Month: August 2014

Percocet Is My Frenemy

/ Courtney / Leave a comment

Well, it’s official. I have scheduled surgery for next Wednesday. Apparently the only time available was at 7:30am with check-in at 6, which means I have to get my tired, anxiety-ridden ass up and to the surgery center at an hour I like to pretend doesn’t exist.

This is a follow-up surgery to the incredibly painful ankle surgery I had 18 months ago. When my heels tried to kill me. Seriously, it wasn’t even a good story – I was wearing 5 inch wedges for a wedding, and rolled my ankle on loose carpet in my condo. Cracked my left ankle and subsequently FELL on it, breaking two bones, dislocating it and as they discovered in surgery, tearing every single freaking ligament.

melanie wedding

Because I don’t go halfway on stuff, people. Go big or go home. So I literally destroyed my ankle and had surgery early last year to put it all back together with the help of a mental plate and 8 screws. Recovery sucked. I’m hoping it’s not quite as bad this time around – turns out somewhere over the course of “healing” in the last year and a half, I tore a major ligament again and some of the metal screws are coming loose. My screws are loose. Literally.

So I am hopeful this will alleviate the pain that never really went away, and make it easier to you know, walk. Live my life. Little stuff like that. You can expect some Percocet-induced posts once I have had a chance to get through the initial recovery.

Speaking of, I decided I wanted to share a little story with y’all today – the story of me and my Percocet adventures. Percocet and I have an interesting relationship. I would say Percocet is my frenemy. There were days when I didn’t know where I would be without it (like those first days after surgery when I couldn’t even see straight from the pain) and there were days when I hated it more than anything (like when I hadn’t pooped in 5 days).

It was a catch-22 actually – one of the things they stressed after surgery was the importance of managing the pain, but that meant high doses of painkillers, and let me tell you – there are trade-offs.

Because there was such extensive soft tissue damage (I’ll spare you the details – reading the surgery report made me throw up in my mouth), I was experiencing much more pain than I would have if it was just a bone break so I was in desperate need of the drugs. But taking high doses is not only hard on your liver, but it constipates the hell out of you, and makes you physically sick sometimes. Try getting to the toilet in time to puke when you just had major ankle surgery, are high on painkillers, and uncoordinated on your crutches. Keep in mind, I broke it in the first place because I’m so clumsy to begin with!

Anyway, a stressful situation like that could use some comic relief and it came in the form of my frenemy, Percocet. I was staying with my parents during that time, and my mom was usually the one who was home more often. Anyone who has taken painkillers knows that while they do help with pain, they make you a little loopy and loose-lipped as well.

So let me paint you a picture. I’m sitting on my parents’ couch, ankle elevated on their recliner. My mom is sitting across from me and we’re just chatting and hanging out. This was beyond that first horrible day or two so I was in a much better state for conversation. She had already had to help me with a makeshift shower situation, help me get my pants on and off those first couple times and help me to the bathroom the first time, so she’d probably seen more than she’d care to at that point, but hey, what are moms for?

We were essentially talking about that exact point, when my Percocet drenched brain decided to volunteer the following information. TO MY MOTHER.

You know, I’m not always like that. Down there. 

She just stared at me blankly. It could have been over then. But OH NO, Percocet and I weren’t done.

I’m talking about the hair. I don’t usually have a bush. It’s a new thing I’m trying. He (the guy I was dating) likes it… maybe it’s a generational thing, something older guys like more. He is in his forties after all. I used to go Brazilian but that shit hurts… so it’s better this way. It’s kind of nice. I think I like it. I feel all… womanly.

Let that sink in for a second. I just said that to my MOM. My thoughts just poured out of my mouth in one big rambling mess and I don’t even think I fully comprehended how awkward that could be for her, even after the words were hanging out there in the air, trapped in time like they were in a cartoon bubble.

My mom looked at me for a second, probably trying to process what had just happened. And then she just laughed. There are a lot of reasons my mom is awesome, not the least of which is that in this moment in time, she laughed.

Oh yeah? I can’t imagine ever doing that – what your generation does. I’ll just never understand it.

No? You’d never get a Brazilian, Mom?

<more laughter> Listen, I’m in my sixties, I’m not about to start something like that. Besides, I’ve never gotten any complaints.

Well, OK then. Go Mom.

I can’t tell you exactly how the rest of the conversation went, but it definitely continued. Me, laid up at my parents’ house just sitting with my mom and explaining that my boyfriend liked a full bush, and how convenient that was since I was in no position to get to the salon anytime soon.

Eventually the Percocet faded. That relationship disintegrated. My ankle started to heal. But that conversation with my mom? It’s burned into my brain FOREVER. We joke about it, and honestly, it’s probably one of the best things that could have happened at that point. We both needed a good laugh.

This time around, I won’t be staying with my parents. Since Gil and I live together, he will be able to help me out so I can actually stay in my own place. I’m pretty curious to see what comes out of my mouth this time, and even a little nervous – I mean, imagine all those crazy things you think but would NEVER say out loud to your significant other. I wonder what will make its way from my brain to my mouth. That Percocet, I tell you… she is a sneaky bitch. Stay tuned – it should be interesting.

Activity Trackers And Me

/ Courtney / Leave a comment

OK, let me just start by saying I have a bit of a shopping addiction. I have in under control (mostly) but I’m kind of an impulse purchase type of girl. If it’s new and it’s trendy, I’m probably paying attention. You may have seen my post the other day about wearable vibrators … I’m not embarrassed to tell you I pre-ordered mine. I mean, how could I resist?

I’m lucky enough to have disposable income and no hefty financial responsibilities other than myself and my mortgage, so I play it a little fast and loose sometimes. Which is why when the Fitbit Flex was announced in 2012, I pre-ordered one of those bad boys too. I was trying to get healthier and did my research on the different wrist trackers out there – I really wanted one that was compatible with MyFitnessPal and I liked the idea of a bracelet. And even though I think some of the other options were more stylish, I went with the Flex because it met all of my needs.

Only problem was that by the time it arrived, I had shattered my ankle and had major surgery. I was on crutches for three months and in physical therapy for months after that. I wasn’t so much concerned with tracking my steps as I was being able to make them at all.

Fast forward a few months and I finally got excited about my activity tracker again. And by then, the Flex was popular enough that a lot of my friends had gotten one as well. It was a great way to track which days we were really moving enough and personally, I found the sleep tracker really eye opening as well.

They’re not for everyone, I get it. And just because I own one doesn’t mean I’m getting my 10,000 steps a day like I know I should. But it does help keep me accountable. And small changes and improvements are better than no changes at all. As I type this, mine is laying dead and sad in the bathroom – I have been slacking lately and need to throw it back in the charger. Baby steps.

Anyway, I really like it except for the fact that it’s not the fashion statement I would typically choose to make. I ordered the bright pink replacement band, and that helps some. But I’m not ready to shell out the hundreds of dollars for the designer Fitbit bracelets that are just hitting the market and I just wish it looked better sometimes.

And then I saw this pop up in my news feed on Facebook today: Cuff Activity Tracker

I was weak guys. I clicked. And it was kind of awesome. Admittedly, the basic cuff band looks similar to my Flex, but what I’m really excited about are the other bracelet options. Which actually look like – wait for it – BRACELETS. Not just a rubber wrist band, but stylish arm candy.

cuff2

photo via The Verge

Now that’s not really enough to sucker me into trying this out and comparing it my Flex. I don’t need two trackers. BUT, the element that really caught my attention is the emergency alert feature. Basically, you press a button on the bracelet, and it sends out an SOS.

From the Cuff site:

The Cuff app will alert the people you designate as your “first responders” when you need help. You can program one person or your entire Facebook network as your “first responders.” Cuff will send your SOS to the people you choose, and it will not stop until someone responds. Your designated people will receive your location, live audio, and other relevant information to get you (or your loved one) the help you need.

This appeals to me as a woman. Which I know is exactly what they were going for – just call me the ultimate consumer. I have probably watched one too many episodes of Criminal Minds, but I do think about what I would do in the whole “trapped in the trunk of a car without my phone” scenario. You know, after I peed myself.

For single women out at the bars or walking to their cars alone at night, it’s not a bad idea, even if it was designed as a marketing hook. As someone who carries a taser because I’ve been followed/threatened once or twice, I’m probably a little more aware of these things. But I have to say, it has me considering a test run. If it can hold up to the functionality of my Fitbit while offering more stylish options and a “get out of trunk free” card, I might be switching teams.

We Don’t Do Anniversaries

/ Courtney / Leave a comment

Gil and I decided a long time ago that neither of us had any desire to celebrate things like anniversaries or Valentine’s Day. It’s just not really our style. Maybe if we get married someday I’ll feel differently, but for now this is what works for us. We celebrate throughout the year with random gifts and acts of kindness. Plus we both hate crowds and a heightened sense of pressure.

That being said, yesterday was someone else’s wedding anniversary – which means it was the anniversary of the day we met (we were seated across from each other at that wedding).

We ended up getting to hang out with both of our families yesterday, and had a quiet little moment together at the ocean watching the sunset – timing just worked out that way and it was perfect. So while we don’t do formal “celebrations,” it was a pretty amazing day and it did get me reflecting on what an incredible year it’s been.

So in the spirit of being the sappiest of the sappy, I put together a little video to commemorate the last 12 months. Can’t wait to see what the next year holds!

Humor Matters

/ Courtney / 1 Comment

This is my life. This is a pretty standard picture of us. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

.gilandcourtney

I’m with someone who is as weird as I am and who makes me laugh every single day. So I decided to write down my top reasons why I believe humor is critical to a happy relationship (at least for me). This is what I have found to be true for myself and my own relationships.

We have fewer arguments.

Again, this is just what I have found to be true for myself. But when I am with someone who makes me laugh and who shares a similar sense of humor, we fight less. When things get tense, we can lighten the mood easily with a joke, or just point out each other ridiculousness. We both know how to laugh at ourselves, so it makes it easier to admit when one of us is being a little nuts.

Sex is way better.

This is one is pretty important. I truly believe that a sense of humor is critical for a rocking, screaming, mind-blowing, uninhibited, wake-the-neighbors kind of sex life. Why? Because if you have a sense of humor then it’s WAY less scary to try new things because you know your partner will be able to laugh about it instead of turning it into an issue.

Pull a muscle or bust your knee trying to contort into a new position? No big deal. Let out a fart at an inopportune moment? Whatever, stink-butt. On a quest to squirt and pee the bed instead? Grab a towel and laugh about it. Seriously, sex is so much better when you bring a sense of humor to bed with you, especially if you want to experiment with new things. You’ll need it (and maybe a safe word).

We have a stronger bond with each other.

Because humor plays such a big part in our relationship, we have created a stronger bond with each other over time. We have inside jokes, funny quirks and habits that are ours alone. When I growl at him from across the room, he finds it just as hysterical as I do. We genuinely enjoy each other’s company, and can entertain each other for hours. I’m talking about things NO ONE else would find funny, which is why I can’t even write the examples here because they wouldn’t translate. But we find them hysterical together, and it brings us closer as a couple.

We communicate better.

We don’t find ALL the same things funny, but we’ve spent time learning about the other person and figuring out what things they’ll appreciate. And because we’re constantly goofing around, fighting for the spotlight with each other (attention whores FOR SURE) and trying to get the other one to laugh, we pay close attention. We are more in tune with each other than we would otherwise be, and I think that makes us better communicators overall.

Life feels less stressful.

Laughter makes people happier. I’m pretty sure that’s science. Seriously though, if you have a relationship filled with laughter, life feels a little easier and the things that used to be so stressful become a little more manageable. I think this one is true for life in general though, not just relationships. If you surround yourself with people you can laugh with, you’ll be a happier person overall and be able to approach things with more positivity. And if one of those people happens to be a live-in boyfriend, well then SCORE.

Imaginary Elephants

/ Courtney / Leave a comment

We had an argument over imaginary elephants last night.

I’m not even kidding. It didn’t escalate into a fight or anything, but that is partially because Gil stopped to point out THE LEVEL OF CRAZY at which I was operating, and how I needed to blog about it as an example of the way a woman’s mind can work that men will never understand.

So here we are. Come on a little journey with me, won’t you?

It all started out innocently enough. We were talking about our upcoming trip to Europe this winter. I am counting down – it will be my first time visiting Europe, and we’ll be spending Christmas in Paris, which has been a dream of mine since I took French in high school. I failed at actually learning French, but discovered brie and red wine and I was sold. One of the other stops we will be making on our trip is Venice. Gil’s been to Italy once with his family, but it will be a trip of firsts for me. We were talking about the things we are most excited about, and I brought up the gondolas in Venice.

Now, you have to understand, I am WAY more of a tourist than he is. I want to do the things I’ve read about, and get pictures of it to remember the experience and remind myself when I’m old and senile what a fun life I’ve actually led. He has an aversion to big crowds and most things considered mainstream and popular. He could spend all day just wandering around the side streets and never take a single picture and be as happy as a clam.

So when I naively asked if he had ridden the gondolas when he was there, I really should have known the answer. “Oh, hell no! It looked fucking horrible. It was snowing and people were bundled up and miserable and it cost hundreds of dollars and you’re floating along what is basically sewage. I can’t understand why anyone would subject themselves to that.”

Oh. Tell me how you really feel.

“I don’t care. I want to ride in a gondola. If it’s dumping down snow then MAYBE we can skip it,” I responded. This was not up for debate. He realized he was going to lose the battle and conceded, but only after I agreed that it did sound kind of expensive and I would have to pony up for this one.

I told him he was being a stick in the mud, and that these things can actually be really fun, SO GET EXCITED. In hindsight, I’m not sure you can really command someone to get excited about something they’re being dragged into, but we don’t need to dwell on that part.

For some reason, I wasn’t done though.

“Seriously babe, we are going to travel so much and there are so many amazing things we’ll experience. But we have to do some of the tourist things too. I mean, when we go to Thailand, you’ll ride an elephant with me, won’t you?”

Young couple tourists to ride on an elephant in Pinnewala, Sri Lanka.

OK, pause. We do not have a trip to Thailand planned. We have talked about it in the abstract, and I know that it’s somewhere we both would really like to go, but a total of zero plans have been made.

For some reason, I just decided that this imaginary trip and this imaginary elephant were the perfect example of the types of things I want us to do together in our travels. This is where things started to go downhill a bit.

Unsurprisingly, he declared that this was yet one more experience he has zero desire to fulfill. “Hey, just because I don’t want to ride an elephant doesn’t mean you can’t,” he informed me. “If you trust it won’t have a heart attack and accidentally roll over and crush you, go ahead. I’ll be on the ground and I’ll be happy to take pictures.”

Spoilsport. Stick in the mud. Parade rainer-oner. Party pooper. These were all the things that were running through my head as he was talking, in the voice of 5-year-old Courtney. And I may have communicated some of these feelings, in the voice of 30-year-old Courtney. And while it had started out as lighthearted ribbing, somewhere along the way I started to actually get a little upset. I’m not proud of it. But it happened.

Let me illustrate an example of how the train of thought can derail and explode so quickly:

He won’t ride an elephant with me in Thailand. ⇒ He doesn’t enjoy the same types of things I do. ⇒ We are going to fight about the things we want to do on our vacations. ⇒ Shit, we are planning to travel a lot together and we’re never going to be able to agree on things to do. Ever. ⇒ Ohmygod, are we not as compatible as I thought we were?? ⇒ I don’t even know this person!!! ⇒ We are doomed. 

And here is how it would have gone the other way around:

She won’t ride an elephant with me in Thailand. ⇒ OK, whatever. I wonder what we have in the fridge. I’m kinda hungry.

I exaggerate. Well, a little. Kind of. Luckily for me, Gil is highly trained in detecting crazy, and as soon as I got suspiciously silent (long enough for some of the above crazy train to get rolling) he jumped in. “I want to point out this moment in time babe. Right now. As you are about to get upset with me for not wanting to ride an elephant that DOESN’T EXIST. On a trip we HAVEN’T PLANNED. You are about to get legitimately upset with me for not wanting to ride a made-up elephant on a made-up trip. I can tell.”

And then he broke down into hysterical laughter. So did I. I started laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. The kind of full bodied laughter where you aren’t really in control of it, and suddenly you snort without realizing it, and that just gets you going all over again.

He was 100% right. I tried to play it off, telling him I wasn’t actually upset and was just giving him a hard time. But he knew. He knew I was full of shit. I hadn’t even realized it, but I was teetering right on the precipice and about tumble down into the crazy canyon of imagined issues and manufactured arguments.

Now, I’m not saying all women operate like this. I may be my own special breed of quirky. But I don’t think there would be so many best-sellers and advice columns and radio shows on the differences between men and women if I am really alone in moments like these.