29 June 2006


My friend Jen arrives from South Carolina this afternoon around 4:00. Her visit couldn't have come at a better time. I try to be a good hostess, so even though I'm flat-fucking-broke, I've got all kinds of stuff planned for her fourish days here. Pizza and cocktails on the deck tonight. Twins game tomorrow night, possibly after a trip to Trader Joe's and the Mall of America. Saturday night we hit Red Dragon for Wonderous Punch. Sunday it's off to Duluth to see Wilco. I'm guessing we'll lay low Monday until it's time for me to take her to the airport.

It'll be nice to have a distraction (and hopefully lots of fun) while she's here. I need a respite from the nearly unbearable past few days.

Tuesday will probably see me back to more of the same. It'll be like a Sunday, only worse. Or maybe not worse. Oh, please Jeebus, let there be a "Law & Order" marathon on TNT. I should really work on Tuesday. Maybe I'll be nursing a hangover from Chris and Katina's Fourth of July party on Monday night. There's nothing like red, white and blue Jell-O shots to make you feel like an American.

Man, what a suckass blog entry.

27 June 2006

Shit. It's true.

Being the feminist that I am (which is not a very good one), I get really offended when I hear guys say "All women are crazy." First of all, guys have their own issues and should not be pointing fingers. Yeah, everyone's got their little quirks that may seem "crazy" in the eyes of others. But I've seen/heard/read about some truly crazy women and I've always prided myself on being able to compare myself and my friends with these freaks and say, "Not us." Or, not all of us, anyway.

However, I guess I've been in denial. I am crazy. It's all here in black and white in my four months of blogging. It's in my journal in various shades of ink and white. It's all up here in my wee brain. First of all, I hate myself after reading some of the things that I've written. I can't believe some of the mean things I've written (and thought) about some people in my life. Second of all, I can't believe that I could say one thing one day and a day or two later (or a month or two later, like ... today) and feel so completely different. Is it my own revisionist history? I don't think that's the case, because I was really feeling those things and I don't deny I felt that way. It's not like I've forgotten any of it. Maybe the way I feel today is just trumping those days for the time being.

Regardless, my already crapass week has gotten markedly worse, now that I've realized I'm a crazy bitch just like all the other crazy bitches.


Acknowledging the problem is the first step in recovery, though, right? Maybe I can do something about it -- mitigate or dilute the crazy. Make it cute, or charming ... maybe endearing? I can only hope.

26 June 2006


Did the plane that took you away from me land safely?

Did you have a chance to adjust to the time change before starting work?

How long will it be before I stop thinking "It's X o'clock there," when I check the time?

What, in the name of all things holy, made me think this would be easy?

How am I going to feel when you come back in a few months?

Why are the mornings and nights so hard, but the afternoons are okay?

Should I have said these things I now wish I'd said?

Do you realize ('cause I didn't, really) that you'll be gone until 2011? At least. I mean, I know it's five years, but when you put a date on it like that, it seems even farther away. The Gophers and Twins will be in their new stadiums. The next World Cup will have come and gone -- in South Africa, as it turns out. There will have been a summer and winter Olympics. Holy shit. That's a long time.

Is this what it feels like when you say, "I miss you so much it hurts."? Except it doesn't hurt, exactly. It's more like pressure, sitting on my chest; making me feel sick and constricting my breathing.

Will I look back on this in a month and think, "Jesus H. Christ, what was I thinking? I sound like a goddamn lunatic."

Will I ever publish this entry? Or will I just keep adding to it and saving the draft?

How are your toes?

Am I going to be sad when I get through a day and realize that I didn't think about you once? How long is it going to take me to get to that place?

Only three? Really?

Today's Waxed Chest Tally from the Lake Calhoun walk is a measly three. How sad. Then again, it was relatively cool today. There weren't a lot of people at the beaches or at the playgrounds or walking/running/biking/blading around the lake. It was much more calm and quiet than the past couple of times I'd been there. Traffic on the streets around the lake was down from it's normal levels. It was a little odd, but it was so quiet. It was really lovely. Helped me get out of my head for a little while.

I saw the Disco Skater at the water fountain behind Tin Fish. I thought that made my day. I really needed it. And it did, momentarily. But the tears came back soon enough.

The four bottles of wine that I bought at Trader Joe's for $13 should be some comfort, though. Yay for cheap wine.

25 June 2006

No rest for the wicked.

I'm not entirely sure what I've done that would count as "wicked," but I'm certainly not getting any rest. A whopping two hours of sleep on Thursday night. Friday night I couldn't fall asleep for quite a while when I went to bed just before 2:00. Woke up at 4ish, 6ish and finally gave up the fight at 8:00. Last night it was 2:00 again. I managed to sleep until about 4:30 before I woke up for an hour or more. And up again at 8:00.

Blah. I'm notoriously bad at falling asleep on Sunday nights, so the week ahead isn't looking all that great.

Tonight might be a Vicodin night.

22 June 2006

Ugly day.

Okay, it's an ugly week. I hate looking in the mirror and being terrified at the weird hair, bad skin and puffy face staring back at me.

But tomorrow's another day.

21 June 2006

I don't need no stinking armband.

I keep thinking I need to buy an armband for my iPod Nano, mostly because I own exactly one pair of workout pants with pockets. It's fine when I'm on the treadmill or elliptical machine at the gym, but in any other scenario, what do I do with it? If I'm going to lift weights, I need to put it somewhere. If I'm walking around the lake, I need to put it somewhere.

Decided to walk around the lake instead of going to yoga tonight and I thought maybe I could just carry the iPod around with me. But then, inspiration struck! I wear a sport bra and a regular bra when I'm doing anything cardioesque. So, why not nestle my iPod between the two bras and feed my headphones through the collar of my shirt? Brilliant! What with my gorilla arms and all, I probably would have been constantly yanking the headphones out of my ears if I'd carried it.

This experiment was a smashing success. It stayed in place nicely and there was only minimal public boobie fondling to skip songs on the playlist. I just saved myself $30. Hahaha Apple.

Waxed Chest Tally: 19
Pierced Nipple Tally: 3
Women Dressed Entirely in Varying Shades of Pink Carrying a Pink Phone Tally: 1

19 June 2006

Bizarre compliment of the day.

I was standing at the bus stop at Hennepin and 8th Street SE (my new transfer stop that allows me a seat before the bus gets ridiculously crowded Downtown), when a semi-toothless, older black gentleman joined me. He had a jaunty straw fedora and a bicycle.

Him: "Are you in school?"
Me: "No."
Him: "So, you're just naturally pretty then?"
Me: "Uhhhh ... ummmmm ... I don't think you learn how to be pretty in school."

Ugly, poorly-edited reports make me sad.

I've been reading these reports from a client to get some background on their organization, the issues they're dealing with and the area they serve. Oh dear, schweet Jeebus. These documents are so ugly. Why do you hate white space? What did it ever do to you?

The reports have pixelated photos, pages with three to four different fonts, unnecessary graphics, too-dark background images, too-thin paper ... They are so difficult to read and follow. The design is an affront to all that is lovely in this world.

When I manage to wade through the graphic design nightmare to read the text, things don't get a whole lot better. The reports are full of unnecessary quotation marks, random hyphenation, rampant passive voice and my favorite: using "over" to convey a greater quantity. The word "over" implies a spatial relationship. When you're talking about a greater quantity, you should be using "more than." This was one thing in particular I learned from my editors at the Daily that has really stuck with me in the intervening years.

I feel bad being a Grammar/Spelling/General Writing Nazi, but I just can't help it. I go through life with a mental red pen and I'm constantly editing things that I read. Now, there are plenty of times I can let things slide. I don't do it personally, but I can overlook typos or missing punctuation from people with no problems. You get a pass if I like you. It's kind of like people who meet me as Jessica and automatically shorten it to Jess or Jessie without asking. If you rub me the wrong way, you'll get "My name is Jessica." But if you seem cool, I welcome the familiarization.

16 June 2006

Joe Mauer and milk.

Joe Mauer's "Pour it on" ads for Land O'Lakes milk make me want to pour milk all over my naked body.

I'm flattered. Really.

But honestly, Jenny, you need to stop flooding my bulk e-mail box with your "Wanna hook up tonight?" messages. I know I've been "personally" invited, and that does make me feel ever so special. I'm sure you're a really nice girl and all, but ... well, I like the cock. I love it, in fact.

You've been personally invited to Signup FREE.

Find someone who thinks like you (between the sheets)

And don't think you're going to trick me into signing up by changing your e-mail display name from Jenny to Jennifer. Come on. Do I look that dumb? Then again, seeing several of those e-mails every day eventually got me to open one. Seeing more even got me to write a blog about the e-mails. And now, someone might actually click on those links and sign up for whatever the hell it is that you're peddling. You clever whore!

Too bad you aren't offering free porn. 'Cause I would have been all over that shit. Oh, Jenny. You need to try something better next time.

The second statement with the parenthetical "between the sheets" makes me think of the practice of adding "in bed" to your fortune. Are you finding someone between the sheets who thinks the same way you do? It's pretty rare to meet people in your own bed. Maybe it means you'll meet them at department store, standing between the 750-count Ralph Lauren sheets and the 800-count Calvin Kleins. I know exactly jack shit about sheets and thread counts, except that a bigger number means better.

Or are you finding someone who has the same "between the sheets" mentality? Are you telling me that there is someone out there who also enjoys incorporating rubber sheets, chocolate/vanilla swirl pudding and tiara-wearing monkeys riding miniature horses in the bedroom? Hypothetically, speaking, of course. Dammit, Jenny. You need to be more clear.

I'm quite obviously spending entirely too much time thinking about this. But it's Jenny's fault. She's gotten into my head.

You're on your own, Dear Reader, should you click those links.

15 June 2006

Freak. Out.

Only I could have an asthma attack-inducing, mini-life crisis brought on by reading Diablo Cody's blog. If I'm not the only person who would do this, please find me, 'cause we're totally soulmates.

I can't even dig my nails into my palms or forearms to stop the tears because I cut my nails a couple of nights ago. I suck.

Why am I so unmotivated at work? I mean, obviously I'm not doing what I want to be doing. I really hope that doing what I want to do wouldn't feel like so much of a chore. Here's the rub, though: I have no idea what I want to do. I have a bachelor's degree and a master's degree in two different subject areas. To be fair, I didn't really give the first one a chance. Working as a newspaper reporter in college burned me out. I'm kind of in my master's field now, but ... I just don't know. Crunching numbers and writing about urban sprawl, racial segregation and economic disparity is interesting. In theory, anyway. But my concentration in nonprofit managment? What was I thinking there? Do I really want to manage people or an organization? Why didn't I just sell my soul and go to business school? At least I'd have money.

Oh my God. I wasted $50,000 and three years of my life.

I'm 32. Shouldn't I have an idea by now of what I want to do with my life? I feel like I'm behind schedule and completely immature. And I probably feel that way because it's true. I haven't done anything with my life but amass a huge amount of debt. I'm a failure ... but at what? I've not done anything. I should have an amazing career by now. Or God forbid, be a suburban soccer mom (I just threw up a little in my mouth). I should be something. But I'm not. I'm nothing.

14 June 2006

Try to look on the bright side.

Yeah, it sucked that the cord for the air conditioner wouldn't reach to the outlet. And you didn't realize it until you had everything in place. It does suck that it has to go in the living room and be an eyesore on the front of the house, yes. And it does blow that you had to lug that heavy-ass thing back to where it started last night and you cranked your knee and probably tweaked that herniated disc.

True, it's stinky that the air conditioner fits less well in this window than in the kitchen window. It's not fun that you sliced your wrist open when you picked up the air conditioner to try to put it in the window.

But ... all that blood was pretty cool.

Not only was the blood pretty cool, but you did it yourself (okay, Dad got the wood pieces and you had to make three phone calls). When things didn't go as planned, you got frustrated, yes. You didn't cry, though. You sucked it up and got things done. It's not the best job, but dammit, it should work.

13 June 2006

It's one of those double-edged sword thingies.

One thing that I really dislike about myself is that I allow other people (friends, family, bus drivers, cashiers, bands, politicians, random strangers ... you get the idea) to have an inordinate amount of influence on my mood.

In many ways, this is a very bad thing. Let's say a bus is really early and I miss it or really late and I miss my transfer or just end up being late for whatever I was on my way to do. Now I'm cranky. Some days it makes me, stay-the-hell-away-from-me-or-I'll-beat-you cranky. Or I'm out for dinner or drinks and the server is rude or incompetent. There are times the rest of the night is completely ruined (often enough, it's comedic fodder, though).

But there's another side to this ... personality trait? I'm not sure that's what to call it. As much as I let people ruin my day or my mood, small actions from the people I mentioned above (pretty much anyone I could come into contact with on a daily basis) can make my day. Maybe it's my Bearded Bus Boyfriend letting me get off the bus first or an e-mail from someone I like. I can go from the verge of tears to grinning like an idiot.

And I don't know how to go about changing this. Do I even want to change it? Yeah, it sucks that a rude cashier at Rainbow can make me pissy for a couple of hours. On the other hand, it's pretty darn neat that the girl at the MAC store can completely erase a bad day and make me feel like a new woman.

Is it better to allow people to affect me or to shut myself off from them entirely and be immune to their good and bad actions? I probably already know the answer, I guess.

12 June 2006

Oh, it's one of *those* days.

One of those days where you so desperately need a hug, but you know there is no chance that you'll get one. And you know that it will be a few days before you even have the opportunity to get one. By then, I'll have forgotten how badly I needed one today and I won't really appreciate it.


I know I can always count on you.

Sunday, 9:30 p.m.: "Can I call you right back? This is the guy that hired me."

Monday, 8:48 a.m.: Tell you what, Captain Reliable; how about you lick my lily-white ass?

Oh, and Ticketbastard, your 24 hours was up about 16 hours ago. Please see my instructions to Captain Reliable on your suggested course of action.

11 June 2006

Purple Rain

Last night, Shawn hosted me, K, Rach, BC, Shari, Boy Chris and Eric for our first-ever Purple Rain night. Shawn has the 20th anniversary version edition of the DVD, so as part of the warm-up for the feature, we got to watch a feature on First Ave and the Minneapolis music scene, a feature on the fashion in the movie, the MTV premiere party, the videos and then a feature with the director, producer and what not.

One of the special features mentioned how cold it was here when they were filming. Either the producer or the director said that it was "20 below" when Apollonia jumped in the water she mistakenly thought was Lake Minnetonka. Um, if it was 20 below, she would have smacked her ass on ice. It looked as if the filming was done in the fall because the leaves were changing, but most of the trees still had leaves and there was green grass on the ground. Plus, you couldn't even see anyone's breath when they were outdoors. Bunch of California wusses.

We even made up a drinking game, since Shawn had bought Purple Rain-flavored Mad Dog. Dear, sweet Jeebus, but that stuff is awful. It tasted like highly-sugared cough syrup.

The drinking game was this: Every mention of "The Kid" was one drink. An exterior shot of First Ave or of the fictious backstage area was one drink. Finally, every time the song "Purple Rain" was heard or referenced, that was another drink. Next year we may add a drink for every time Prince's father beats his mother, or when they're getting it on. I also had to take a drink for every Purple Raingasm I had. There were several.

Granted, the "plot" part of the movie leaves so very much to be desired. Eric had never seen the movie before and was worried about spoilers from the special features and about following the plot. We got quite the chuckle out of that. Yeah, the acting is awful. Most of the people in the movie weren't actors, though. One of the special features talked about Apollonia being the only "real" actor among the bunch. She was worse than most. Also, hello, Clarence Williams III? He's a "real" actor. His performance in Sugar Hill sticks in my head whenever I see him now. Well, that and his role as Samson in Half Baked.

I have to say that all of the kissing scenes between Prince and Apollonia looked very uncomfortable. You would think that as a man who has always exuded this incredible, raw sexuality, Prince would be a good kisser. Or it would look like kissing him would be amazing. But you'd be wrong. It just looked weird. It looked like he is a horrible kisser.

But the performances ... oh, the performances. *Purple Raingasm* Shit. I need to get a beer. Okay, back. I can't even imagine what it would have been like to see Prince and The Revolution in a packed First Ave in the early 80s. And The Time, too? As much as I'm not into the things Prince has been doing since he decided to become a Jehovah's Witness or even probably before that ... the man is a musical genius and had such an influence on my musical life when I was a wee girl and when I was growing up.

I said during the movie that some day, a few years down the road, when we are renting out the Suburban World Theater to show the movie to our legion of converts, we could all hearken back to that first party in 2006 and say, "We were there."

Next year, we're totally having purple jello shots. Sign up early!

07 June 2006

Stop testing me.

Seriously. I get it. Or maybe I don't, hence the testing.

I was out for drinks tonight and ran into an ex-boyfriend. This same ex called me out of the blue about a year ago. Oddly enough, last year when he called and today, he just happened to catch me on a particularly horny day. It's not fair. I'm only human, dammit.

Fortunately for me, we just talked on the phone a few times a year ago and then I didn't hear from him after a couple of weeks. Tonight, he acted like that never happened. And the chances that I'll hear from him after tonight are slim to none, I would guess. He'd have to remember my e-mail. Which is easy, given that he knows my name. All he needs to remember is the @gmail.com part. Still, though, I'm hoping it's a non-issue.

Why am I being tested so much? A boyfriend with cancer who then decides to move out of the country. He's now an ex-boyfriend who had delayed his departure twice and it seems to be on indefinite hold. Now I run into an ex who, should he e-mail me, would be a serious temptation.

I know better, though. I can control my urges. I learned lessons. I know there's better out there.

Really, though? Enough. I get it. Seriously. I mean it.

06 June 2006

Why does Metro Transit hate me?

It seems that Metro Transit has eliminated the 4C bus. That's the bus that I was taking home every day. So, today and yesterday I ended up waiting probably 15 minutes for my transfer. That didn't suck too badly. However, the bus was packed to the gills. The 4F, which was the bus right before the 4C, was always crowded. The 4C was usually fairly full, too. Now, everyone that was taking the 4C has to take the 4K, and there were still people standing in the aisle when I got off my stop. Yeesh.

Gone is my lovely bus ride home. Maybe I'll stay on the 6 and walk the seven blocks from Hennepin. It's a lovely walk, unless I have to pee. And I have to pee most days. Stupid wee Irish bladder.

Oh, but this isn't the worst. The ads in the bus shelters changed. Gone is my eyeliner-wearing Johnny Depp and scruffy, sweaty Orlando Bloom. In place of the Pirates of the Caribbean ads are ads about syphilis. These ads come complete with a picture of a chancre. OH MY GOD. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? At least, that's what I think the little inset close-up was. I was far too grossed out to actually look at it. I did see a couple of people with disgusted reactions, so I'm guessing it's a chancre.

I also saw some scary-looking trannies today at the bus stop. Yesterday, Johnny Depp. Today, chancres and trannies. Awesome.

02 June 2006

Is this how I know I'm from rural Minnesota?

My mom forwarded an e-mail to me today with the subject line: "YOU'RE FROM RURAL MINNESOTA IF..." Why she sent it only to me and not to my siblings is beyond me. Then again, she may have forwarded it to them separately. She just recently figured out how to forward things and respond to a previous message. Bless her heart.

See, I already know I am from rural Minnesota. I spent 18 long years on a farm outside Janesville. It's difficult to forget that I grew up in the boonies, but I think I've managed to embrace city life quite nicely. Plenty of people I've met over the years have told me they'd never have guessed I was the daughter of a hog farmer.

All this being said, I'm going to try to debunk this silly e-mail. I've not read it, so I have no idea what it says. I'm commenting on it as I read it. Fun!


You know how to polka, but never tried it sober. I don't really know how to polka. One of my fellow cheerleaders (there goes that secret) tried to teach me once during a game, but it didn't take. And I was sober at the time, so there.

You know what knee-high by the Fourth of July means. I think it's for corn? But I've never actually heard anyone use this in conversation.

You know it's traditional for the bride and groom to go bar hopping between the ceremony and the reception. Yeah, I do know that.

You were delighted to get a miniature snow shovel for your 3rd birthday. I have no idea what I received for my third birthday. There were miniature shovels around when we were young, though.

You buy Christmas presents at Fleet Farm. I've never been to Fleet Farm. Growing up, the closest one was (and probably is to me now that I live in Minneapolis) in Lakeville, which is almost in the Cities, darn it. Larry wasn't going to go that far when he could just go into the Creamery in town or somewhere in Mankato. Come on.

You spent more on beer than you did on food at your wedding. (well duh) I'm not sure if the "(well duh)" was added by someone or what. But I haven't had a wedding so I can't answer it. Knowing my family, if I was ever to have a wedding (should something strange happen and I end up getting hitched someday, I'm eloping), we would spend more on liquor. I don't know how much that has to do with being from rural Minnesota. We're Irish. We drink.

You hear someone use the word "oof-dah" and you don't immediately break into uncontrollable laughter. First of all, it's spelled "Uff da." Jesus Christ. I never heard anyone use this term in a non-ironic context until I was in Crookston in 1996.

You or someone you know was a "Dairy Princess" at a county fair (Don't ask and no I was not) Okay, I'm guessing that the person who sent this to whoever sent it to my Mom added the parenthetical comments. Anyway, when I was the Waseca County Pork Ambassador, I hated the Dairy Princess. She was such a bitch.

You know that "combine" is a noun. I know it's a verb, too. Football draftniks use it as a noun, too.

You think Lutheran and Catholic are THE major religions. In my hometown they are. Rest of the world, not so much. When I was a little girl, I'd go to the Lutheran church every now and again with my mom. I guess it was because I went there with her and to Mass with my dad that I thought that the Lutheran church was for women and the Catholic church was for men. Nevermind that there were people of both genders there. I had some crazy ideas when I was three or four.

You know that creek rhymes with pick. I know what someone is talking about when they use that pronunciation. I say "creek." I think this was possibly going to be one of the entries in my best friend's "Country Dictionary." As a town girl, she was often unfamiliar with some of the terms those of us used who grew up "out in the country."

Football(baseball) schedules are checked before wedding dates are set. I wish.

A Friday night date is taking your girlfriend shining for deer. I wouldn't put this past some of the guys I knew in high school, I guess.

Saturday you go the local bowling alley. Were there is karaoke and Texas Holdem. I'm ignoring the "were" that should be "where." And that "holdem" isn't actually one word. Okay, so I'm not. Who wrote this? When we were growing up, no one had even heard of karaoke and no one played poker.

There was at least one kid in your class who had to help milk cows in the morning...phew! I don't think so. Jeanne Glynn is the only classmate I can remember who grew up on a dairy farm. Can't remember if she had to help with the milking or not.

You have driven your car on a lake, or in a field for a party. Never drove my car on a lake. Not sure if I ever drove to any parties out in fields. But I was in many cars that did both.

You can make sense out of the word "upnort" and "batree." Took me a minute, but yeah, I got it.

You always believed that vacation meant "going up North." I think I was in high school before we went up North. You don't take many summer vacations when your dad is a farmer.

At every wedding you have been to you have had to dance the hokey poky & the chicken dance. Um, no.

Your definition of a small town is one that only has one or more bars What happened to the punctuation here, Sparky? This one doesn't even make sense. A small town has one or more bars? Minneapolis has one or more bars. I'm pretty sure it's not a small town.

The local gas station sells live bait. Did G&S sell live bait? I spent a lot of time in there one summer. Can't remember, though.

At least twice a year, the kitchen doubles as a meat processing plant. What? I don't know what this means either. Never happened at my house.

Your mom asks, "Were you born in a barn?" and you know exactly what she means. Don't most people know what this means, regardless of whether they grew up in rural or urban Minnesota? I don't know.

You think that the start of deer season is a national holiday. Uh, no. I don't.

Pop is not only what you call your dad, but is the ONLY name for soda. I've never called my dad "Pop." I was broken of saying "pop" for soda when I went to school in North Carolina. But I wouldn't join their ranks of calling it a "drink." I mostly use "soda" now.

You actually understand these jokes and forward them to all your Minnesota friends. I didn't understand them all. And I will not be forwarding them, 'cause this list was pretty freakin' lame.

Unintentionally drunk.

Carrie and I were going to walk around Lake Calhoun last night after work. Then she was stuck in traffic and we thought Lake of the Isles might be better, because Calhoun is full of slow-walkers and is something of a pick up spot when the weather is particularly lovely (warm, actually. lovely cooler days don't pull such a crowd). And then we decided sitting out on my deck and drinking would be a much better option.

I somehow ended up drunk. I think my gin and tonics were stronger than I realized. Carrie went home eventually and I watched Barry Zito pitch beautifully to beat the Twins. I spent well over an hour on the phone with someone and stayed up too late.

It was a really great Thursday night.

01 June 2006

Side effects may include ...

I think I've been on Flonase long enough to start feeling some side effects. I've been getting headaches most days for the last week or so. Today it seems particularly bad. However, I'm not sneezing. Nor do I have the red, watery eyes or overall itchy feeling. So, I can put up with a headache. Lord knows I have before. I could be getting nosebleeds (okay, I had one) or sore throats. Headaches are easier to deal with, I think.

The question is, do I take something for it or not? When I first started getting tension headaches six or seven years ago, I quit taking anything for them because nothing really helped for any length of time. Turns out that was the right thing to do. When you're constantly taking a pain reliever for headaches, you end up getting more headaches (rebound headaches) if you don't take the pain reliever. Or you get a headache because you do take it. I can't remember, 'cause my head hurts.

I still get the tension headaches. I've had a bad one for a while now. If I had the money, I'd get a massage and it would be gone. But I can't be spending money on something frivolous (though, if my health and well-being is affected it isn't really frivolous) like a massage. I've gotten fairly good at working on some of the knots myself, but I just can't reach some spots.

Alas. At least I'm not sneezing.