Thursday, December 29, 2011

Modelling - Such a Chore


Is modelling hard? {choke}

That was the question posed on Fashion Television recently by Jeanne Beker (the host) to a “retired” model.

Well.

I have always heard of the “demands” put on models and how tough their road is. All those designer clothes you have to put on (and you sometimes have to keep) which fit you perfectly; those horrifically beautiful Manolo Blahniks that make your feet look like 100 carat diamonds carrying your (lack of) weight as you glide down the runway; all those annoying people oooing and aahhhing over your beauty. If they are really obnoxious they might even clap for you at the end of the show.

Or maybe it is the travel to exotic lands and all the laying around sexily on the beach that makes you feel over worked. Smiling. It must be hard to always have to smile in front of that blasted camera man as he tries to capture your awesomeness to be recorded in print for all time. Oh! And the gobs of money that twirls all around you as it is almost literally dumped on your gorgeous, perfectly teased brown locks of hair. I get that. It must be really tough.

Well, this retired model decided to steal Jeanne’s microphone and ask some of the models at a Paris show (Paris for Eddie’s sake!!!) how they felt about their workload.

Some said it was very stressful. Some said they were tired. Some said it was hard work.

And one said this:

“At the end of the day, it is not like we are saving lives.”

Thank you. Thank you very much for saying that.

But my favourite quote of the show was this:

“Just keep a banana in your purse and you’ll be fine.”

Yes! YES!!

And I don’t think she even had diabetes!

So when you are feeling sorry for yourself because you think you are overworked, this is the answer. (Unless of course you are actually saving lives.)

Just keep a banana in your purse.

And if you are having a really bad day, add a bag of almonds. They might just get you through.

;)



To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

GASOLINE In My FACE?!?!

 So I saw a new doc the other day. On Christmas Eve Eve Eve. His name was Dr. Afrifri or Afroufrou or something like that. (Need I comment?)
There I sat. In the waiting room. With nothing but sighs, magazines flipping, Oh! and one guy who blurted out "Yabadabadoo!"
I have no reference for that and I am not even kidding. That's all I heard.
Perhaps he was making up for music that was not playing in the background.
Seriously.
They couldn't just play a little Christmas music for us while I sat there waiting to find out if I have skin cancer. Noooo. We had to sit in on-edge silence instead.
Where's the psychology in that? Let's put every patient in the waiting room under as much stress as possible during this holiday season. Yes. Let's do that. Merry Christmas.
Speaking of stress...how to make one's blood pressure and sugar rise in an instant...
So I get called to the room, which is sterile and pristine and contains not a single stealable drug in sight. Not even behind the closed cabinet doors.  (I would never...)
There, sitting smack dab in the middle of the room is a chair. An ominous cross between a dental chair (blech!) and a foldable massage contraption. (Although I'm pretty sure I wasn't about to get one of those.)
Like a pouty obedient child I put on my paper gown and sat in the less threatening chair that was provided.
That's when I started to look around.
Directly beside me was an electrical-looking metal box with some kind of appendage on it and had a sticker on the side of it saying this:
"Danger! Explosion risk when used with flammable anesthetic".
Now,
How do I understate what went through my mind in that moment in case a young child reads this.
Umm...
Let's see...
What if I put it this way...
WHAT IS FREAKIN' WRONG WITH THIS FREAKIN' PICTURE!!!!!
WHAT in the world did they use that thing for, was it going to be coming AT me and WHY are there EXPLOSIVES in this medical examination room that was meant to (I thought) save lives?!?!?
I certainly could've used some of those nonexistent drugs from behind the closed cabinet doors as the doc inserted a needle full of what I can only assume was GASOLINE as he ANESTHETIZED my FACE in order to SCRAPE OFF A SKETCHY MOLE.
Good times at Dr. Africkfrick's office, let me tell you.
Sheesh.
I can't wait for my follow-up appointment to find out the results of the lab tests on my missing piece of face.
I think I will bring one of those old-school boom-boxes and donate it to the waiting room. I'll even donate a Black Eyed Peas CD with Boom Boom Pow! on it since apparently THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT COULD HAPPEN ANY TIME YOU ENTER "THE ROOM".
Watch this blog for further developments.
I'm sure it will be a blast.

To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Family (dys) Functions

So, Christmas trees are being packed up, lights taken down and tinsel packed neatly away...except for those odd couple of strands that hide beneath coffee tables only to find their way into the intestines of your cat which never ends well, if you know what I mean.
Now, if you are lucky, you will have the time to reflect and relish the memories of being with friends and family.
Family.
Family dynamics.
Funky family functions (dys?).
Only we can't talk about them now because they are still alive.
Well...
Okay, maybe just a little.
Have you ever played Pictionary with my brother-in-law?
It's ridiculous.
I have a question...
If you were going to draw the word "soul" for your spouse during an all-play, what would you draw?
Obviously the sole of a shoe. How the heck else would you draw the word soul?
Well, my husband drew a body. That's a far as he got.
His brother took it a step further. He drew a body with wings and started penciling a harp before getting rudely interrupted by the intelligent opposition who drew the bottom of a shoe, leading their partner right to the answer.
A HARP!!!
Can I just say something?
This coming from the A+ university student genius of the family!
Oh he's genius alright. He's the shining star that illuminates the whole wide world with his exceptionalism.
Sure, sure Russensation. Believe what you will. But I can only imagine how you would sketch a heart.
Where does the left ventricle go again? ;)

Susan


To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Friday, December 23, 2011

Blame the Drugs - Part Two

K. So.
I just read my blog from the other night entitled "I'll Just Blame it on the Drugs, Okay?".
Oh. My. Word.
Oh. Dear.
Oh. My. Gosh.
I had no idea my nighttime drugs did that to me. (Prescription. I promise. Although that blog post makes me wonder why they are legal.)
Note to self: Never write anything, not so much as a grocery list, 20 minutes or later after popping the cocktail.
You wanna know something interesting though? Just write the word "drugs" in the title of your blog and you will get record hits.
Interesting.
Either people are enthralled with my possible demise in the throws of addiction or they themselves wanna get their hands on some little goodies. Eh? Eh? Don't you think?
Well, they are not for sale. Although with current market value of those little jiggers plus a sizable markup, I could be loaded.
No.
No.
Don't even think of it Susie.
No! I have morals! Standards!
Plus...you think I am crazy on the drugs? You should see me off them! (I'd have to be sleeping for you to witness the craziness since that is when the fun really starts, [right C?] which could be a little awkward. Our bed isn't that big. And I don't think Mr. Man would approve of visitors. ;)
No.
I'll just keep those little baggies for myself. (What? I have a system.)
I do apologize for my lack of editing the other night. But thanks for coming along for the ride. I hope you felt as happy as I did. ;)
I'll leave you on that high note.
Merry Christmas everyone! And remember...
Don't drug and blog! ;)



To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Thursday, December 22, 2011

What a Turkey! (Literally...)

I found the most helpful book ever made at Shopper's Drugmart today.
The title was...
Wait for it...
W-a-i-t-f-o-r-i-t...
"How to Cook a Turkey"
325+pages on
How to Cook a Turkey
Now,
I have never, nor will I ever, profess to be a gourmet chef. I won't even tell you I am a good cook.
But,
325 pages on HOW TO COOK A TURKEY?!?!?
Can you imagine the electric bill you'd get after pre-heating your oven while you follow the recipe?!
It's a good thing I told you about this book so you can pick it up at a boxing day sale and start preparing the turkey for next year!
Does raw meat last that long? I'm a vegetarian so what do I know? I won't even touch the stuffing if the bird was actually...well...stuffed. Blech!
How to Cook a Turkey.
Well.
There you have it folks.
My handy helpful tip of the season.
 I suggest you pick up some of those $2 reading glasses while you are buying the book at the pharmacy. You are gonna need 'em!
Merry roasting!
(Blech!)

To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

I'll just blame it on the Drugs, Okay?

How does one explain forgetting a grandchild – nope a nephew (Nighttime drugs have kicked in. You could be in rof a ride.) when shopping for presents. It’s not so much that I forgot about him as much as I mis-aged him and thought he belonged on a different list. The one I don’t make. Apparently he’s turning 18 and not 19 in two weeks which would have disqualified him from aunty susie’s Christmas list due to having reached adulthood. But nope. He’s still gotta be a very old child. Darn!

But it mite just chape up to be the most interesting present of all. Did I mention my mind is working at half its speed and can’t direct my thoughts nor my fingers in a strait line. (They are prescription I promise. I promise.)

What I can’t promise is my last minite gift idea is going to be quite so genious in the morning when I come down from the upside down ceiling. ( I think that’s the floor actually right?)

Maybe I should send this tomorrow. Of how abouts now since I am not of right mind.

Oh my dear grandson – nope nephew! (I don’t even have children. Not sure how I could possibly have grandchildren! I think you need one before the other.

I can’t even tell you what the awesome surprise will be cause He might telepathically read my mind, or maybe even simply read this blog. And if he could telepathically read my mind then it wouldn’t matter if I told you or not, would it. (I doubt it. He’s Eighteen. NO SUSIE! Seventeen! Good gosh.)

Does anyone else have any children I should know about and be putting on my list? Cuz it’s getting late and the words on this page are starting to warp and I think I better stop now.

I am a poopy aunt. But next year, well next year I will get it right and buy him NOTHING!!!

Merry Christmas to all you over-aged adults out there!

To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Nostalgically Crazy!

Ahh...piano Christmas music playing in the background, presents wrapped, 5 inch tall tree set up, dog purring, time to throw another log on the fire - it’s Christmas!

Wait! I don’t have a fireplace! My house is burning down! Oh, no, that is just the candle I lit for ambiance and warmth.

Yes, I said my dog is purring. I am dead serious. I’m not sure he knows it’s Christmas, but when I scratch behind his ear just right, he morphs into an 85 pound cat right before my eyes.

Way to get in the spirit Bob.

So to celebrate this awesome time of year, guess what I am doing today?

GOING TO WALMART.

You see, as I sit in my ambient home I get nostalgic. I think I should be out in the hustle and bustle where all the people are scurrying about, getting their last preparations in for the season, frolicking with joy.

So, I take a lovely drive in the delicately falling snow and enter...THE CITY.

HAVE I LOST MY MIND?!?!

NO ONE in WALMART on the 21st of December is FROLICKING!

And now I am committed. Because I put that one necessary item on my list that demands I stay in line for 45 minutes as children scream with unjoy as mothers try to hide last minute toys from “Santa” under their coat in their shopping carts and offer to give them away. (The children I mean.)

No, perhaps Walmart wasn’t my best choice. I think I might just want to throw another log on THEIR fire and they don’t have a fireplace either.

My word of advice...when feeling nostalgic, stay home, reminisce about the moments when you actually liked your children (don’t worry, I blame Walmart for the dislike...not your kids ;) or if you don’t have kids, curl up on your couch with your 85 pound cat and make him purr.

May you all be a Bob this season.

Merry Christmas.
J

P.S. Just came home. Does the fact that I had time to watch a whole sitcom including commercials while waiting in line tell you anything? (Unfortunately, no sitcoms were to be found. Unless you count the murmurs of 200 people lined up swearing under their breath due to the fact that we had time to watch a comedy, comedy. ;) Oh well. I did it to myself...

To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Monday, December 19, 2011

I Have A Problem

There are cookies in the house.

This is a problem.

It started out as a nice gesture for my husband. He loves Ginger cookies and in our 16 ½ years of marriage I have whipped up a batch a total of three times for him. Each time as a surprise. This time was no different. He went away on a business trip and when he came home I had a Tupperware container wrapped, bow and all, sitting on the table waiting for him with a card that said, “Just because.” Sweet eh?

Yeah.

Sweet all right.

I never should have tasted the soft ooey-gooey sweetness of the sugar and molasses melded together with love. No. Now I know how good they taste.

And therein lies the problem.

Why do I have the will-power of a monkey?!? Only instead of my temptation being bananas, no, it has to be blindness disguised as a cookie!

I know myself well enough to normally store nothing in my house that will cause me to stumble. Stumble right into the clutches of momentary pleasure sneakily wrapped in hidden life-long consequence.

I thought I was strong enough.

{sigh}

My husband is going to have to take those little devils to work with him. Tomorrow.

Until then, the monkey within me will just have to starve. I will take control. I must take control.

It is almost unfathomable that a cookie could contain so much power.

Almost.

Unfortunately the boxing match between Mr. Will and Mr. Temptation is very, very real.

I pray it’s a knockout.

And I hate violence...


To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Are Those Puppy-Dog Eyes?

I think I want a puppy.
I also think I might be crazy for wanting a puppy. But maybe the puppy would be therapy for my craziness?
I am in love with American Eskimos. All that glorious white fur hanging delicately surrounding a smiling brown-eyed face. Sooooo cute!
I looked up info on the breed and found everything I was looking for: Intelligent, easy to train, friendly, etc. etc. Did I mention they are adorably cute!?!
Yes. There is a catch. Of course there is.
He's a shedder. A heavy shedder. My dreamy Mr. prince of a puppy will leave hair EVERYWHERE!
I already have one of those "heavy shedders". His name is Bob and he is the most awesome dog in the world. But as I've mentioned before, he leaves hair on my couch, my carpet, in my food and, by golly ON MY CLOTHES!!! Wearing fur should be intentional, not accidental.
Did I tell you about the time I went to a shoe store, asked to try on a pair of shoes, and as I pulled my foot out of my tall leather boots...BOB was there!?! I was mortified. I couldn't buy those fabulous new shoes because if I tried them on, the sales woman would have choked! Probably on a hairball!
So...what do I do about this puppy? Do I commit to vacuuming four times a day (as if!), or do I opt out of this whole impossible situation?.
Hmm...Maybe I should just buy a furry white purse. I saw one at Guess that was fabulous!
Maybe I'll leave it as a surprise.
Next time you see me, you'll have to look very closely...Are there eyeballs peaking out from my little ball of fur?

To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Disabled Persons Sad?

I was sitting in a coffee shop this morning and overheard a fascinating conversation between waitresses. It went something like this:

               “Yeah, he jumped off the bed,” (I automatically assume it’s her son, so sad.)
               “He broke all kinds of bones. Needed surgery. Has lost all bladder control,” (Maybe her dad? Again, so sad. But I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate her publicly talking about his lack of bladder control.)
               “Who would’ve thought a little Dachshund would do such damage to himself by jumping off the bed.” (Oh, a dog. I get it.)
Once again my mind started turning.
Here I had been picturing a little boy crippled and on crutches, then an elderly man in a wheelchair for the remaining part of his days, and had jumped to all sorts of conclusions about how they must be feeling and coping. Hmm...What is wrong with this picture.

Doesn’t that happen way too often though? We make assumptions about people with apparent disabilities (whether they be physical or mental) and think we know what they must be experiencing. That they must be sad or angry at the world or frustrated. (Perhaps that is how we think we would feel under the same circumstances?) Like somehow their happiness depends on whether they can walk or not or whether they can talk, etc. etc.  How unfair! Of us to make that judgement I mean. Who gets to quantify quality of life but each person themselves?

I am not saying we shouldn’t give a helping hand when needed, out of courtesy, respect or love. But not out of projected pity. No, definitely not.

Guess what? I am a disabled person. (Not completely of course ;) And I might become even more disabled if I lose my sight or toes or have other complications of my diabetes get worse. I should know better as to not project my own fear or negativity surrounding disability on others.
So I am here today to say I am sorry - sorry for making assumptions about people who are different than me. (Isn’t that everyone?!) Sorry for assuming I even knew who the waitress was talking about and judging her for it.

I trust that we can be gracious with each other as we blunder our way through life. At least I hope we can. I need as much grace (maybe more?) as the next guy.

And just for the record...I feel badly for the dog too. ;)

To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Normal Chest Pain?!?

“These gloves don’t taste good.”
Why would I have said such a thing you ask? Well, that is a very good question. Don wondered aloud the very same thing.

I was chilled to the bone as we sped by vast nothingness in the middle of Saskatchewan, so I slid my leather gloves over my non-delicate fingers in an attempt to exorcise the cold. Then I proceeded to lick them in order to turn a page in my notebook (as a side note, I can’t read my own printing on a good day, never mind after rapidly scribbling down outrageous anecdotes in a moving vehicle in the dark) thus leading me to verbalize this ridiculous statement.
These were not the only odd words to exit my mouth on that trip. At one point I found myself saying, “It doesn’t feel like my normal chest pain.”

Normal chest pain? Something is wrong with this picture. The fact that I was experiencing chest pain in that moment alone was enough to cause concern. But when I qualify it with a statement like that? That can’t be good.
It didn’t help that the very next day I heard a research cardiologist speak on the dangers of heart disease and attack in people with diabetes. It was fascinating but was stressful enough to bring on more chest pain. And right before I had to speak too! I had visions of keeling over right there on stage in my tall black boots and sequined dress. Can you imagine?! One big 6’ pile of purple sparkle crumpled in a heap in the middle of the stage. The good news is there was a cardiologist in the house. ;)

Seriously though, heart disease is the leading killer of people with diabetes. As stressful as his words and visuals were, they were good reminders of how important it is to take care of our health. So much can be going on under the surface that we don’t have any idea is even happening. By the time symptoms show up it is often too late. (Dang. I guess I am hitting that treadmill again today...)

 I am happy to report that I have seen my General Practitioner this week and had the first normal ECG (EKG) I have ever had. Yay! My “normal” and “abnormal?” chest pain must be due to other issues. (Yay again? I could do without the other issues too, thank you very much. ;)
So the moral of the story is this: Don’t lick your leather gloves and aim for heart health.

I have no idea how those two things ended up in the same sentence! ;)

To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Monday, December 12, 2011

Moves Like Jagger?

I busted a move or two and wore a purple sparkly dress and gave a motivational talk to people touched by diabetes. No, not all at the same time! That would be a little much don’t you think?! But yeah, that’s right. I pulled ‘em out (my moves I mean) in the parking lot of a Tim Horton’s in Grande Prairie Alberta with “Moves Like Jagger” blasting through our car speakers. And I did wear the sparkly purple dress while sharing my story to the diabetes crowd.

You are judging me right now aren’t you!
That’s okay. Good times were had by all. Well, maybe not the poor taxi driver who sat in his car and stared at me while I danced freely in the parking lot while my friends got their coffees, but I sure was having fun.

As for the Diabetes Awareness day, I’m not sure if the man sleeping in the back row of the theatre while I was talking was a sign that he didn’t sleep the night before, had had his fill of information from the other speakers or was just plain bored, (obviously my dress didn’t wow him too much ;) but the rest of the audience seemed pretty into it. All I can do is hope at least some of them were motivated to make positive choices when it comes to health or spur on those they love to do so.
I will say this: The calibre of doctors and health care professionals that spoke that day was phenomenal. (A pretty humbling experience for me I might add.) Don and I gleaned so much new and cutting edge material (and I don’t mean jokes, although the trip itself did provide some of that kind ;) from those Calgarians that the trip was worth every mile just for that. It sure was an honour to join them in their work of helping people influenced by diabetes.

Yes I love to dance. Yes I love to speak. And yes, I love to wear sparkly purple dresses! So judge if you will. I personally had a blast doing all of those things. And I make no apologies.
And if you make a request...I can do anyone of those things for you too! Just sayin’ ;)

To privately contact me send messages to susiewithans@gmail.com

Sunday, December 11, 2011

New York, Pink! and My Funny Man

48 hours and 48 minutes. That's precisely how long I was in our car with my husband over a ten day period as we crossed Western Canada together. (Our car has a timer built in.) You can learn a lot about a person in a time like this. Sometimes, you learn things you are really not sure you wanted to know.
Like when for instance, he mentioned - in front of witnesses-  that as a child his teacher used to staple notes for his mom to his shirt everyday so she would actually get them. Now, this causes me wonder. Not only due to the fact that she used staples, but it poses the question as to why she needed to. When I was young and my teacher sent home the occasional note, it went in my lunch box. Would he have eaten them if she had done the same? Could he not figure out himself, even as a six or seven year old how to remove them from sight before he got home? And what did she have to say to his mom every. day.? Perhaps a parent-teacher conference was in order? Just sayin'.
But we had a great time. Not one fight. Sure, he did want to change the subject fairly quickly when I started hammering him with questions about his funeral wishes and such. (Even I run out of things to talk about after that many hours ;) And no, I'm not trying to rush the process. Just want to be prepared.) Suspiciously the stand up comedy channel was dialled in at the first possible gap in the conversation.
We not only discussed death, but our hopes and dreams as well. My husband asked me to prioritize these three things: Meeting someone famous (my choice of who), going to a concert where a big name is singing one of my songs, or going to New York City. My answer was this:
Hearing Pink! sing one of my songs at a concert in New York City. Not bad eh? I told him I would settle for just Pink in New York if he could please make that happen. ;) In fact, any one of the possible combinations of two of those three would be just fine.
I have to say...even with him incessantly telling me to do my blood sugar (Go back to work please, honey! ;), I loved spending so much time with him. (It helped that he took me shopping ;) He is an amazing, amazing man. And a funny man. Take that however you will.  I would choose him over New York or Pink! any day. Hands down. (Sorry Pink!)
So stay tuned for more on the Amazing Schwartz Adventure! (I hear a movie title in there somewhere...) I don't think I am done with this topic just quite yet...

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Good Grief.

What to wear, what to wear...on a road trip across Western Canada in the winter. More important is the question...What to pack?
K. You are probably thinking, "Oh brother, Susie. Give it up." But with a speaking engagement, the symphony, shopping at West Edmonton mall, and the possibility of being stranded on the side of the road in a whiteout for a week, there is a lot to think about. I mean, should my hair be curly or straight when the police officer taps on the window to see if we are still alive? I suppose after a week of highway-shoulder living, not even dry shampoo will save me. ;)
But I'll be honest. It didn't instill a lot of confidence in me when my husband said, very seriously, "We should pack a cooler full of extra food just in case a storm hits."  Good grief.
But for serious (as one of my friends would say), I am really looking forward to meeting some new people and hopefully inspiring a few touched by diabetes, hanging out with old friends and spending quality time with my husband. (Is 50 hours trapped side by side in a car adequate? Well, it's guaranteed quantity but quality might be a little iffy by about hour 42 ;)  Got any hot topics or world issues we could discuss? I find a good debate makes the car go faster. (Is it a time illusion? Or does the "heat" in the car make Don's foot a little more expressive? ;)
 I suppose I should stop stalling and go wrestle my suitcase(s!) closed. Time is a-tickin'.
My ratio of 4 pairs of jeans and boots and hoodies and sweaters to every 1 of Don's makes sense right? ;)

Saturday, November 26, 2011

I'm Losing It!

I have a confession to make.
I haven't been on my treadmill for a few days.
Quite a few days.
And
I haven't been keeping up with my food/blood sugar journal for a few days.
Quite a few days.
It's happening.
I am losing.
            Con.
                trol.
It's days like this when I am very disappointed in myself. I feel like, because of this platform, and because I speak to the public in a motivational fashion, I have to have it all together. I am supposed to be the example. If you don't practice what you preach...right?
Well. Here's the facts. After having this disease for over 28 years and having done much research into the human body and having experienced nasty complications and after making major changes...I still don't have all my *#$* together. (Substitute "stuf". What were you thinking? ;)
Seriously. I am flawed. When it comes to diabetic control or whether it comes to loving people well, I don't get it right a lot of the time.
So if there ever was a pedestal, I am voluntarily jumping off. I don't want to be there. (Plus, it's better than getting pushed, which is bound to happen.)
If there is one thing I know for sure in this life, it's this: Being honest and open about our failures is often more refreshing than an attitude of arrogance.
So today, my friends, I am being real.
I am frustrated. Lonely. Scared. Disappointed.
But somehow, as I sit here stressed out by personal failures, I need to turn this around. Turn the frustration into motivation. The loneliness into a call for help. The fear into determination. And the disappointment into fuel for change.
It's time to turn the page.
In my food journal, that is. ;)

Friday, November 25, 2011

Black Friday Madness! Yay!!

It's a new special day today! Yes, even here now in the Great White North of Canada we are celebrating Black Friday! Which means SALES SALES SALES!
I got to wondering...where did this negative term come from on such a delightful non-holiday holiday? My research shows that the term was coined by the Philadelphia Police Department in 1966 due to the highest traffic day of the year. Apparently this is a bad day to be a cop in Philadelphia!
But a great day to be a shopper!
I am trying to talk my husband into taking me to the mall tonight but I have just one dilemma with that.
He is notorious for seeing a good deal on something he wants and buying it for himself...after having asked for that very item for Christmas. Of course, being the good wife that I am, I will have already either purchased the item or arranged for another loved one to buy it as the perfect gift.
Every year.
So you know that if I convince him to take me shopping on this crazy busy and exciting sale day, he will most certainly buy himself at least one of the beautifully wrapped gifts I already have under my tree. Danger danger. What's a girl to do?
I think I'll risk it. I may have to do some fancy fast talk as we pass the sports store but maybe I can distract him with my beauty. Show him some leg or something.
Yeah. I feel in the mood to be out and about in the hustle and bustle. I'm sure it's pure madness out there! (My sister is probably thinking I have lost my mind right now as she tends to avoid these types of "events" . But really sis? I lost my mind a looooong time ago. ;)
So I guess I'll go take my platinum locks upstairs and blow dry and style them into a fabulous distraction. (Just in case my leg doesn't work ;)
Happy Black Friday everyone! (What an oxymoron!)

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Fight My Friend, Fight!

I have a good friend. A very brave good friend. Strong and admirable comes to mind. Deep and wise and fun also get jumbled up in all my words for him. And sometimes he is even frustrating. But that is just because when I ask him an important life question he doesn't just give me the answer. He makes me think. Think for myself. And if I am going to list the frustrating qualities I might just add that when he tells me to "Re-laaax" as I am freaking out over, well, nothing much, I want to strangle him. ;)
Yes, this post is in honor of my very special friend. It's his birthday today and I want to celebrate.
You may wonder why this friend, why this birthday.
Well, my friend is battling Cancer. With a capital C.
I'm told people with cancer often measure time differently than the rest of us. Time becomes about every milestone. Christmas. A daughter's grad. The birth of a grandchild. A birthday.
Yes, a birthday.
I am thankful for every opportunity to celebrate the moment in time our earth was blessed with the presence of my friend. And every day since.
For all those who have been touched, or beaten up by the beast of C, I'm sorry. But please...don't give up, don't give in. This life is worth fighting for.
And today, I will celebrate.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Melodic Harmonies

I love the symphony. Two weeks from now I will be witnessing this great, coming together of musical happiness. Bows gliding over strings creating harmonies, meshing with the melodic voices of flutes and glockenspiels as human life infuse them with love.
A similar harmony occurs when tulle and satin merge with well-manicured toes peeking out of peep-toe heels and a lovely up-do cascading down a long delicate neck. And what an appropriate look that would be for the symphony! (Too bad I don't have that long delicate neck ;)
Life with diabetes can be symphonic as well, when blood sugar levels harmonize with doses of insulin, creating a calm lullaby of health and wellness.
But sometimes life feels and sounds more like the warm-up. You know what I am talking about, right? The horns clash with the strings which clash with the cymbals which just clash. It's not pretty. If ever you have experienced a warm-up tuning session at the symphony, you've experienced messy noise.
And messy noise is what happens when your body is out of balance, diabetes is out of control, or you wear grey sweats tucked into red cowboy boots.
But life is just like that right? You can't have the beauty of the symphony without the practice session with all the noise. (Well, perhaps you could skip the cowboy boots and sweats ;)
So I am thankful that I have felt both the mess and the harmony.
Because once tuned-in, the orchestra of life is a beautiful thing.
Did I mention I love the symphony?

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Just Act Natural?

Oh, my good friend Zoey.
"Zoey" has a glitch in her brain. Now before you go judging me for judging her, just read on for a moment. (By the way, this post is totally random and has nothing to do with fashion or diabetes. This is where the "Other Fun Stuff" comes in ;)
Here's a little background:
She works in a coffee shop and makes delicious vanilla lattes. No problem there right? She is very friendly and when she smiles, or better yet giggles, whomever witnesses it cannot help but mirror the sentiment. Still no problem right?
Now we'll get to the glitch. A British man with a British accent went into the coffee shop to order one of those warm, love-filled lattes and Zoey politely responded to him in her British accent. Only Zoey is not British. Zoey is an English speaking Caucasian, yes, but is very much Canadian. In the non-British sense. (Speaking of being a mirror...)
After discussing this most amusing happening with the star of the show, Zoey herself, I learned that this is not the first time this phenomenon has taken place. Apparently, whenever someone speaks to her in an accent - any accent - she automatically responds likewise. Then, she has a decision to make - does she carry on, hoping to appear natural and of the same descent but probably looking like a fool? (I'm thinking Chinese or Latino might be a bit of a challenge for her, with her naturally blonde hair cascading down her shoulders as she bats her blue eyes. ;) Or does she switch back to her regular inflection, making her mistake painfully obvious - and look like a fool. Hmm...Tough call, tough call.
I can only hope I witness this one day. That girl brings more smiles to my life than she could ever know. If laughter is the best medicine, then she is the remedy to my stressed out heart.
Oh Zoey...what would I do without you!?! :)

Saturday, November 19, 2011

A Real Nail-Biter

I recently started growing out my nails. This is a significant achievement since I have always been a nail-biter. Not only during cliff-hanger movies like Cliffhanger, but also just because I didn't like the feel of having nails.
I still don't.
The reason I am growing them now is purely for vanity sake. That, and people tell me it is unsanitary to eat whatever might be growing under there.
Speaking of which...that is one of the reasons I hate having long nails! It always feels like there is stuff under them. Like my ranch popcorn seasoning after a nice munching session while watching So You Think You Can Dance. Yuck. How do you get all the crumbs out from under those pearly white beauties?! I only want to taste the ranch then, on top of the popcorn. Not days later.
And another thing...I am...well...challenged when it comes to doing the most routine things with long nails. My eyeballs look like they have the Kiss symbol etched in them from taking out my contacts every day. I was undoing my white ;) winter coat today and accidentally filed my pointer finger on the zipper. That didn't bode well for my nicely manicured nail tip. Hand-hemming my pants is a ridiculously impossible task now. (As if I ever did that in the first place. I am six feet tall and I don't sew. Had you going there for a moment though right? ;)
But seriously...these claws are a tricky tricky situation.
I do enjoy how they hide my over-poked, squeeze dried fingertips from all the blood sugar taking. And, when I have an itch it feels really good to scratch. (Except for those pesky skin cells that get underneath...)
I can't believe I just spent the last half hour writing about fingernails. I think for tonight, that is my way of ignoring the darker side of life. I know there are more important things to be discussed, but I simply don't have the energy to go there right now.
So in honor of fluffy denial, this is as good as it's gonna get. On that note, I better run.
I've got to go paint my nails. ;)

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Mr. Looney-Tunes

Let me start by saying that people sometimes wonder where I come up with my ideas for this blog. Well, apparently one just needs to go to their unfortunate routine ophthalmologist appointment and sit in the waiting room for an hour.
After having my pressures checked and my eyes dilated, (which, if I may interject into my own writings...makes Berber carpet look quite, umm, distracting? entertaining? disturbing to the brain?) I sat in the dimly lit exclusive "patients only" area and looked around.
I shouldn't have been shocked by what I saw, since wherever I go wonders don't usually cease, but found myself doing a double take none-the-less. Sitting across from me was a 60-ish year old man, wearing police-issue pants and boots, a looney-tunes t-shirt, and was reading a book called "Southeast Asia...on a Surfboard".
Okay, so I am sure he was a man, I am sure he was wearing police uniform pants and a cartooned shirt but due to my stuck open pupils, I can't quite be sure about the surfboard part. The writing was really small and I could only stare for so long before looking like a creepy young woman.
Never mind that, did you catch the part about the looney-tunes shirt?!?
Umm...I don't want to sound judgemental here but seriously?!? I almost drove him to the mall right then and there. It was just so bizarre.
But I feel for the guy. With my subtle eavesdropping ear I learned he is a bachelor in need of emergency retinal surgery tomorrow. I've been through a couple of eyeball surgeries and they are no fun, but at least I had the support of a present and loving spouse to help shoulder the pain.
Even in spite of the shirt, a single tear slips down my face and I close this day with a heavy heart. Here's hoping that all goes well tomorrow for (affectionately named) Mr. Looney-Tunes. I hope and pray you, kind sir,  will be able to take that trip to Southeast Asia on your surfboard? very soon and see it all.
With that thought and in honor of him, I say, sleep well my friends and goodnight.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Hubba-Hubba!

Oh Susie. Once again I find myself saying that phrase.
I went to my local wholesale warehouse today to do some Christmas shopping and pick up some much needed grocery items. Nothing too out of the ordinary there, right?
Except that while I was shopping, my blood sugar dropped ridiculously low and my glucose tablet reserves were dangerously absent since I had already experienced this very thing earlier today. So there I am - just me, my crazy diabetes and a quarter of the city's population with the same goals I had in the first place.
I'll be honest. No judgement please. Not thinking rationally (that'll happen when low), I went straight to the cookie aisle and purchased a plastic bucket of shortbreads. Without pride I proceeded to rip open the container and began scarfing down cookies to "save" myself. As I was pushing my cart, swallowing without tasting or chewing, all the while eating whatever food samples were being offered along my path, my cell phone rang and (again not thinking rationally) I answered it.
Let me paint the full picture for you.
I was in a stylin' outfit wearing stylin' boots with my stylin' hair. Good so far right? But that stylin' hair was stuck to the side of my face as the sweat poured down causing my makeup to run and did I mention half a cookie hanging out of my mouth with the other half in crumbs sitting oh-so-elegantly on the front of my chest? (Yes, I know that was a run-on sentence.) Can we say hubba-hubba?! ;)
As I talked to my friend and feeling very close to passing out, I got in line at the pharmacy area (perhaps where I should've gone in the first place?) and purchased some glucose tablets, which I choked down in a matter of seconds before I had even paid for them. I don't think the pharmacy tech appreciated my sweat soaked moolah as I handed it to him with shaky hands. But I figure he would have appreciated it even less if I had actually gone unconscious and caused the need for 911.
You can see where I am going with this right?
You know what happens after a sugar load like this?!? A very exhausting HIGH blood sugar a few hours later. Not to mention the stomach ache from __ shortbread cookies. (What? You didn't think I was going to admit to you how many I actually ate, did you?)
So, now I have loaded up on insulin, possibly causing this mad cycle to continue endlessly. (Although I left the unused portion of cookies in the car so I couldn't dip into it again. Can you imagine the stomach ache?!?)
So, please keep this between us. (That's code for "please please don't tell my husband.")
I have regained my rationality? Rationalism? Rationalize-ability? What I am trying to say is, I am now thinking more clearly and I've learned from my rookie mistake. No need to lecture.
So now...anyone want a cookie?

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

The Ultimate Makeover

I love makeover shows.
 If you think I am too obsessed with fashion or outer beauty, please, keep reading.
Some of those shows are better than others of course. In fact some (I won't mention any names) have elements quite hideous - the clothes and hair they put the people in that is, not the people themselves.
But when shows like What Not To Wear take a person from their starting point to the finish line, it usually is an amazing transformation.
The episode I tuned into today was exceptionally special. The woman being made-over had the self-esteem of a bug (which may not even be the right analogy since how the heck are we supposed to know what a bug's self-esteem is?!? Maybe they are a proud sort?) and hated her reflection in the mirror. At least in the first half of the show.
Then Stacey and Clinton and the hair and makeup team worked their magic and the woman actually began to smile when she saw herself. Her confidence level began to climb, if not to the top of the self-worth stairwell, at least up a few steps. Her demeanor changed, and her natural beauty started to shimmer like diamonds in sunlight. That, in turn, made me smile. That is what a makeover should be about.
Which brings me to another kind of makeover. I'll call it the Ultimate Makeover. When I started making healthy choices for myself such as eating low-carb, exercising, doing my blood sugar regularly and getting an insulin pump, I could feel not only the physical benefits, but also a demeanor change of my own. I used to live with the constant companion of guilt, which dug into me like the claws of a falcon, never letting me feel relief. Even when I wasn't conscious of this enemy, it was always there. Now I mostly feel free from its grasp, living my life with an over-arcing contentment.
Sure I have my days. Those days when I know I could still do things better. But at least I now have a new-found confidence that I am headed in the right direction. My wardrobe of healthy choices is paying off.
So yes, I love a good makeover. Whether it be flattering jeans with a new blazer and a fresh new haircut, or whether it be sensible eating and a higher level of fitness, they make me smile.
Who could possible have a problem with that?! :)

Monday, November 14, 2011

Don't Let Diabetes Win!!!

Today is a very special occasion. Ironically, my body is choosing to revolt but I won't let it get the best of me. No. This day cannot go unnoticed.
It is World Diabetes Day.
Of course this brings a multitude of emotion which swirls inside my heart. What does one do on a day like this? Do I ponder and reflect on my 28 years of tangling with this beast? Do I get angry at the stats of how many people our touched (burnt?) by this disease? Do I celebrate?
And here's a question...What do I wear? ;)
I figure my workout clothes are appropriate while I try to convince my body that even though it feels like it's in the crapper, my treadmill is still probably the best option. This fight I find myself in is a good representation of the day to day battle of living with diabetes.
But more important than getting stuck in those questions I asked a little earlier is this:
There is HOPE!
Diabetes does not have to win. At least some control can be gained by giving it your best shot in this shooting match.
And as tired as I get, I will choose to continue to enjoy life and laugh. I want to laugh a lot.
So each time I poke my finger with a lancet to draw blood, I will be thankful for the life that blood still gives me as it nourishes my body. Each time I change my pump site, I will be thankful for the technology available to us to better fight this thing. Each time I lace up my runners to get on that blasted treadmill, I will be thankful I still have all my toes to slide into them. Each time my blood sugar goes low, I will be thankful I have food in my cupboards which will treat that low and bring me back to life. Each time I choose a salad over pasta (Mmmm, I love pasta) I will be thankful for the power of choice that I have, of what I put into my mouth.
Each time I hug my husband, I will be thankful for the love and support he and so many others offer so readily every day.
So, if you have diabetes, congratulate yourself on making it this far and keep going for the Gold. Never give up. We're a team. Let's do it together.
And if you know or love someone with diabetes, please take a moment to recognize the fight they are in and encourage them. We need you more than you know.
So will I reflect, get angry or celebrate? Probably all three.
But on this very special day - World Diabetes Day - I will choose to be thankful.
Now onto that blasted treadmill...;)

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Dress to Impress?

When you dress to impress...are you trying to impress those you know or those you don't? That is the question of the day.
Now, I know some of you are thinking...that's the wrong question. The question should be..."Do you dress to impress?" or "Should you dress to impress? Those are valid questions, but they are not for today. Today's question is about when and not if. If you never dress to impress, then you can feel free to stop reading at any time. But honestly, I don't believe you.
So, back to the question. When you are trying to impress others with your stunning beauty and exquisite style, would you rather turn the heads of those who you've never met and will probably never see again, with the intent of making a fabulous first (and last?) impression? Does the thought of knowing whether they are impressed or appalled intrigue you? Or, do you dress in a certain fashion to catch the eye of those who know you and already have seen your stylin' ways, trying to keep up your reputation of being trendy and hip? Even though these liked ones (or perhaps enemies?) would probably forgive and forget a day of yoga pants and tennis shoes here and there? (Well, perhaps not the enemies. ;)
Sometimes, if I'm being honest, I do my blood sugar more often just to impress my Doc. Instead of using that meter as a tool to gather information to better manage my diabetes, I do the poke (using a lancet and not Facebook in case you were confused ;) because I know if my record book is not flowing with numeric values and notes, the wrath of my very gentle, soft-spoken Endo will  come upon me. Silly, I know. Why wouldn't I want to know the numbers for myself? Why wouldn't my goal be to get the best numbers possible for. my. self?
For sure that is my goal, but I think because I've been burned by that little monster of a glucose meter too many times, with it spitting out nasty unacceptable numbers, I am a little lancet-shy. Still, it feels so good when they are good.
So maybe I'll start taking more risks and do my blood sugar even when I can tell it's not perfect, using an appropriate amount of insulin as a weapon against it for the next poke. (Again... not Facebook.)
And I'm sure I will still have days when I want to impress the masses with awesome fashion ensembles, whether they be friendly faces or strangers, but will continue to also dress for me. In what feels good to me.
Whether it comes to doing my blood sugars more often to impress my Doc or for myself, or dressing to impress others or to impress me, I have a feeling about this one...
In both categories, they are probably one and the same. ;)

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Shout-Out to New Friends!

I "met" a new friend today. Already I feel honored to know her even just a little. She too, deals with diabetes and other health issues. As excited as I am to get to know her via email, it saddens me to know of even just one more person with diabetes.
It reminds me of how many people are spinning inside this epidemic. And with Type 1, there is no way out.
But...
I am inspired by my fellow-sufferers, for their bravery and endurance when it comes to this day-in and day-out disease.
I am also reminded that it could be worse. I was thinking about my own situation while responding to my new friend, and I realized I still have sight, I still have circulating blood, (albeit a warped and sweet variety. Unlike when talking about my personality, that's not a good adjective. Wait. I think I just called myself warped. No comments from my family please!) I have breath and am surrounded by people who love me. What more could a girl ask for? (Other than hair extensions or a new pair of shoes of course. ;)
But seriously...Yes I have health issues. Yes I have stress. But intertwined in all of that is a gratitude that I never want to let go of. Or forget about. Yes. Today was a good reminder.
So with that, here is a shout-out to my new friend. Keep fighting and keep smiling! I've got your back.
P.S. If anyone else would like to chat, ask questions or just vent about life, you can click on my picture above and it will guide you to my website. You can contact me there and I will gladly enter into dialogue with you. (Unless you are a stalker and if so, please give me a heads up ;)

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Can't Fake It Jake

My blood sugar is whack. Yes, I am a natural blond (and unnaturally more blond), almost middle-aged woman and probably can't pull off that term. But regardless...
Stress. Ugh. So sick and tired of it. And now I am starting to feel literally sick and tired. Thus the skyrocketing blood sugar readings. Meaning, it could be the stress causing my blood sugar to rise or it could be the stress causing me to be sick which is causing my blood sugar to rise.
I once again feel the need for some retail therapy.
Actually, I avoided a discount store today precisely for that reason. It could be d-a-n-g-e-r-o-u-s for my pocketbook. (Where did that saying come from? I don't keep my money in my pocket nor do I keep it in a book in my pocket.)
Anyway, shopping will not make my stress go away or lower my blood sugar today anymore than any other day. In fact, having to explain a frivolous purchase to my husband can only add to the stress, giving the viscous cycle momentum to spin harder and faster. We definitely don't want that. (Although a new purse is always justifiable right? A woman has needs...)
And if I may rant a slight bit more...
I just purchased a new blood glucose meter which includes a USB drive that will graph all my results and info. I am excited to use this new little gadget which I think I will call "Can't Fake it Jake" - at least I was earlier today. Now that my blood sugar is whack (Yeah. That's right. I said it again. In your face!), I don't dare let the technologically advanced tiny machine record the evidence giving it the power to hand my proverbial head-on-a-platter to my doc. No, little Jakey will have to wait. Hmph.
So I guess I'll go crank up the insulin and vitamin C.
Under the circumstances that's the best Ther-a-py.
(Get it? That was a miniature tiny little poem ;)
Goodnight! :)

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Frapps and Laughs

Starbucks now has sugar-free mocha flavoring!!! Yay!!! So now my Grande lite-based mocha frappuccino made with skim milk and without whipped cream will be totally sugar free! I think my bank account is about to lose some more weight. That's probably the opposite of what's about to happen to my waistline. Sure, it's the "lite" version but it still can't be good for you.
I found out this exciting tid-bit by accident when I went there to write today. Since I asked for the lite-base version, the kind grey-haired woman serving me seemed to read the invisible "I have diabetes" tattoo on my forehead and had the fortitude to tell me about this new option. She then went on to entice me with future options of mocha protein smoothies and such. I'm not sure if she was under the spell of my beauty and wanted to please, or if she was trying to put me under her spell of future sales and was just that good at her job. Either way, I skipped to my seat a happy woman.
Since I was in the Chapters location, being surrounded by books and armed with my sugar-free delight I felt in a creative mood. I accomplished a big chunk of prep for an upcoming speaking engagement on the topic of diabetes. I'm not sure if it was the mocha frappuccino or the friendly atmosphere, but I sure found my jokes funny. And even if the people hearing my motivational talk don't feel the same, I know the two men sipping their coffee beside me were amused as I chuckled out loud at my own cleverness.
So all in all my trip to Starbucks in Chapters was a success. At least I will delude myself with that thought until I give the talk and find out maybe I'm not as humorous as I think I am.
Hey, can you do me a favor?
Laugh if you think I am funny!

Friday, November 4, 2011

A Stylin' Doc

I saw my Doc today. Okay, I suppose I need to be a little more specific since the contact list in my phone has about eight people listed starting with the title "Dr".
My visit was with my Endocrinologist who manages my hormonal glands (as in Thyroid, Pituitary, etc., not the PMS-ing kind ;) as well as my diabetes.
It went well. It went really well. My A1C, which tells us what my average 3-month blood sugars were, was back down to my normal range. I much preferred my Dr. saying "I am really impressed with your improvements", to "You should be working harder", which is what I got at my last appointment.
AND...
My non-mood altering hormones are normal. Yay! (We won't talk about the mood-altering ones. That is a different story ;)
While I was sitting in the exam room, I noticed something interesting. At least I think it is interesting. It was my Doc's coat hanging on the back of the door. It looked very sharp, very stylin' and very expensive. I was soooo tempted to take it off the hook and look at the label, but was terrified he would walk in and catch me. It would've been wrong, right? Right? Cuz I'll probably have another opportunity in February when I go see him again. Unless of course he upgrades to a warmer wool. But that might be equally intriguing.
It makes me wonder what kind of car he drives. And if he is married. (Don't freak out. I'm not interested, I just think he works too much to have a wife, but what kind of coat would she be wearing if he did? That would be the one perk to being married to a specialist - the income. Think of all the shopping that could be had... ;)
Anyway, I didn't peek, which was a good thing because he came in to the room seconds after I considered it. I have a feeling he wouldn't have been so free with the compliments if he caught me invading his privacy.
Wait a minute! He's a doctor! He has the power to dethrone my total privacy with one stupid paper gown! (Don't get me started!)
That's it.
Next time I peek...

Monday, October 31, 2011

Retail "Therapy"

"I think I need a new pair of shoes, or purse, or sweater. Or perhaps therapy?"
That was my facebook status a few days ago after feeling run over by a truckload of stress.
"Or just retail therapy!!! May as well have a tiny glass of wine too :)"
That was the first comment given on the subject. And I think it is GENIUS!!
Retail Therapy. Yes. YES!
So, I decided to act upon this great idea and ended up with a husband approved, appropriately lengthed, sequined mini-skirt. And it felt good.
There's just one problem. I have no idea where I am going to wear it.
Okay, maybe two problems. Now I want to shop even more.
Don't kid yourselves...as expensive as traditional therapy can be, retail therapy can cost immeasurably more.
But there is something to the whole idea of losing yourself in the mall (in the emotional sense, not the physical. I know the layout of the mall all too well), and thinking only about the next treasure you might find.
Okay, so my problems are still there when I get in my car to drive home and this "therapy" has no lasting benefit, (unless my bank account is trying to lose weight ;) but it feels good in the moment. (Which is a concept worth exploring on another day.) And I have a fabulous skirt... that I might never wear. (Okay, so not my brightest moment, but the skirt shines and shimmers ;)
So maybe therapy is not the most accurate word for shopping. Maybe I should separate the phrase into "Retail" and "Therapy" and explore both avenues on different occasions.
 Because when not in your right mind, shopping can sometimes be more damaging than helpful.
But Dang! It sure is fun!

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Is it All an Act?

I have a new, very part-time job. I'm an "acting" patient for Paramedic exams. You probably think I am crazy since I have been an actual medical patient so many times, but I just figure I own a little more expertise for the job. Too bad my years of active research on the subject hasn't counted for a higher pay scale.
You'd realize just how crazy I am if you saw what we have to wear while on the job. Since our clothes are often cut away by the trembling, sweaty candidate, we dress in local thrift store outfits that are good for...well...nothing except being cut off. (Don't get me started about how nerve-wracking it is to see those shaky hands coming at you with industrial strength scissors!)
The woman who heads up the program buys the clothes in two sizes: small and extra extra large. Since I fit somewhere in between, these options are not ideal, if ya know what I mean. It also doesn't help my image to be wearing man's way-too-short tuxedo pants and button up plaid shirts.
Lunch break in a nearby restaurant is a bit of a challenge, since there is stage makeup involved. Let's just say my pallor could cause someone to actually call the Paramedics, which would be delightfully ironic and would keep me laughing for days. (That is, as long as I didn't see one of the previously failed candidates coming my way with a pair of scissors. ;)
No, in this case, fashion and work don't mix. The only style statement made while on this job is "Ugh, gawd-awful!"
So if you see me in men's size 42 dress pants and in a sling, I am acting. But if I am dressed great and looking pale while lying on the ground moaning, then save me. It's for real.
I'm just trying to get a raise. ;)

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Up and Down, Down or Up

Oh, the ups and downs of life. And oh, how the ups and downs cause ups and downs in blood sugar. "They" say that without the downs of life we don't feel the ups, but right now I could use a little smooth sailing. (Well, perhaps not sailing as I get terribly motion sick even if it is smooth.) How about stability. That's what I would love right now.
It never ceases to amaze my busy little mind how much stress influences every part of us. I already mentioned the blood sugars, but it affects even more than those.
First off, my whole body revolts with exhaustion and aches and pains when under stress. And I know my demeanor changes as a result. The monotone sound of my voice is a clue to my well-being as it also lowers in pitch involuntarily. I hate that.
I also notice that the effort I put into my fashion decisions and hair style each day diminishes in troubled times. I still care about how I appear, but it just takes more oomph to spend the time on such things. I will admit, comfy shoes, hoodies and a pony tail are tempting when under the pressure cooker of life. Especially when only going to my local grocery store to buy rice to put in its own pressure cooker. Poor rice. I know how you feel.
But I wonder if I have inwardly judged other women a little too harshly when noticing their sweats and running shoes while in the mall. Maybe they are just going through a rough patch and fashion is the least of their worries. And that's okay. Better to take care of your inner self than always worry about how you look on the outside.
Some days though, figuring out what look I am going for is the challenge and fun that gets me out of bed in the morning. So just as we shouldn't judge those who dress down under stress, please don't judge those who dress up under stress as well.
We all have to cope with different life challenges and we all cope differently with those life challenges.
Sweats or skirts, it really doesn't matter. But I sure wish my blood sugar would put on a more suitable outfit.
One that perhaps makes the statement, "stability".

Monday, October 17, 2011

Fur: Real or Faux?

Me and my baby sister both love fur. No, she's not actually a baby, but she is ten years younger than I am so she'll always be my baby sis. I affectionately called her "Kid" while she was, well, a kid - probably confusing others each time I tried to get her attention in the mall. "Hey Kid!" I would yell, and to me that was her name, but to the general population it probably seemed as though I were a disgruntled stranger, unimpressed with a young punk. That, or they thought I was a stalker. Nope. Just a bossy, loving older sister.
But back to the fur. When I say we both love fur, I think I should clarify something. It's true that we have that in common. But there is a definite distinction of what that love of fur looks like.
She prefers the real stuff and I am passionate about the faux variety. What I mean is...she likes to pet it (while it encompasses a living animal), while I love to wear it (while strutting my stuff. ;)  
Yes, I have a dog named Bob and I love him to pieces, but he sheds enough hair to dress me head to toe. I do not want to wear Bob. Nor does my solid brown suede couch. My couch does not look good in a fur coat.
No, as much as I love animals, my little sis takes the prize on that one. (Can we say excessive? ;) Often known to have multiple dogs and even more cats in her dwelling, it can be a little chaotic in my opinion. When she throws  a litter of kittens in there and heck, why not a rabbit, the chaos turns to a cyclone of claws and flying fur.
I love that she is an animal lover. I appreciate her passion for the creatures of the earth. But as for me, when it comes to fur, I want to wear it when I choose, and not just because I sat down on my comfy brown sofa to watch "What Not To Wear". I can guarantee, Stacey and Clinton would say that wearing your dog is the definition of the show.
So I love ya Kid, and Bob, I think you are about to head outside. ;)

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Punk or Funk?

Aging gracefully - that is a concept worth exploring on this fine Saturday afternoon.
You see, the other day, I ran into some folks that I haven't seen in ages while wearing my funky wedge boots, khaki skinny cargos, and a black sweater. I figured it was a hip-happenin' look and wore it confidently. That is, until my long lost friends commented on my personal aging process.
I believe the conversation went something like this:
 "Wow, you look younger and younger every time I see you!"
"Why, thank you!" says me.
"Yeah, I'm having a hard time telling you apart from those young punks hanging around."
"Oh, umm, well, I'm not sure how to take that," says me again with an awkward "Haha".
After a few more pleasantries we parted ways while my mind spun like a top on crack. I was with one of those "young punks" they spoke of (well, actually I would rather describe her as a fabulous nice friend who happens to be a teenager), and as soon as I found her wandering the store I rapidly posed the question, "Do I look like I am trying to look like a teenager?!?"
She reassured me that I was not, and that "hip" was a more accurate description.
But I can't help but still wonder...
Am I too young for my age?
I think part of the dilemma for me is that many people battling chronic illness such as myself, look older than they are. The disease can take a toll on the body and create a haggard look.
I'll be honest - call it vain or recognize it as a fight to not let the illness win, but I so don't want to look haggard or like I am always in a funk.
At the same time, I don't want to push the envelope too far.
And then I am reminded of the middle-aged man who recently pegged me ten years older than I actually am, and the crack-filled top starts spinning again.
Well? What can I say? Stylish aging is a tricky, tricky thing. And I don't own the manual.
I think for now I'll choose to believe my young girlfriend's perspective rather than the older-than-me man.
Besides, I'd prefer "punk" over "funk" any day. ;)

Friday, October 14, 2011

White...the New Black?

I love the color white. (I know. It's not actually a color. It is the lack of color, but stick with me please.) Still, I prefer my lawn to be green. And it's about to become very white outside. Hopefully not in the next couple of days, but we've entered the time zone when the snow starts to fly. At least where I live. Which made it necessary to go shopping. Necessary, you ask? Well, yes. In this instance it was.
My last year's winter coat simply didn't survive the season. With a black grease stain and a broken zipper, the shiny silver warmth-giver is toast. (Where did that saying come from? I love toast!)
So shopping I went. Yay! A justifiable purchase was in order. I hit the stores running in my new slouchy wedge-heeled black boots and animal print blouse with a second opinion at hand, thanks to my young and hip friend Zoey. (That's not really her name but I have to protect the innocent ;)
Here's the question. Is white a good (non-color) color choice for my six foot tall frame and platinum blond hair? We both loved the masterpiece when we saw it. And it meets all of my nit-picky requirements. It is three-quarter length, has sleeves long enough for my tall arms, it's warm and  is a good name brand for a decent price. What more could I ask for, right?
But what if I look like the abominable snowman?!? That is not the look I am going for.
My husband gave the nod of approval when I came home. At least for the style. (Which is great because he has a uncanny sense for female fashion and I highly value his opinion.) But he made a valid point. What are the chances of me keeping this strikingly sharp looking outwear clean?!? I have visions of blood splattering all over it like a bad CSI episode as I test my sugars while driving. (Okay, that is probably never a good idea. ;)
It is machine washable but I feel it a risky move to keep it. The tags are still on and I have 11 days counting down in order to decide. But I love it! Help!
Well, here's hopin' I don't need it before my decision time is up. And if you do see a tall, platinum blond with an even blonder winter coat on, compliments would be nice. Lie if you have to.
Because by then the decision will have been made. A done deal. No turning back.
Besides...when it comes to flattering style, white is the new black. Right?

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Trend Alert!

I don't know how I feel about something. Some things in life are clear cut. Yes, family is very important to me. No, child abuse is not acceptable. Yes, exercise is good for me. No, ketchup chips are not. Yes, boot cut jeans are flattering on most people. No, neon tights are not. But what about the latest trend?
Structured handbags are making a comeback.
Now, some structured bags have always been classic, but in recent years I have been more drawn to the more sack-shaped variety. I am not sure whether it is the style Per Se, or the functionality of a slouchy purse.
I will admit, I am a bit high-needs in this department. Of course there are the usual items one might discover in a woman's purse (as opposed to a men's purse?  Most men will try to disguise their purse as a "laptop bag" or "gym bag" but we all know the truth, right ladies? ;) such as lipstick, a compact, wallet, hair pick and of course minty gum for breath-freshening action whenever needed. But I, Susie, have a few more needs to have by my side at all times. Blood sugar meter, sugar tablets, snack, extra insulin vial, meds, water bottle to take the meds, and a travel mug of coffee. (Okay, that last one might not be a necessity but it sure does help my mood ;) And those structured handbags look ridiculous when you get them in the size needed for such a list of supplies. (Oh wait! I have suitcases I use for travel! Maybe I could just use the midsized one out of my set! That would be high fashion, no? ;)
Which brings me back to my dilemma. Do I stick with the soon-to-be-so-yesterday style or do I carry around a stylin' briefcase and go with the "professional" look while I am grocery shopping?
Decisions, decisions.
Well, I could spend the rest of my day wrestling with this choice or I could pick up the phone and call my grandma and tell her how much she means to me. Hmmm...
Besides...I can always pick up a fashion mag after I hang up the phone, right? ;)

Monday, October 10, 2011

"Right Into the Danger Zone"

I find myself here again. In the place where danger lurks behind every door, just waiting to pounce. Its vicious nature almost too much to handle. I can describe it in one word - Temptation. With a capital T.
It all starts at Thanksgiving, with Mother's raisin butter tarts and pumpkin pie just jumping off serving plates and into the open mouths of loved ones without daring to ask permission first. That, coupled with the butter-soaked baked stuffing, distorts my willpower and taunts incessantly.
Then comes Halloween. Grocery shopping becomes a torturous unwanted adventure as bags of bite sized chocolate and gooey-chewy candy line the aisles, threatening to fall into my cart if I create the slightest breeze as I walk by. These single serving portions are almost justifiable except that one always leads to six before I've even taken a breath.
Christmas is a whole 'nother beast. That food-fest lasts for weeks as family and friends gather around buffet tables stocked with Christmas pudding, fudge and peanut brittle, the supply well outweighing the demand.
Food isn't the only temptation digging its claws into my ribs. The need to be hunting the stores for the perfect gift leads me straight into distraction, otherwise known as the shoe section. (I know, I know. The shoe section is not typically the area one buys Christmas gifts for their parents but it simply pulls me around the corner  and right into its clutches.) Boxing day (week? or is it month?) sales are just too strong for my weak {shopping} immune system.
It's all too much. Too much food. Too much sugar. Too much power.
But what is a diabetes-ridden, fashion-obsessed woman supposed to do? I am open to suggestion.
 Maybe since I am entering the danger zone I should get myself a wing man (woman?).
A wise soldier going into battle always has someone watch their back.
Any takers?