Tag Archives: Sheldon Cooper

Facebook– It’s all good, sort of.

A Public Hermit
A Public Hermit

As an introvert who works from home, I use Facebook as my “water cooler.”  Those of you who have never worked in an office, or watched one on TV, this does not mean that I attempt to drink from Facebook, though I am sure that function is coming. There will be a water app some day; I just know it.

The good side of Facebook is that I have gotten to know a lot of people that I did not take the time to hang around with in high school. This is because I spent much of high school trying to be Molly Ringwald’s Claire character from the Breakfast Club.  In reality, I was but a lowly Andie Walsh. In my quest to be Claire, I spent a lot of time trying to hang out with the “right” people rather than the people that I truly had a lot in common with.  I missed out on developing a lot of great friendships, though I did have some good friends.  So, now, on Facebook, I have gotten to know all of these great people.  I feel lucky to have found them again after all of these years.

Another good thing about Facebook is that I get to know my work friends through their pictures and status updates.  This is where that whole water cooler thing comes in. Since I work online, I don’t often see my co-workers in person.  There are meetings here and there, but they only last a day or two, and they don’t occur regularly.  Of course, this can also be a good thing because I never have enough time to become annoyed by my co-workers.  There are those special people who can be annoying via email, but I don’t know anyone like that.  I swear that I am telling the truth.

The one bad side of Facebook, other than having to block creepy people who message you out of no where to ask to be special friends with you, is that you may get to know people too well.  For example, I’ve learned that most of my extended family is on the other side of the religious and political spectrum.  I just have very little in common with them, and I’m not going to lie, I roll my eyes at their posts.  Before Facebook, I would see them maybe once every 15 or 30 years.  I would wish we were closer, and think of all the fun times we could spend together as a family.  Now, after “seeing” them daily on Facebook, I get why my mom ran screaming from the Midwest and moved to Florida.  Mom, you could not have done me a bigger favor.  I’m sorry about moving back, but at least I ended up in a better town.  I mean aside from the snow.

I’ve learned from working online that most people will say things to you through a computer screen that they would never say to your face.  I’m not like this as I tend to have no filter both in person and online.  Think  Sheldon Cooper without the tall, slender frame and fancy science degrees.  Maybe I should just BE Sheldon Cooper online.  Who would know the difference?

Facebook– It's all good, sort of.

A Public Hermit
A Public Hermit

As an introvert who works from home, I use Facebook as my “water cooler.”  Those of you who have never worked in an office, or watched one on TV, this does not mean that I attempt to drink from Facebook, though I am sure that function is coming. There will be a water app some day; I just know it.

The good side of Facebook is that I have gotten to know a lot of people that I did not take the time to hang around with in high school. This is because I spent much of high school trying to be Molly Ringwald’s Claire character from the Breakfast Club.  In reality, I was but a lowly Andie Walsh. In my quest to be Claire, I spent a lot of time trying to hang out with the “right” people rather than the people that I truly had a lot in common with.  I missed out on developing a lot of great friendships, though I did have some good friends.  So, now, on Facebook, I have gotten to know all of these great people.  I feel lucky to have found them again after all of these years.

Another good thing about Facebook is that I get to know my work friends through their pictures and status updates.  This is where that whole water cooler thing comes in. Since I work online, I don’t often see my co-workers in person.  There are meetings here and there, but they only last a day or two, and they don’t occur regularly.  Of course, this can also be a good thing because I never have enough time to become annoyed by my co-workers.  There are those special people who can be annoying via email, but I don’t know anyone like that.  I swear that I am telling the truth.

The one bad side of Facebook, other than having to block creepy people who message you out of no where to ask to be special friends with you, is that you may get to know people too well.  For example, I’ve learned that most of my extended family is on the other side of the religious and political spectrum.  I just have very little in common with them, and I’m not going to lie, I roll my eyes at their posts.  Before Facebook, I would see them maybe once every 15 or 30 years.  I would wish we were closer, and think of all the fun times we could spend together as a family.  Now, after “seeing” them daily on Facebook, I get why my mom ran screaming from the Midwest and moved to Florida.  Mom, you could not have done me a bigger favor.  I’m sorry about moving back, but at least I ended up in a better town.  I mean aside from the snow.

I’ve learned from working online that most people will say things to you through a computer screen that they would never say to your face.  I’m not like this as I tend to have no filter both in person and online.  Think  Sheldon Cooper without the tall, slender frame and fancy science degrees.  Maybe I should just BE Sheldon Cooper online.  Who would know the difference?

All My FAKE Boyfriends

Like a lot of women out there, I have my list of fake boyfriends.  They are celebrities or characters from TV shows and movies.  In other words, none of them are real people, and that’s why I call them FAKE boyfriends. It’s totally frowned upon to wink at your gun holster-wearing neighbor while he’s out walking his dog.  Yes, I really have a neighbor like that, and no I do not wink. EVER. I don’t even make eye contact.  Anyway, it’s different, and more acceptable to flutter your eyelashes at a Greek God in a yogurt commercial because you will likely never be seated next to him on a plane.   Ah, one can dream. So, without further delay, here are my fake boyfriends in order of physical attractiveness.

 John Stamos

 I’m pretty sure John Stamos bathes in the blood of kittens or something.  Seriously! How else would someone stay this attractive for so long?  I have loved (I use the word love very lightly here) John Stamos since I was a pudgy 12 year-old who watched General Hospital daily.  I used to sit in front of the TV, munch on Cheetos, and stare at Blackie Parrish (Stamos’ character on GH) play the drums, or talk to Frisco, or just breathe.  The man breathes beautifully.  Unfortunately, he doesn’t speak beautifully. 

I have watched a few interviews with John and, well, he’s just not that bright.  He should really just not talk.  He should just strike poses and allow middle-aged women to admire him.  Well, he should probably allow all women to admire him.  I know young ladies who like him, too.  I also think John should be bred, like a stallion or prize-winning goat.  All that beauty should not just die whenever John hawks his last yogurt.  Scientists need to breed him with another beautiful, yet not so bright creature, maybe a Kardashian or a Hilton. 

 Rob Lowe

Rob comes close to being perfect.  In fact, he would be perfect if he had not had that little tryst with teen girls a while back.  That was just icky, Rob.  Anyway, he is gorgeous, and he probably purchases his kitten blood from the same dealer as John.  While Rob is a close second to John in the looks department, he is actually intelligent.  I know this because I read his memoir, Stories I Only Tell My Friends.  Here is a link.  Yes, there are pictures.   http://www.amazon.com/Stories-Only-Tell-Friends-Autobiography/dp/B007SRVZ52

Had Rob not gotten his first movie role as Sodapop Curtis in The Outsiders (See, I actually READ the book.), he was going to head off to college to study some sort of science that only super smart people get degrees in.    I’m an English major, so I don’t remember the specific field, but Mr. Lowe was going to become Dr. Lowe in something impressive.  Robert Downey Jr. went to high school with Rob, and was (before hard drugs) also super smart. 

 Robert Downey Jr.

Robert Downey Jr. is incredibly easy on the eyes.  Though, I imagine that the drug use probably added some years to him, and it’s also what puts him in third place.  I’m not a “let’s go out and get wasted” kind of girl, and my boyfriend shouldn’t be like that either, even if he’s fake.  I’m super proud of RDJ for maintaining his sobriety this long, though.  Good job. 

The other thing that puts Robert in third place is his eye color.  Hey, if he’s my fake boyfriend, I can be picky.  I’m partial to people with dark hair and light eyes.  For the record my husband is bald with green eyes, but he used to have brown hair.  Robert is a brown-eyed boy, and that is OK for some, but if I’m building a perfect boyfriend, he needs green eyes.   Blue would be a distant second.

 Sting

 I’m pretty sure Sting has blue eyes, but it’s hard to tell because they just blend in to his face.  Sting is a blond, and to me blonds just look washed out.  I’ve only had a crush on one blond person in my entire life, other than Sting.  If blonds are having more fun, I’m not sure why.  No offense, blond friends.  See. I said, “No offense.”  So, everything is OK now. 

I “love” Sting for his mind.  He is a former English teacher, and he knows how to write real lyrics.  I also read Sting’s memoir, Broken Music.  This is an excellent read, with pictures, and it explains things like why Sting is called Sting.  I won’t give it away, but it probably won’t surprise you.   http://www.amazon.com/Broken-Music-Memoir-Sting/dp/0385338651

 Sheldon Cooper

 Sheldon is a good looking individual, but not as good looking as John or Rob.  I think his fashion style, which is part fifth-grader and part comic book geek, takes away from his looks.  I think Sheldon would look dapper in a tux.

Sheldon’s best feature, in my humble opinion, is his communication style.  Yes, abrupt and direct is a style.  I share this with Sheldon. Maybe that is why I admire it so much.  Really, there’s no reason to be indirect.  Just say what you have to say and be done with it.  Now that I think about it, Sheldon and I would probably break up in five minutes if we dated in real/fake life. 

 Forrest Gump

One word: loyalty.  Homeboy named everything Jenny, well, at least a fleet of shrimping boats.  What girl wouldn’t want that?  Seriously.  Another good thing about Forrest is he is simple.  You tell him what to do and he does it.  Sure, he would eat half of a box of chocolates before he gives them to you, but at least he would think to bring you chocolates.  Forrest is also easy on the eyes, especially in uniform.  He and John Stamos are on the same intellectual level, so even though he has a cute accent, Forrest would need to be a quiet boyfriend. 

 So, that is all of them.  They don’t buy me jewelry, take me out to eat, or know I’m alive, but I am still faithful to them, sort of.  I mean I am married and all.  So, I guess that is not being faithful, unless I’m a rock star or something. Rock star faithful is way different than normal people faithful.  I go to bed at nine, so I am probably not going to be a rock star.  I doubt I will ever be normal either.  So, I guess I should probably break things off with them.  It’s the right thing to do.  Sorry, fellas!

Disclaimer:  My husband knows all about my fake boyfriends, and he also knows that if Sting pulled up in a white limo right now and said, “Lisa, I simply must be with you.  Marry me.” in his awesome British accent, I would turn him down because I know that I already have the best husband in the world.  He only eats my chocolates after I open the box.

 No kittens were harmed in the course of writing this blog.

 

Sheldon Cooper and Grown-up Tantrums

The ER doctor walkedMy Journal into the room and said, “You have a clot,” as though he was saying something like “The cafeteria has flavored coffee today.” He stood next to the rail of the hospital bed I was in, and looked at me. I started shaking a little, and I was trying so hard to keep it together. Like my favorite fake boyfriend, Sheldon, I am not big on emotional outbursts.

I looked up at his tired, expressionless face, and my stomach instantly tensed. I replied, “I do?” I kind of knew that this would be the diagnosis, but I was still in denial. I had been hoping the doctor would tell me that I did not have a clot, and that I was just a crazy hypochondriac who needed nothing more than muscle relaxers and a heating pad. I had calf pain for the previous five days. It hurt so bad to stand on my left leg that I was brushing my teeth in a flamingo pose, keeping all of my weight on my right leg. I was trying to tell myself that I was just having muscular pain after being in a walking cast for a tendon injury for the past month, but somehow I knew it was more than that. Also, I had seen the sonogram technician’s face.

Technicians aren’t doctors, and they are not allowed to give you a diagnosis, but they do a lot of exams and they know when something is wrong. I saw it in her face. The sonogram technician started with my thigh and spent about two seconds there. She had a sort of normal “just doing my job” look to her face. Then, she moved to the back of my calf and she slowed down when she got to the back of my knee. Her faced changed. Chris, my husband, was looking over her shoulder at the monitor. He started to look concerned, too, even though he has no sonogram experience. I turned and looked away from both of them to avoid getting more stressed. I did not want to cry in the ER. I heard a lot of clicks, and I felt some pressure and tenderness behind my knee. I felt nauseated. I was hoping I was wrong, but I knew that I had a DVT.

So, when the doctor came back in to deliver the news, I wasn’t shocked; I was disappointed. The doctor asked if I had a local doctor. I explained that I am originally from South Florida, but I currently live in Ohio. So, I had no doctors in Port St. Lucie, where we had been visiting my in-laws. At this point, the doctor wasn’t sure whether to admit me to the hospital or let me leave with medication. He left for thirty minutes to “consult with colleagues.”

The doctor finally came back and told me that they would be letting me go home, or back to the hotel in my case. He let me know that I could just give myself shots in the stomach and then take Coumadin pills, with the same flavored coffee in the cafeteria tone. WHAT? I started shaking A LOT then.

“Shots in the stomach? There has to be a better way.” I got teary-eyed then.

He ignored my tears, and said, “Trust me. You don’t want us to keep you here on IV’s. You don’t have a local doctor. It just doesn’t make sense to keep you here.” I know now that he was right, but this doctor had the bedside manner of a Taco Bell employee. It was like giving myself shots to the stomach would be as easy as adding guacamole to a burrito. The doctor left the room again.

The nurse came in to give me my first of five, which later turned in to ten, Lovenox injections. That’s when I cried. I cried over having to give myself shots in the stomach, and also because I would have to take Coumadin. My cousin died from falling while on Coumadin. She bled out in her abdomen. I could not stop shaking and crying. I apologized to the nurse for my melt down. I despised myself for having one. I hated that I could not control my emotions.

The next morning, my husband went to the pharmacy near our hotel to pick up my pre-filled Lovenox syringes and Coumadin. While he was gone, I sat on the hotel bed and had a toddler tantrum. I cried so hard I thought I would puke. While I was crying, I texted my son, who was two hours south of me with his father and step-mother, a nurse. I asked him to ask his step-mother to give me these shots. We were headed to South Florida later that day. Due to her work schedule, she could not give me the shot at the time I needed to receive it. The injections are supposed to be given twenty-four hours apart. I thanked my son for asking, and her for being willing to do this, and I put down my phone and went back to my toddler fit.

My husband came back to a blubbering version of his sarcastic, micro-managerial wife. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to give myself shots or take Coumadin. How do people live like this?” I kept saying, between nose blows. I knew that LOTS of people, including some of my friends and family, had given themselves injections, but I had no clue how I would do this. “We have to just go to a clinic, like the nurse said. I can’t do this.” I cried more and grabbed more tissue. Then, my husband made everything a little better.

“I think I can do it,” he said.

“What?” I pulled my face out of a hotel grade Kleenex.

“I can do the shots. I watched the nurse, and it didn’t look that hard,” he said. He went on to tell me about a diabetic friend he had when he was a kid. She had told him that she had to learn to give herself shots by jabbing an orange. Chris remembers odd things like this; I’m glad. So, he had an idea of how much pressure to use. I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to do it myself, but still upset that it had to be done and that I had to take blood thinners at all. I was terrified of bleeding out like my cousin. I still felt really queasy about everything, but at least I would not have to go all Pulp Fiction on myself.

My husband and I spent another 3 days in Florida, visiting with my mom. We also stopped by to see my aunt, cousin, and my cousin’s daughter. It wasn’t the best visit ever because I was constantly preoccupied with blood thinners and the clot in my leg. Chris gave me the shots every night, and he did a good job. The shots stung, but they weren’t as painful as I thought they would be. The pain in my leg got better a little every day. So physically, I was getting better, mentally I was still anxious. Between friends on Facebook telling me horror stories about Coumadin, and thinking of my cousin, I was a nervous wreck.

I had another meltdown once we got home. I had to see the nurse at my doctor’s office for a PT INR test. I will have these regularly while I am on Coumadin. Basically, they are a finger prick blood test to be sure you are in the therapeutic range for Coumadin, which is between 2.0 and 3.0 for me. My doctor was out of the office that day, so I asked the nurse if it was OK to ask her some questions. She, of course, agreed to help.

So, before she even did the test, I dug out my plastic baggy of medications from my purse. Coumadin interacts with nearly EVERYTHING, or so it seems. I already knew that I could not take my birth control pills or eat a lot of green vegetables, and I knew that aspirin and ibuprofen were out of the picture, but I wasn’t sure about acetaminophen or my assorted IBS medications. As I started to talk to the nurse, I started crying again. Holy instability, Batman. This was getting old. As I cried to the nurse, I apologized for crying. She tried to comfort me, and she told me that what happened to my cousin was very rare. She also told me that it was OK to take Tylenol and my IBS meds as needed. So, I stopped crying and let her do the test. My result was 1.5, which meant I would need more Lovenox shots. Ugh!

I saw my doctor the next day, and told her about my cousin and asked her was there no other treatment that I could possibly do. Dr. R. said that this was the best one for me, explained why, and offered to send me to a hematologist if I wanted another opinion. I really just want to stay with MY doctor. I’ve only been her patient for six months, but she has a way of calming all of my anxieties and explaining medical things in real people terms. I’m quite sure if celebrities found out about her, Dr. R. could be a super rich doctor to the stars.

Dr. R. spent about thirty minutes talking to Chris and me. She assured me that I would not bleed out from shaving my legs, or most things that could possibly happen. She assured me that we would be keeping me in the therapeutic range. She also told me that I would only need to take Coumadin for six months, not for life. Since my clot was “provoked” by the cast, the original injury, and the birth control pills, it was probably not caused by a medical issue. Dr. R. also said that she would order blood work for me at the end of all of the Coumadin to make sure that everything was normal.

I’m still not thrilled about taking Coumadin, or that one more injection I have coming my way this evening. I can’t have Cosmopolitans, red wine, or any alcohol until July, when I am off of the medication. I also have to pay attention to how much spinach, broccoli and other vitamin K rich foods I eat. If I get a headache, I can take Tylenol, not Motrin. Plus, there will be regular PT INR tests. So, it’s not how I saw myself spending the first half of 2013, but I suppose it could be worse.

Every night, for the past few nights, I have been writing in my journal, which has a famous anti-suicide quote on the cover. I have been listing everything good that happens each day. I’m always amazed at how MANY things I can list. They are the little things like “got to have Chinese food today” or “chatted with Alli and Pam today.” Then, there are the bigger things like, “My son is home from Florida” and “I got to spend the whole day with Chris.” Good things happen every day. Like many people, I sometimes forget that.