Look At My Face... My Face! (Or, The Cleavage Conundrum)

clearly, my body is not perfect and there are things about it that i would change if that were an option; it's not (or at least not without surgeries or extensive visits to the gym, neither of which i'm a fan of) so i deal with what i've got. if 4 1/2 years in a theatre costume shop have taught me anything, it's how to accentuate what's awesome, and hide what's not. (well, that and "never distract a freshman boy when he's attempting to use the sewing machine for the first time"... yikes) anyway, what i'm saying here is this: like anyone who's not obnoxiously narcissistic, there are things about my body that i don't particularly like. my breasts, however, never made it to this category.

why are we talking about my breasts, you ask? here's the thing: they've always been quite nice, and not really something i've ever had a problem with. they're large enough to balance out my hips and make me look proportionate, but not large enough to spill out of things or have a mind of their own.

until now.

because a side effect of 2 of the 3 meds i am currently taking is weight gain, i have indeed gained weight. not a ridiculous amount, mind you, but just enough to be thoroughly annoying and cause me to have to buy new pants. however, instead of just padding my hips and my rear like usual, the girls got some padding, too - and it's become a bit awkward. i work with kids, specifically middle and high schoolers. it's just not appropriate to be teaching and tutoring with major cleavage showing. however, i currently find myself trying on shirts that were perfectly professional and acceptable four or five months ago, and discovering that i very clearly need something over or under the garment to make it appropriate. because boys aged 12-16? they may honestly be listening to you and carrying on a conversation, but their eyes will stray if so tempted (and let's be honest, it doesn't take much - and they never really grow out of it, come to think of it, but i'm digressing). it's suddenly much more labor-intensive to dress for work. there is not only the stand-in-front-of-the-mirror check; there's also the sit-in-front-of-the-mirror check and the lean-over-in-case-this-creates-more-cleavage check and the lean-down-like-you're-grading-a-paper check. it's just ridiculous.

what a bizarre "complication" of my illness... what do i do with these things? i've already had to buy new pants, i certainly can't afford to buy new tops too...

Today's Starbucks Experience

i stopped to starbucks before work today because kavitha and i desperately deseved some cold coffee goodness. in front of me in line was a hispanic mullet. that had been carefully and professionally highlighted. with bleach blond on top of nearly black. and then i was served by a younger, slightly skinnier version of michael stipe. all in all, kind of a surreal experience...

It's Alive!

i meant to be in bed hours ago; unfortunately, being the cusp baby that i am, i have too much virgo perfectionist in me to just slap something together. hence the 3:30 a.m. blog. as you may or may not know, i occasionally make my own jewelry, and have decided that there's no reason why i shouldn't make money from this. especially since i need more than i'm currently making. mickey, my extremely awesome massage therapist, is selling some of my stuff, and i've just put up the website. it's simple - the stupid advanced builder where you can customize more stuff is not mac-compatible - but i think it's fairly effective. if you feel the need for a piece of jewelry (for yourself or others), just go to karinarose.homestead.com. feel free to stop by and peruse and give me some feedback.

see? for a small donation, you too can feed a starving karen living in the marshlands of central florida. and you even get a keepsake necklace out of it!

The Laws of the Universe

i swear, in some cosmic rule book somewhere, there is a footnote at the bottom of a clause in the back of an index (in italics) stating that karen rose gibson, born september 20, 1976 in indianapolis, indiana, currently residing in orlando, florida (clearly, the cosmic rule book updates every few weeks to keep on top of things) may not successfully plan any events in conjunction with her birthday. i'm not sure why this is, it just... is. my mother tried arguing with me, but i proved myself right at every turn. sweet 16? spent the 4 or 5 days leading up to it in and out of the hospital with my first ever blinding and uncommonly severe migraine. didn't know if i would even be able to have my party, and half my friends didn't show because they didn't think it was still on. turning 21? that was dress/tech for arkansas bear; i was in the theatre from 8 in the morning to almost 10 at night. when we went out for drinks afterward, everyone drank faster than i did, causing me to slow down (and then stop) because my d.d.'s were all hammered and we had to get home somehow. 23? in overnight rehearsals plus working my normal shifts. for two weeks straight. 27? everybody that mattered had to work late (like till 2 in the morning) all weekend - except demasi, who took me out to dinner, but since we both worked early the next morning, we were in bed by like 10. 30? i had been planning (for close to a year and a half) to go to vegas for that birthday, but in the end, no one could work out the money or the days off, and i certainly wasn't going to someplace like vegas for the first time by myself. last year? oooh, that's a two-parter, and possibly the worst yet: a) john, dale, and i had planned to go see the cure in early september, but the band cancelled the fall tour due to illness and injuries, and didn't resume until may of this year, and 2) i woke up in the wee hours of the 20th to being violently ill, the very beginning of a sickness seems to be permanent.

now, i'm not writing this as a "poor me" blog, and i swear i'm not trying to make anyone feel guilty - this just happens every single year, no matter how much i try to thwart it. and this year, especially, i felt as though - since i had somehow survived the shittiest year ever - i deserved a weekend of birthday fun, with lots of people and activities. i really should have known better. but instead of focusing on what didn't happen, i'm going to list the good things about this weekend. (the first paragraph was just to fill you in so you know why i'm listing. background information, or exposition, if you will.)

1. rob and i discovered an amazing artist at tu tu tango's. you can look at her artwork here.

2. tu tu's makes creme brulee the way it was meant to be made - it was amazing.

3. i found not only birthday shoes, but a birthday hat as well.

4. the planet smoothie near work has a cafe; i tried it on saturday, and the chicken caesar wrap - made with chunks of fresh grilled chicken and real pita bread (like the kind gyros come in) was awesome.

5. i got a birthday massage from my massage therapist, and as such, it was a gift.

6. said massage therapist is selling some of my jewelry (more on this later).

7. as mom and i left after our massages, there was an amazingly beautiful double rainbow to greet us. it was so vivid, you could even see both bands of violet, which you can rarely see clearly.

8. me, my parents, rob's parents, and the robs had a cook-out and enjoyed a lovely evening of food and conversation and playing dominoes and deserts. there were lots of yummy desserts. (hmmm... there's a lot of food on this list...)

9. rob's dad make one of his famous cheese balls for the occasion. (ok, apparently much of what's good in my world consists of tasty treats...)

so, good stuff there... as i've learned in the past year, it's all about perspective, and i need to find the most positive one and stick with it. it's the best way to survive.

Shaving Cream to the Rescue, Part Deux

it appears that the shaving cream works! the port wine is gone, and there is no discoloration in the area. actually, it's a bit better looking than if i'd just used carpet cleaner... i wonder if i should just go with shaving cream when it's time to move out...

(thanks to steve for reminding me that i had promised a part 2... with my parents in town, i had totally forgotten!) :o)

I Am Officially the MOST Professional Girl Ever...

because i successfully applied fake eyelashes in a car moving through orlando traffic. i am good. :o)

Shaving Cream to the Rescue, Part 1

a little bit ago i spilled some port wine on the carpeting. (stupid hips. always causing problems...) and to be honest, for a minute there i wasn't sure what was more upsetting: the fact that i now had to somehow get rid of a wine stain, or that i wasted a very good (and a bit expensive) port. i have no idea how to clean that up, but luckily i have a cable modem and a mac. i went to ask.com and posed my question to jeeves. (and, sidebar, i really kind of miss jeeves. i liked the pretense of a butler standing by to answer my questions. and yes, i know i'm a dork, shush.) several home remedies included things that i did not have: hydrogen peroxide, certain types of carpet/tile cleaners, blue dawn dishwashing liquid (does it have to be the blue kind? what if you only have, say, yellow?). however, i found one suggestion that required something i did have - shaving cream. now, granted, it's aveeno sensitive skin cream with aloe, but i was running out of options.

so i squirted the shaving cream onto the carpet, rubbed it in, and attempted to clean it up. i totally forgot how much shaving cream foams up as i usually just use soap. at this point the carpet is saturated, but there doesn't seem to be a violent scarlet blemish there anymore. which means that either a) the shaving cream worked like a dream - and who would've thought? or b) i've simply diluted the port and the whole section is actually a nice shade of pink. we'll have to see in the morning.... i'll keep you posted...

Are People Really This Ignorant and Hateful?

a bumper sticker on the aging truck in front of me today:

"kill 'em all... let god sort it out later."

he either believes this sentiment, or he thinks it's funny. i don't know which is worse.

Because Grover Asked...

i like white grape juice. i'd go so far to say that it's one of my favorite juices. it is, however, only about 30% of the reason why i bought mini-juice-boxes of apple & eve's white grape juice. the overwhelming majority of reason is the fact that grover is the spokesmodel (spokesmonster?) on the boxes. on the back panel, he encourages us to get up and get moving by creating a silly dance move and practicing it with our family and friends. (hey, that's waaaaay more my speed than running around or going to the gym.) as i drank down my 4.23 oz (125 ml) of juicy goodness, i noticed a posting on the side of the box. it reads as follows:

"I, your cute and loveable (sic) pal Grover, travel all over the world to learn new and amazing things from my friends. What did you learn from your friends today?"

well, grover, since you asked so nicely, i will overlook your spelling errors and think about what i learned today.

1. i learned that i can identify shaunathan from across the room, no matter what he might be wearing or (is supposed to be) acting like.

2. if you are holding a sleeping baby, people invariably smile at you and are more pleasant than if you are not doing so.

3. jen and i are big fat dorks when we're together - and i love it because we have so much fun.

4. rob and i both used the word "oubliette" today, completely separately. i used it while tutoring, and he then used it whist on the phone with me. how often does that happen with a word like oubliette? (and we weren't making labyrinth references at the time, either.)

5. i'm not the only one glad that one of our students is almost done with his hours...

6. my friends are awesome and endlessly supportive and i appreciate them very much.

thanks for the soul-searching idea, grover! it's a good thing i bought those juice boxes... i might have missed the great opportunity. and that, my friend, would have been not so cute and "loveable".

Things I Learned While Subbing For an Eighth Grade History Teacher

1. 8th graders make me alternatively giggle and want to throw things at their heads.

2. in primitive west africa, yams were so important to their livelihood that committing adultery in a yam field was considered a criminal offense to traditional Ibo law. Here's where i get slightly confused - notice the "was" in the previous sentence. from that, i assumed that we were still dealing with primitive west africa. however, the next sentence after that was, "adultery occurring elsewhere is a civil offense." does this mean these laws are still in effect? stay away from those yam fields on dates, people...

3. you know those those stuffed animal things that are made to look like a sleeping dog or whatever, and they have a motor in them so that their stomaches rise and fall like they're breathing? this teacher had one on her front podium. they are creepy; the end.

4. apparently the new fad amongst middle school boys is to buy glue sticks - preferably the purple kind - and pull off chunks and throw them at each other. really? chucking glue chunks at each other? how do they come up with these things? and how do they convince others that this is a good idea?

5. "sleep tight" came from using ropes pulled across a bedframe to support the mattress. you had to pull those ropes taut every couple of days or the bed would sag and you'd end up on the floor

6. the quote of the day came when four students (all boys, of course) had to borrow paper to do the assignment because they had none. when i asked how they expected to get through school without paper, one of the students claimed he was too poor for that. before i could reply, a girl on the other side of the room said, "you're too poor for paper, but you got fresh kicks every day? shoot. you're a liar, boy." well said, my friend, well said.

Normally I'm Not All About the "Cute Animal" Pictures...

... but you gotta appreciate good captioning. and the occasional classical allusion...

Expecting Death

i realize this sounds pretty morbid, but bear with me; just some thoughts and feelings i recently discovered and how they've changed my thinking. i have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia - unfortunately, i'm pretty sure fibromyalgia (literally "soft tissue pain") is just a fancy word for "there's something really seriously wrong with you, but since we're not sure what it is, we're going to lump you into this category and just try treating your symptoms." there are several symptoms - a few are recent additions - that don't fit into the fibro category, so once i have insurance again, i'm sure there'll be more testing in my future.

it wasn't until very recently - maybe the last few weeks or so - that i realized something: for a while there, i was completely resigned to having a terminal illness. all those months of pain and fatigue and fuzzy mindedness and sleepless nights and pain... it was clear that there was something very wrong with me. and if you were one of the few people who actually saw me during this time period, you probably agree that i looked seriously ill. and i don't mean "oh you must have a bad flu" kind of ill... i mean "at death's door" kind of bad. i hobbled around like an 87 year old woman (and that's not even an exaggeration. both my grandmothers, one of whom is in her 90's, move around better than i do at times), i often had crippling pain in my hands and fingers, and i went through some scary lack of mental abilities (for example, i wouldn't be able to recall my own address, which i've had for over 2 years). even now, though i am somewhat better, i have to apply makeup in the full-kabuki fashion in order to look normal - otherwise i make people uncomfortable. (true story: rob and i went to chili's a month or so ago, and since i hadn't planned on going out in public - i had only intended to hang out at his house - i had no makeup on and my hair was pulled back. our waiter, after one initial glance, would not meet my eyes the entire meal. he would ask if i needed anything and bring me water when i needed it, but his eyes would sort of glance off to the side instead of staying on me. he talked to rob normally, but not to me. and that's hardly an isolated incident; in my natural, non-cosmetic state, i apparently now strike a "there's something really wrong, like cancer wrong, with her" chord in people which, understandably, makes them uneasy.)

it went beyond what i looked and felt like, though... the worst part was the medical staff. all the doctors and specialists i saw all greeted me normally - and then they looked at my vital signs, my blood test, whatever it was in that chart in their hand. they would examine me, look back through the chart, and then a sort of change happened. it was something in their face, a slight gathering of tension, and their voice would become a little kinder. their eyes would take on a wary cast and they would have to take a deep breath before giving me the verdict. and the verdict was always the same: more tests to be run, more blood to be taken so that we would "know for sure." i'd ask what the next batch of tests was for and was given the same answer pretty much every time. they'd list all the extreme probabilities - lupus, cancer, brain or nervous system tumors, etc. - and tell me if that came out negative, we would do some more testing for more benign things. "it's just to rule them out," they'd invariably say, "just so you won't have to worry." but i could see it in their eyes (and, well, i am an empath... it was just there). they wanted to test for the worst case scenario because that's what they expected it to be. and they didn't want to waste time looking for the minor things when we could use that time to treat the illness, whatever it was.

slowly these reactions - without me ever consciously thinking about it - settled into my head and took root. it was a slow process... i couldn't even tell you when that idea became part of my everyday life. but it changed, just as slowly and unobtrusively, my outlook on a lot of things - and life in general. i can't be bothered about little stupid things anymore. pride rarely gets in the way of anything anymore. i know my body's limitations, and however much i may hate it, i have to be realistic. i have to ask for help. i have to back out of things i really want to do. i can't deal with other people's stress that has nothing to do with me. i have to be honest about it. i can no longer hold onto grudges or misunderstandings. i can't expect people to speak up first. i can't hold back or sugar-coat my thoughts and needs because i think someone might need that. i'm not even stressing overmuch about my current (precarious) job-and-rent situation. life is just too short not to enjoy it - and apparently i needed to assume i was dying to remember that.