Nurse, more suction please!

The recent drama over my plane ticket almost made me forgot about the ORIGINAL wedding drama – that of DRESS! The story is too good to leave unfinished, so here is the final (I hope) chapter in the saga of being a suitably clad bridesmaid.

Some weeks after the initial meeting with the Dressmaker, she called back to let me know that she’d like me to come in for a fitting. I was instructed to bring along the undergarments I would be wearing. Shopaholic had been raving about this supposedly miracle control underwear – that Oprah herself wore – and persuaded me to buy a pair. $50 later, I found myself wondering if this honestly did what the salesgirl, Shopaholic and of course Oprah said it would do – take whole inches off your waistline and in other places. And if so, why on earth aren’t more people talking about this?

I got to the Dressmaker’s and there it was – THE DRESS! In all its beautiful purple Maid of Honorish splendor and glory.

Dressmaker snapped me out of my reverie and shooed me off into the washroom to change my underclothes. As I pulled the Spanx underwear out of the package a glimmer of doubt rose up. I held up the garment. It was – and I exaggerate not – the size of a bikini bottom. Kate Moss’s bikini bottom. Ah, well. Here goes nothing I though. I stepped into the left leg and then stretching the top I stepped into the right.

*WHAM*. My knees snapped together with the force of the elastic and over I went. I grabbed on to the first thing that made contact with my desperately flailing hand. That happened to be the shower curtain! Down I went with a resounding crash, knock kneed with Spanx underwear around my ankles and Dressmaker’s shower curtain and rod over my head.

Silence.

Then, scurrying feet and an anxious tap on the door and Dressmaker voice (in a very high register) asking if everything was ok?

I move gingerly. My head hurts from where I slammed it against the wall. My shoulder is sore as I have probably wrenched it. And my knees are still bound together by the seemingly super-elastic on the underwear.

I struggle to my feet and reassure Dressmaker that I am still alive (I can’t say the same for her curtain rod). Once upright, I brace myself and start to pull up the underpants. Slowly, painfully and with much grunting I get the panties up as high as I can. By now, I’m sweating profusely and I’m so hot that the mirror is fogging up.

I finally get out of the washroom to find anxious Dressmaker waiting in the hall. She peers past me to survey the damage. I’m trying to maintain my dignity here, but it is quite hard to do wearing nothing but a bra and control underwear. “I’m so very sorry,” I say. “I’ll pay for the damage.” Dressmaker smiles. “Honey, don’t you fret over that ugly mess of a shower curtain. I’ve been trying to get my husband to redo the washroom for YEARS. Now he’ll have to! You’ve just gone and done what I’ve been meaning to do for a long time.”

Well !

Dressmaker ushers me into the fitting room and chats away like nothing is more common that having someone wreck your washroom while trying on underwear. I’m too flabbergast to speak (yup, there’s a new scenario for those who know me) and meekly follow her directions re getting the dress on. As I’m about to step into the dress, she stops me. Stepping onto her little dressmaker stool, she reaches down and firmly grasps the sides of the underwear that are sitting just under my bust line and YANKS. I can’t but help let out a gasp as suddenly everything shifts and magically I have a waist!
Somehow the underwear has redistributed my fat so that I now have all the curves possible, but sans the fat rolls! Amazing! WHERE all the lard has gone, I’m not sure. But it sure is well hidden. So mesmerized am I that I have to be reminded to put my dress on, and when I do – whoa, I’m so impressed! The pattern makes all of my sins (and I have a lot of those) vanish and leaves me with all of the “good bits”.

As I twirled around the room in delight, I realized that I was finally at the end of this saga that began a distant 8 months ago. Although I will miss my daily prayer of, “Please Lord, deliver me from this evil” I am so happy to know that at last, I am a card carrying member of the Club of the Suitably Clad!

Amen.

An Explanation

I really think I should explain about the sudden need to password protect this blog and answer all the questions/comments that have followed. Who knew so many cared? Hell, who knew so many READ!

I've wanted to start a dedicated travel blog for sometime now. I'm always flitting about discovering new places and the idea of having a dedicated space to chronicling my travel adventures. The last time I went away on my mega 4 month journey, a lot of friends and family followed by daily discoveries via the blog. However, I wasn't quite sure I wanted (certain) people to have access to the blog on a regular basis. Some things I write about are NOT for certain eyes (read- family) and hence the need to go password protected.

But somehow (being the technically challenged wonder that I am), I screwed up the log in process and now the wrong email is associated with this account and for the life of me I cannot figure out how to reverse that!


Anyway, thank you for being patient while I figure all this out and I hope you like the new travel blog as well!

Not Very F*cked Anymore. Only Slightly.

So, after a whole morning of frantically calling around to various airlines, travel agents and people I know in the airline biz and scouring the Internet for any and all routes to Glasgow*, I was finally able to secure new tickets for my trip on US Airways. And I didn't quite have to pay with my first born and/or my right kidney, although the price is a whopping $400 more than what I initially paid. Ah, well. Guess that means not as many pints in Scotland!

Also, the credit card company has assured me that I will be getting my money back; it may just take a while to process and it seems like I have to turn in a bunch of supporting documents and paperwork for the same. But I will get it back. Eventually.

Now, let's just hope that nothing else falls apart between now and the wedding!



*At one point I even found a ticket to Edinburgh via Gibraltar for $900! Was tempted, but the return flights were for the wrong dates.

F*cked. So Very F.*.C.K.E.D

Found out this morning that all Zoom flights have been grounded due to outstanding fees. Although the airline has not *yet* filed for bankruptcy, it's just a matter of time.


My ticket to Glasgow for Very Best Friend's wedding was booked on Zoom. As soon as I found out what was happening, I called the travel agent.


The travel agent said to call the credit card company.

The credit card company says their waiting for further information from the airline.

My backup travel agent says that all flights for that period are sold out.

The flights that are not sold out are priced at over $2000.


I am utterly and miserably - F*CKED. 

Head's Up

To my faithful reader(s?)

I will be shortly switching this blog to being password protected as I need to add in a travel blog under the same profile. It will be one more step for you all, but I hope you will keep visiting and reading!

Update:
I figured out how to "add a blog" to my username, but I just realized that I cannot change the profile information. I guess I'll have to create a whole new username/password etc for the travel blog. Which is a pain, but I guess cannot be helped.

Blogger peeps, why can't I have 2 blogs with different profile information under the same username?

New Friends

I just love it when I am able to "discover" new things about this city. A few days ago I chanced upon a darling little second hand bookstore on Bloor - Seeker's Books @ 509 Bloor St. West. After spending a delightful 2.5 hours lost among the rows of shelves, I came away with these new friends:

The Colour Purple

July was drawing to a close and I still didn’t have a dress. A feverish desperation had taken over. Every time I passed a store window and saw even a glimmer of purple, I would throw myself against the glass willing it to be something that I could wear. I even tried to make an appointment at a bridal store, but the price tags on the dresses made me abandon that idea in a hurry. Then, just when I thought I was going to walk down that aisle in a purple dyed burlap sac, one of my cousins told me about this amazing (and relatively inexpensive) dressmaker who lived right by my house. Helpful Cousin was nice enough to call said dressmaker (a.k.a The Saviour) to make me an appointment and then was even nicer and agreed to go with me.

Helpful Cousin suggested that I go scout for fabrics before I meet the Dressmaker so that I would have sample swatches to show her. A quick call to friend, Shutterbug confirms that the best place for fabrics is Queen West. Shutterbug even offers to accompany me.

At this point I realize that not one person I know is confident in my ability to pick out a dress, a pattern or even a roll of cloth that will eventually be the dress. They are right of course, but it does sting to know that one is not trusted with fashion decisions. On the other hand, it does feel wonderful to know that my friends all have my back and just don’t want me to embarrass myself with having to wear a purple dyed burlap sac.

Confident that I will be able to just LOOK at fabric myself, I wave away her offer and the following day check out the fabric stores at Queen West. When I get there, I am a little alarmed by how MANY stores there are, all with seemingly never ending rolls of fabric in every hue and colour in the rainbow. Not quite sure of how one actually goes about buying fabric for a bridesmaid dress I stumble into the first store I see (tripping on the golden lab asleep on the steps) and trust the pattern into the hands of the shop assistant. “Help!” I squeak. “Make Dress. Need Fabric.” She wanders around the store for a bit and returns with a purple satinish fabric. I ask her for a sample and march out 10 minutes later marveling at my superior fabric choosing capabilities!

It’s not until I get home and compare the sample to the online pictures of the kilts do I realize that I have chosen an entirely WRONG shade of purple!

After banging my head repeatedly against a handy wall, I call Shutterbug and in a very small (and VERY humble) voice ask her to please accompany me to the fabric stores as I am obviously not capable of this task. So, accordingly, Shutterbug and I headed over to Queen West the following Saturday. She has come prepared with a colour palate for comparison that has the correct shade of purple, and then a scale of shades darker and lighter. When we get to the first store, Shutterbug sits me down at the counter and proceeds to explain to girl-behind-the-counter what we’re looking for using phrases like “overlay of chiffon” and “muted tones for best effect”. I am suitably impressed. Shutterbug is just as picky over the fabric as Shopaholic is with the finished product. The shop girl pulls out yards and yards of all kinds of fabrics in all hues of purple. Shutterbug expertly sifts through them all and finally selects some and asks for samples. We then go to 3 more shops and do the same thing all over again. In each shop, it is implied that I sit quietly in the corner and not touch anything. Finally, Shutterbug determines that we have enough sample and we leave.

Two days later, accompanied by Helpful Cousin I go to meet with the Dressmaker - who turns out to be the Dressmaker of my dreams! She patiently listens to my garbled descriptions of what I want and somehow pieces together a pattern that will be good for me. I leave with a renewed lease on life. In two short weeks, I will be dressless no more!

Huh?

I have looked at the link to the Groom's kilts a hundred times since VBF first sent it to me. Only today did I notice the legend besides the pictures listing all the items that are covered by the hire.


What in the blazes is a:
Sgian Dubh?
Ghillie Brogues?

And I don't even want to imagine what Garter Flashes could be!!!!!

Wedding Woes

The dress saga began way back in September of last year when VBF picked out her colours and told me that I would be required to be suitably decked out in a particular shade of purple to match with the groom's tartan. Groom, Best Man and Father of Groom would all be wearing full traditional Scottish attire and for once, the women had to match up with the men.

Sure thing, I said. No Problemo! Easy Peasy - and many more such phrases. After all, I was the only bridesmaid so I could buy virtually any style of dress and it would be OK since I didn't have to worry about any one else in the bridal party. VBF even went a step further to say that I could pick out a dress that had any combination of ivory, silver and purple and she'd be just fine with it.

Fast forward. Spring 2008.

Conscious of the fact that I know little or nothing about dress shopping, my colleague Ms. Shopaholic takes it upon herself to make sure that I am suitably clad for this wedding. Over the next three months she drags me every possible store in the downtown area - before work, on our lunch break, after work, on weekends - and makes me try on what seems like 100s of dresses. "Too long" "Too short" "Too tight" (implied - loose some flab) "Too skanky" "Not skanky enough"...... she dismisses each one as I amble out of the dressing room and take a walk around the store (as per her instructions). As each dress was cast aside, I see my dream of gaining a dress in a quick and painless manner fading away. The few dresses that DO meet Shopaholic’s high (HIGH) standards are the wrong shade of purple. We do find a few nice black dresses that I long to just buy. VBF won’t mind – she’s just thankful I’m able to make it to this twice postponed wedding. But I know that my mother will throw a blue fit when she finds out that I’ve picked out a black dress to wear to my VBF’s wedding. “Very inauspicious”, she would yell. “You want to be the cause of bad luck on their wedding day?” And then she would make me return it anyway – so what’s the point? The very Caucasian, very Cosmopolitan Shopaholic does not understand this aversion to the classic black dress, but on this point I stand firm. “Yes, I realize the only dress that does not make me look like a tub of lard is the black one, but I cannot wear it to this wedding and risk the wrath of my superstitious Indian mother.” I’m also assuming that the bride’s mother will also not be too keen on the idea – being an Indian mother as well.

I guess it's back to the drawing board.

Happy Bunny Thought for the Month

Book Review - The Penelopiad

Although not very familiar with the works of Atwood, I was attracted to this piece of her work because I love the book (and the myths) that the story is drawn from. Homer’s iconic poem The Odyssey is the basis for Atwood’s version of events told from the perspective of Penelope, wife of Odysseus. The book is part of the internationally acclaimed Myths Series that groups some of the finest present day writers as they provide a contemporary take on some of the oldest, most enduring stories in history.

When Odysseus went off to fight in the Trojan War, he left behind his wife Penelope and their newborn son to rule the island of Ithica. While Homer’s tale focuses on Odysseus and his trials on his journey back from the War, Atwood shifts the focus to Penelope. What was she really up to those 20 long years? Did she truly remain faithful to her king? As the narration in the book shifts from Penelope herself to the 12 maids that were cruelly executed by Odysseus on his return, Atwood opens our eyes and minds to the possibilities of what might have happened back home while the hero was away. Keeping with the ancient Greek art of storytelling, Atwood weaves this tale through prose, speech, musing, song and poetry - and even through modern day courtroom transcripts! The result is a modern day day time drama - set in ancient Greece! After all, the 20 years that the book spans is plenty of time for a soap opera run!

The Highlight Reel

Quiet Please!
Thanks to a pair of comp tickets from one of our Board members, I was able to go see my very first pro tennis match at the Rogers Cup on Wednesday. Even more exciting when I realized that I would be seeing the World Number ONE seeded player Roger Federer take on Giles Simon of France (and a total cutie as well). I found the whole tennis scene rather interesting. Normally, I'm used to the rowdy baseball stadiums where one can holler and heckle till the cows come home, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it (as long as you're not being profane). Here, I was almost uncomfortable with the imposed silence during the tennis match though the unnatural hush over the crowd causes a kind of electricity in the air which of course the players just feed off. Even during the most exciting rally, (of which there were a few) the tennis audience keeps their lips firmly shut taking in all of the action with the rest of their senses. I couldn't but help letting out a little squeak of excitement every now and then, much to the amusement of the fella besides me. He kept regarding me like I was this quaint little being or something.
Federer didn't win. In fact, when I came down to Match Point, half the crowd was still in shock over how the game had played out. Still, it was a great experience made even better by the fact that I didn't have to pay a cent!

Beer & Chili Fest '08

Every summer, my friend The Lady Killer and his girlfriend, Ms. Pink host a summer party. The year before it was a BBQ fest. Last year it was a luau (complete with grass skirts and coconut shell bras for some folk). This year, TLK went a little further and planned a Chili Contest coupled with a mini beer tasting event. The premise was really quite simple.

1. Anyone who wanted could make chili and enter into the Chilly Contest.

2. Folks who attended were asked to bring (at least) a 6 pack of a fairly uncommon beer.

3. Everyone would eat chili and sample beer. Merriment would follow.

The result. 4 kinds of Chili for us to feast on - The Classic. The Hot Stuff. The Turkey Chili. And, the Baconator Chili. And over 15 *new* kinds of beer for us to sample including some from as far away as Vancouver and the Scottish Isles!

Hiatus

Just found out that tonight is the last nite of WCS open dancing until September. Will miss my Westie pals, but thankfully will be able to supplement my need-to-dance with extra doses of Latin/Ballroom at Friday night dances and Sunday afternoon workshops over the next 3 weeks.

Wedding Woes

Before you jump to conclusions (I'm looking at you Jo) - not mine. Am referring to VBF's wedding that's slated for September 9 in Glasgow. It seems like this wedding has been in the planning stages since the dawn of time (well, April last year) and we're finally just a few weeks away from D Day.* I still don't have a dress - well not quite. But I figured that's OK because the bride still doesn't have her visa - without which she cannot travel back to Glasgow! In the whole scheme of things, the bride is more important than my dress. On the other hand, if the bride does get her butt to the church on time, she is going to be mighty pissed off if I'm not suitably adorned, right? And I would be VERY remiss in my Maid of Honour duties if I caused the bride to be pissed off on her wedding day. That is usually reserved for someone from the groom's side.

Book Review - The Tree Bride

Back in December, I picked up this book only because I needed one more book to get in on a 4 for $20 deal. I tucked it away in the basement and forgot all about it. Some weeks ago, a coworker who is also an avid reader – and is very interested in Indian novels and literature – happened to mention this book, and I remembered that I actually owned it. Went looking for it in the basement and spied it jammed between an Enid Blyton mystery and Jim Herriot’s Tales of a Country Vet.

Reading the book’s jacket synopsis, might lead you to believe that The Tree Bride is just another book about a person of Indian origin, now living somewhere in the US trying to figure out that fine balance between being true to where they come from and merging with where they now belong. To my surprise, it was more.

Not unlike many other Indians living abroad, Mukherjee’s protagonist Tara is searching for her roots. Her search is focused on a very interesting ancestor and her namesake; a woman who, as a young girl was married to a tree. What is unlike other such stories is that this book is not just about Tara and her quest, but also a look into one of the most interesting times in Indian history – the last days of the Raj. As the story swings between modern day San Francisco, Calcutta of the late 1800s and North Britain in the early/mid 1950s Mukherjee’s novel draws the reader into Tara’s journey of self discovery into her past and the amazing coincidence of connections that form her present life.
When researching the author, I found out that The Tree Bride is actually book two of a trilogy and having read this one I am quite eager to read more of Mukherjee's work. Most interesting would be the book that she co authored with her husband Clarke Blaise on the terrorist bombing of Air India flight 182 - The Sorrow and the Terror: The Haunting Legacy of the Air India Tragedy. Known as Canada's largest mass murder and the worst flight disaster until the September 11 attacks, the bombing of flight 182 killed all 329 passengers on board. 20 years later, families of the victims are still waiting to see justice.

Validation

As my gentle readers know, I've been dancing for some years now. Started out with exploring Salsa back in 2003, then moved on to a bit of Lindy and 20s Charleston before settling down with Latin/Ballroom in fall of last year. Still, it wasn't until I began with West Coast Swing that I truly found my "groove". After a hiatus from the dance for about a year, I went back to it in May when my teacher had a weekend of WCS dances, workshops and events in celebration of her 50th birthday. After 3 days straight on the dance floor - I was back in love with the dance style.

Then, a few weeks ago at one of the regular Friday night dances, one of my "Westie" friends persuaded me to sign up for the Toronto Swing Dancing Championships that were taking place in the city for the very first time. Before I quite knew what was happening I found that I had forked over $$ for the entire weekend's registration AND signed myself up to compete in the newcomer Jack & Jill* competitions! I figured, there were so many people in the newcomer category that no one would have the time to stare at just me during the competition. Later I found out who my "competition" was and seeing that there were some folk who had been dancing for way longer than I had (but had never before competed), I was even more reassured knowing that there was no pressure at all!


I was lucky enough to draw a good partner, and we went out on the Saturday afternoon and had a good time during the competition. When people asked me how I thought I'd done, honestly, I considered not nervously hurling all over the dance floor an accomplishment in itself! Even during the award ceremonies on the Saturday night, I was so sure that nothing would come of the competition that at one point I even considered skipping it and going to dance in the Salsa room next door!


It's time for the Newcomer category and they call out the 3rd place winners. And we know the guy! Cheers and clapping and hooting......
.....they call out the 2nd place winners. Another couple from our dance group!!!! But wait, everyone thought that she would win first place FOR SURE. I turn to the person next to me and indignantly vent about how I feel that S and L should TOTALLY have won, and how she's so good... yada yada. I'm so busy being indignant that I totally miss the fact that 
MY name is being called - as FIRST PLACE WINNER!!!!! Many hands yank me out of my chair and push me towards the podium where I stagger (in a very UN dance-like manner) to collect my plaque. My partner is giving me a huge hug (huum, he smells good) and everyone is shouting and cheering and all I can manage is a generally goofy smile and a "thank you" before I stumble back to my seat. As the realization of actually placing, let alone WINNING sinks in, I find myself literally trembling with happiness and OMG, I think I'm now actually going to barf!!!!

Yes, I forced the judges to stare at my ass!!! Brilliant move I thought!

Other than my frequent urges to barf on the dance floor, the weekend was absolutely filled with fun times whether it was trying out some new moves during the workshops, or dancing till 5am each night (morning?) or just hanging out with the "Westies" who I might add are some of the nicest people in the dancing circuit. I must have learned about a hundred new moves on the dance floor from people from all over Canada and the US; many of who I hope to see at subsequent events.


What was most special for me was that I finally felt that I "belonged" to the dance community; that I wasn't just a stranger who showed up for a dance every now and then. People knew who I was (not only because of the win) and knew my name and best of all, I knew who THEY were and was able to smile and nod and greet them back.

I've enjoyed dancing for as long as I can remember. This weekend just made me realize why I love it so much.





*For the non dance savvy readers - a Jack & Jill is a popular form of competition where participants sign up as individual competitors and partners are determined through random selection or a draw. The couple is judged as a unit with points for leading, following, music syncopation etc.

TMI?

In anticipation of this weekend’s big Swing Dancing event, I went off to an open practice session last night. At the end of the night I went out to grab a quick bite with two fellow dancers I’d just met. In the course of conversation over giros and pita, I found out that the one had once been arrested for attempting to illegally enter the US hidden away in on a freight ship and the other has an uncle who is currently in prison for war crimes.

All I could talk about was the time I got entangled in a ski rope at Lake Tahoe and consequently shut down the entire hill. Somehow it wasn’t in the same category of life stories.

A Walk in the Park - NYC Day 2

My second day in the Big Apple was spent in the relative bliss in the bustling city that is known as Central Park. Other than the quick peek in on my last trip, I'd never really taken time to fully appreciate the wonder that is this Oasis of Calm smack dab in the middle of this crazy busy city. Armed with my camera, my mp3 player and my thoughts - I walked into Central Park West at 81st street just opposite from the Museum of Natural History. Four hours later, I emerged at the intersection of 59th and Broadway, tired, hot and rather dirty..... but also very happy with how my afternoon had been spent.

Along the way, I saw:

The Bethseda Fountain

Hundreds of signs - pointing every which way!

Constant reminders that I was in the U S of A

Couples enjoying a leisurely row on the Lake

Amazing photo opps

A 50 year old Carousel that played old old show tunes

Beautiful, funny, devoted and always touching memorials

Kids enjoying the simple joys of a glorious summer afternoon

Budding photographers everywhere!

Some local residents

Fun pass times

Beauty everywhere; You just have to be still and enjoy it

NYC - Day 1

Caught the morning flight out to Newark, NJ early on Sunday morning from the Island airport in downtown T Dot. Judging by the heavy clouds hanging over the city, there was a bunch of rain in store and I was please to be heading out.

NJ Daddy and NJ Baby met me at the airport train station, and we headed right over to Shea Stadium - home of the NY Mets. Well until the end of this season anyway!
The last time I saw NJ Baby was when the family was over during Christmas and he's grown so big! Almost 9 months old now, he's full of life with a charming personality and easy smile (like his Mummy) and the tendency to doze off at the drop off a hat (like his Daddy).Our tickets were at the very top of the stadium, and though at first that proved to be a challenge seeing as both NJ Daddy and I are terrified of heights, as the game went on, we discovered that we actually had some of the best seats in the house! We had the wind in our backs (and boy was it a hot hot day) and when it began to rain mid way though the game - we had the overhang to protect us! Perfect!Of course, when you're at the ballpark 3 things are a must - beer, hot dogs and peanuts. As I cooled off on with a chilled bottle,And NJ Baby followed my example with one - er, make that two - of his own!
Very refreshed by his chilled drinks, NJ Baby sat up and began to take note of his surroundings. After all, this was his very first Major League Baseball game!

He saw the plane take off from La Guardia airport just behind the stadium.

He saw the Flushing Meadows tennis stadiums where the US Open Championships are held.

And he did the 7th inning stretch with Mr. Met the mascot.

Basically, NJ Baby decided that hanging out with Daddy and Auntie Pixy at the ball game was a great way to spend an afternoon!
 
After the game (which the Mets won) we had to battle our way through a hoard of people back to Highland Park, NJ

NJ Baby decided that he's going to be a good baseball fan (and only ever cheer for the Mets - NEVER the Yankees). After all, he wants to be just like his Daddy!

Mountain out of a Molehill

On Tuesday evening, as I was stepping off the Ellis Island ferry I felt a little sting on my right hand. I gave it an absent minded swat and continued on my way. Overnight on the bus, I could feel my right hand itching, and my left as well, but didn't pay too much attention to it. By yesterday afternoon, as I was typing at my desk at work, I began to feel my right hand cramp up. There was a huge red bump on my arm just below my wrist and I was experiencing sharp shooting pain in my arm and in my elbow, wrist and fingers. My left hand was also rapidly swelling below my little finger and the rash was spreading to the back of my hand as well.

Going to a hospital emergency room was no good. I'd be there until midnight - unless I went into shock before that - and I really didn't want to resort to that! So I decided to head off to my GP's clinic near my house. An hour later, as I walked into the clinic, my forearm was 3 times its normal size with a huge red welt running from my wrist to mid way up my arm. The rest of the arm had cramped up and I could barely move my fingers. When I approached the check in desk, and indicated that I was experiencing some sort of allergic reaction and showed them my arm, the nurse looked a little worried. She asked me, "Are you experiencing any trouble breathing?" to which I replied "no". BIG mistake. I was waiting for the next 45 minutes, all the while my hand getting more numb and the itching driving me to near craziness!

Finally when I got to see the Doctor, she prescribed a bunch of pills to get the inflammation down, deal with any possible infection and a cream for the rash. And oh yeah, because I have a preexisting gastric condition, she then has to prescribe another pill so counter the effects that all the first pills will have on my stomach!

Woke up this morning after a night of tossing and turning (thanks to the rash) only to find that the arm is just as swollen as the night before. Back to the clinic it is; this time I'm looked at right away and given a shot. Thankfully that works and in about half an hour I see a vast improvement.

And now, just about 24 hours after all the drama began my arm seems to be back to its normal size with most of the rash gone as well.

Moral of the story: The next time something bites me, I'm going to bite back. And if that's not possible, always mention "trouble breathing" at the clinic - you'll get seen to quicker!

Counting Down.....

Just 10 am, and already I have been at work 3 hours! This day is just craaaaaawwwwling by. Took the overnight bus back to the T Dot from NYC and except for the incessantly fidget-fart in the seat behind me, the journey was quite good. Passing through Customs at 4am is an experience. Thankfully all the questions I got asked required only "yes" or "no" answers and the officer was quite satisfied to have me nod or shake my head. I'm thinking my tousled hair, crumpled Tee and barely open eyes might have had something to do with it!

The bus dropped me off literally across the road from work (nice), and I was able to grab a quick shower and change at my gym - also across the road from work. (double nice).

3 hours and 4 cups of coffee later I'm hanging in there..... but I do have to pee quite a lot!

Stay tuned for a detailed post on the trip.... but for right now - is it 5 pm yet?

Happy Bunny Thought for the Month