My Demented Bucket List

May 27, 2014 ~ JodiLea ~ 5 Comments

bucket I have not written a ‘real’ bucket list because, well… I’m not that old yet…

However, when Matticus invites you to play a game, you really should play. Because you will have fun. For my dear readers who are curious, but need more motivation –>How about; BECAUSE I SAID SO!! (It always worked for my mother.)

Another famous blogger I follow, Rarasaur, is experiencing a horrible demented bucket list now. This bucket list game is in her honor, as well as attempting to cheer her up.

There is some crazy stuff that only in a demented state would I even imagine such things could happen (to me). And I have a very comprehensive imagination – BTW.

My Demented Bucket List

Was in a major car accident involving a semi-truck rear-ending a Pinto at 50 mph.
We (me and 3 cousins) were rescued by good Samaritan’s who pulled us out the front windows because the back seat had wrapped around the front doors, and the gas tank tore open and gasoline was running down the highway.
Was able to pay for 2 semesters of college with settlement money, but still have trouble with my C-5 (vertebrae).
I warmed up with the 49ers, on their field at Candlestick Park, one Sunday, pre-game.
Kicked a field goal perfectly centered between the posts, and 1 measly inch lower than the crossbar. The referee would not give me a do-over. The Bastard!
Heard a packed stadium moan “Awww!” in unison. Because of me.
Being read my “rights” by police.
Experiencing the “good cop, bad cop” thing live, and not on TV.
Being grateful to the DA for deciding not to prosecute an idiot who was too stupid to realize she committed a felony. Duh.
Proofreading a post and getting the “No writing errors were found”

Well, that’s it for now. I need to get back to reading other people’s dented bucket lists to cheer myself up.

Hang in there, Queen Raur!

😉

photo credit: christing-O- via photopin cc

Why I’m Donating My Body To Science

May 26, 2014 ~ JodiLea

OperatingRoom Whoever said that “50 is the new 30”, is so full of crap! For me, it’s more like ’30 is the new 50′.

This month I turned another year older. I don’t feel any different from I way I felt before my birthday. Aside from a few really cool gifts, the day was S.S.D.D. (same sh*t, different day) all around. Yawn.

My face and skin tell on my age, but beyond that, my body does not abide by the same rules of aging like normal people. And no – I don’t grow younger or older faster. There is no portrait in the attic.

What I’m talking about, is that physiologically speaking, I’m an anomaly (a.k.a. a freak of nature). All my life medical people have told me “Oh, you are too young to have blah-dee-blah” or “Oh, you are too old to be having doodly-doo”.

For example – At age 12.5 I began menstruating, probably the only thing that’s happened in a timely manner. But at age 14, I started going through menopause. My periods stopped. I grew a mustache, among other disturbing things. I had night sweats. My acne turned into volcanic cysts. The deep and scarring kind. The sit home on Saturday night kind.

My mom drug me to her gynecologist for an exam. Not a recommended way to lose your virginity, but at least I had a note from the doctor to show my future groom. It turned out the hormonal distress was caused by poly-cystic ovary disease. And too much testosterone.

My testosterone level was higher than my estrogen level. Was my body trying to become male? I started a self-inventory then. I had broad shoulders, and a muscular frame. My voice was not girly in nature. OMG! These facts plummeted my self-confidence. The treatment? The doc put on the strongest birth-control pill that existed – to bypass my own hormones. My acne got a bit better, but unfortunately, it was too late for my chest. Too late for my ovaries also, they speculated I may not be able to conceive. Ha! They should meet my beautiful daughter sometime…

When I was 29-years old, I got Chicken Pox. It nearly killed me. I had to start taking my short-term disability from work. My own daughter was terrified of me. I had so many scabs that I looked like a burn victim. A doctor in urgent care actually whipped out his camera and took photos – with and without gown. I hope he got recognition for his journal article. Somewhere there is a medical book with my scabby ass in it, I know it.

I never got ‘carded’ at a bar or liquor store until I was 30. Also in that decade, I broke out in shingles. Then I somehow contracted another childhood disease, which was a rash of super tiny bumps and a fever. My doctor at the time could not even remember the name for it. All I knew was I had that “kids rash thing”. I was also contagious. Try to explain that to your boss.

My 40’s were a blur of stress, depression, anxiety and addiction – that I won’t go into now. Believe me when I say it’s a miracle I even made it to my 50’s.

When I was 49-years old I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes. It turns out that I had Type I, but was misdiagnosed because I – get this – was not a juvenile.

If you have read thus far, Thank You. And please let me emphasize that my donation will happen after I die! It’s doubtful any of my organs will be healthy enough to transplant. Who knows, maybe my body will help a breakthrough in diabetes research, or something else significant. Either way, I won’t be needing it anymore.

I am NOT happy that small-pox is making a comeback! There are actually ignorant people out there, who don’t get their kids vaccinated. I was vaccinated when I was 6-years old. I don’t know the statute of limitations for a small-pox vaccine, but I probably need a booster by now…

photo credit: The U.S. Army via photopin cc

Walking Through Memory Lane

May 24, 2014 ~ JodiLea ~ 1 Comment

Now that I have more shelves, cupboards, and filing cabinets, the boxes in the back of closets and stacked in the bedrooms can now be unloaded and put away.

admin-ajax.php — I’m on Left & sister on Right

Not as easy as it sounds, I find.

A lot of family history in photo albums and scrapbooks are in those boxes. Of course, I knew that. What I did not know, what mom never told me about, were the pieces of US history, also stashed away – in the form of newspapers and magazines. For decades this history followed us through three big moves, in storage twice, and finally rests in my possession. To pass on to my granddaughters, and their children, so they can actually read and view the history they will learn about in school.

I realize that these treasures will not mean so much to them, now. Some of this happened more than two generations ago, long before they were born. They are smart and healthy and into the things that little girls are into. History will be way up there, along with Social Studies (or whatever they call it now), on their ‘boringest* stuff ‘ list.

Then they will be grown, old enough to appreciate keepsakes from the past. What I save now will be relics, I suppose. They already look like relics – wrinkled and yellowed. Like those of us who were alive when it happened…

There were headlines in huge type “EARTHQUAKE!” for both of the devastating quakes in 1979 and 1989 – in the San Francisco Bay Area. Photos of the Cyprus section of I-880 collapsed and destroyed.

I found a plastic bag of newspapers, with front-page headlines reading “JFK ASSASSINATED!”, and other headlines just as shocking, reporting that horrible week in Dallas.

I saved the week of the September 11th, 2001 newspapers. [For non-US readers: When Al Qaeda’s suicide pilots destroyed the World Trade Center Towers and defiled the Pentagon]

As important as world History is, I feel that it’s just as important to learn about your family history. Hopefully through letters, diaries, stories told, scrapbooks and photo albums and not from newspaper headlines!

Aren’t we, as parents and grandparents, obligated to pass down the family ‘stories’? If not us, then who? Future generations depend on us saving newspapers and family significant things.

Save articles & momentous items in a desk drawer, paper bag, or hat box. When the mood strikes you, they will be ready to slap into a photo album or scrapbook. 😉
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* boringest: adverb. Term used for describing extremely boring activities or events. Taken from: The Dictionary of Words That Should Be