blue Line and out to O’Hare for my flight!

...yes, I do believe that she is planning on escorting me to the airport.

...yes, I do plan on fighting that.

But only that.

In most circumstances, I would be pissed off that Aunt Louise and Uncle Ed took the reins and changed my course. This time, I’ll just pretend that I didn’t notice. Because, really, this is – in their own demented way – how they show how much they love me.

I’m a dog wearing a choke collar. It’s for my own good!

Oh, what living with them will be like.

Monday, March 13, 2006

Hide the plastic

I did it when Colin and I were new. I am definitely doing it again now.

I cope with new, with uncertainty, with change by shopping.

Like there’s this little rationalizing elf inside my head that says, “Sure, honey! Things are changin’ on the inside, so you should be makin’ things look different on the outside! Just charge it!”

Shit, yo! It’s a bad habit! You should’ve seen me on Friday! Books. Shoes. Supplies for my skates. A nice chunk of change gone in approximately 90 minutes. I’m lucky that shores aren’t underwater, because I would’ve been too concentrated to come up for air. Dead by shopping.

Yesterday, Mom and I went out together. The damage was somewhat lessened. A new scarf, hat and gloves. It was 65 degrees today. “You’ll need it, if you go to Chicago.” Two Wonderbras, 34A, because I’m flat. A brown sweater because it was cute.

I don’t fly out until the evening, but I took Thursday off of work. Mall Madness, part III. There will be a manicure. My hair, I think, could use some highlights. And there’s this supercute coat that would look so good over whatever suit I decide to wear on Friday. And it’s totally Chicago chic. I’ll be an adorable little city girl!

I am honestly afraid of what I will do in Chicago on Friday afternoon if I’m offered this job.

I know exactly where Tiffany’s is.

This makes me giddy

From a celebrity newsgroup, via another celebrity gossip newsgroup, reposted on a skating newsgroup, and now pasted here:

"Okay, I will try and get through this one without dying of hysterical laughter and, although it will be tough, I owe it to you to pull through. Deep breath. Apparently, real-life lovers Justin Timberlake and Cameron Diaz are meeting on screen (in a non-animated way) for the first time with a romantic comedy about figure skating. Must ... contain ... sarcasm.

"According to Contact Music, which quotes a studio source, "Justin is a speed-skater and Cameron is a figure-skater, and the whole thing is set at the Olympic Games in the Olympic Village. Cameron and Justin have been working on a number of ideas together and this is one they are seriously considering taking ... on themselves."

"Now, in my non-professional opinion, there could only ever be one film about figure skating - The Cutting Edge. I'm positive that film is on the top ten list of 99 percent of the population, however no one will ever admit it ... except for me! C'mon, the love, the passion, the Pamchenko Twist -- all of it, brilliant! While we're not exactly sure which direction the Timberlake/Diaz romantic comedy will go in, I'd like to officially nominate it for a Razzie right now. Ya know, if that's okay."

Thank goodness for the magic of the movies: Cameron Diaz is WAY too tall to be a figure skater.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Majorest concern


There aren't any Tim Horton's in Illinois.


In other news, I've won my second free cup of coffee in Roll Up the Rim to Win.

Two wins in four tries. That's huge. That's, like, a .500 winning percentage. That would, like, endlessly please a diehard Detroit Tigers fan.

Is this Tim Horton giving me my ultimate satisfaction so that I can move away from his franchise? Is this my last hurrah? The ultimate gift to the ultimate customer before she moves on to bigger and better things?

Stay tuned!

Saturday, March 11, 2006

This is the life!

It is Saturday night.

And I am entering my 13th hour of work.

I am living the quintessential 23-year-old's life, that's for fucking sure!

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Major concerns

I bit the bullet and made my flight reservations. It appears that there is no turning back. Next Friday is the day. If it happens, it will happen fast. It blows my mind to think that I might not be here just a month from now.

There is a lot of worry.

1. Living arrangements
More likely than not, I’ll start out at Aunt Louise and Uncle Ed’s house. I question my ability to grin and bear their incessant micromanagement of my life.

2. My darling Stella
Aunt Louise and Uncle Ed live in Evanston, so I could keep Stella while I live with them. But she’s a suburb sort of a girl, so I have no idea what I’ll do if I ever actually move into the city. Especially since I have 2 years and 3 months left on my lease.

3. Money, money, money, money
I won’t be making much, if any, more than I make now. And the cost of living is like woah. So that sort of blows.

4. Finding a new soccer team
With nice girls to be my teammates!

5. Finding a new skating coach
And a figure skating club with a lot of adult skaters, so I feel happy and comfortable and totally at home.

6. Newness
Must learn to find my way around everywhere! This seems like a very crazy, very new concept for sweet, simple little me. ...even though I did it in college and I did it the summer I studied in Denver and the summer I worked at a camp in Pennsylvania. This newness, though, is a little more permanent. I’ll have to find a dentist and a hairstylist!
Okay. Actually, I won’t. You know Aunt Louise is going to make all of my appointments.

7. Living away from my mammy and pappy
So what if I’m a bit of a homebody? Even since I "grew up" and "moved out on my own" I still see them at least once a week. And talk to them practically every day. And suckle all of my nutrients from my mother’s breast.

8. Being lonely
Because, really, is there anything worse?

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Pop stars and other boys who don't like me

Horrifying confession of the day: I watch There and Back on MTV.

It (along with Lisa Loeb's #1 Single) is my newest TV junk food. I've watched the same episode three times over; I'm dying for the weekend marathon.

Horrifying realization of the day: Ashley Parker Angel reminds me so much of Colin. Not physically. But in the way he speaks and in the maturity he lacks. How he acts when he's drunk. How he's just a little too sensitive. The way he admits his shortcomings.

It's too weird.

I absolutely should be over Colin by now. And I'm definitely not. But I really should look into getting to that point where he's just another asshole to me. It's been difficult for me to suck it up and move on, I think, because I've seen him every single Tuesday (when I'm at soccer) since we imploded. And because we email every workday, pretending that nothing ever happened between us.


My soccer session is over. I won't be seeing Colin on Tuesdays anymore. That's a step in the right direction, no?


Because I do know that now was not for us. He isn't mature enough. I could only push so much. I had family crisis on top of family crisis. His family was going through their own rough time. He was kicking his roommates out. I live too far away. It wasn't meant to be. Not now.

What I need to do next is convince myself that we aren't meant to be in the future, either. Just because our personalities compliment, just because we've known each other forever, just because we each love soccer and our moms are both advance-practice nurses doesn't mean that we're supposed to marry and mate.

I just wish that it did.

...but only for a little while longer. Then, I swear, I'll give up on him. I really will.

Monday, March 06, 2006

File under: scary, exciting

I wasn’t going to tell you guys this. I’m a little superstitious: I don’t like to announce things that aren’t certain. And this is far from certain.

But it’s also the only thing I can think about today.

I have a job interview a week from Friday. The 18th. It’s for a position that I am uniquely qualified for. The perfect blend of my education, my interests, my strengths and my experience. It’s with a small, growing company. Lots of room for advancement.

And it’s in Chicago.

I was emailed the job posting the morning before the big management turnover at work. I send the resume and cover letter the next day. Two phone interviews and an editorial test later, here I am.

Scared shitless.

Because I have this strong, strong feeling that my chances at landing this job are really good.

Because I know that I would be incredibly stupid to turn this opportunity down.

Because of the huge changes that would follow if I were to be offered this job and if I were to accept.

It’s a lot to think about!

Job-wise, it’s a non-issue. Here = blah. There = better.

It’s everything else that has my intestines clawing their way out of my body in anxiety. The move, the change, the friends, the family, the Colin, the soccer team, the hockey team, the skating club, the Motor City. The life I know.

It’s terrifying.

And, at the same time, it feels right. Like this is how I should feel. And this is what I should do. And that everything will turn out like it should.

So. Here goes nothing.

Take out your rabbit’s foot. Cross your fingers for me.

Wish on stars that I get the opportunity and that I make the best decision.


Saturday, March 04, 2006

Princess proves she has substance

Have I mentioned that I am the best daughter in the world?

Sure, I have a habit of abusing his credit card. And I can be a little harsh about the smallest things. But I’m still the best.

Let me set the scene.

Friday. March 3. My day off.

Exhibit A: After skating for two hours, I rush to Mom and Dad’s house to shower and change. From there, I rush to Dad’s new work, to spend the day doing exactly what any sane girl would like to do on her day off: cleaning and organizing her Dad’s office.

Dad was lucky enough to inherit an office (and a position) from a slob. Oh, how trashed the office was. Major reorganization was in order, as well as a thorough scrubbing of the walls and keyboard. Then there was a trip to Home Depot (to pick up new blinds for his windows) and the great office redecoration. Dad (quite the sports collector) had lots of golf trophies to put on shelves and autographed sports photos to hang on the walls.

It was an all-day project.

(Minus the 45 minutes we took for the most delicious lunch of Mexican food EVER).

At 4:00, Dad kicked me out. I had better things to do. Like run errands for the poker party he was having that night.

Which brings us to Exhibit B.

Exhibit B: Mom and Meg are in Florida. Dad is home alone. Dad likes having poker parties. When Mom isn’t home.

Soooo. I washed my hands and stopped to pick up the deli tray Dad ordered and ran to the grocery store to pick up a few of the essentials. I made the fastest batch o’ guacamole ever. Dumped chips into baskets. Scooped dips into pretty lil’ bowls. Marthafied the kitchen counter with all of the yummies in a New York minute.

And then I was crowned the best daughter in the world. The end.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Victory is mine!

Anyone remember my valiant quest for a winning Roll Up the Rim to Win game piece last spring?

Today, I won.

On my very first try of Tim Horton's Roll Up the Rim to Win season.

Things are looking up, boys and girls!

To find next: a man who will make a suitable husband (preferably to me) and father (to our future offspring).

Wednesday, March 01, 2006


The best part of my week happened on Monday night.

I was at the grocery store. Not just any grocery store. Chew Up Your Dear Grandma and Spit Her Out Super Mucho Mega Grocery Store. And there was a parakeet in the rafters. He had escaped from his cage and was flying high above the coupon clippers and grocery getters.

It was very simple and very empowering sight.
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