Frenchy's Foliies... Celebrity Obsession

I have an entire cart full of groceries. The ice cream is melting from the indecisiveness of my youngest son. Does he want strawberries? Apples? Grapes? I grab the strawberries and make a b-line for my very very favorite part of going to the grocery store. The tabloid magazines! The more unbelievable stories on the front cover, the better. I grab the juiciest one and flip through the pages. I tune out my boy whining, the people around me. Who gives a shit if the ice cream melts? I want to know if Jennifer is finally pregnant and if Kim faked her reality show for ratings!!!

Yes, you know who I'm talking about don't you? I'm on a first name basis with these people. They are a part of my everyday life. I look to them to find out what will be "in" this spring. I want need to know who they are dating. I'm happy for them when they get married. I'm sad when they split up.

You may not be aware that there is an actual psychological illness called "Celebrity Worship Syndrome". It really does exist! It's defined as "an obsessive-addictive disorder in which a person becomes overly involved with the details of a celebrity's personal life" (Thank you Wikipedia!) So what on earth makes us so consumed with these people?

 They are beautiful...duh! Celebrities always look fresh, wide-eyed and have remarkably smooth skin. They never look tired or old. This is called Photoshop, my friends! If you have ever seen the "before and after" Photoshop pictures, you know why they look flawless. Every wrinkle is magically erased. The zits and eye bags are zapped away. They whittle away their waists, thighs and upper arms. If only we could do this in real life, damn it!

                                                 It's Britney, bitch! Minus some pounds. Photo from The Chive

Every company on earth is sending these people hair and skin products in the hopes of them mentioning it and garnering a free celebrity endorsement. The top clothing and shoe designers are sending their fashions as well. When Britney wears Uggs new boots while being attacked by the paparazzi at Starbucks...BAM! A multi million dollar advertising campaign in the tabloids for the mere price of what it cost to make one pair of those big fuzzy boots.

Let's not forget how much money these people have too. They can hire nutritionists, trainers, hair stylists, makeup artists, and personal assistants to make sure they look their very best every time they step out of their Bentley.

 The Great Escape... Yep. I'm going there. What better way to forget your troubles than by getting obsessed with someone elses? No woman can honestly say they have not done this at one time or another. Poor Angelina has all the kids while Brad's away. Lindsay is in jail...AGAIN! Their fuck ups and drama is a total distraction from everything going on in the real world. I've caught myself leading such a boring life at times that I call my friends to announce the latest celebrity break-up or pregnancy. How lame is that??

The drama entices... We are all waiting with baited breath for the next chapter in the saga. Each tabloid leaves you with a "to be continued..."  type feeling. What will happen next? Whatever it is, it probably isn't even true. A celebrity publicist is always in the background making sure that a grand 'ol puppet show happens every chance they get. They make sure that the decisions their famous clients make get lots and lots of attention. I can just imagine them saying, "Take your engagement ring off and look like you have been crying" or "Walk down Rodeo Drive with another man while your husband is out of town". I think a lot of that shit is staged. And you know damn well that these "reality" shows are not real, they do retakes of a lot of the scenes because these dumb ass nobodies that became somebodies think they didn't reACT properly. You don't get a redo in real life, honey!

Sometimes I do feel sorry for famous people.  I have a friend who made it into the "spotlight" so to speak. I was with her every step of the way and let me tell you, it was no walk in the park. Her 15 minutes felt like an eternity. Phone call after phone call for interviews. Always having to pretend like she was ridiculously happy. People watching what she was doing. Having to look flawless just in case she needed to be on camera. Offers for services, clothes, and other items for endorsement. So many choices that it would make your head spin! Waking up early and going all day to make sure to get all the events/appointments in. It was exhausting. It wasn't even for that long. I could not even IMAGINE living life at that pace every single day. No way. Living out of a suitcase in hotels and airplanes, no thank you. People fighting to get your picture and being recognized everywhere you go, screw that.

 They can have their fortune and fame. I'll keep my yoga pants, zits, and thunder thighs. Now gimme that hot off the press Star magazine, bitch! And pass the bon bons.

Rizzo's Ramblings...You can love animals and still eat them.

Yesterday on WAVY TV 10 in Norfolk, Virginia there was a news story about PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). This is not a "new" news story, as a matter of fact, this same story has been being broadcast for years. PETA kills animals. PETA, who is most notorious for its campaigns against fur and fast food franchises does not mind euthanizing animals pets brought to it to be put up for adoption. As a matter of fact, in 2012 alone, over 1600 dogs, cats, and other companion animals were put down. 89.4% of what was brought in to them. To date, almost 30,000 animals have been slaughtered by PETA. With a 36 million dollar a year budget, you would think that they would have a no kill policy. That is not the case. Ingrid Newkirk, the president (and founder) of PETA, is more concerned with the tacky, sexual, and sometimes sickening demonstrations that PETA has become known for. “We could become a no-kill shelter immediately. It means we wouldn't do as much work." This was a direct quote from Ms. Newkirk to The Virginian-Pilot. Ms. Newkirk is so much into off the wall displays against "animal cruelty", that in her last will and testament she has left very specific instructions as to what to do with her body. She wants one of her eyes plucked out, mounted, and delivered to the U.S administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency, so that they will always be reminded that PETA is watching them. She wants her flesh to be barbecued to remind people that meat is meat no matter what species it comes from. She wants her skin to be removed and turned into leather products and put on display. This, my friends, is a radical woman. These last wishes would be very noble IF she didn't allow her home base organization to kill rescue animals, most within the first 24 hours of arriving. Please, let me be clear on this. I LOVE animals of all kinds. I believe that some of the living conditions of the animals that we, as a population, use for food are atrocious and should be changed. I am a meat eater. Does that make me callous and uncaring? No. It makes me human. It does not mean that I turn a blind eye to the fact that more and more factory farms are cropping up. These factory farms do not allow the animals enough room to grow, they do not give them a clean living environment which leads to having to give them more antibiotics. These farms have also started using growth hormones so that the "turn over" is quicker, there by making more money. I do not believe this should be the case. I, myself, have helped raised cattle that were going to market to become food for someone's dinner table. My parents had 40 acres of land and about 40 head of cattle. That is an acre per cow. These cattle were allowed to roam as they pleased, they were fed sweet feed and hay in the winter time, and they grazed on clover in the spring and summer. Antibiotics were not administered unless the cow actually needed them, and we would know immediately if they did because we were there every day. I even administered some of the shots myself. Did I, myself, ever eat a cow that I had help raise? No. I don't think I could bring myself to do that. I will also tell you that on market days my mother would be beside herself because she knew where "her babies" were going. She watched every calf on that farm be born. She was invested in their health and well being. She loved them. My mother would go out into the field in the evening and play the truck radio for them. They would all gather around and lie down. To this day, the memory of playing music for her cattle still brings a smile to her face. And she still enjoys a good steak. I have a lot of vegetarian and vegan friends. I think it is excellent. It seems to be a very healthy lifestyle, and if I could learn to like tofu, I might even try it. My point here is, you can love animals and want them to be treated better and still partake in being a carnivore. I think being honest about it would be much better than sending naked celebrities into the street and then secretly murdering those whom you say you are trying to protect. PETA is hypocritical. It is a waste of time and money, and it is ran by crazy fanatics who are in it for the shock value, not the rights of animals. If PETA would stop the crazy antics of trying to protect wharf rats, while killing thousands of dogs and cats and focus on trying to make these factory farms more humane they would garner more support from mainstream people. Although, Ingrid Newkirk, with her radical ideas may not want mainstream support. Perhaps she just likes to cater to the crazies.
Links to information regarding PETA:
Ingrid's will
Yearly PETA kill rate
WAVY TV 10 news story
Pilot online news story December 2012

Rizzo's Ramblings...I'm baaack (I think)

I am sick. I have been sick for days. A horrible, terrible, gross sick that I am not going to go into details about. Blergh. I have also been cruising Facebook, because what else are you supposed to do when you have seen everything on Netflix? Some rather startling news was brought to my attention (per usual, Facebook is where I get ALL my news, even about myself). There was this big huge rape case. One I had not even heard about because I don't watch the "real" news - it is too depressing. I am sure by now most all of you have heard about it. If not, you can read about it here, and here, and here. Those are not nearly all of the links, and you can Google it to find out all your heart desires. There was a huge uproar over the way some of the news agencies treated the judges decision. You see, a lot of people wanted to feel sorry for the two rapists because "their lives were ruined forever." After that, there were many bloggers who offered their opinions on the case, and on the way society was treating the rapists and the victim. There were blogs about what we should be teaching our children about rape. I applaud everyone who stands up for the victim. I applaud everyone who wants to teach their children better. It is not that I do not disagree. I just wonder how much good this all will do. Before you take my head off, please hear me out. Those of us who agree with the whole teach your children to stand up for someone who cannot stand up for themselves or the whole do not abuse the power you hold over someone thing are probably already teaching our children that. We are probably already teaching our children about honesty, integrity, loyalty, compassion, and love for all mankind. WE are probably not the problem here. It is the parents who teach their children that it is about what you have or who you know or where you attend school or how good you are at sports or how popular you are or how badly you can make someone feel in order to make yourself feel better - those parents are the problem. And they aren't reading these blogs. They agree with the people who feel sorry for these star athletes, whose lives have been ruined forever because some loose girl got drunk and couldn't keep her legs shut. They don't give a damn about honesty, integrity, loyalty, compassion, or love for all mankind. We ALL know these people. We ALL know their children. We ALL can probably tick them off one by one going down a list. I propose a different solution. I propose that we begin to teach other parents. I propose that WE, as parents, stand up to these other parents without fear. WE have to lead by example. We have to show our children that it is OK to go against the grain. To be kind to those who have no one else. To stand by and stand up for the one who gets picked on everyday. To take a stand against violence or bullying of any kind. We have to be there for our children and tell them how great they are making this world. We have to quit allowing them to be depressed, quit allowing them to "try to fit in", quit allowing them to harm themselves because they feel like they are worthless. WHY is depression and self harm becoming an epidemic in today's teenage society? I am no expert, but I believe that it is because our children are  under so much pressure trying to fit in and be something they are not, that this is the only way they can relieve that pressure. What better way than to punish themselves? To not allow themselves to be happy, or to hurt themselves. WE AS PARENTS can alleviate that pressure by not trying to fit in ourselves. How many times have you or someone you know been nervous to go to a school function or a ballgame because you didn't have the right clothes, or the right car, or the right connections? How many times have you not stood up for your own child because you just didn't want to make waves. How many times have you molded your personality or figures of speech so that you wouldn't be looked down upon? So that you would have a buddy or two to sit with at the school functions or the ballgames. So that people in your town wouldn't label you or treat you differently. Some of you will say that you are doing this for your children. That if you fit in, your child will have a better chance. I call bullshit. That is selfish and self serving, and you are not doing your child any favors. You are teaching them by example. You are showing them that kow towing to the people with power will help them in some way. I say we teach other parents, and in turn we teach our children by example. I say we, as parents, can stand up for ourselves and our children all at the same time. It might not turn things around in one day, and it might be the hardest thing you have ever done; but wouldn't it be worth it to have a future society who valued people on their integrity, loyalty compassion, and love for all mankind?

Frenchy's Follies... Ahhh ahh chooo!

I have a bad back. I started having problems with it in middle school actually. I turned the wrong way and BAM! I was bed ridden for a week. On and off I had the same problem through my teens and into adulthood. The older I got, the shorter the time in between the next time it would go out. Finally my primary care doctor decided to refer me to an orthopedic surgeon that specializes in the spine.

I had an MRI done and it was determined that I have Degenerative Disc Disease and a bulging disc at level L4/L5. The disc would get inflamed and touch the nerve when I did too much and it caused my back to ache or give out. The doctor recommended that I have surgery to shave down the disc. I refused to do it because I had heard of  way too many people that had back surgery and regretted it for one reason or another.

Boy was that a mistake.

I ended up opting to have epidural steroid injections into my spine instead. And yes, they are just as painful as they sound. Actually they were even worse than having a real epidural because the disk was so inflamed that when they would inject the liquid the pressure was so great that it caused me to spew obscenities from my mouth like a sailor. That poor doctor. I alternated between these shots and trigger point injections and neither seemed to help for very long. I was on and off narcotics and muscles relaxers for several years. Until THAT DAY. The day my life changed forever.

It was a Saturday night. I was getting ready to go to my birthday party that some of my friends had put together for me at a local restaurant. I was so excited! My last birthday party had been ruined by a snow storm the year before so I kinda felt a little gypped and this year we were gonna make up for it. I couldn't wait! I had just gotten dressed and I walked into the bathroom and I felt a tickle in my nose.

I sneezed.

And it changed my life forever.

I fell instantly to my knees. A pain shot down my leg that was so bad I almost projectile vomited. I screamed for my boyfriend. He came running in and picked me up off the floor (no easy task, let me tell you). Thankfully I had some Vicodin left from the last time my back had gone out. I took it and swore no matter what, I'm going to my goddamn birthday party. Nothing is going to fuck this up. So, somehow I managed to get myself ok enough to make it to the party. I had dinner, and then had to leave because I was hurting so bad. I took another pill, got my pj's on and went to bed.

In the middle of the night, a H U G E cramp in my calf and foot woke me up out of a dead sleep, I screamed at the top of my lungs and could not stop wailing and screaming. My foot was all bent up like peoples hands get when they have a stroke. I cannot even put into words how bad this pain was. Doody (my bf) jumped clear out of bed to help me as I'm puking and puking and puking. Somehow he managed to get me down the stairs. I couldn't stop throwing up. In between heaves I begged him to call 9-1-1. He wouldn't do it at first. So I went all Exorcist head spinning crazy and said
 "DO IT" in some kinda satanic voice that I've never before and never again heard come out of my mouth. He knew I meant business. He called and the ambulance was there in minutes.

They get me to the ER and what happened to me is what happens to so many people and this really pisses me off. They drugged me up. Refused to do any tests and said that it was just sciatica and sent me home, not even able to walk. They practically THREW me into the car and sent me on my way.

I did ok that night. Probably because of the huge amounts of morphine they gave me in my IV. But that next morning, I was dying in pain AGAIN! And I noticed that I couldn't move my right foot anymore and it was kinda dragging behind me. My mom picked me up and took me back to the hospital. By the time we got there I was screaming, SCREAMING at the top of my lungs. The pain in my back, leg and foot was absolutely unbearable. I scared the ever-living shit out of everyone in the waiting room. They took me back and I demanded an MRI. "Something is not right", I told the doctor. "I'm not leaving here until you do an MRI". So they did.

That bulging disc in my back had ruptured. It happened from A SNEEZE. That damn sneeze on the night of my party. There was a piece of that disc sitting on the nerve in my back that controls my right leg and foot. This is why I couldn't feel the skin on my leg, and why my foot wasn't working. They had to move fast. This could cripple me.

They contacted my orthopedic surgeon that I had been seeing because I wanted him to do whatever needed to be done. He talked to me and told me that he would have to fuse the two vertebrae above and below the ruptured disc. He took me into surgery and put me back together. The surgeon said that he had never seen such a large piece of disc hit a nerve like that without severing it. I don't remember a whole lot of the hospital stay, but I do remember waking up in recovery and hearing him going around and showing everyone the piece of my disc he took out of the nerve canal. I was in a drug haze the entire 5 days I spent in the hospital. My crazy ass boyfriend took several videos of me talking to the kids (they weren't there), bitching at him to do the laundry, telling him he stunk (I'm pretty sure it was me, I wasn't allowed to shower!). So yeah, thanks Doody for taking that footage and showing me and everyone we know when I looked like shit and my hair wasn't done!

After the surgery I went through rehabilitation, took lots of drugs, did physical therapy, and still, I was in severe pain. And I couldn't feel the side of my leg and the top of my foot. I had a slight limp, and if I overexerted myself my foot would drag slightly. Needless to say, no way this girl was going back to do hair anytime soon. Thank god my employees kept on working and doing their job so I could still get a paycheck and support my family!

After 6 months I still wasn't getting any better. I went to work one day to do an order and one of my stylists introduced me to her client whose husband basically provides stem cell patches that are being used in a new spinal fusion surgery. He actually is in the operating room and at the end of the fusion, before they sew you up, he wraps this cloth around the two vertebrae and that cloth has stem cells on it and the cells turn into BONE!! So basically the bone grows over top of the metal plate they put in to replace the disc. This wonderful client makes a call and gets me into this genius neurosurgeon's office to look at my films to find out what the hell is going on.

Because I have Degenerative Disc Disease,  the doctor explained that the disc below my fusion had worn down so much that the two vertebra's were actually touching. When I would lay down to go to bed and try to get back up to pee or whatever, my back would totally lock up, causing excruciating pain and I couldn't even move. It would take forever for it to ease up enough to finally get out of bed. I became terrified of nighttime knowing that this would happen. I had bouts with insomnia because of that fear. The neurosurgeon told me that he would have to fuse that level as well. So here I go again. Another fusion, less than a year apart! I couldn't even freak out at this point I was numb and depressed. Being unable to play with my kids and do the job that I love so much was tearing me apart. I felt like my life had gotten ripped out from under me.

I had the second fusion about a year ago. Although it has helped stop my back from locking up, I still have pain that would probably kill a horse. They have determined that the nerve damage that has caused atrophy in my leg and numbness in my leg and foot is permanent. It will never get better. I will never be able to do hair for a living again. I cannot stand or sit or even lay down for long periods without excruciating pain. I can't lift anything, and when I drop something, if I squat down I have a hell of a time getting up.

 This is my back. Just call me the Bionic Woman!

I battled depression. I couldn't believe that I could not take care of my clients. Or ride a roller coaster. Even having sex would cause my back to hurt so bad that I would pay for it for days after. I had to turn my thinking around and learn how to tolerate the pain and push it as far back in my mind as I could. I had to look at the bright side and be thankful that I can walk. I can't tell you how many doctors and therapists have looked at my chart and told me how very LUCKY I am to not be crippled. I have learned to appreciate that and everything else wonderful in my life, my man, my beautiful kids. The salon and my peeps there that work so hard for me to be able to provide for my boys. I am so grateful for all of that. Clearly you can see that I fought the depression AND I WON. (I'm proud of myself for that)

I am currently in pain management. They want to put a spinal cord stimulator in my back to help block the pain message to my brain. I had an appointment set up to have it surgically implanted on April 3rd and I cancelled it today. Honestly, I need a break from surgery. They have me on meds that are helping enough to get me through right now. And the thought of a battery pack being implanted under the skin of my butt cheek isn't real appealing to me, quite frankly. I was worrying myself to death over it and I feel relieved to know that I'm not getting it done now. The option to have it is always there and I know it. Just not right now.

I still cannot believe that A SNEEZE fucked my life up like this. But it did.

Bet I know what you will think of next time you feel that tickle in your nose!

*Disclaimer... Clearly I know people have had way worse shit happen to them. This blog is just the story of my life's twists and turns and how they have molded me in to who I am.

Rizzo's Ramblings...procrastination

It occurred to me that the only things I have been blogging about are horrific (to me anyway), and so I thought I would try something different. I am a procrastinator. I procrastinate about procrastinating. The longer I can put something off the better. And it doesn't matter what it is or how great it would be for me. I am, at this moment in time, putting off any kind of physical exercise and quitting smoking. I know that both would be beneficial to my health, as well as to each other. If I quit smoking I would be able to exercise easier, and if I exercised it would make not smoking easier. Yes. All that makes sense. It sounds good. Hell, it looks good on paper. SO, I don't do either one and make up a myriad of excuses as to why. I can come up with some doozies too, let me tell ya! The last time I tried to quit smoking someone in my family died. That was my excuse for a whole year. - I can't quit smoking! You wouldn't want anybody to die again, would you? HA! Utter bullshit. The truth of the matter is I am scared. Change (of any kind) totally fucks me up. I guess its some sort of disorder - you pick I don't care - but I like to have things a certain way and I like them to stay like that. Today, for instance, I upgraded from IPOD to IPHONE. Not that big of a change, but goddamn, it caused me to be a horrific bitch. I had my Ipod set up just the way I wanted. All the notifications and ringtones and apps and bullshit were just where I wanted them to be. I thought I could just come home, hook the ol' Iphone up to my trusty laptop and it would do the work for me. Yeah, that did NOT happen. As soon as I hooked the phone up, my computer wouldn't sync it. Instead, it wanted to install an updated version of the IOS. Now, keep in mind, the damn phone had been activated and already had *some* of my stuff on it. What happened next, literally, caused me to take a pill. THE WHOLE DAMN THING WAS ERASED. I mean it was absofuckinglutley blank. Didn't even have my Apple ID in it any more. SO, I waited 20 minutes for the update to download and install. I assumed that my laptop, in its infinite wisdom  would know to PUT MY SHIT BACK. My laptop must not have realized how much I was depending on it for my sanity, because it didn't do dick! *I* had to start from scratch with the whole welcome to Apple or whatever the hell the very first ever screen is on an Iphone. And I signed in again. Well, I am not a savant, but I am not computer illiterate either and I decided to tell my laptop to just sync with the damn phone. I am good at giving orders. Apparently, I don't speak iCloud. (Are you fucking kidding me? I literally have a cloud over my head all the time like in the cartoons?!?!) It took me 2 HOURS just to get my music and apps on this damn phone. TWO WHOLE GOD DAMN HOURS!!! What. The. Fuck. At that point, I decided to listen to the book I started a few days ago on my audible app. Guess what. The sonofabitch wanted me to sign in to Audible. You guys. If I can sign in and hit a button that says remember me, then that is one less thing I have to keep track of. I didn't know the password. That was not my job. That was my Ipod's job. My Ipod still knows the password. My Ipod still has my place saved in the book I was listening to. This Iphone has got a lot of 'splaining to do. Now, if I can just remember the eye color of my pre school teachers cat so I can answer my secret question, I will be in good shape!!

Frenchy's Follies... First Encounter

Welp. It happened. My first encounter with a Crazy Motherfucker since we started the blog. I knew it wouldn't take long!

I'm gonna venture out of my little hiding hole and tell you guys a little bit more about myself. As you may have read in my first blog here, I am a business owner, and have been for ten years now. WHAT KIND of business I own is what will keep my blog full of crazy, interesting shit. And lots of it.

I own a hair salon.

A really nice, contemporary salon in an upscale area. Now I'm sure you all know that people tell all kinds of crap to their hairstylists, I will not break the "Hairstylist Oath" and tell other peoples dirty little secrets. Unless they are REAL juicy.

Anyways...

I went into work today to check on my peeps. To make sure they have enough color and shampoo and all the other crap they need to do their job. I just so happened to answer the phone and an older lady wanted to get a haircut today with someone who is really good (duh, they all are) and that will be patient with her and focus on "cutting hair and not running their mouth" as she so eloquently put it. Alright, let's stop right there.

I guess this was supposed to be my "sign"  that this lady was batshit crazy. But honestly, people say things like that all the time and we hairstylists view it as a challenge to make that person happy, no matter what. My peeps are really really good at what they do, and usually it works out great and the customer becomes a regular. NOT THIS TIME!

I'm walking around, blah blahing it up with all these customers that I know, doing my "duty" as the owner to entertain them and ever so slightly kiss their ass. I see an older lady with some FUCKED UP HAIR and two duckbill clips holding the sides back. I instantly knew that this is the lady.

                 
This is a duckbill clip. You don't

 wear this shit like a barrette in your hair people!

I had scheduled her with a newbie who is very patient, thorough, talented as shit. And preggo.

The lady sits down. She starts bitching about the directions I gave her to get to the salon. Which were absolutely accurate and I gave them to her twice. She whips out a curling iron from her purse and plugs that thing into the outlet and turns it on. She gives the same boring speech to Preggo as she did me, about no one giving her what she wants and Preggo asks her what exactly that is. This is when the Crazy Motherfucker came out.

She wants her HAIR CUT. She wants it CUT, blown dry, curling ironed and when Preggo is done, she wants her hair to land here (as she points to a place THREE INCHES LONGER than her fucking hair!!!)

MMMk. Preggo is stunned. Doesn't even say anything because I'm sure she is either holding back laughter or thinking to herself You have got to be kidding me!

The lady then asks to see Preggo's scissors. Preggo says no. The lady DEMANDS them while shouting "What's wrong with all of you people? Why can't I ever get anyone to do my hair that understands what I want?" So funny enough, even though we hairstylists practically take a VOW to never let customers touch our tools, Preggo hands her the scissors. The lady wants to show her how she wants her to hold the scissors to cut her hair. Preggo quickly takes them back and the lady gets SUPER pissed off and says, "If you aren't going to let me show you what I want then maybe I should leave" And all those hormones inside of sweet, quiet Preggo forced her to say, "I THINK YOU SHOULD!" So, in a blaze of pure craziness, old lady gets up, grabs her curling iron and heads to the door, all the while bitching and griping about how she doesn't understand why no one can cut her hair right and what is wrong with everyone that cuts hair around here, blah blah blah...

Now, normally I would have stepped in, put on my big girl panties, and taken care of this in my normal ultra professional manner. But I was indisposed and was not able to do a damn thing to intervene. However, it would have ended the same I'm afraid. I would have said to her that it was clear that we weren't going to be able to make her happy, and that I could recommend another salon she could try instead of using us. Then I would have sent her over to my greatest competitor to TOTALLY fuck with them. Mwahahaha.

Just kidding.
Maybe.

And that my peeps, is the first and certainly not the last encounter with a...

Crazy Motherfucker.

Rizzo's Ramblings...Heartbreak.

This is part of a one month supply that we get every month. It is all the trappings necessary to care for an insulin dependent type 1 diabetic on an insulin pump. I would so much love to be able to say that all of this belong to me. However, I cannot. You see this belongs to my 14 year old daughter. She was diagnosed a type 1 diabetic on March 5, 2010. Almost a month after her eleventh birthday. About a week before she had come to me with her little netbook that she had gotten for Christmas open to WEB MD on a page that listed all the symptoms and signs of diabetes.

These symptoms may be the first signs of type 1 diabetes, or may occur when the blood sugar is high:

Being very thirsty

Feeling hungry

Feeling tired or fatigued

Having blurry eyesight

Losing the feeling or feeling tingling in your feet

Losing weight without trying

Urinating more often

For other people, these warning symptoms may be the first signs of type 1 diabetes, or they may happen when the blood sugar is very high (see: diabetic ketoacidosis):

Deep, rapid breathing

Dry skin and mouth

Flushed face

Fruity breath odor

Nausea or vomiting, inability to keep down fluids

Stomach pain

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As she walked up to me she was crying sobbing. As her mother I was immediately concerned. I, of coursed, asked her what was wrong. Mom, I think I have diabetes. I laughed at her. I told her of course she did not have diabetes. I asked her if she had been very hungry or thirsty more than usual. She answered no. I asked her if she could see alright. She answered yes. I asked her if she could feel her feet. She answered yes. I got her calmed down and explained to her that what was probably going on with her body was puberty. She had not yet started her period, I was expecting it to happen at any time. Her face had begun to break out, and all of us women know that acne is a sure sign that puberty is either right around the corner or has just arrived. I told her to quit looking things up on the internet for crying out loud! SHe felt better about it and went on with her life. Fast forward to March 4, 2010. She had softball practice. Not just regular softball practice, she was on two teams. Little league and a travel ball team. She really was that damn good. I took her to practice and got to talking to the other moms about how thin my daughter had gotten. I asked them if they thought she looked taller. I began speculating if someone had said something to her about her weight (she had been a little pudgy but jesus she was a baby, aren't they all?!?) I asked the other moms if they thought it was possible that my daughter had developed an eating disorder. At this point one spoke up and said that her daughter had mentioned that my daughter had been giving her lunch away at school. So we all looked a little closer at her. Man, she was awful pale. White almost. She was also very slow and sluggish and uncoordinated. She definitely didn't have her head in the practice. The coach's wife called her over to have some M&M's ( what kids turns down candy and at this point we were all convinced she was anorexic).  All my daughter wanted was water. When she was handed the bottle of water her hand was shaking so badly that she spilled it down the front of herself before she could get it to her mouth. At that point I called practice. Something was not right. I told my daughter I was taking her home and on the way we were stopping at the grocery store to buy whatever she wanted for dinner. Because she was going to eat dinner. She opted for a peanut butter sandwich and strawberries. I got her home got a few bites of the sandwich in her and a couple strawberries and she decided she was going to bed. I began praying for the flu. About 1 o'clock that morning she woke me up because she had vomited. I started thanking my lucky stars. Never in my life had I been so happy to think one of my children had the flu. The next morning we get up and my daughter says she is hungry. I celebrate again, and give her dry cereal in a baggie with a glass of milk. About fifteen minutes later she comes to me and says Mom I am shaking and I don't know why and I can't stop. I freaked. I loaded her up into the car and did 100 miles an hour to the hospital which is about 20 miles away. On the way to the hospital as I am talking to my daughter I notice that she has begun to slur her words. Once we get to the hospital I notice that she isn't walking correctly. She seems to be dragging her feet. We get in and I tell them her symptoms and that I have no idea what could be wrong and they rush her back to a room. The nurse explains to me that they will begin testing by drawing blood, but if that shows nothing they will have to do a spinal tap. Will I agree to that. I told that woman I didn't care what they had to do but they had better find out what was wrong with my daughter. Her heart rate was over 130 beats per minute and her blood pressure was higher than mine, and I have borderline high blood pressure. They started an IV and drew blood. Within 15 minutes the same nurse comes back in and says they have to stop the IV. I asked why. She said a doctor would be  in to talk to me shortly, but in the mean time they had to get a venous blood gas. I told her to take what they needed. AT this point my daughter was barely conscience. The doctor came in a few minutes later and informed me my daughters blood sugar was over 600. The hospital was not equipped to deal with a pediatric type 1 patient, let alone someone who is newly diagnosed. They called the children's hospital which is an hour away and had her transported to the PICU there. She stayed for a week. It took 5 hours of an insulin drip for my daughter to become fully conscience. She had went into full blown diabetic keto-acidosis or DKA for short. She was literally dying. She had to have 2 IV's one to put medicine in and one to get blood out because (even to this day) she has uncooperative veins and she is a hard stick. Her potassium was dangerously low and it took 4 of the 5 days to flush all the ketones out of her system. Type 1 diabetes is an auto immune disease in which the immune system attacks and destroys the islets (insulin producing cells) in the pancreas. Type 1 diabetes does not just happen over night. Diabetic keto-acidosis does not just happen overnight. If I had taken my daughter serious a week earlier and just taken her to the doctor and said I know it is ridiculous but check just in case my daughter would not have had to go through all of that. I will carry that guilt with me for the rest of my life. Today, three years later, she is healthy ( as healthy as she can be with uncontrolled type 1 diabetes. She is what they call brittle) and happy. Well, as happy as a 14 year old girl who attends middle school can be. We fight this monster daily. She has to check her sugar (which means pricking her finger) seven times a day at least. She has horrendous lows (in the 40's) to the point that she cannot feel her arms or legs and we have to pour as much sugar into her as fast as we can so that she doesn't pass out. She has highs( so high the meter won't read) and all she can do is sleep. One day I want to be able to say type 1 diabetes is a thing of the past. Until then, she and I will fight this one day at a time.