Flowers for Me.

I have always been smart. In grade school, my parents met with my teacher and the principal to discuss the possibility of me skipping the first grade and going directly from kindergarten into second grade. That’s right. I was totally ahead of the curve on finger painting and knowing my own phone number.

The migraines started when I was a child too. My mom would talk to me in calm, soothing tones until I fell asleep. When that didn’t work, she would break me off a child-sized bit off her own pain medicine. Migraines ran in the family, and luckily they were a rare occurrence for me - for a while, anyway.

By the time I turned 30, the migraines had progressed into a regular monthly occurrence. Somewhere in the mix of trying different medications and quitting my job, I got to the point where I was having them nearly every day. Severe migraines, moderate migraines, and severe headaches that maybe weren’t migraines.

After much trial and error, I found a drug that has largely ended this nightmare. I’m now 36 and I rarely have a migraine – maybe one every month or two. I can live with that. That might sound horrible to some people, but to me it feels like springtime in Michigan. One day I looked back and realized that I hadn’t had a migraine in a long time, and it was like that day in May when you realize that it hasn’t snowed in a while, and probably won’t again. Winter is finally over when you thought it never would be.

I’ve been on Topamax for nearly two years now. I take a pretty low dose – 75 milligrams per day. Well, I’m supposed to take 75 mg. Right now I’m taking 50mg because I’m trying to taper off this drug. I’m trying to taper off the drug that has saved my sanity because it’s robbing me of my mind. Oh, and I’ve had migraines every day for the last two weeks.

Topamax is nicknamed “Dopamax” by the people that take it because of a side effect called “cognitive blunting”. This is the scientific way of saying this medication makes you stupid. I have a very difficult time with memory. I can remember a specific line from a book I read in elementary school, but I don’t remember anything about my birthday earlier this year. About six months ago, I tried to memorize all of the presidents and vice presidents because I was preparing to take the Jeopardy online test. I drilled those flash cards over and over to no avail. I employed every mnemonic device I could think of and I still couldn’t get the names to stick. (I didn’t pass the Jeopardy test.)

A little dumbing down probably doesn’t seem like a big deal to most people, especially when it comes to useless things like Jeopardy. But I have always been defined by my intelligence. In school, I was the “smart girl” never the “popular girl” or the “cool girl” although granted, I was sometimes the “weird girl”. In every way that intelligence is generally measured: math, reading comprehension, vocabulary, spatial relation, logic, reasoning, and problem solving, I was always a 90th percentile person at least. Now I am below average in some of those categories.

I’m taking classes right now at a community college, working on a web design certificate. I haven’t worked in five years because of the migraine situation, and I really want to get back out there. Sometimes when I’m studying, I feel my brain hitting a mental wall and I want to scream. This stuff would have been so easy to me before.

I used to toy with the idea of taking the Mensa test. I never did, partly because I was afraid of failing, but also because it seems like a really self-indulgent and snobby thing to do. Literally the only reason to join Mensa is so you can say you’re a member of Mensa. On the first day of one of my classes we had to share one fact about ourselves and one of the girls shared that she was a member of Mensa. I gave her the stink-eye from across the room. Maybe I could have been in Mensa. I wonder if I had gotten in, would they have kicked me out now?

I’ve always thought that everyone has their own strengths, and that we are all equal. Some people are super intelligent and some people are super attractive. Some are great singers and some are great athletes. I loved being smart. I wouldn’t have traded being highly intelligent for being better looking, thinner, more popular, or even happier. I wouldn’t have traded being smart for anything – except one thing. I traded it for a relatively migraine-free existence. And even that I reconsidered, briefly.

I’m upping my Topamax dosage back to 75 mg. I had forgotten how bad the winter is, but now I remember. If anyone wants to send me flowers, I’m partial to daisies, snapdragons, and carnations.

Torture and Other Suggestions for Tea Baggers

The Torture Part
When I first heard the term "waterboarding" I thought it referred to some sort of fun, outdoor water sport. I figured it was like water skiing or something. Then I heard it associated with torture and Dick Cheney and I got a bit confused. Torture is bad and Dick Cheney is very bad, but water skiing seems fun. I mean, if you've never done it before, it could probably be a bit embarrassing and maybe even bruise-making, but still.

Anyway, I recently saw the movie "Salt" with Angelina Jolie and I now understand that waterboarding is no walk in the park. It looks pretty darn unpleasant. Worse even than water tubing with a hell-spirited speedboat driver. Mystery solved.

Anyone? Anyone?
It's been around 25 years since "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" came out, and I finally decided that I needed to know what Ben Stein's monotone lecture was all about. Last night I googled "Laffer Curve" and "Voodoo Economics".

I didn't research Supply Side Economics/Reaganomics/Voodoo Economics thoroughly enough to go into here, lest some Econ nerd comment to me about how I got it all wrong. Although I did find it interesting how G HW Bush was so critical of Reagan's plan in 1980 and then ended up being his VP for 8 years. Suck it, Bush.

Anyway, the Laffer Curve I get. I'm not saying I necessarily agree with such a simplistic model of taxation; I'm a bleeding heart liberal democrat. I think we should all pay 70% taxes so the government can provide every man, woman and child with a Coke and a smile.

My point is, rather than criticizing every move the democrats make and calling Obama the anti-Christ in an attempt to sway people to the Dark Side, why don't those Tea Bagging GOP blowhards fancy themselves up a Laffer Curve showing that our optimal tax rate is actually lower than our current tax rate? If they could prove that lowering taxes would actually increase government revenue, wouldn't that force people to pay attention? Even I would look twice if there were hard data to show that creating tax breaks for the wealthy would ultimately generate more government revenue to fund social programs. (Actually, probably not because I would assume they falsified their data. But I'm sure there are some chumps out there who would buy it.)

Or we could go with my original plan and just gather up all the Republicans and start waterboarding them until they swear allegiance to Allah. Let's start with Michele Bachmann and Phil Jensen!

Strange Bedfellows

These are people I confuse with each other solely because, in my brain, their names are somehow similar. For example, when I hear someone talk about Bob Geldoff (which, granted, doesn't come up often), I have to do some mental gymnastics to figure out: porn weirdo or Live Aid dude?

In no particular order:

- Bob Geldoff and Bob Guccione (Humanitarian v. Porn Guy)
- Robert Guillaume and Robert Goulet (Benson v. that guy Will Ferrell makes fun of)
- Bertrand Russell and Russell Brand (Philosopher v. Katy Perry's husband)
- Hank Azaria and Max Azria (Simpson's voice v. designer)
- Janet Napolitano and Johnette Napolitano (Homeland Security Secretary v. Concrete Blonde lead singer)

I just read a Facebook post from Barack Obama (because we're friends and all) about Janet Napolitano and I couldn't help but picture him hanging out with the "Joey" girl. Maybe she could sing it for VP Biden.

There are many mores names to add to this list, I'm sure. I'll edit as they come to me.

PT Cruiser Cruiser

I see cop cars all the time in my hood. I live two blocks from my city's police department. Although I'm used to being surrounded by the local fuzz, I still have that visceral reaction when I see one in my rear view mirror. You know what I'm talking about. The tightening in the stomach...the automatic check of the speedometer...the mental laundry list of reasonable excuses as to why I might be speeding. Cop cars are intimidating out on the road, no matter how many times you see them.

Unless, that is, the cop car is a PT Cruiser.



That's right. I saw this ridiculous excuse for a police vehicle while I was out and about yesterday. What is going on here? Did Ford run out of Tauruses or whatever they've been making police cars out of up until now? Is this some kind of Public Relations stunt? I was kind of wondering if this police clown car would stop at the next light and a hundred or so cops would come streaming out.

Do you think the PT Cruiser car was a punishment for the cop who screwed up last month or wrote the fewest citations or something? "Stackhouse, you've got the Cruiser this month!" "Fuuuuuuck! Come on, Sarge!" That's cold. I've heard of police officers getting to drive the police Camero before, but I never thought it went the other way.

PT Cruiser cruisers are a bad idea. It's the least intimidating car of all time, except for maybe the VW Beetle with the flower vase on the dashboard. I mean, I felt comfortable enough whipping out my camera phone while I was driving behind this police car and taking a picture of it. If anything, these cars are going to incite crime and undermine the authority of the men and women in blue. I'm sure of it.

While we're at it, can we please take cops off bikes and give them motorcycles like they deserve?

Observations of no real importance.

A Few Things

1. Today as I was walking out of the grocery store, I was assaulted by offensively loud music. I can safely say that even as a bona fide old person of 35 years, the volume of said music was ridiculously attention-seeking and excessive for a grocery store parking lot. The noise was coming from this monster truck/SUV monstrosity pictured. What made the situation camera phone worthy is that the song being blasted was "Disco Stick" by Lady Gaga. I don't know what kind of person loves Lady Gaga AND drives a beast like that, but that's one hell of a specific demographic.

2. On the way home from the aforementioned grocery trip, I also saw a motorcyclist wearing a viking helmet. I couldn't safely get a picture of this, but it was a sight to behold. Florida doesn't have a helmet law, so I was happy to see that this fine biker saw fit to protect his cranium (maybe?) and show some pizazz while doing so.

3. If you're still using the crisping sleeve that comes with the Hot Pockets, you're a sucker. You don't need it. Trust me. Liberate yourself.

International Studies

Montreal, the French speaking Canadian city, is not so continental after all.

I just got done talking to my husband, who is currently in Montreal, Quebec, and he informed me that he ate at McDonald's today for lunch. Being the Pulp Fiction fan that I am, and knowing that Bryan usually gets Quarter Pounders on the rare occasion he eats at McDonald's, I had to ask...did he get a "Royale with Cheese"?

No, he did not. They do not call it a Royale with Cheese. A Quarter Pounder in Montreal is still a Quarter Pounder, even though they use the metric system and speak French. What?! Ok, so maybe the Quarter Pounder is a fast food institution.

It turns out that all throughout Canada, users of the metric system also go to Subway for a 6 inch sub. WTF? Shouldn't they be getting a 300 cm sub or whatever the hell that would be?

I don't get it. If you're going to use the metric system, you've got to commit. Apparently fast food is exempt.

My Biggest Fears: Restroom Babies and Breaking Into My Own House

My biggest irrational fear is that I'll get pregnant, but I won't know it until my baby pops out onto the floor of a public restroom. Because of this, I take periodic pregnancy tests even though I'm on The Pill and my husband and I use condoms for back-up. Of course, the tests are always negative and I sleep easier for a few months.

The upside to the surprise childbirth is that you're likely to get your own special on TLC so people can see your story and marvel about how clueless you are. That's one way to get your fifteen minutes of fame. I fear though, that the woman they picked to play me in my toilet birth scene would be more overweight than I imagine myself to be and it would ruin the magic of the moment. Maybe that's my second irrational fear.

My biggest realistic fear is locking myself out of my own house. We have a garage door with a keypad, so this offers some degree of security, provided I remember to leave the side door to the house, inside the garage, unlocked. We don't have a key for that door, you see.

The lockout problem is a bigger issue in the backyard. We also don't have a key for the backdoor, not that it would matter. Who takes their keys out with them when they go into the backyard? My husband and I have locked ourselves out there before. Getting back into the house involves scaling the privacy fence and coming around to the front of the house, using the garage keypad to access the side door, and hoping said door is unlocked. Our fence has a gate, naturally, but it latches on the outside, which is why we have to climb the fence. We are both shorties and cannot reach the latch from the ground in the backyard. Why is the latch on the outside anyway? How does that provide security? I guess that would be a good question for the previous owners of this house.

So basically, if I get trapped in the backyard and don't have my husband to give me a boost over the fence, or the power goes out and I can't get into the garage, I am fucked. If I get fucked, and my birth control fails, I may end up on TLC squeezing a baby out onto a restroom floor.

It's a scary world out there.

Huanying.

I need to quit smoking. I want to quit before I go back to work, which means I have until Wednesday night. I'm sad about this, mostly because I like smoking, but also because I like the store where I buy my cigarettes.

There's a little Stop-N-Rob store just around the corner from my house. I could walk there, but I don't. It's owned by a Chinese woman and (presumably) her daughter. They are very nice and they haven't raised the price of their cigarettes even though every once else has. A pack is still only $4.17; Everywhere else is well over $5. I've thought about asking them about it, but I don't want to spoil a good thing.

I stop there about every other day to buy a pack. I've learned some passable Chinese conversation, along the lines of, "How are you?", "I'm fine", "Thank you", and the like. Where am I going to use my Chinese if I stop going there? I'm going to miss them.

Also, I'm pretty sure they either think I'm a stripper or that I work at the laundry mat next door. I don't know why they would think this, or even why I think they think this, but I do (and they do). So, that's fun. I haven't bothered to correct them. I'm not sure how I would bring it up. My Chinese isn't that good yet.