I am a very short woman and I am ok with it. It adds to my cute preciousness and keeps me looking youthful. There are times when this presents interesting challenges like sometimes things are just out of my view or physical range. It can be slightly awkward in a store when I have to call for help reaching something or wait around for someone walking by to take pity on me as I teeter on my tippy toes before resorting to climbing the shelves. Yes, I have done this, and yes I have made a lot of things fall over. Luckily at home I am equipped with a step ladder and a very tall, leggy roommate so, as far as reaching things, I have learned to reasonably adapt with my disability.
Shortness also often seems to equate with immaturity and/or incapability. I am often mistaken for a weak high school girl, which I certainly don't mind in cases of heavy lifting. However, when it comes to buying cough medicine or spray paint my ID is ridiculously scrutinized. One time a guy asked me if it was my older sisters card. Really guy? Just give me the NyQuil! There was even an incident at the airport when I was asked where my mother was and if I was old enough to fly alone. Keep in mind you only have to be 12 to travel alone...I was 25. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind looking younger and I will be most grateful for it in my 50's, but for now I'm really not a huge fan of waitresses, who are most certainly younger than me, calling me kiddo.
Lastly, doors. My disability does not affect my capacity for opening most doors, but I'm a lady so I appreciate the chivalrous gesture of a politely opened door, slight tip of the hat and a good day ma'am on any occasion. However, I'm slightly confused about the kind stranger who asses my height, opens the door and keeps his hand there, above my head, motioning for me to travel under his arm. It's true I don't have to duck and I will graciously accept the offer, but dude, that was a totally awkward game of London Bridge.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Well, it’s colorful.
My mother is a saint. Seriously, if she were Catholic and dead (and I’m grateful she is neither) she would have achieved Sainthood. This is not only because she puts up with all my fiery nonsense but because she is the Queen of the Golden Rule. She never says an unkind thing about anything or anyone except Bill Clinton, she really hated him. She is slow to anger and quick to forgive. She smiles, she laughs, she feeds, she helps, she cares, she dances, she loves and she is way smart. She is the best and I certainly don’t come anywhere near her outstanding character but at least I have an excellent benchmark and I get to claim her.
Anyway, although my mother is very kind she also has very strong opinions and she is not afraid to make them known when need be. Don’t you dare try to sneak any extra charges on her bill. However, with her children, she often chooses the kindly ambiguous approach which I’m certain is intended to avoid bursting our delicate bubbles.
Example: in 3rd grade I picked out my own outfit for class photo day. I proudly selected a white sweatshirt with neon flowers, bright teal sweatpants and 4 assorted neon colored socks that I carefully stacked on top of each other. In my defense I totally matched and it was the 80’s. I came out of my room and my mom smiled, titled her head and said, “Well…it’s certainly colorful”. I will never forget those words and I will never throw out that photo. I wish I still had that sweatshirt.
Over time it has become very easy to tell when mom doesn't totally agree with our choices but nevertheless still stands close by as a great support. Over the Christmas break my brother, as he often does, went through a fierce ‘build things’ spurt. He crafted this beautiful, custom-made entertainment center equipped with under-glow lighting for my mom. It’s absolutely brilliant. In addition, he felt that in order to properly display such a perfect piece of carpentry the accent wall must be repainted. He waited for my mom to head to work and then he and my other brothers ‘garage mixed’ a custom paint color to slap on the wall in record speed. At this point keep in mind that my brothers are all very color blind. One of them still has a purple, and I mean purple comforter on his bed. Hilarious story for another time. Anyway, I stopped by my mom’s house later in the evening and was immediately accosted by a bright peacock blue living room. Now, I love the actual color, in fact I painted my room a very similar color before but, to say the very least, it simple will not do in my mother’s living room with a forest green couch and rich, royal toned curtains.
“Whoa,” I immediately exclaim, “my eyes, my eyes!”
Anyway, although my mother is very kind she also has very strong opinions and she is not afraid to make them known when need be. Don’t you dare try to sneak any extra charges on her bill. However, with her children, she often chooses the kindly ambiguous approach which I’m certain is intended to avoid bursting our delicate bubbles.
Example: in 3rd grade I picked out my own outfit for class photo day. I proudly selected a white sweatshirt with neon flowers, bright teal sweatpants and 4 assorted neon colored socks that I carefully stacked on top of each other. In my defense I totally matched and it was the 80’s. I came out of my room and my mom smiled, titled her head and said, “Well…it’s certainly colorful”. I will never forget those words and I will never throw out that photo. I wish I still had that sweatshirt.
Over time it has become very easy to tell when mom doesn't totally agree with our choices but nevertheless still stands close by as a great support. Over the Christmas break my brother, as he often does, went through a fierce ‘build things’ spurt. He crafted this beautiful, custom-made entertainment center equipped with under-glow lighting for my mom. It’s absolutely brilliant. In addition, he felt that in order to properly display such a perfect piece of carpentry the accent wall must be repainted. He waited for my mom to head to work and then he and my other brothers ‘garage mixed’ a custom paint color to slap on the wall in record speed. At this point keep in mind that my brothers are all very color blind. One of them still has a purple, and I mean purple comforter on his bed. Hilarious story for another time. Anyway, I stopped by my mom’s house later in the evening and was immediately accosted by a bright peacock blue living room. Now, I love the actual color, in fact I painted my room a very similar color before but, to say the very least, it simple will not do in my mother’s living room with a forest green couch and rich, royal toned curtains.
“Whoa,” I immediately exclaim, “my eyes, my eyes!”
My mother emerges from the back room, “So, you noticed?”
“Uh yeah,” again I exclaim in a very concerned shrill, “did you see it?”
With a sweet smile and a slight head tilt she gently sighs, “Yes and well...it’s colorful.”
She joyfully follows with, “the boys are so proud.”
I could not contain my laughter as all my brothers lined up with very proud grins and blue paint all over the place.
It’s true, the boys were so very proud and they really didn't know that this combination was 6 times worse than my 3rd grade outfit. Even after I have strongly suggested about 10 better shades the boys should paint the wall, it remains a bursting brilliant blue to this day. Turns out, it doesn't matter to my mom, her boys painted that wall and she loves it. It is, after all, colorful.
It’s true, the boys were so very proud and they really didn't know that this combination was 6 times worse than my 3rd grade outfit. Even after I have strongly suggested about 10 better shades the boys should paint the wall, it remains a bursting brilliant blue to this day. Turns out, it doesn't matter to my mom, her boys painted that wall and she loves it. It is, after all, colorful.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Labyrinthitis?!
(I can not believe I forgot to post this gem)
No, this is not the David Bowie fever. Turns out, it is a real serious, non-made-up, disease and I’ve got it.
I asked my doctor 3 times to repeat the name, excuse me…like Labyrinth, you say? Hm. Well, that is something.
Not unlike the movie, it starts as a virus that infects the inner ear and before you even realize, you have one giant, blurry mess. It just so happens, the delicate part of the ear horrifically attacked by some random floating micro-terrorist is responsible for the body’s entire vestibular system – the part being solely in charge of balance and orientation. You know what happens when your spatial orientation is messed up? Turns out, you can’t function, at all…and you look really silly. I am not just talking about the kind of superior balance you need to score pro status in the Wii Fit Hula challenge (yeah, I’ve totally done that), I’m talking about normal, every day, plain old standing. A life-size, breathing wobbling Weeble…that falls down.
To cope with my afflication, I laid in bed for a few days remembering how nice it was to not feel like I was in a constant whirlpool of plain air. Remember when I could stand, yeah and it was great. Luckily the episode was relatively short lived and I’m now back to normal balanced life. The icing, Doctor says the virus will now forever live inside of me and will come back to visit every other year or so. Not to worry, he says, it won’t ever be as bad as the first time. Super and uh yeah, I’m going to get a second opinion…
I found some helpful hints so I knew what to avoid:
“You may need help walking when symptoms occur.” Or, in my case, remembering how to crawl worked out best. It’s the basics that save us. Stay low to avoid bullets…and vomiting.
“Avoid hazardous activities such as driving, operating heavy machinery, and climbing until 1 week after symptoms have disappeared.” I don’t know what heavy machinery is but I feel like I would avoid that with or without Labrynthitis. Driving, yeah that does not work and no climbing? Great, just when I had that rock wall installed. Thanks a lot, Bowie.
At any rate, if you see me wobbling about at an awkward 30 degree slant, don’t worry, it’s just the Labyrinthitis, I’ll be fine. Probably.
Still think I’m making this up? Go on, Google it.
No, this is not the David Bowie fever. Turns out, it is a real serious, non-made-up, disease and I’ve got it.
I asked my doctor 3 times to repeat the name, excuse me…like Labyrinth, you say? Hm. Well, that is something.
Not unlike the movie, it starts as a virus that infects the inner ear and before you even realize, you have one giant, blurry mess. It just so happens, the delicate part of the ear horrifically attacked by some random floating micro-terrorist is responsible for the body’s entire vestibular system – the part being solely in charge of balance and orientation. You know what happens when your spatial orientation is messed up? Turns out, you can’t function, at all…and you look really silly. I am not just talking about the kind of superior balance you need to score pro status in the Wii Fit Hula challenge (yeah, I’ve totally done that), I’m talking about normal, every day, plain old standing. A life-size, breathing wobbling Weeble…that falls down.
To cope with my afflication, I laid in bed for a few days remembering how nice it was to not feel like I was in a constant whirlpool of plain air. Remember when I could stand, yeah and it was great. Luckily the episode was relatively short lived and I’m now back to normal balanced life. The icing, Doctor says the virus will now forever live inside of me and will come back to visit every other year or so. Not to worry, he says, it won’t ever be as bad as the first time. Super and uh yeah, I’m going to get a second opinion…
I found some helpful hints so I knew what to avoid:
“You may need help walking when symptoms occur.” Or, in my case, remembering how to crawl worked out best. It’s the basics that save us. Stay low to avoid bullets…and vomiting.
“Avoid hazardous activities such as driving, operating heavy machinery, and climbing until 1 week after symptoms have disappeared.” I don’t know what heavy machinery is but I feel like I would avoid that with or without Labrynthitis. Driving, yeah that does not work and no climbing? Great, just when I had that rock wall installed. Thanks a lot, Bowie.
At any rate, if you see me wobbling about at an awkward 30 degree slant, don’t worry, it’s just the Labyrinthitis, I’ll be fine. Probably.
Still think I’m making this up? Go on, Google it.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Fireball 2.0
There is an episode of Friends when Joey is supposed to be writing a screenplay but instead he and Chandler create "Fireball," a highly dangerous yet ingenious game involving a blow torch and bowling ball. The look on Joey's face when announcing his creation to Ross still gets me rolling. Yesterday, I created my own version only it starts with fish and chips.
All I wanted was to reheat my leftovers. I wasn't asking much. Where the story gets interesting is when my impatience and stupidly jumps in. I wanted the food so hastily that I, all safety regulations aside, stuck the cardboard box in the tiny oven. I just wanted it crispy not like soggy sad fish from the microwave. Well, if you do something this stupid you can count on not being careful enough when pulling it out as to avoid the hot coils of the oven which, by the way, will ignite cardboard. Voilà! A quick recipe for a personal-sized ball of flame.
Now, what do you do with a handful of fire on your counter? Easy, transfer to sink with bare hands, of course. Done...except what happens when the ball of fire bounces out of the sink, across the counter and onto the living room floor? Fireball disaster. With a flying fireball now threatening to take my apartment down I must quickly end this fiasco. I run over and attempt to stomp out the blaze, barefoot. I'm way smart. After the flames were out, and my fish certainly extra crispy, I gave myself a little vocal cheer and fist pump for taking out that fire like a champ with minimal bodily harm. I hope you're both laughing hysterically and shaking your head in judging disbelief. It's ok, go ahead. No one died except my pride and maybe a few pieces of carpet.
Not a minute after stomping the heck out of the mini bonfire, it occurs to me that by jumping on this highly flammable box, I sent smoldering pieces of cardboard across the floor. Sure enough, they were still glowing just begging a second challenge. My much smarter, safer solution: dump excessive amounts of water everywhere. Done. An hour later it is very clear I had a fight with something. You’d never guess it was with a fireball, but it was. I came out victorious. Yes, I did...mostly.
All I wanted was to reheat my leftovers. I wasn't asking much. Where the story gets interesting is when my impatience and stupidly jumps in. I wanted the food so hastily that I, all safety regulations aside, stuck the cardboard box in the tiny oven. I just wanted it crispy not like soggy sad fish from the microwave. Well, if you do something this stupid you can count on not being careful enough when pulling it out as to avoid the hot coils of the oven which, by the way, will ignite cardboard. Voilà! A quick recipe for a personal-sized ball of flame.
Now, what do you do with a handful of fire on your counter? Easy, transfer to sink with bare hands, of course. Done...except what happens when the ball of fire bounces out of the sink, across the counter and onto the living room floor? Fireball disaster. With a flying fireball now threatening to take my apartment down I must quickly end this fiasco. I run over and attempt to stomp out the blaze, barefoot. I'm way smart. After the flames were out, and my fish certainly extra crispy, I gave myself a little vocal cheer and fist pump for taking out that fire like a champ with minimal bodily harm. I hope you're both laughing hysterically and shaking your head in judging disbelief. It's ok, go ahead. No one died except my pride and maybe a few pieces of carpet.
Not a minute after stomping the heck out of the mini bonfire, it occurs to me that by jumping on this highly flammable box, I sent smoldering pieces of cardboard across the floor. Sure enough, they were still glowing just begging a second challenge. My much smarter, safer solution: dump excessive amounts of water everywhere. Done. An hour later it is very clear I had a fight with something. You’d never guess it was with a fireball, but it was. I came out victorious. Yes, I did...mostly.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Hannah’s Hoedown Heals
I watched the Hannah Montana movie last night. What can I say? It was a rough week. Despite the anticipated ridiculousness of various plot points it was overall a very humorous, upbeat movie and it did make me feel better.
Every protagonist struggle in Disney movies are basically identical, but in the simplicity of the formula is the appeal. We love the characters, they speak to us and you can rest assured things will always work out in the end. Aside from the fame, I can not say I find myself relating to Hannah all that much, but I certainly empathize with the heartache and struggle of figuring out who you are while trying to win the heart of a cowboy. Who doesn’t, really?
Last night Hannah reminded us to never forget our roots and who we really are. The movie also reminded me that I never want to live on a farm, although I am pretty sure this was unintentional.
Disney moral #2*: When life starts to get crazy, take the time to regain perspective with the help of those who truly love you. Magically, the world is not as scary as you might have thought and you can now overcome anything. Also repetitive, cheesy and purely addictive music never hurts.
P.S. we all really need to learn the moves to this Hoedown Throwdown. Trust me, just do it.
*Disney moral #1 has to do with Disney royalty struggling to get back the throne.
Every protagonist struggle in Disney movies are basically identical, but in the simplicity of the formula is the appeal. We love the characters, they speak to us and you can rest assured things will always work out in the end. Aside from the fame, I can not say I find myself relating to Hannah all that much, but I certainly empathize with the heartache and struggle of figuring out who you are while trying to win the heart of a cowboy. Who doesn’t, really?
Last night Hannah reminded us to never forget our roots and who we really are. The movie also reminded me that I never want to live on a farm, although I am pretty sure this was unintentional.
Disney moral #2*: When life starts to get crazy, take the time to regain perspective with the help of those who truly love you. Magically, the world is not as scary as you might have thought and you can now overcome anything. Also repetitive, cheesy and purely addictive music never hurts.
P.S. we all really need to learn the moves to this Hoedown Throwdown. Trust me, just do it.
*Disney moral #1 has to do with Disney royalty struggling to get back the throne.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Injubily
Google just made me type in this ‘word’ before posting a comment. I passed. It’s not a real word, but it is now my favorite word. The best thing about non-words (or my entire vocabulary) is it can be anything you want it to be. ANYTHING. Who is going to stop me?
Of course, I think this about myself anyway, a made-up word. I get to be whoever I want to be all the time. In fact, today, I am a Facebook stalker. Now, it’s true, I am that a lot of days, but today I’m admitting it so it’s totally different. Last week I was seamstress/sutto-aunt/baker/amazing. For the rest of the week I am going to be seamstress again and this weekend I will be the hot redhead in the brown dress that catches the bouquet. After this weekend, I will return to being single white female watching prime time TV and not thinking about anything that starts with wedd…I’m not even going to finish that.
Ah life, it’s injubily!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
One of these things...
I just saw a very tall Asian walking with a very short Asian and it confused me, well, I mean I starred at them. Then I remembered this must be how Asians…or anyone feels when I, a 5’ redhead am seen with my 6’4” blond housemate. Fair is fair.
While I was in
At first this doesn’t sit exactly pleasantly. We all know how we felt about the peculiar kid in middle school – safe distance encouraged – but in reality the scriptural reference to peculiar is one of the highest compliments. In fact, it references a “valued treasure,” “made” or “selected by God.” I’ll take that.
Indeed LDS members, particularly our
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