For years I've told myself that I was open to the world around me, feeling its vibrating core and filling myself with its life source but when all of that life source started giving me horrible bloating that the general medical profession could not diagnose, I went to a homeopathic healer - Don't Get Me Started.
I've always had a "sensitive" stomach. Could it be all those years of feelings bottled up with my, "let me please everyone else at the expense of my own identity?" Another story for another time.
It was a not so dark or stormy night when I went to bed and soon after felt as though I was about to give birth. I was so bloated that I was sure the men were on their way to attach strings to me so that they could walk me down Broadway as a part of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The next moring I was at the doctor. It was diagnosed as an intestinal infection, I was put on antibiotics and the dreaded colonoscopy was scheduled.
As everyone will tell you, it's not the colonoscopy it's the humidity - the sweating and chills during the day before preparations. The procedure is nothing, as they put you out, it's the drinking of Satan's juices to "clean you out" and running non-stop to the bathroom for the jet propelled expulsions that eminate from your deepest bowels the day before that could kill a person. Bottom line (excuse the pun) was that they found nothing which was good and bad news.
And so it began, my quest to have a normal stomach. The medical professional had failed me so it was on to what I lovingly call, the Zoom Gali Gali world. It was time for the homeopaths!!
Now I lived with Betsy for several years and she always swore by the crystals, the chakras and the nayonaise (mayonaise substitute made from bark or something). I had poo poo'd it to say the least. I mean, I take vitamins but the whole, let me hang a crystal over your body and it will tell me if you have cancer or a hang nail has always felt about as accurate to me as a Quija board. You know where you're always asking, "Are you moving that?"
Well desperate times call for desperate measures. So there I was at the nutritional homeopath, letting her take blood from my finger, put it on a slide and then telling me what she sees in her crystal microscope. Then all the testing begins. For those of you have never had an opportunity to do this, they put various supplements on your body and then ask your body if you need it by touching a part of your body, asking and then as you resist they proceed to try to lower your raised arm. As far as I can make out, if your arm lowers, you need the supplement. It's a bit like an old fashioned cash register or slot machine. They pull the handle (your arm) and you pay! The really hysterical part is when they "ask" your body how many you should be taking every day. As they push on your arm they count until the arm lowers - this may also correlate to the amount you'll have to buy in order for the "practitioner" to pay this month's rent on the office.
Now let me say that part of what they tell you is that you have to "believe" in order for all of this to work. Now I clapped to save Tinkerbell, I believe in fairies but some woman who looks as though she was a librarian who took a trip to Sedona and found she was a healer at a Native American ceremonial dance she paid $200 to attend and then took the course online? To be fair, some of the drops for stress I must admit have worked great. But it all comes with the whole, change your diet, don't drink caffeine, spend your life looking for all things organic. Who has time for this other than the people who work at Whole Foods, secretly grabbing the organic papayas off the truck before anyone else can get to them?
Side story have you ever noticed that everyone who is into the whole Zoom Gali Gali organic thing look as though they already have one of their overgrown toenailed, Birkenstock feet in the grave? What is up with that - do they not see themselves? I aspire to be gaunt too but would it kill them to, as my grandmother used to say, "get a little color?"
So I bought the twelve hundred dollars (exaggerated figure - don't want you to think I'm THAT stupid) worth of supplements, I've been on them for three weeks and guess what? Every day at 5am I hear the Macy's Parade people coming in my dreams. That's right, I'm still bloated.
Now perhaps I'm just not humming correctly for the convergence or my Chi is at Starbucks instead of running through me but whatever it is, it hasn't quite worked. Of course I'm still on the supplements - I am a complete rule follower and also I don't want the supplements to become like the product graveyard I have in my bathroom of all the hair products that didn't give me more "volume", "lift", "shine" or hair like the Abercrombie Fitch boys.
Okay so a change in diet, exercise and not letting things bother me is what I would prescribe. I'm becoming like my mother who is an A.A.D. = Almost A Doctor. This is what one of her doctor's called her once when she was ill and came in with a medical journal to share her diagnosis, which was correct.
It's just the doing it that is the problem. But I'll try, I'll try...and if you all clap your hands really hard to show that you do believe in this fairy, maybe he won't end up dressed like Tinkerbell, floating above that famous parade route and his stomach will finally unbloat!!
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
The DMV is convinced I'm a woman - Don't Get Me Started
I've always been effeminate, not by choosing, just who I am. I never aspired to wear high heels shoes and lip sync to Barbra Streisand records...well, I DID do that but I was six does it still count? However, I have always been called, "Miss" on the phone, been asked to verify all my information time and time again because the person on the other end of the phone is convinced that I'm a woman and when I've been out to lunch with my friend Betsy (unshaven even) too many times the server has come to the table and asked, "Have you ladies decided on what you'd like to order?" Sometimes they never even correct themselves and I'm a "Miss" for the entire meal. Michael (my guy) doesn't believe it happens but trust me, it happens however the DMV took it to a new level when they put an "F" above the word, "sex" on my drivers license and not an "M". I've been gender-fucked by the DMV - Don't get me started!!
No one likes to go to the DMV so when I noticed 2 years after getting the license that the gender was female on my driver's license I just laughed and shrugged it off. When renewal came, I did it online and didn't even think about going down to the DMV to correct the error. So when Michael had to go to the DMV, I saw opportunity knocking and after five years the time was now to get this corrected.
I mean, how simple can you get? This was going to be easy - stand in line, explain the situation and get the new license - thank God I was having a great hair day!! The information woman listened as I told my story and she was a bit shocked at what she saw on the license. She informed me that IF they found that the DMV was at fault, they would issue a new drivers license. Come on, who the hell else's fault would it be? She gave me an express ticket to get served faster and sent me on my way, explaining that they would have to look it up on the Microfilm system and see what the records had to say about my sex.
After waiting almost 35 minutes finally my number came up. I walked the length of the DMV to arrive at station number 8. Sitting at station number 8 was an older woman, very nordic looking but my Jewy sense (much like Spidey sense by Spiderman) told me this woman was pure German. There was the name, Helenka and then the thick accent. Yes, no doubt this woman's ancestors had put some of mine to death. I again explained the situation with a sense of humor, even encouraging her to laugh at the situation. She didn't laugh, she just kept looking at me from across the table...looking me up and down, trying to undress me with her eyes to see if she could sense a clitoris!! She wasn't hearing me, she just kept looking me up and down. "Oh, zees iss vary strange. Neffer have I seen such thing." I tell her what the other woman told me, explaining she needed to go look in the Microfilm library. She types in my numbers and then writes some numbers down and pointedly looks at me one more time before she leaves for the Microfilm room. "You will wait. I go see vhat is vhat."
At this point I'm still carefree and thinking how funny this is and how Helenka will have a hell of a story to tell her husband Adolph tonight over schnitzel. I don't see Helenka for at least a half hour. When she returns she is flustered and typing away at the computer but not looking at me except every once in a while stealing a glance to see if I'm like the old Skipper doll whose boobs would grow. A supervisor stops by half disgusted with Helenka and tells her to just print the screen that she most likely got the numbers wrong. Helenka does as she is told, looks at the license again and then to me. "Ve vill find record now."
Another 30 minutes and Helenka is coming back to me. "Ve haff no record. You bring birth certificate." So now I'm starting to get a little heated. I know how to handle these situations. I ask for a supervisor. Helenka says, "You vill follow me" with a look of great disdain.
The supervisor, all four feet of her, no doubt had every Holly Hobby item imaginable. Her hair was short and all fucked up (no doubt from having just taken off the signature Holly Hobby bonnet) and her matching denim skirt and vest had appliques all over it. She was so unhappy with her own gender, how could she help me with mine? She was curt and unamused by the whole situation, explaining that Helenka and DMV policy was firm, a birth certifcate must be produced before a new license could be issued. Helenka stood in triumph once again looking to see if I'd grown boobs in the last three minutes.
I'd had enough, I said, "Look Ms. Hobby, I'd be more than happy to go in the back room with a male officer and drop my pants if this would solve the problem!" Remember that I was having a good hair day and I wanted to have that photo taken that day at any cost. Her curt manner became disdain as she spit out the words, "we need a birth certificate." I stopped myself from issuing the stream of obscenities that were running in my mind from coming out of my mouth and began to walk away. At this point she said to Michael, "What do you want?" His response was, "I'm with him...shocking!"
So, me who never called my male friends, "Girlfriend" or said, "Get her" about one of them was gender fucked by the DMV - Don't Get Me Started.
And if you don't believe me see the photo!!
Note: It was brought to my attention that I never said whether or not I got the new license. At this point I have not. I now have my birth certificate and am waiting for a good hair day...it may stay this way until it expires in 2007...stay tuned!!!
No one likes to go to the DMV so when I noticed 2 years after getting the license that the gender was female on my driver's license I just laughed and shrugged it off. When renewal came, I did it online and didn't even think about going down to the DMV to correct the error. So when Michael had to go to the DMV, I saw opportunity knocking and after five years the time was now to get this corrected.
I mean, how simple can you get? This was going to be easy - stand in line, explain the situation and get the new license - thank God I was having a great hair day!! The information woman listened as I told my story and she was a bit shocked at what she saw on the license. She informed me that IF they found that the DMV was at fault, they would issue a new drivers license. Come on, who the hell else's fault would it be? She gave me an express ticket to get served faster and sent me on my way, explaining that they would have to look it up on the Microfilm system and see what the records had to say about my sex.
After waiting almost 35 minutes finally my number came up. I walked the length of the DMV to arrive at station number 8. Sitting at station number 8 was an older woman, very nordic looking but my Jewy sense (much like Spidey sense by Spiderman) told me this woman was pure German. There was the name, Helenka and then the thick accent. Yes, no doubt this woman's ancestors had put some of mine to death. I again explained the situation with a sense of humor, even encouraging her to laugh at the situation. She didn't laugh, she just kept looking at me from across the table...looking me up and down, trying to undress me with her eyes to see if she could sense a clitoris!! She wasn't hearing me, she just kept looking me up and down. "Oh, zees iss vary strange. Neffer have I seen such thing." I tell her what the other woman told me, explaining she needed to go look in the Microfilm library. She types in my numbers and then writes some numbers down and pointedly looks at me one more time before she leaves for the Microfilm room. "You will wait. I go see vhat is vhat."
At this point I'm still carefree and thinking how funny this is and how Helenka will have a hell of a story to tell her husband Adolph tonight over schnitzel. I don't see Helenka for at least a half hour. When she returns she is flustered and typing away at the computer but not looking at me except every once in a while stealing a glance to see if I'm like the old Skipper doll whose boobs would grow. A supervisor stops by half disgusted with Helenka and tells her to just print the screen that she most likely got the numbers wrong. Helenka does as she is told, looks at the license again and then to me. "Ve vill find record now."
Another 30 minutes and Helenka is coming back to me. "Ve haff no record. You bring birth certificate." So now I'm starting to get a little heated. I know how to handle these situations. I ask for a supervisor. Helenka says, "You vill follow me" with a look of great disdain.
The supervisor, all four feet of her, no doubt had every Holly Hobby item imaginable. Her hair was short and all fucked up (no doubt from having just taken off the signature Holly Hobby bonnet) and her matching denim skirt and vest had appliques all over it. She was so unhappy with her own gender, how could she help me with mine? She was curt and unamused by the whole situation, explaining that Helenka and DMV policy was firm, a birth certifcate must be produced before a new license could be issued. Helenka stood in triumph once again looking to see if I'd grown boobs in the last three minutes.
I'd had enough, I said, "Look Ms. Hobby, I'd be more than happy to go in the back room with a male officer and drop my pants if this would solve the problem!" Remember that I was having a good hair day and I wanted to have that photo taken that day at any cost. Her curt manner became disdain as she spit out the words, "we need a birth certificate." I stopped myself from issuing the stream of obscenities that were running in my mind from coming out of my mouth and began to walk away. At this point she said to Michael, "What do you want?" His response was, "I'm with him...shocking!"
So, me who never called my male friends, "Girlfriend" or said, "Get her" about one of them was gender fucked by the DMV - Don't Get Me Started.
And if you don't believe me see the photo!!
Note: It was brought to my attention that I never said whether or not I got the new license. At this point I have not. I now have my birth certificate and am waiting for a good hair day...it may stay this way until it expires in 2007...stay tuned!!!
Monday, April 18, 2005
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Sure, I'll be a hostage if it gets me a book and movie of the week deal - Don't Get Me Started
Okay, I admit, it might be uncomfortable to be held hostage, be it for 4 hours or 11 years but think of the benefits, a book deal, a movie deal, sitting on the couch next to Katie and Matt - come on, sign me up and don't get me started on this issue.
I'm sure it's stressful to be held hostage or stuck in a elevator for three days but look what you come out to - all the benefits of the famous Andy Warhol 15 minutes of fame cliche which comes with limos, money and lots of televison appearances.
Hey, I'm Amber, I got involved with a married man who killed his wife - quick, where's my agent, my stylist, my lawyer? Come on - for fucking a married man you get a movie of the week and a book deal. Where do I sign up?
Is the problem that I'm just not stupid enough. It's a bit like the aliens never landing at Harvard. The people who end up in these situations are, let's face it, as dumb as dumb can be. They'll spend all their money on a new Ford Taurus and buying their parents teeth. I'd at least give a token amount to charities!!
Now I understand that these people were put into situations not of their own design but how long do you think it will take before people will start designing their own crisis to riches stories?? As a relative of mine used to say about anything, "if they can put a man on the moon..."
I can just see it on the playgrounds of America, "NO, I want to be the boy in the shower and you be Michael Jackson this time. Because I think I can sign a bigger deal than you did with Random House and HBO if I agree to show my naked butt and curse!"
So, yes, I feel badly when I hear that someone was taken hostage or fondled but do I feel as-much-money-as-a-steroid-juiced-athlete-money-bad about it? NO! Earn your living like everyone else, if you want a bigger part of the pie and television appearances then you're just going to have to buy lottery tickets like everyone else. Don't get me started on the loons who win the lottery.
I'm sure it's stressful to be held hostage or stuck in a elevator for three days but look what you come out to - all the benefits of the famous Andy Warhol 15 minutes of fame cliche which comes with limos, money and lots of televison appearances.
Hey, I'm Amber, I got involved with a married man who killed his wife - quick, where's my agent, my stylist, my lawyer? Come on - for fucking a married man you get a movie of the week and a book deal. Where do I sign up?
Is the problem that I'm just not stupid enough. It's a bit like the aliens never landing at Harvard. The people who end up in these situations are, let's face it, as dumb as dumb can be. They'll spend all their money on a new Ford Taurus and buying their parents teeth. I'd at least give a token amount to charities!!
Now I understand that these people were put into situations not of their own design but how long do you think it will take before people will start designing their own crisis to riches stories?? As a relative of mine used to say about anything, "if they can put a man on the moon..."
I can just see it on the playgrounds of America, "NO, I want to be the boy in the shower and you be Michael Jackson this time. Because I think I can sign a bigger deal than you did with Random House and HBO if I agree to show my naked butt and curse!"
So, yes, I feel badly when I hear that someone was taken hostage or fondled but do I feel as-much-money-as-a-steroid-juiced-athlete-money-bad about it? NO! Earn your living like everyone else, if you want a bigger part of the pie and television appearances then you're just going to have to buy lottery tickets like everyone else. Don't get me started on the loons who win the lottery.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
People With THE FISH On Their Car - Don't Get Me Started
So I'm driving to work on a major freeway. I'm merging, or should I say, I'm trying to merge. I glance behind me and then to my left. To my left, I notice that the person in the car I'm trying to get past has a wooden cross hanging from their rear view mirror. So, I figure, of course, I'm in - they'll definitely let me in, yes? NO!! DON'T GET ME STARTED!!
That's right - as I tried three times (using my turn signal, thank you) the driver carrying their wooden cross, refused to let me in. And as they finally passed me, I saw that on the back of their car they had THE FISH prominently displayed. That's right folks, the sign of the Jewish fisherman, the WWJD symbol that says, we are Christians and wonderful to all of humankind, would not let me the mother-fucking-in!!! Can you believe it? I know I couldn't.
Okay, so here's what I think. If you display THE FISH you better be able to back it up. These people should go to work hours early as all they should do is "let people in" am I right? I mean here they are preaching from their car with their crosses and fish, they should be so God-Damned pleasant and wonderful. They should let you in with a freakin' smile.
So to all those people with THE FISH on your car or my favorite, on your checks, as if Jesus is waiting to make a deposit to keep you from being overdrawn, you better damn well be able to back it up with how you behave and what you do. Because not only Jesus is watching, I'm watching. You need to let people in on freeways and show that rapture on your face 24/7. So do everything it says in the bible, turn the other cheek, treat others as you would have yourself treated and for God's sake - let me the FUCK IN!! Otherwise, time to get rid of THE FISH and join the rest of us heathens!! See you in hell!!
That's right - as I tried three times (using my turn signal, thank you) the driver carrying their wooden cross, refused to let me in. And as they finally passed me, I saw that on the back of their car they had THE FISH prominently displayed. That's right folks, the sign of the Jewish fisherman, the WWJD symbol that says, we are Christians and wonderful to all of humankind, would not let me the mother-fucking-in!!! Can you believe it? I know I couldn't.
Okay, so here's what I think. If you display THE FISH you better be able to back it up. These people should go to work hours early as all they should do is "let people in" am I right? I mean here they are preaching from their car with their crosses and fish, they should be so God-Damned pleasant and wonderful. They should let you in with a freakin' smile.
So to all those people with THE FISH on your car or my favorite, on your checks, as if Jesus is waiting to make a deposit to keep you from being overdrawn, you better damn well be able to back it up with how you behave and what you do. Because not only Jesus is watching, I'm watching. You need to let people in on freeways and show that rapture on your face 24/7. So do everything it says in the bible, turn the other cheek, treat others as you would have yourself treated and for God's sake - let me the FUCK IN!! Otherwise, time to get rid of THE FISH and join the rest of us heathens!! See you in hell!!
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