The Gag Reflex

There are a number of things that make me gag.  Expired sandwich meat, my ex-boyfriend's stinky feet, seeing someone barf, smelling barf, thinking about barf...I have a seriously weak stomach so, I could go on forever.  Surprisingly, one thing that does not provoke my gag reflex is having a camera fed through my nose and shoved down my throat!  Where is the logic? 

For the past 4 months I have had an unusually scratchy voice.  I have to admit that it began when I started working at Cowboys.  At first it didn't bother me.  Actually, I kind of thought it made me sound tough like, "What?  This voice?  Pfff!  No big deal.  I work a lot.  I strain my voice and don't sleep.  What of it?".  Some people even thought it sounded cute like, "Awe!  Poor little Stephie just doesn't get enough rest, and now she has a small ouchie in her voice!".  Whether it was bad-ass or baby-like, my voice was draining more and more each week.

After a couple of months I almost got used to it.  But while I may have not noticed it as much, in the back of my head I still wondered if I was actually injuring myself.  After 3 months of listening to my scratchy/whiny/super annoying voice, my sister Jody (she's a nurse) scared me into going to the doctor.  

You could need surgery Stephanie.  What if your voice is messed permanently?  You know you could have throat cancer!

As alarming as these possibilities were, they were also pretty easy to ignore when coming from my sister.  A talent I had perfected many moons ago.  So although my doctor had referred me to a ENT specialist, I still chose to brush it off as no big deal.  But as the appointment drew closer and closer, I started to think about how important my voice really is to me.

Last night I laid in bed, tossing and turning at the traumatizing thought of losing my voice.  Not being able to vocalize my opinions, and needs, and wants...to state what I am thinking, my ideas, my reasons.  No singing, laughing, shouting, swearing...not having my personality heard!  The simple suggestion of such was enough to make me hurl.

BLEEEEECK!

I literally threw up.  Just a little...in my mouth...but it happened.  My gag reflex was shining a whole new light on the situation.  This was a big deal.  A big freaking deal.  This was MY voice.  This was ME!  It was the thought of losing myself that made me physically sick.  Although I'm sure that I was pulling a classic Stephanie by over-thinking the situation, it made me at least in that moment a little more thankful for my voice and the right to use it.  I even re-considered voting next time around, just because I want to be heard.

When I met with the specialist this morning, the first thing he asked was, "Stephanie, are you a talker?  Do you like to talk a lot?".  My answer, accompanied by a huge grin, was not just "yes", but "hell yes!".  So I let that doctor shove that camera up and down and around my nose to take a look at my voice inside.  I didn't gag.  I didn't shake.  My eyes didn't even water.  I felt like a Born Again Vocalist, and no procedure is too intrusive when it comes to the sanctity of MY voice.

Thankfully everything turned out just fine, because I have my doubts that any sign language professional could teach me to sign at the speed that I speak.

Recovery or Ruin?

Ingredients Needed:

- 32 year old male, about to get married

- 35 year old male, divorced, 3 kids, single

- 32 year old female, divorced, 3 kids, single

- 43 year old female, divorced, 2 kids, in a relationship-ish

- Me

Directions:

Stand all 5 ingredients together in an office space after 5 pm on a Monday.  Prompt relationship conversation.  Allow ingredients to sit for 30 to 35 minutes, or until visibly discouraged and defeated by self realizations.

Result:

The road to recovery, or the recipe for ruin?

Today I found myself in a rare work-place situation.  There we were, 5 grown adults with no apparent need to rush out the door at 5 pm.  No events to host nor meetings to attend, no supper to cook nor kids to pick up, no...(wait, what is it that I do?)...ANYWAY...What do single people do when stumbling into a conversation?  Turn it into a relationship therapy session!  Just last night a city in our province was burnt down by villainous forest fires, but we chose to talk about ourselves.

As the conversation circled around and around, it quickly took the shape of an A.A. meeting.  You know the type, even if you've never been to one in real life you've seen it in the movies.  Everyone in the group is there for the same reason.  They have a problem.  The same problem.  In our case it was a shared fear of relationships/commitment.  We all had a different root to the problem, but a similar problem non the less.  The only thing missing was the awkward, "Hi, I'm Stephanie, and I have a problem." followed by some high pitched microphone feedback.

One of us has a self declared abandonment issue.  One of us has a hard time trusting people.  One of us thrives on the new and exciting.  One thought the clock was ticking.  One refused to admit to any problem.

We complained about men, and bad mouthed women.  Nothing new there.  We agreed and disagreed, sympathized and judged, and said things out loud that were tough to admit to ourselves let alone to other people.  We talked...and most importantly, we listened.

It really only lasted for half an hour, and as I walked to my vehicle after I instantly felt good.  I felt like I just had a break through session with a highly recommended and wildly over priced therapist.

Ahhhhh... :) See Stephanie...you're not crazy.  They get you.  You're gonna be just fine!  You're on the road to recovery!

This euphoric moment was quickly interrupted though when the over-thinker inside me realized that I had just found comfort in the words spoken by those affected by THE SAME DISEASE!!!!!

Was it like a heroin addict telling you how to "get clean" while shooting up?  A doctor prescribing you the patch then going out back for a smoke?  A fat chick instructing an aerobics class?!?!!!!

I was suddenly a bit frightened.  I have been confiding in people who are no pros!  At the same time, I too have been speaking as an authority on a subject I so clearly no nothing about.  I don't think it's a good idea for 5 people with the same problem to spend any amount of time trying to help each other over come and over power that issue.  It would be like forming a team of pyromaniacs and sending them to fight that forest fire. They wouldn't be able to do anything but fuel it!  This was NOT group therapy...this was a natural disaster!

I've spent the rest of the evening searching my mind's resources for the kind of help I need.

Who knows best?  Who has the answers?  Who are the relationship pros?  Who do I know and trust that has really mastered the technique of being happy with someone?  Uh-oh...*DUH-DUH-DUUUUUUUUH* Dan and Pauline...Platt.  My PARENTS.  The most disgustingly happy couple I have ever seen in both fiction and reality.  EVER.  Now, my little mommy is going to be just thrilled to read this, and since I thought of them I can't seem to think of any other sources of comparable knowledge and experience.  BUT...I better think this through.  Am I ready to admit that they have been right about every guy I have ever dated since I was 14 years old?  That's like accepting defeat by a life long opponent.  Hmmmmm...

Well, ahh...ummm, ya know...Come to think of it...Oh!!!  Maybe I'll generously donate my Platt Parents Therapy Time to my co-workers instead!  Yeah!  That's what I'll do.  It's only fair.  After all, I'm only 24 and haven't even gone through my first marriage yet.  There's plenty of time to source out other methods of distinguishing my wild fire, that don't involve Dan and Pauline Defeat.  In the mean time, I'll just avoid those relationship flammables!

Pick Me, Pick Me!

I know next to nothing about football.  Maybe this fact revokes my right to write on the subject.  But wait...oh that's true...this is MY blog!

The 2011 NFL draft took place a few days ago, and I have a friend who was up for grabs.  He recently wrapped up his senior year with the Nevada Wolfpack and had been putting himself through what must feel like hell, in preparation for the big day.  Conditioning like crazy, attending camps and Pro Day, downing protein like it was his job, and probably mixing in a few nighttime prayers.  It doesn't sound glamorous to me.  It sounds rough.  This guy doesn't just eat, sleep, and breath football...I'd say he makes love to it at night and serves it breakfast in bed in the morning.  100% committed.  Doing whatever it takes to get what he wants, and land the job of his dreams...knowing that the odds of any man making the NFL are bleak at best.  I'm sure that if eating grasshoppers and singing Spice Girls karaoke would increase his odds of being drafted even by .02%, you'd find him belting out Wannabe with a mouth full of bugs EVERY night at the local pub.  That's how bad he wanted it.  Still does.

Now, I'm not joking about the grasshoppers and Spice Girls...he would do it without a question, because THAT's commitment.

A commitment guy...ahhh...sounds dreamy.  Ladies LOVE to commit.  Please consider the following: 

If you know me personally, you've likely heard me say on more than one occasion "Bitches be crazy".  I don't just spout it off to be funny, I simply speak the truth.  If you're a chick out there reading this right now and are getting all offended, please stop for one moment and think...have you ever told a guy that your favorite band is Rise Against when in reality you find it hard to relate to any music that yells at you?  Haven't you ever baked a batch of cookies for a man and almost even convinced yourself that you enjoyed doing so?  Come on.  You'd be lying if you say you haven't sat though an agonizing game watching him belch and hi-five, while you cheer extra loud for his favorite team and offer to buy the next round.

Let's not forget all the secret stuff too that guys don't even see or hear or smell you doing.  The stuff we want him to think is natural, which makes us more desirable/date-able.  Bra stuffing, Spanx wearing, make-up caking, eyebrow plucking, hair straightening, LEG SHAVING!  I once shaved my legs 10 days in a row for a guy.  Did I really think he was going to want to be my boyfriend simply because of my smooth skin?  Ever farted in front of a guy you want to date?  No?  Holding it in doesn't hurt at all, right?  Yeah, I'm going here.  I have a friend who went on a 14 day tropical get-a-way with her new beau, where they shared the most beautiful hotel room...with NO door to the bathroom.  She spent the ENTIRE vacation making up excuses, sneaking around, and running to the lobby to take care of business, just so he wouldn't know she was human.  Now THAT's commitment.  By the time they were boarding the plane to come home, he was probably wondering if she was some kind of spy or secret agent for the FBI.

We do it all with the hope that it'll increase our chances of a relationship by at least .02%.  Personally I've yet to see any of it work, but women will continue to commit to such wild practices until they can get the guy to commit to them.  It's like the draft is here, and we're all screaming "Pick me - pick me!", and doing whatever it takes to show off our amazing skills and feature attributes.  Commitment can make a person do absurd things.  Chomping grasshoppers and soloing Spice Girls to make the NFL wouldn't really be a big deal now would it?  Nope.  It's the NFL after all.  But for a relationship, one that does NOT even pay a signing bonus...BITCHES.BE.CRAZY.

I can only imagine the circus acts performed when a chick is trying to snag a guy who is preparing for any sports related draft.