Tag Archives: irony

This might be when you decide to unsubscribe.

28 Oct

There is a time, I will admit, when I thought a touch of illness would be *just the thing* to launch my motivational speaking career. Nothing lasting, mind you. Just something that would allow me to grab the microphone and tell an inspirational story of triumph that would make folks’ eyes well up.

(Disclosure: I’m not exactly sure what disease I thought would fit that bill – I always kind of fuzzed over that part. I just remember looking at people and shaking my head, thinking, “Should’ve been me. I could *totally* turn that into a lecture circuit before I was healed.)

Well so, the lesson here is: Careful what you ask for. Apparently I sent out some sort of subconscious plea to the universe, and it was answered – by a universe that has an ironic sense of humor. Tuesday’s colonoscopy resulted in a diagnosis of Crohn’s.

If you’re not familiar with Crohn’s, let me start by telling you: It is probably the LEAST sexiest disease ever. If you want proof, try googling, “Celebrities with Crohn’s.” You’ll find exactly 11 people willing to admit they have it, and you won’t know who ten of them are.

The one you *might* recognize is Shannen Doherty of 90210 fame, and you’ll be like, “Wow. So this disease totally f*cks with your eyes so they’re on two different planes?”

But no: that’s just the result of her scowling so much because she had to dress like she was from Minnesota for an entire season. But that’s a different story. Ask Doherty about Crohn’s and she’ll only say, “I don’t think it’s sexy to talk about going to the bathroom.”

Oh Shannen, you are so coy.

She may be coy, but I’m not. So I’m going to talk about it briefly so you know what’s going on. And then I’m going to move on and get back to pithiness as usual. Consider this quick back story in case you notice more bathroom humor than usual. Or if an increasing number of my stories end with, “And then I shat myself. Literally.”

My understanding (cobbled together over the last few days) is that it’s an autoimmune disease, in which my immune system attacks my intestines. Sure, diarrhea is one of the outcomes, but (while inconvenient and potentially embarrassing) that’s not necessarily the worst part.

Granted, I’m new to the game, but thus far, it has felt like the flu (shivers, fever, aching bones, splitting headache) combined with some crazy-ass serial killer repeatedly stabbing my side. I tend to have a pretty high pain tolerance, but Thursday night it was so intense I found myself negotiating with Sweet Baby Jesus.

And we *ALL* know it’s silly to try to negotiate with a baby.

I’m currently on a course of nine pills/day (potentially forever, if they work – which would be the best case scenario) to help relieve the inflammation with the hope that it will prevent scar tissue from forming in my intestines. Scar tissue is bad because then I’d need to have surgery to remove part of my intestines/colon. Um, no thanks. Pretty sure that would put a damper on the inspirational speaking tour. 

In (barely) related news, I received a handwritten thank you note from the surgery clinic after my scope on Tuesday. Take a minute and think about that. 

Any other procedure and I’d appreciate it. But after you’ve been feet-deep up my ass, I’m thinking a thank you is, um, CREEPY.

One friend asked if the note included a keepsake action photo like they take on roller coasters. Kind of, I wanted to tell him. Except, instead of asking me to say cheese, apparently they told me to pucker up.

A different kind of log ride.

Finally, while I’m getting all of this out of my system (so to speak), I’ll leave you with the text I received from my friend Dan, the night before my colonoscopy:


I like to think of road rage as a personality test.

17 Oct

For the umpteenth year in a row, DC has been named America’s worst city when it comes to traffic. Considering I’ve only put 13,000 miles on my car in the last three years, it’s hard for me to weigh in with any real authority, but I will say that I can generally get to my office faster on foot (25 minutes) than I can by car.

While I don’t love it, at least I can understand rush hour traffic. Hundreds of thousands of people are trying to get to roughly the same place, at the same time. That’s naturally going to lead to some gridlock.

What I don’t understand is weekend traffic. Nothing makes me more infuriated than when I think I’m going to run a quick errand — and end up sitting in my car for an hour trying to leave the District on a Saturday. Which is exactly what happened this weekend.

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Forgiveness Day helps me take “loving kindness” to a whole new level.

10 Jul

Forgiveness can actually be just as rewarding as revenge...

A post titled “Today Is Global Forgiveness Day” recently caught my attention, so I googled the holiday to see what it’s all about. (I know, it seems rather self-evident, so I’ll start celebrating by forgiving you for assuming I’m an idiot.) As it turns out, according to HolidayInsights.Com, this “holiday” is actually celebrated August 27.

I’ll also forgive the person who led me to believe it was in July. (And maybe she’ll forgive me for pointing that out.)

Wow. This forgiveness thing is really freeing.

Since I’m on a bit of a roll, why don’t I just bury the hatchet and release some of those grudges I’ve been carrying? Here goes…

  • To This DC Librarian: I forgive you for hating people so much that you spent five long minutes pretending to shelve a book just so you wouldn’t have to acknowledge me.
  • To Mr. Porsche Driver: I forgive you for blatantly stealing the parking spot I had been waiting on for ten minutes. Clearly you’re important. I should’ve gathered that from your car. And also? It’s probably uncomfortable to be in public when you have what I assume must be an unnaturally small penis. I should’ve been more understanding.
  • To Mr. Stompy McStomperson Who Lives Above Me: I forgive you for waking me up every day between 3:30 – 4:30am. I will stop shouting “A pox upon you!” But I won’t stop plotting ways to discreetly slip you Benadryl.
  • To This Guy: I forgive you for souring the air in my yoga glass. And I hope you’ve discovered Bean-O.
  • CVS Cashiers Everywhere: I forgive you for taking slow to a new level. You can be a tortoise to my hare.
  • To The Woman Who Hit Me With Her Car: I forgive you deciding it was a good idea to accelerate when the sun blinded you. And for over-staying your welcome at the Emergency Room.
  • To The Client Who (Figuratively) Asked Me to Bend Over When Negotiating Pricing: I forgive you for being a cheap and miserable person who clearly finds no joy in life outside your employment.
  • My Old Yoga Teacher: I forgive you for sitting on my hand and ruining my savasana.

Whew. That was therapeutic. Now tell me… who are YOU forgiving in celebration of this great day?

A little story about irony.

19 May

Something interesting happened while I was in London: my credit card was declined. I was trying to buy a watch for Alan for his birthday and the cashier held up the transaction slip for me to review: DECLINED.

What? I knew I wasn’t over my credit limit, so I asked him to run it again. Again, declined. I had just purchased rail tickets with it successfully the day before and – oh wait – I realized the problem: my card had been flagged since I used it overseas without alerting my bank.

It’s odd – I’ve been overseas dozens of times and never had my card put on hold. I’ve been with OTHER people when their cards have been put on hold, but mine has always been fine. And I’ve always defied conventional wisdom and never alerted my bank. This, however, was a new card, supported by a new bank. With apparently stricter security protocols.

I growled for a moment when I realized what happened, thankful that I had another card with me that was tried and true. Had I just been limited to the one card, I would’ve been pissed.

Fast forward to when I returned to the US. I was sifting through my mail, processing bills, when I remembered I needed to call to get the hold lifted from Card #1. I grabbed both my credit card statements and something from Card #2 caught my eye: an $11 transaction fee. Huh?

It may seem ridiculous to get distracted by an $11 fee, but this is a card that I always pay off, in full, ahead of deadline. There shouldn’t be a fee on it.

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Making friends in the Windy City…

23 Jan

Saturday we grabbed lunch at Elephant & Castle in Chicago. (I know, I’m not a fan of chains either, but it was damn cold out, it was one block from our hotel, and it had a selection of over a dozen good draft beers. So take that.)

Anyway, there was a woman <in her early forties with bleached blonde hair and a loud attention-seeking voice> seated at the bar with three older male companions.

Her voice was so intrusive that Alan kept cringing.

“Honey,” I said to him, but as if I were talking to her, “I’m sure you were cute when you were 20, but you’ve doubled in age. Not so cute at Volume 11.”

Alan added, “And now you look like leather.”

Then he cackled and forecast, “You’re probably going to get me in a fight!”

“No,” I told him. “Those aren’t fighting words. But I’m working on some.”

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