Wednesday, November 22, 2006
dear jennifer,
notnight, i am a little drunk.
i never really have been drunk before. but that is what havppens when your mom omes to ctown y and you start having a little wine. two clgasses, really . . . hen you make a tiramisu (pumkin) for tomrowwos . . . then your husband comes home. heteny you go out to dinner and have more glasses of inwne . . . maybe like, three more . . .
PLUS! you are on pain killers for your chrnoic bakc pain.
8i kklujke like wine a lot . . . red wirne . . . a lot. it is tastey. and it really makes me a litle crazye. i had my first drink ---- reall drin k ---- in seminary. SEMINARY of allplaces. i really like bialey's and cream. uyummo! so tatesly!!!! i like woine, too. and in seminary, io learned that drinking is thnot of the devil.
bui do know getting driunk is not good.
ithis really is my first tinme.
i have been tispy before.
btu this is different.
goonight.
l;ove
cara
notnight, i am a little drunk.
i never really have been drunk before. but that is what havppens when your mom omes to ctown y and you start having a little wine. two clgasses, really . . . hen you make a tiramisu (pumkin) for tomrowwos . . . then your husband comes home. heteny you go out to dinner and have more glasses of inwne . . . maybe like, three more . . .
PLUS! you are on pain killers for your chrnoic bakc pain.
8i kklujke like wine a lot . . . red wirne . . . a lot. it is tastey. and it really makes me a litle crazye. i had my first drink ---- reall drin k ---- in seminary. SEMINARY of allplaces. i really like bialey's and cream. uyummo! so tatesly!!!! i like woine, too. and in seminary, io learned that drinking is thnot of the devil.
bui do know getting driunk is not good.
ithis really is my first tinme.
i have been tispy before.
btu this is different.
goonight.
l;ove
cara
another reason i try my best to avoid walmart
Cara,
Let us never become the two ladies I saw in Walmart today walking around eating fried chicken in their housecoat/sundresses. They looked at me with slight disapproval when I politely said, "excuse me," so I could pass by them in the aisle.
Let's vow right now, today, to never never ever ever never ever ever eat fried chicken while shopping at Walmart and/or walk around in housecoat/sundresses.
Promise?
Love,
Jennifer
Let us never become the two ladies I saw in Walmart today walking around eating fried chicken in their housecoat/sundresses. They looked at me with slight disapproval when I politely said, "excuse me," so I could pass by them in the aisle.
Let's vow right now, today, to never never ever ever never ever ever eat fried chicken while shopping at Walmart and/or walk around in housecoat/sundresses.
Promise?
Love,
Jennifer
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
prescriptions drugs with a street value
Oh Cara,
You have no idea how many times I have thought that my doctors would think that there was nothing wrong with my back...
But that I was just some sort of drug seeker like they deal with on ER about thrice a season.
Seriously.
I would worry that my doctors would think I was making up the whole back pain thing. That I was only seeking as much hydrocodone or oxycodone as I could get my hands on.
I really really thought that I would end up on the front page of the Tennessean just like Mindy McCready did over the whole oxycontin thing.
It didn't matter that X-rays, MRI's, and my chiropractors notes all showed that I have some serious back problems. Scoliosis, degenerative disc disease, two herniated discs, an impinged sciatic nerve.
I really expected them to say, "Ms. Coomer, we're only going to give you five Percoset and you'll just have to make them last. And this is the last time you're going to get any such medication because we know that you have a problem. And you might want to seek help. Mental help. Substance abuse help. Because we see through your lies. We know that you are a drug seeking addict. We know that you are a liar. A big fat liar.”
So, it's a really really good thing that I went ahead with the back surgery before I truly ended up addicted to Percoset because I never would have had the nerve to get my drugs off the black market when I was nervous to even ask my doctor for it when I actually really really needed it.
So yes. I get it. I get it. I so get it.
Alive and Well in The South,
Jennifer
You have no idea how many times I have thought that my doctors would think that there was nothing wrong with my back...
But that I was just some sort of drug seeker like they deal with on ER about thrice a season.
Seriously.
I would worry that my doctors would think I was making up the whole back pain thing. That I was only seeking as much hydrocodone or oxycodone as I could get my hands on.
I really really thought that I would end up on the front page of the Tennessean just like Mindy McCready did over the whole oxycontin thing.
It didn't matter that X-rays, MRI's, and my chiropractors notes all showed that I have some serious back problems. Scoliosis, degenerative disc disease, two herniated discs, an impinged sciatic nerve.
I really expected them to say, "Ms. Coomer, we're only going to give you five Percoset and you'll just have to make them last. And this is the last time you're going to get any such medication because we know that you have a problem. And you might want to seek help. Mental help. Substance abuse help. Because we see through your lies. We know that you are a drug seeking addict. We know that you are a liar. A big fat liar.”
So, it's a really really good thing that I went ahead with the back surgery before I truly ended up addicted to Percoset because I never would have had the nerve to get my drugs off the black market when I was nervous to even ask my doctor for it when I actually really really needed it.
So yes. I get it. I get it. I so get it.
Alive and Well in The South,
Jennifer
"They"
dear jennifer,
it has finally happened.
what happened, you ask?
let me tell you.
"they" finally found me out.
you know.
we all have the secret, nudging sense that someday "they" are going to find you out.
"they" will find out you are just a sham.
a fraud.
a scammer.
that you have a degree in psychology.
two of them, if we are going to be technical.
and really, you are a good therapist.
but really, really . . .
you have NO idea how any of it applies to your own damn life.
really.
you sit across from others.
and you ask good questions.
and you say things that are true.
and people's lives are changed.
and yet you . .
you.
ah, you . . .
are just a faker.
on top of it all, "they" will find out that you are not actually that nice.
you think mean things.
a lot.
and sometimes you say them.
you say the right things sometimes.
on accident, mostly.
but you let people think that you meant to say that.
because you are just a scammer.
"they" know all about you.
that you are scared.
and angry.
and a little bit crazy.
do you know what i mean?
maybe you don't.
maybe this is just a curse that some of the most crazy of us are under.
but just in case you know what i mean, let me tell you how it all happened.
i am flying home to denver. it is a tuesday afternoon with an empty airplane. really, everyone should have their own row.
that is how empty it is.
i sat down in D6 . . . just like my ticket stub told me to.
And then the man sitting in 6D kindly pointed out that i was in his seat.
he offered to take the window seat and let me stay in his aisle seat.
how kind.
i looked at my ticket.
D6.
Right.
That would be the terminal gate.
Not my seat.
6D
Now that would be HIS seat.
So, I get up and sit in 13D.
My actual seat.
Not my gate number.
Quietly.
Hands folded neatly in my lap.
Actually, not.
My hands are rarely folded neatly in my lap.
Because, mostly, I am a big ball of anxiety and ADD.
That is another thing that "they" find out.
That I am a therapist with an anxiety problem.
Sweet.
Anyway.
Whole row to myself.
Nice.
Then a stocky man with a no-non-sense face came and sat down with me.
you know this guy. he played football in high school.
and drank some beer in college.
he was raised in the midwest.
and ate meat and potatoes.
lots of meat and potatoes.
He wears a badge on his hip.
It is turned around so i can't see what it says.
the sane portion of my brain knows it is probably his ID;
required by the paper company or networking company he works for.
the rest of my brain knows that he is an armed u.s. air marshal who forgot to take off his ID before boarding.
and he has come to sit in my area in the middle of this flight because he has been alerted
*** via the ear piece he wears, of course ***
that there is a terrorist in this general area.
so he has come back here to keep an eye on the guy.
so i sit here, watching him from the corner of my eye.
resisting telling him that i know his little secret.
i tried that once shortly after 9/11.
i stood in the bull pen for secondary security.
i looked around.
hmm.
everyone who had been pulled aside for the "random search" wore black.
that is not random.
that is strategy.
come on folks, sorry to bust your code, but i went to the harvard of the mid-west
(yeah, me too. my school ALSO gave themselves that title!)
and they specialize in "liberal arts" - you know, teaching their students to think critically.
because, really, they know that after you have given them all of your (parent's) money, the information you have acquired will not serve you in any way.
it is their version of a consolation prize to at least give you the skills necessary to conduct a charming and articulate interview for a barista position at Starbucks.
my mistake was verbalizing my conclusion. "I figured it out!"
blank stares.
"your pattern. how you pick people to search!"
blank stares.
shut up, cara.
i don't shut up.
i rarely shut up.
that is part of why "they" are coming to get me.
"I know what you are doing! we are all wearing black!"
more blank stares, followed by a, "if you know what is best for you, please be quiet now" look.
so, i learned a thing or to from my time in the secondary security line after 9/11.
and i will not tell this man that i know that he knows that there are terrorists on the plane.
really, i should work for the cia.
or the fbi.
i should be an air marshal.
i mean, it can't be that hard, can it?
he needed an ear piece to tell him about the terrorist.
I could tell what was going on just by watching him.
plus, he forgot to take his badge off before boarding the plane.
not so undercover when you are wearing a badge!
i won't ask him who he is watching.
when he denies he is a US air marshal, i won't tell him that i noticed that he is attentive to every bump and strange noise going on in the plane.
i will let him continue to "read" his book.
james patterson novel, huh?
nice cover, mr. u.s. air marshal.
there is some sort of black leather holder of some sort on his belt loop.
he would tell me it is his cell phone holder.
that is okay. i know it is actually a very small gun.
you would think these guys would do a better job of concealing their identity.
again, i should look into this air marshal thing.
think it comes with a cute hat or anything?
no, no, that's right. they are undercover.
well, then i should certainly get the job.
i mean, have you seen me?
i am very unassuming in appearance.
nobody would ever guess that under my pink glasses and my adorable new green hat that i could break their neck.
i actually can't break necks.
i am assuming they would teach me that in air marshal school.
after about 30 minutes, i realize that he is not here to contain the terrorist.
it becomes very clear.
he is here for me.
somebody has alerted him to the status of my sanity.
he knows.
and when the plane stops he won't get up.
even when it is our row's turn to leave.
he won't.
we will sit there.
if i get irritable he will give me a look that says, "cool down sister, you're not going anywhere."
and i will cool down.
because he is an air marshal.
and i am not.
yet.
so the plane will empty.
and he will turn to me.
he will begin to say, "we found you out. we know you are a fraud. a total scam."
but i will stop him.
with my eyes, i will plead with him not to say the words.
i will just give him my wrists and he can handcuff me.
and take me to the place "they" take people when they find you out.
do you have any idea what i am talking about?
or do they just not allow their children to overanalyze things this much in the south?
that sounds good.
when i get out of crazy jail, i will move to the south and raise my unborn children there.
Love,
Cara
it has finally happened.
what happened, you ask?
let me tell you.
"they" finally found me out.
you know.
we all have the secret, nudging sense that someday "they" are going to find you out.
"they" will find out you are just a sham.
a fraud.
a scammer.
that you have a degree in psychology.
two of them, if we are going to be technical.
and really, you are a good therapist.
but really, really . . .
you have NO idea how any of it applies to your own damn life.
really.
you sit across from others.
and you ask good questions.
and you say things that are true.
and people's lives are changed.
and yet you . .
you.
ah, you . . .
are just a faker.
on top of it all, "they" will find out that you are not actually that nice.
you think mean things.
a lot.
and sometimes you say them.
you say the right things sometimes.
on accident, mostly.
but you let people think that you meant to say that.
because you are just a scammer.
"they" know all about you.
that you are scared.
and angry.
and a little bit crazy.
do you know what i mean?
maybe you don't.
maybe this is just a curse that some of the most crazy of us are under.
but just in case you know what i mean, let me tell you how it all happened.
i am flying home to denver. it is a tuesday afternoon with an empty airplane. really, everyone should have their own row.
that is how empty it is.
i sat down in D6 . . . just like my ticket stub told me to.
And then the man sitting in 6D kindly pointed out that i was in his seat.
he offered to take the window seat and let me stay in his aisle seat.
how kind.
i looked at my ticket.
D6.
Right.
That would be the terminal gate.
Not my seat.
6D
Now that would be HIS seat.
So, I get up and sit in 13D.
My actual seat.
Not my gate number.
Quietly.
Hands folded neatly in my lap.
Actually, not.
My hands are rarely folded neatly in my lap.
Because, mostly, I am a big ball of anxiety and ADD.
That is another thing that "they" find out.
That I am a therapist with an anxiety problem.
Sweet.
Anyway.
Whole row to myself.
Nice.
Then a stocky man with a no-non-sense face came and sat down with me.
you know this guy. he played football in high school.
and drank some beer in college.
he was raised in the midwest.
and ate meat and potatoes.
lots of meat and potatoes.
He wears a badge on his hip.
It is turned around so i can't see what it says.
the sane portion of my brain knows it is probably his ID;
required by the paper company or networking company he works for.
the rest of my brain knows that he is an armed u.s. air marshal who forgot to take off his ID before boarding.
and he has come to sit in my area in the middle of this flight because he has been alerted
*** via the ear piece he wears, of course ***
that there is a terrorist in this general area.
so he has come back here to keep an eye on the guy.
so i sit here, watching him from the corner of my eye.
resisting telling him that i know his little secret.
i tried that once shortly after 9/11.
i stood in the bull pen for secondary security.
i looked around.
hmm.
everyone who had been pulled aside for the "random search" wore black.
that is not random.
that is strategy.
come on folks, sorry to bust your code, but i went to the harvard of the mid-west
(yeah, me too. my school ALSO gave themselves that title!)
and they specialize in "liberal arts" - you know, teaching their students to think critically.
because, really, they know that after you have given them all of your (parent's) money, the information you have acquired will not serve you in any way.
it is their version of a consolation prize to at least give you the skills necessary to conduct a charming and articulate interview for a barista position at Starbucks.
my mistake was verbalizing my conclusion. "I figured it out!"
blank stares.
"your pattern. how you pick people to search!"
blank stares.
shut up, cara.
i don't shut up.
i rarely shut up.
that is part of why "they" are coming to get me.
"I know what you are doing! we are all wearing black!"
more blank stares, followed by a, "if you know what is best for you, please be quiet now" look.
so, i learned a thing or to from my time in the secondary security line after 9/11.
and i will not tell this man that i know that he knows that there are terrorists on the plane.
really, i should work for the cia.
or the fbi.
i should be an air marshal.
i mean, it can't be that hard, can it?
he needed an ear piece to tell him about the terrorist.
I could tell what was going on just by watching him.
plus, he forgot to take his badge off before boarding the plane.
not so undercover when you are wearing a badge!
i won't ask him who he is watching.
when he denies he is a US air marshal, i won't tell him that i noticed that he is attentive to every bump and strange noise going on in the plane.
i will let him continue to "read" his book.
james patterson novel, huh?
nice cover, mr. u.s. air marshal.
there is some sort of black leather holder of some sort on his belt loop.
he would tell me it is his cell phone holder.
that is okay. i know it is actually a very small gun.
you would think these guys would do a better job of concealing their identity.
again, i should look into this air marshal thing.
think it comes with a cute hat or anything?
no, no, that's right. they are undercover.
well, then i should certainly get the job.
i mean, have you seen me?
i am very unassuming in appearance.
nobody would ever guess that under my pink glasses and my adorable new green hat that i could break their neck.
i actually can't break necks.
i am assuming they would teach me that in air marshal school.
after about 30 minutes, i realize that he is not here to contain the terrorist.
it becomes very clear.
he is here for me.
somebody has alerted him to the status of my sanity.
he knows.
and when the plane stops he won't get up.
even when it is our row's turn to leave.
he won't.
we will sit there.
if i get irritable he will give me a look that says, "cool down sister, you're not going anywhere."
and i will cool down.
because he is an air marshal.
and i am not.
yet.
so the plane will empty.
and he will turn to me.
he will begin to say, "we found you out. we know you are a fraud. a total scam."
but i will stop him.
with my eyes, i will plead with him not to say the words.
i will just give him my wrists and he can handcuff me.
and take me to the place "they" take people when they find you out.
do you have any idea what i am talking about?
or do they just not allow their children to overanalyze things this much in the south?
that sounds good.
when i get out of crazy jail, i will move to the south and raise my unborn children there.
Love,
Cara
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
The Democrats Sweep the Nation and Tootsie Rolls Find Unwanted Victory on My Thighs.
Dear Frosty Princess,
This story is way too cute!
And "Snow Dog"??!!?!?!?
This, I do not have words for.
Too cute. Too sweet.
Our Halloween was mediocre, as expected. You see, our neighborhood is in a transition period. Many of the homes were bought and build in the 40's and 50's. The inhabitants are just not begining to die. So the homes have been bought and remodled by young people who don't have children yet, and my middle aged folks whose children are grown. Therefore, we just don't have many little ones to Trick or Treat yet. Give us 5 or 7 years. So, I gave out my Tootsie Rolls to the two - yes, count them - two groups that came to the door.
And I ate the rest.
I love tootise rolls.
This led to the "it doesn't really matter that cutting sugar out of my diet is making huge positive impacts of my body" attitude. I went on to consume two bowls of pasta, some bread, more candy, more bread . . . over the course of the week.
And I gained four pounds.
In just a few days.
Ridiculous.
So, back to eating almonds and unsweetened yogart for my treats.
Love,
Cara
This story is way too cute!
And "Snow Dog"??!!?!?!?
This, I do not have words for.
Too cute. Too sweet.
Our Halloween was mediocre, as expected. You see, our neighborhood is in a transition period. Many of the homes were bought and build in the 40's and 50's. The inhabitants are just not begining to die. So the homes have been bought and remodled by young people who don't have children yet, and my middle aged folks whose children are grown. Therefore, we just don't have many little ones to Trick or Treat yet. Give us 5 or 7 years. So, I gave out my Tootsie Rolls to the two - yes, count them - two groups that came to the door.
And I ate the rest.
I love tootise rolls.
This led to the "it doesn't really matter that cutting sugar out of my diet is making huge positive impacts of my body" attitude. I went on to consume two bowls of pasta, some bread, more candy, more bread . . . over the course of the week.
And I gained four pounds.
In just a few days.
Ridiculous.
So, back to eating almonds and unsweetened yogart for my treats.
Love,
Cara
