-Working on Wednesday's story. It's an interesting one. Also working on some additions to the site.
What kind of piece of shit insurance card isn't even accepted by Quest Diagnostics? Quest having just about as many locations as Wendy's and Quest being the go-to company for blood and urine tests in this country.
Very important looking letter in the mail. It's obviously that pin number CapitalONE said they were mailing out, so that I can use my credit card to withdraw cash at ATMs. Ahh my credit card... stepping stone to future financial respect.
So I flip the envelope over and pry my finger in, break the glue--see that it says "Quest Diagnositcs" right there on the flap.
The doctor's office was nice enough to send me a copy of my blood results, but it took some coaxing. This is obviously why. Quest sends the results out themselves... duh! A copy to my doctor. A copy to me. Makes sense. And so I'm
A bill.
Alright, alright, all right, all right... all... right. What? Backitup.
You take a dog in to get some sort of innoculation, let's say. They say, "It's twenty dollars for the vaccine and sixty for the visit and heck, we can cut the dog's nails for you for only six dollars more!"
You say, "Sounds good!" And then the dog gets the shot, gets clipped, gets on it's merry way. No surprises.
You take me into a doctor's office with a vague list of anemic symptoms. They say, "The doctor will see you now." The doctor says, "This is a tricky one. We'll need to run a blood test. I'll run it for everything. B12 folate. Lyme disease, you name it."
Later, the receptionist tells you that you owe $198. And so you pay them and... go on your merry way.
And so maybe I'm completely naive, having believed that that $198 was obviously broken down like this...
-Around $150 for the visit.
-Around $50 for the blood test.
That seemed... correct... to me anyway.
And maybe it's because nobody in that office--the receptionist, two nurses or my doctor--decided to talk costs. I of course realize the two-way street aspect of that argument, but shouldn't a doctor be required by law to say these things? To perhaps tell me what running my blood for "everything" really costs.
Because it costs $800.
Those tests, the ones that I mostly don't understand were now listed there, money values attached. This is so I can know that I owe $98 for an IGG test, whatever that is.
Now that I'm nineteen, this bill is of course, in my name. On my credit. My future financial respect.
My father arranged a payment plan. All is well, including myself... no thanks to this $1,000 doctor visit. If I only stopped eating wheat a day earlier, I'd be a thousand dollars richer.
That's my answer to all of my fashion faults. Sure these jeans are too long and really bunched up at the bottom... but isn't that charming? Sure this tie is really really wrinkled because it was squished into a ball, under a stack of clothes inside of a suitcase for two weeks... but isn't that charming? Sure I'm wearing a jacket in the summer... yeah, you know.
My episode of the Food Network show is on all next week. (Starting Sunday at noon)
That sounds bad... the 48 Hours Investigates story on my family... like we were caught tricking old retired women out of their life savings or something.
Playing Trivial Pursuit with Juan.
My total cholesterol is insanely low... 112. Anything under 200 is ideal. The lower the better, but 112 is ridiculously low. Supposedly, cholesterol under 160 has been linked to anxiety and I should eat more fish for their healthy fish oils. God I hate fish. Two years on low carb... I ate bacon, I ate cheeseburgers, I ate red bloody steaks and now I've got doctor's telling me my cholesterol is too LOW.
Fifty-two different tests or counts or whatever you want to call them. I fell well within the healthy ranges on all but two, and one of those two was just higher than average vitamin B12 levels, which is perfectly okay... the excess is peed out.
The other is just that I almost tested positive for lyme disease. No shit. Below a certain range is a definite negative and above a certain range is a definite positive. And there I was in what I will dub the "maybe" range. This required further testing. The further testing cleared everything up. I do not have lyme disease. Kind of scary nonetheless.
She shouldn't be on my bed anyway, though.
Regan as a puppy.
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My blood is disease free. The test results are in the mail, but I've been assured that the test results are of no help in diagnosing the problem that no longer exists. My blood is pristine. It's what I expected, now that I'm wheat free and back to normal. Still I'm interested in reading these results. I'm interested in reading about my blood. More on that later in the week, I'm sure.
Last year I tried and I tried and I tried to get financing for a laptop. I had a steady job, a bank account that I had never overdrafted. I had credit that was clean and clear and under control. I had no luck. Best Buy, Circuit City, Gateway, Dell... they all sent me rejection letters. They all said the same thing... "LACK OF CREDIT HISTORY."
Here I ran into the young person's credit catch-22. How do you establish credit, when all credit establishing routes... require credit.
Someone suggested a Sears card. They turned me down.
Someone suggested a Target card. They turned me down.
I was left with two options. Put hundreds of dollars down on a cell phone plan or put hundreds of dollars down on a pre-paid credit card with a high interest rate, even though I've already pre-paid the balance. Being that I'm impatient, the idea of paying interest on money I already had was absurd. And the cell phone... I just didn't have enough friends to warrant one of those.
And so I gave up.
And so it was with great shock and awe that I tore open and revealed my new CapitalOne Platinum card earlier this afternoon.
I signed up for it as a lark! I laughed when it said I was "pre-approved!" I'd heard that one before!
Yet, now I hold an actual credit card in my hand... an actual credit line of $200 ($400 in three more months) and I feel I've been given a great opportunity. I don't know a single person with good or established credit and here I've been given a ticket in! I must nurture this thing, truly. I don't even understand why I was approved, but I'm not going to question it, just nurture. Just pay more than the minimum, always... and never, never, never spend it up to the limit.
If only Van Gogh could see my credit card. Starry Night has never looked as beautiful as it does on a rectangle piece of plastic--the little Visa logo in the corner--a holographic eagle above that. I think it's the medium Van Gogh originally intended for Starry Night, but never went through with because credit cards had not actually existed yet, let alone holographic eagles.
Oh and yes... I used the outdated phrase "shock and awe."
I finally finished and launched my weekly short story site www.ribcage.org.
I made black beans and rice for dinner. Blackened chicken was provided by my mother to round out the meal. Overall a very "black" meal.
Read the last hundred pages of Candyfreak. Fantastic book. Probably the only book about candy that can suddenly go into ball fondling stories.
Wrote, wrote, wrote. One of, in not the single most productive nights of writing I've had since I moved up here. Since last year.
The diet book is twenty-two pages now.
Blame it on the wheat free diet. I smell a new show on the Food Network hosted by yours truly... Wheat Free and Lovin' It! Shit... my father's kind of got that covered on his show anyway.
Connecticut is beautiful. It is also boring. When truly spent of ideas, we showed Juan around a local cemetery. We had a visitor! A visitor from Florida! From our holy land! We had a visitor and we showed him graves. Beautiful graves.
Earlier this year, I read this nearly three hundred page book on butterflies. It was also beautifully executed.
But the point is... I am over candy. I am reading what amounts to a crispity crunchety chocolate doused book of candy porn and it makes me want to run out and eat a chocolate bar about as much as that other book made me want to run out and eat a butterfly.
I love butterflies. I don't really care for candy anymore. I don't love to eat butterflies.
Second day of wheat exclusion and I'm waking up at ten in the morning. Ten in the morning said "hello." I hadn't seen him in months. We caught up for a bit. Apparently he's always been there.
For breakfast this morning I smeared peanut butter on the fridge's one stalk of celery that hadn't sogged over with rotten neglect. I then dropped little drops of blueberry preserves on top. It was as close to ants on a log that I could accomplish with the ingredients in this house.
Then I cooked an egg.
I had low-carb flashbacks. Searching for anything that I could make that didn't involve wheat.
I need to pick up some cream of rice, Rice Krispies, grits, Corn Flakes... anything filling and breakfasty. Has anyone actually ever eaten cream of rice before? I'm imagining a soupy flavorless tapioca pudding type mess, but maybe I'm wrong.
Second day of wheat exclusion and I feel great. Can't fucking believe it. You see that... I used the word "fuck" to prove that I'm not fucking around here.
Sensitivities to wheat can cause different reactions in different people, which may or may not involve the immune system. Wheat contains a protein called gluten. An intolerance to this protein is known as the coeliac condition, common symptoms of which include weight loss and in children, failure to thrive. Some people show much more vague symptoms, such as feeling tired all the time.
An effective way to diagnose a food intolerance or to confirm a food allergy is to carry out an elimination diet. The basic idea is that you cut certain foods out of your diet to see if the symptoms stop.
One site claimed that one in seven people has a wheat intolerance.
I'm going to go ahead and cut it out today. Right now. No more. No sense in waiting. It could take as long as two weeks to notice a change.
Disappointed to see that oats are a no-no as well. I was going to have oatmeal for breakfast.
They pricked my finger. I have perfect glucose levels.
They took my blood pressure. My blood pressure is fine.
They took my blood. I saw the vials. I didn't want to see the vials. Two of them. And I stared at them like a car crash, all woozy. And then he took them out of the room and out of sight. And then he had forgotten something and I was staring at them again.
Blood is freaky, damn.
The doctor then made me fight him. Squeeze his fingers as hard as I can. Use all my strenghth to pull his arms apart. Push them together. Other strenth tests.
Reflex tests.
Standing on one foot.
Apparently I'm in excellent shape. I'm in excellent shape and this is the one instance in which I didn't want to hear that. I'm in excellent shape, but I certainly don't feel like it.
It's frustrating. I felt even more lightheaded than usual on the way home. I got home and passed out for four hours. The blood they took, I guess.
The blood tests come back Tuesday. They're running everything they can. Testing for B12 levels. Thyroid problems. Insulin levels. Lyme disease.
"Have you come in contact with any deer ticks?"
I have a feeling these tests aren't going to give me any answers either. The next step from there is to see an allergy specialist and have him steal some more of my blood for some tests of his own.
My mother thinks I've acquired an allergy to wheat. The doctor agreed that that was very possible. He suggested I cut it from my diet for a week or so, just to see.
I'll do that come Tuesday, if all else is inconclusive.
Elise is coming up here for two weeks next month. We should tiptoe on in there without a cat. "We just like to dine surrounded by other people's cats."
Speaking of tiptoeing...
I'll be damned if Jeremy and I didn't tiptoe our way into a racquetball court at the YMCA this afternoon. That's right. We racquetballed.
Racquetball is just like tennis, except I know the rules of tennis and not those of racquetball. Also, both players stand on one side. Also, it's indoors and walled in on all sides. And there's no net of course. The ball is rubber. You hit it against a wall. There are these white lines across the court, but you're not very sure what they're dividing.
Racquetball is awesome.
After playing for two hours, I'm pretty sure I understand how it's played-- minus any idea of scoring and or rules.
But boy it's fun to dick around, to get a feel for the court. To do something active again. When I was on my nature kick, I expressed the importance of an active hobby... hiking is too much trouble to do on a regular basis.
Besides racquetball is a skill that one could eventually harness. And it kicks your ass. Makes you sweat.
Somebody: Do you play any sports?
Me: Yeah. I play racquetball.
Sophisticated. Slightly mysterious. Racquetball is the cult sport of the well learned and well to do... I swear it.
It's past five in the morning, so it's time for me to go work on my book, but before I do...
The trailer for The Life Aquatic appeared online today. Wes Anderson is incredible. Having finally seen Garden State, the anticipation for Aquatic is mounting.
I secretly want to write a movie. A secret one that is only mentioned when mentioning how secret it is.
I am not, at current, writing a secret screenplay... so don't get your hopes up Jeremy.
I have too much on my plate right now. When was the last time I even thought about my novel? It's terrible to feel so disconnected to something I feel so... connected to. I love my novel. Love my novel.
The first book was easy. Maybe that's why I don't like it anymore.
It's been over two years since I wrote the first chapter of the new one. Over two years and only fifty manuscript pages to show. Two years and it's currently buried... under my plate.
I'll come around. I'll go write now.
The diet book.
Next Friday, a photographer from Westport Magazine is coming to the house. It's a local magazine, but supposedly it has a good circulation.
The week after that, it's a photographer from Women's Day Magazine.
That's five photo shoots since last month. Things are only going to get crazier and crazier as the book release approaches.
I have a doctor's appointment on Friday. God I hate giving blood. I don't care about needles. When you're a little kid and they stick you with 102 of them in one year for your asthma... you get used to it. I am however, entirely afraid of blood and the fact that it's pumping through my body at this very moment. Blood just freaks me out, is all.
And the last time I had blood taken, it left me sleepy, woozy, dizzy for the entire day.
Did I mention I'm going to have blood drawn to determine what's leaving me so tired to begin with? I may pass out. Who knows?
Sometimes being neurotic can pass the time.
I don't want a paper gown either. I haven't worn one of those since my asthma days. All my midnight emergency room visits. The usual childhood stuff.
Took photos on a throwaway black and white camera when I was in Florida. A nice escape from digital. Here I put a gecko on Elise's back, and then my thumb in front of the lens.
There's a great sense of accomplishment when you pull random things from a fridge that you just know work together and then actually throw them together and then ultimately they taste great together.
I bought a box of Dreamfield's low carb spaghetti a few days ago, and so I've centered dinner around that for the past three days. Dreamfield's spaghetti is normal spaghetti that they swear does not affect your blood sugar as normal pasta would. This is through some chemical mumbo-jumbo that I only partially believe. But hey... it's better than the alternative... normal spaghetti without any promise of spectacular chemical carb blockage.
Friday I made a chicken breast sauteed with eggplant, artichoke hearts, shallots, garlic, basil and fresh tomatoes.
Saturday I made a healthy spaghetti carbonara. Chopped shallots and ham, parmesan cheese, a little cheddar, soy milk... thickened with a roux made of canola oil and whole wheat flour. I threw in the rest of the eggplant and some more fresh tomatoes, because vegetables are our friend.
Today it was a can of fat free turkey chili over the spaghetti, topped with cheddar cheese, chopped onions and diced tomatoes. It was beautiful.
Tomorrow I'll probably go out for a sandwich... I'm tired.
I'd post the cover, but maybe it isn't my place to leak that sort of thing. I'm sure it will show up on Amazon's pre-order page sometime soon.
Garden State opened in Norwalk today. I saw it again. It's just that incredible. It makes me want to do something creative. Write. I think I write more in here about writing than I actually write nowadays... if that makes sense to you.
Also, I am drained. All of the time. I'm scheduling a blood test actually. Some sort of deficiency maybe? Lord knows I eat healthier than anyone I know. I take my vitamins. Am in relatively good shape. Exercise... well I would get more if I had the energy.
Jeremy threw a balled up piece of paper at my head earlier and it came right at my eye and I watched it coming right at my eye, and then it hit me right above that eye. And then I asked... how come I didn't react at all? I saw it coming the whole way and yet didn't even attempt to move. No reaction time.
I am sluggish. Mellow. Cool as a cucumber and all of that.
But I don't want to be anymore. It's been something like a year like this. I mean, I had more energy at three hundred pounds than I do now at one-forty.
For some reason, I think I just wrote it off as a byproduct of boredom or something.
But now... even when I'm happily occupied... I'm still a snail.
So I'll be seeing a doctor later this week.
Sample polaroids from today's People Magazine shoot.
Anthony brought a scanner with him when he moved up here. Now I can scan the polaroids I steal from photo shoots! Here is a shot from the shoot for the book jacket... they were still testing the lighting. It's just an example... the actual photo will be chosen from hundreds that were taken afterward.
My mother just vacuumed the entire house in eleven minutes. I timed it. When a People Magazine crew is going to be in your house in one hour there's no finesse, just some crazy woman jabbing the business end of the vacuum every which way, the hose wrapped around her neck.
The first pot of coffee is gone before I wake up. It must all be in my mother. She yelled, "Jump! Jump!" and made me jump over the vacuum so that she wouldn't have to slow down.
I was looking for the toaster. She's hidden it again. It's such an ugly toaster. Old. Cheap. My mother always hides it when reporters come over. Always.
A boy still needs his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the morning.
At nine it's the photo crew, here to take photos of my family nice and early-like... we're like any American family really. Up at eight. Makeup at nine. Photos at ten.
I had no sleep last night.
The reporter shows up at noon.
I want to go back to sleep.
There's another magazine shoot at the end of the month. Women's Day Magazine. We'll hide the toaster again.
It costs $6.50 to park at the Norwalk train station.
It costs $18.50 for one round-trip off-peak ticket to Grand Central Station.
It costs $10.50 to see a movie at the AMC Empire 25 on 42nd street.
It costs $23.00 with tip for one meal at the Olive Garden in Times Square.
It costs $0.75 for two Advil from a newstand on the street when you're feeling dizzy, tired and think you might pass out.
It was completely and utterly worth it.
It was even worth sitting through the complete disappointment that was Open Water. Yes, yesterday was a New York movie day to end all movie days. Open Water AND Garden State.
Open Water truly is Blair Witch with sharks. Blair Witch with sharks and less convincing acting and terrible directing and horrible music and drawn out establishing shots and an even less satisfying ending. It's a movie about two people surrounded by sharks that I would rather live than watch again.
So if you are reading this... don't buy into the hype. It isn't terrifying. It isn't even good.
Thank god for Garden State. Finally a movie to unseat Eternal Sunshine as my favorite movie this year. Finally something to applaud when the lights came up. (Which everyone did.)
Also, I nearly cried. Nearly. I can't remember the last movie that hit me that hard. It was just... extremely relatable. I'd say more, but I'd have to ruin the movie... so never mind.
It's true that I bought one of the new iPods. It's true that I am one happy camper.
Just something random. Something that's on my mind right now. I think it's just that I'm still freezing right now.
So hello! I disappeared. I disappeared to you anyway. To explain...
I read a lot of random blogs. I love to observe. I observe so goddam much in real life that I sometimes forget to exist. People must wonder why I'm always so out of it. I have to wonder why I'm always the opposite. So involved in a situation that I'm reverse engineering it in my head. Staring at every single piece of the moment, to later construct something similar... on paper. When deconstructing every life experience, life gets tedious. I'm losing focus but it's a goal of mine to be more honest here, so I'll continue.
I don't think that I'm a very good writer when it comes to the essentials. Grammar and vocabulary... sure I have some authority with those two... but I'm nowhere near where I wish I were. Still, I've heard enough--taken in enough compliments--to feel pretty confident in my writing nowadays. My first novel is laughing in a drawer somewhere. Why would I ever want to open that drawer again? I'm telling you that there is a mouth on the top of that manuscript and it is laughing at me. It's laughing at the complete and utter lack of confidence I had as a writer.
I think I've made strives. I've made it to the point that I can actually put five sentences down on a piece of paper and actually call it a story. Wholeheartedly believe in it.
Last year I would have said, "That's too short to be a story," and then a mouth would form on the page and laugh, laugh, laugh.
It's all about believing in what you do. That's what I'm saying. Confidence is attractive, even on paper.
You can tell when I'm feeling confident here in the blog. I start babbling, lose focus and branch, branch, branch out from the real topic at hand. Excused arrogance.
Again, please excuse me for babbling, losing focus and... you get the idea.
I don't think I'm a very good writer when it comes to the essentials, but I'm finally confident that I can and do make up for that in other ways. I draw attention away from all of my shortcomings by presenting everything I've observed in life as honest as I possibly can within the limitations of those pesky "essentials."
Most everything I write is honest to life as I've observed it and like I said, I observe everything.
This was about random blogs and how I've observed them. High school ones in particular. Livejournals especially. Boy do they thrive on misery. Unhappiness and blogging go hand and hand, it seems.
Even my own blog found me whining about my lack of a personal life on many an occasion.
So I just disappeared for two weeks. And so... if unhappiness and blogging go hand and hand and I've stopped blogging, I think you get the point.
Honesty comes from observation and observation takes away from life and to be quite honest, I've spent the last two weeks living. No reverse engineering, just living moment to moment. I can remember everything in vivid detail, but can I put them back together here for you? No. And do I want to? No. Why would I want to ruin the magic?
Elise and I are happy and these are the only words I can arrange to say it. It's those damn essentials. But still, at least I'm being honest.
