Going With What Works

Hey guys,

It was 95 degrees in New York City today and I feel like I’ve just been through some sort of Sisyphus-like trial. All I was actually doing was existing, walking upwards of 4 blocks at a time, and trying not to be hideous. I’m finally home, showered, and wanting to distract myself from the heat and tomorrow’s next doctor’s appointment. Suddenly, I remembered a long lost love that I’d neglected—16 & Pregnant. I know there’s a teen mom out there struggling with a deadbeat dad, getting rid of her stretchmarks, and passing algebra who will help me get some perspective. Thank god for ON DEMAND—I’m gonna check out my options. Hopefully there’s a twang-filled Southern girl—she’ll understand what it’s like to live in this heat.

11:04
Oh my god, her name is Cleondra!
THIS IS ALREADY AMAZING.
She’s a pretty biracial Mississippi girl with 4 siblings! They’re like the Smollett family.

Do you remember them? They had their own tv show, for, like, a second. All their names start with J. Journee is the only one who's made a name for herself.

Her sis--named ZERICA --is a teen mom, too. Legacy!!!! It’s like getting into a good university, only much sadder.

Cleondra’s bf is Mario—a garage-working caramel fellow who lives right across the street from her! That’s so Clarissa & Sam.

Um, why wasn't this teenage boy, with ranging hormones and uncontrollable urges stopped from climbing up a ladder into a pubescent girl's bedroom? Man, life was different before Facebook.

I love the staged conversation where they have the couple talking about what it was like to find out they were pregnant while doing something “everyday”. They’re walking down the street—in the middle of the street, that is—and discussing their fate.
Her sister’s daughter is named Zyra—are they trying to build a family or a troupe of drag queens???

11:09
White mom Dixie sits with Cleondra on the bed, talking about pregnancy. Mom isn’t amped to have a second teen mom, obvs. “I got the whole big box of condoms…you say your heart sank? My heart sank.”
Apparently, she agreed to have an abortion, but being underage, they’d need parental consent, and Mario just couldn’t do that.
I don't understand.

11:11
Rob—Cleondra’s mom’s (black) boyfriend. He’s got a salt-and-pepper goatee and wears a silver chain. There is nothing more to say.

Over a family game of cards, brother Jerome tells her how disappointed he is. Damn, all these folks just sit around slurring—I can barely distinguish the insults from the requests for food!

11:13
“Not being able to dance on the dance team this year, sucks. I don’t get to see my friends as much.” Um, I think you’re going to have to let go of the Stomping the Yard and forget trying to Step Up 2 Da Streets—the only thing you need to Step Up to is motherhood.
She’s hanging with her dance team friends—these girls don’t look like they've got rhythm, but I'll allow it.

"Mario feels really guilty about getting me pregnant. He even decided not to go to the army and got a full-time job at a tire shop.”

Okay, is there a Teen Mom checklist for baby daddies? When they agree to do the show, do they have to sign both a waiver and a contract agreeing to be a cliché?

Mario plans to fix up his house so that they can live together—cause apparently Cleondra’s house is “chaotic” (um, with 12 people running around with names like Zerica and Zyra, I don’t need much convincing).

11:17
Barbecue at Mario’s house! His dad, Billy, chats with his son: “I want my grandbaby to grow up in something normal, no craziness, no chaos.” Mario agrees!

11:19
Cleondra sits in the library with friends. “How long are you going to take off school?” the token black one asks.
“Probably two weeks, then we have Christmas vacation, then I’ll come back in January.”

Let’s get this gay: She’s going to take off a month after getting pregnant and then get back to the books? I love how “I have a crib in my house, Mario has a crib in his house”—um, you've turned your baby into a nomad fresh from the womb?

11:21 – 33 Weeks Pregnant
Cleondra breaks it down: “Mario lives across the street with his dad, and his mom is around the corner. He’d rather go there than have dinner at my house.”

Mario’s mom, Maria (natch), is very West Side Story—bright purple halter top, tons of makeup, and though I can’t see it, I’m sure she’s wearing espadrilles while sitting on her couch.

First words out of her mouth: “I will not be called grandma. You have to choose between Nona, Gigi, or Yaya.” None of these are her name. Yaya is a common Greek word for grandmother, but they’re Latin and in Mississippi. I’m lost.

They discuss baby names: Maria likes “Twilight,”—who is this woman?!—and Cleondra is super annoyed. She doesn’t even want to discuss baby names. Her attitude toward Maria is so obvious.

Back at home, Mario calls her out for her attitude.
[Between their southern drawls and Cleondra’s refusal to open her mouth when she talks, I’m missing a lot of the convo.]

11:24 – Baby Shower!!
I love the bootleg showers thrown by high-school students!
They are playing a game where various condiments are placed in diapers and guests have to smell them and guess what it is.
Ew.
But there are a lot of people, even her main gay, Levonté (yes, Levonte. I can’t make this shit up. I wish I could.)
11:26
Mario sits with his pasty pal Myles in the tire shop.
Mario: “You’re 20, I’m 19—we’re the two youngest guys in the shop. And you got a baby and another on the way, and I got one on the way. That’s crazy.”
Yes, yes it is.
Apparently, Cleondra’s bedroom/private space is a “tent she got for her birthday, but if I say something, she’ll cry about it for 10 days. She’s all pregnant and hormonal. “

11:27
They’ve decided a name! It’s going to be…..
Kylee Sue.
[Even the graphics show it in small font, it’s so bad]

Um, I don’t know how to cope with this. I guess it’s a step up from Zyrtec, or whatever they’re naming themselves in the family, but still.

11:28—LABOR
[I love watching this without commercials]
“My mom’s too squeamish to stay in the delivery room, but Mario and Alexis [dance friend] are staying with me.”
Um, what kind of hot mess is it when your mother--who has clearly birthed upwards of 5 children—won’t stay in the delivery room because it’s unsightly? Clearly, everyone lacks the mothering skills in this house.

11:29
Birth is relatively quick and drama-free! (I mean, 6 hours of pain, but at least no one went into shock or V-fib)
Mario goes outside and hugs all of his homeys—he’s even got some tears! So tender!

Mom comes in the room, trying to get all parental when she couldn’t even let her daughter squeeze her hand during delivery. Dixie fail!

11:31

First night home—having the “whose house are we staying in?” fight. She’s tired and probably still vag-sore, and wants her bed. Mario’s also tired and wants his bed. He left to go home.
ARE. YOU. FUCKING. KIDDING ME????

And this is why teen moms can’t have nice things.

11:33
Cleondra’s voice over: “Mario’s never here, but my Mom and Rob [her boyfriend] are helping me out, and Zerica is home to take care of Zyra.”

(Oh god, watching the sister “comb” her biracial child’s hair is a bit painful, but damn if those pigtails don’t look cute once she’s finished.)

Mario and his mom (who is wearing a sheer lace top at her kitchen table with her son) talk about why he won’t stay over there. “I don’t want Kylee Sue around Zerica and Jerome at all. I don’t even want them around the child… if she won’t move in, this isn’t going to work.”

Don’t you think that the whole “I think your family’s sketchy and fucked up” conversation should have happened way before they were knockin’ boots?

11:35- 2 Weeks Old

“Taking care of Kylie consumes every minute of the day, and Mario’s at work all day. I can’t miss any of my midterms if I want to graduate.” So she leaves the baby with her sister (who has two piercings above and below her lips) while she takes a test.

Mario comes over and finds out that she left the baby with Zerica and Jerome—he’s not pleased. Luckily, his southern drawl and mumbling prevents him from sounding enraged.
“I’d rather you at least call me," he says. "I’d figure something out.”
“So, you don’t trust my family?”
Nope. No he doesn't.

11:38 – 3 Weeks Old
Cleondra calls Mario, asking him to come over and help her with Kylee. We see him sitting on a couch (in front of a cheesy flea market tapestry) surrounded by boxes and bouncing a tennis ball on the floor.

He responds: “I just don’t feel like doing anything right now. I’m not trying to hang out.”

HE LIVES ACROSS THE FUCKING STREET!!! Jewboo and I—childless, employed, adults who are quite into sleeping in our own beds--are separated by three trains and we make it work! Get it together!

11:40
She goes over to Mario’s house for the night so he can see what this 24/7 parenting is.

The clock reads 4:01 am—Kylee Sue starts crying. Cleondra, now holding Kylee Sue, tries to rouse Mario.
He won’t budge.

January. 1 Month Old –Cleondra goes back to school!
Because Mario doesn’t want the baby with her bro and sis, they had to make a babysitting schedule. The plan:

• Rob (mom’s boyfriend) will watch her on Mondays
• Mario will do Tuesday
• Mario’s mom on Wednesday
• Dixie (Cleondra’s mom) on Thursday
• Mario’s sister on Friday

I do not think any of these people read books for pleasure, and I’m pretty sure Rob has some kids of his own that aren’t getting attention.

11:42
Cleondra is angry that Mario won’t hang out with her and the baby more.

They’re in some sort of Applebee’s type of establishment, surrounded by several plates of food (thanks, MTV!), and they have a fight about who holds the baby so that the other can eat.

Watching this child get passed across a table full of trans fats is really upsetting.

Mario explains his absence: “I’d rather take her at my house. You say you need to sleep, so leave her with me at night and you can rest…You can’t let her come right across the fucking street? At her dad’s house? That’s bullshit. I will never fucking ask you to spend the night in my house. Spend the night when you move in. “

Dinner ends with them sitting across from each other, heads in hands, as the soundtrack of a frustrated and soulful acoustic guitar plays.

11:45
Cleondra comes back home and talks to Dixie.
Awesome voice over: “I knew having a baby would change things, but I always thought Mario would support me. But now that doesn’t seem like a sure thing.”

Dixie—the only proactive one, clearly—invites Mario and his mom over to her house to air it out.

Maria, Mario, and Cleondra sit on the couch, slumped down like three guilty hooligans in the principal’s office.
Maria comes to Cleondra’s defense when Mario complains about her not leaving the baby with him so she can sleep: “No, as a mother, You expect all your little chickens to be in the nest at night.”
Um, as a human, your children probably shouldn’t be chickens. But I get her point.

Dixie—clearly a strong black woman in a white candy-coating—breaks it down: “If you can’t compromise now, you can’t compromise living in the same house.”

So, as two children, it takes their moms to help them reach a resolution. Mario will come over 2 times week, and they will work on compromising. Half-hearted hugs all around!

11:49 - Final Thoughts

Ugh, I wish Cleondra would enunciate—if you’re too bored to speak, how can you expect me to pay attention?
“Being a parent is hard. The child has to come first, but I’m doing it…. Mario’s my first relationship, I love him.”


Whew, that felt really good, guys. I’m finally ready to go bed.
xoxo,
Blacktress!

Embracing Awkwardness

Since several folks found my previous post "awkward" (you can't handle the truth!!!!), I won't go into it. However, I feel there's nothing worse than whining to someone and then not following up with the outcome of whatever you were whining about. In summation: Jury's still out on my pituitary gland, and we've got more testing to do!

Ok, now that that's addressed:

So far I've found only one drawback to the new plantation. We're right around the corner from a vocational school for addicts and recently released prisoners--awkward!--and throughout the day one must walk down an aisle of ex-cons. This morning was intense, largely because some scaffolding over the Staples next door has provided them with plenty of lounging space. Trying to get through the rush hour pedestrians is hard enough without 30 dudes in the way, you know?

But what really makes it a pain in the ass is their attempts at getting your attention. It often involves a creepy lean in and then a shift back, often with the suggestion to "Slow down, Ma."

I'm not your mother. If I was, you'd be in law school.

Others then attempt to take a stab at it, utilizing all forms of poetic license.

This morning I was called the following names:

Chocolate Princess

Worky Worky (as in "Slow down, Worky Worky! It ain't time yet!"

MMMM-BOOTY!

Sugarfoot.

Yes, Sugarfoot. I have no idea what this means.

Just down the road from the vocational school is a "preschool for the arts," which proudly hangs Modrian-inspired paintings done by 3 year olds. Maybe I'm just a pessimist who watches too much To Catch A Predator, but creative preschoolers so close to men who've been...given a second chance is just an accident waiting to happen.

You may feel free to tag this post as awkward.

Just Another Panicked Monday

Good morning, gentle readers.
I come to you today with a heart full of fear.

This morning the receptionist from the neurologist’s office called, asking me to come in for a follow-up appointment regarding my MRI. I am freaking the fuck out.

What can’t he tell me over the phone? Does he have to sit me down face-to-face so that he can hold me as I sob? I had the MRI on 5/24, so if it was really life-or-death, I would have heard back before now, right? My head was actually killing me yesterday, so I’m even more worried. When I asked the receptionist if I was going to die, she said no, but she certainly doesn’t have the security clearance to know for sure.

I cannot have a brain tumor right now—I’m just starting to follow my dreams!

This has me thinking of my life to date. I have begun composing several bucket lists based on how long I’d have to live.

Blacktress’ 3-Year Bucket List

• Quit job. Tell former-drag-queen boss about himself.
• Travel to Italy. Use the word “hospitaliano” at least once.
• Write a memoir titled “Eat Eat Eat”.
• Write 4 screenplays.
• Earn Oscar nomination for one of them.
• Have Ben Affleck and Matt Damon accept the award in my stead.
• Get a ½-hour special on Comedy Central
• Meet Nick Kroll
• Take a ferry to Staten Island (what goes on over there?????)
• Hang out with Marc Maron on the cat ranch.
• Find a closeted celebrity in need of a beard. Act as his beard until I become sickly and unattractive.
• Become best friends with Kathy Griffin.
• Get married, A Walk to Remember style.

Blacktress’ 18-month Bucket List

• Quit job. Tell former-drag-queen boss about himself.
• Find a wealthy benefactor to help me live my dreams in my final months.
• Write one screenplay that sells. Use money to produce the biopic Blacktress Like Me, in which I will star. Angela Bassett will play my mother.
• Visit every aquarium in the country.
• Go back to my native land of Africa and finally cash-in on that princess status I’ve been hearing about all these years. I’m probably just the ruler of a goat tied to a shady tree, but I’ll get to wear dramatic head wraps.
• Perform stand-up across the country, opening for such acts as Glenn Beck and Donald Trump. [this would be more of a stage-hijacking, but equally awesome.]
• Take a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. (what goes on over there?????) Use the word ‘summer’ as a verb.
• Hang out with Marc Maron on the cat ranch.
• Meet Kathy Griffin.

Blacktress’ 6-month Bucket List

• Quit job. Tell former-drag-queen boss about himself.
• Find a wealthy benefactor to help me live my dreams in my final months.
• Try to get a guest role on The Office as Stanley’s daughter or niece.
• Find a way to get on the Today Show and be interviewed by Matt Lauer.
• Find every man that’s done me wrong and tell him about himself.
• Take a ferry to Cape Cod. (what does it feel like to be rich?????)
• Hang out with Marc Maron on the cat ranch.
• Write and produce the solo show To Be Young, Gifted, & Blacktress. Receive posthumous Tony nomination, even though the show will not be performed on or off Broadway. (it’s just that good!)
• Meet Kathy Griffin.

Blacktress' Back-up Bucket List

Mop

Ice

Child-Size Beach

Aluminum

Construction Square Plastic

Gallon Square

Elevator

As you can see, there are several goals that repeat themselves. I will also be creating a will, in which I will bequeath several items to friends and acquaintances—such as the emergency contraceptive I received from Planned Parenthood and never used; Buffy the Vampire Slayer DVDs; and the entire Babysitters’ Club collection, including the mysteries and summer specials.

Movin' On Up!

Hey gang!

I’m writing to you from a brand new office! This place is way better than our overcrowded veal pens in the midtown office. Not only are we a Sharon Stone’s throw away from a Bed Bath & Beyond, a Trader Joe’s, and The Container Store, there are windows everywhere, and more than one bathroom!!! It’s nearly 1pm and I haven’t heard anyone urinate, blow his or her nose, or hack up a lung all day. This is living!

To top it off, massa’s not here (apparently he’s in Russia—this doesn’t surprise me in the least), I have an audition this afternoon, and I don’t even have to be nervous or guilty about leaving because today is the first “summer Fridays,” aka early dismissal! I feel like the world might not want to oppress me today—score!

In other news: The side I got for today’s audition makes no sense whatsoever. It’s for [a popular brand of food storage containers], but the product’s not mentioned once, the script references what appears to be eight different characters, and I don’t know if I’m going in for “Woman 1” “Woman 2,” or “Mom”—who’s referred to as Deb. I think I’m going to have to play it Pauly Shore style. Say what you will about him, but that man knows how to work with nonsensical (BioDome and Encino Man, par example).

Happy Friday!

Greetings From Your Black Friend!

Hellooooooo readers!!!! It feels so good to blog again!

Apologies for my absence--it hasn't been for lack of fodder. This Memorial Day weekend Jewboo and I made great strides in our interracial love affair. We embarked on air travel to Minneapolis to attend a friend's wedding, and dealt with the shitshow that is American Airlines--and even ran into my high-school history teacher at the gate!
[Mr. Werth was my very first gay, and even though he wasn't out to me, there was something about his skinny jeans and ageless face that, even at the age of 14, told me that his date with "Leslie" was Queer As Folk.]

Through the high-school reunions, plane delays, and engaged upwardly mobile couples, Jewboo and I didn't fight with each other AND we looked really cute in photographs. Success!!!

But let me be real with you, readers--after all, this is the diary of a mad blacktress--it wasn't all roses and hotel sex. Both our outbound and return flights were canceled and moved to 6am the following day, resulting in a lot of sleeplessness and hunger. After my heinous experience with Delta Burke Airlines a few years ago, my attitude toward air travel has changed--I know people got jobs to do, but if you're going to insist on stripping me of my shoes, liquids, and dignity, can you at least have a plane take off a tiempo?

I could go into detail, but I'm only finally getting my sanity back.
Instead, I will copy and paste the tweets I sent to help me get through the frustration:
May 26:
@hiyellanegress They wont let us get to Minneapolis. Going back to Harlem to catch a 6am tomorrow. #weddingseason

May 27
Back at laguardia airport. Trying to get to minneapolis. This is cuckoo bananas. #weddingseason #fatigue

May 29 [My rage really picked up here, as we were so ready to go home--I took to directly tweeting the airline in hopes of getting some acknowledgement]
Sick of reaching your destination on time and with few complications? Then fly @AmericanAir!

After all, nothing makes more sense than having the crew for a delayed flight scheduled to work on the next flight! @AmericanAir

@AmericanAir, quick Q: with chicago's bad weather, why would you hinge other flights on chi crews? do you not want people to like you?
[I was just being a bitchy brat at this point, but sometimes you gotta go a little Miley Cyrus on an airline.]


The wedding was quite loverly, though. It's always nice to see well-to-do Caucasians coming together to create more of themselves. [Seeing as the bride-now-wifey is an avid diary reader, I hope none of this comes as a shock.] But there was one moment when I felt a bit out of place-- isn't it always weird when you find out that you're someone's only black friend?

We've all heard jokes about having "the black friend," but in this case, it was the real deal. There was one older black couple, but the guy was her former boss. Of course, if Friends and Candace Bushnell taught us anything, it's that a lot of white people don't get down with the brown and it's not anything personal. But it was still odd to enter a room full of people celebrating a friend I attended diversity university with and see that maybe diversity is just a thing you try once in college.
But let me not hate over my own insecurities about feeling bigger and blacker than the rest--I mean, I've been in the heart of Caucasia, and Minnesota was a piece of cake after Middle Earth. Besides, I can't really blame the girl for keeping Sojourner in her corner. A blacktress is more than just your token black friend--I'm like a cross-over Moesha-style sensation! So, you know, if you're going to go black, you may as well go blacktress.




For the reading I chose a poem by James Kavanaugh that I thought would speak to an independent woman such as the bride--"To Love Is Not to Possess" (it immediately jumped out at me as a freed slave, natch.) I practiced a bit beforehand, but lately I've been really trying to take a page out of Avril's book and not make things so complicated. The reading wasn't about me--it was about setting a tone and supporting a union. With that in mind, I decided to leave my flowing Maya Angelou robes at home and tone it down with the enunciation. (I did, however, make sure to direct the lines "to love is not to own / or imprison" at the groom.)

But oh, how I would have loved to deliver it something like this:
Chocolate News

People kept coming up to me and complimenting me on the reading, though. I was surprised, seeing as I hadn't done all that much in my opinion. Jewboo had to remind me that they weren't aware that they were dealing with a professional, and my innate ability to work a mic and breathe life into love poems isn't a gift we're all lucky enough to possess. But once one of the uncles started going on and on about how "articulate" I was, and an aunt told me I was "well-spoken," even Jewboo had to admit it was a little racial America up in the twin cities. #notyouraveragenegress

OMG MRIs are OOC

Happy Wednesday!!!
I know hump day isn’t usually happy (unless you’re humpin!), but this is my last day in the office for over a week, and I’m on cloud 9. Well, maybe cloud 7, seeing as I’m running on 5.5 hours of sleep.

Who has two thumbs and is dumb enough to schedule an MRI at 10:30pm? THIS BLACKTRESS!!!

By the time I got to the Radiology lab, I was ready to go to bed. Add to that the fact that I was wearing the equivalent of winter pajamas, and I thought I was in for an HMO-sponsored nap. I was given a brochure with a list of satellite-radio stations I could choose to listen to during the test. Because I love directing anxiety toward fake problems instead of dealing with the issue at hand, I deliberated for about 10 minutes. One of the comedy stations might be good, since I’m a bit tense, I thought. But if I have to stay still, maybe I shouldn’t listen to something that’ll make me laugh. Show tunes could be fun, but it all depends on the show, and then I’ll be stuck listening to the soundtrack to South Pacific.

Southern Gospel station might be the way to go—if there was ever a time I needed to get He Who Cannot Be Named on my side, it’s now. But if I really just want to be relaxed, maybe the vocal trills and belts of a woman who owes her life to the lord won’t be the way to go.
I continued to create a mountain out of a non-existent structure.

Canadian News & Information—that’ll be pretty boring. Keep that as your safety station.

I finally settled on 2000’s Pop Hits and felt a bit calmer having made a decision.

When I was called down to the MRI area (I’m not sure what to call it. After half an hour of sitting in an empty waiting room that reminded me of The Malkovich, I was directed to an elevator by a wild-haired woman. It only went one flight below street level.) The night-shift radiologist was anything but pleasant. He was small and bored and didn’t even engage when I tried to crack a little jokey joke.

I don’t get how people who have chosen to enter a field in which they interact with sick and suffering humans think that it’s okay to have no personal skills. You’re dealing with people you’ll likely never see again at a time when they’re at their most vulnerable. If that’s not a call for compassion and warmth, I don’t know what is.

Okay, rant about human indecency is over.

I got into the pod and was told to “be completely still for 20 minutes.” He put a pair of big headphones that pressed right up against the part of my head that was hurting. Before I could wince, he caged me in and fired up the ol’ MRI.
“If you need something, kick your legs,” he said as he walked away.
Um…..

Don’t you want to know which radio station I’d like?????

Apparently, he’d already made the decision for me: house music remixed with sounds of a fire alarm and heat coming through rusty pipes.
It must have been some Euro-pop B-side. Wait, no—that was THE MACHINE.

I knew there’d be noises, but I had no idea they’d be so heinous. How can someone stay completely still when their ears are being bombarded with craziness? At worst, it sounded like the machine was breaking and about to cave in on me; at best, it sounded like I kept making the wrong choice on Family Feud or just stole something from a WalMart.

I probably won’t get the results until Monday. Til then, I’m going to go to a Midwestern wedding and try not to feel inferior to my fancy grown-up bride-to-be friend and the blondtourage I have somehow been invited to hang out with. I’ve gotten invited to drinks every night—and a couple of mornings—for the next 4 days. I really hope I don’t do a sober-girl cry in the bathroom—it’s just such bad form.

An MRI? WTF?! FML.

Hey gang,

Whew, it feels good to blog again! I know I just posted yesterday, but I’ve been in a 3-hour staff meeting that felt like an age. (But I didn’t want to gouge my eyes out—growth!) Not only were my boss and I not addressing each other the entire time, but I was also running on about 5 hours of sleep. I’ve got a lot of anxiety coming up—the usual blacktress drama, course—but I’m also dealing with some potential medical issues that have me a bit nervous.

As you know, I’ve been all over with the sinus troubles. Well, it seems that it's not normal for sinus pain to affect the neck and it's even less normal for a part of one's head that hasn't been hit or cut or otherwise traumatized to be painful to the touch.

I went to a doctor last night and it was a real hip, swanky place--all the receptionists looked like Urban Outfitter's models and the doctors were in cute Anthropologie outfits. I went in to see Dr. Ko, a cute Asian woman who was totes wearing invisalign. I explained my symptoms as she continued to look more and more puzzled. "Where's that Dr. House looking guy I saw in the waiting room? We need to get him in here." Luckily, she laughed and didn't think I was insulting her skills. "We call him that, too!" she said. "Yeah, he does specialize in complex cases." With no equipment in their hip office, she immediately referred me to a neurologist, not just giving me the info, but calling his office up and getting me in just 15 minutes later! The neurologist, a small Indian man with a touch of Asperger's and hair like Full House hottie Uncle Jesse, pressed his fingertips together a lot and pursed his lips.

"What do YOU think it is?" He asked.
"Is this some kind of trick question?"
"No. You'd know your body better than me."
I swear, what do these people get paid for?

He basically didn't know what was up, although he thinks I could have migraines. But the only way to rule everything out is to get an MRI. This is one mystery diagnosis.

How ironic. I’m becoming one of the very medical mysteries I love to watch on Discovery Fit & Health.

I'm now writing this in a flurry from my house, where I had to come back after work to change clothes before teh 10:30pm MRI. Apparently, even the underwire of my bra* will set off the machine, so I gotta rock a sports bra and ill-fitting sweatpants along with anything else metal-free that will keep me warm.

I liked how the "preparation list" featured--in 16-pt font, no less--the directive DO NOT WEAR MAKEUP IF SCANNING THE HEAD.

Oh yeah, cause I'm thinking about foundation and creating doe eyes at a time like this.

Wanted to just let you guys in on this cause you mean the world to me. Without you, I'm just a creepy, possibly racist narcissist with too much internet access.


*Victoria and I have a secret!!!