do I HAFTA???

saw my doc yesterday.

he said I need further testing (including a colonoscopy. yay). he lectured me for refusing reasonable care by not allowing them to admit me. he called me a jerk. I called him a bigger jerk. we thumb wrestled...

then I cried and shook again as they scheduled my GI appointment.

I'm thinking anti-anxiety meds might be in order for the days to come.

I REALLY don't do well with medical issues...

:(

cranberry ass...aka blood butt

the rumney trip was awesome. spectacular. completely fucking amazing (I'll blog that part separately, me thinks)...

right up to the point where I landed in the hospital, that is.

a day or two in I had some pretty serious stomach cramping...but considering the conditions and my level of (PURELY BLISSFUL CLIMB-RELATED) exhaustion...I had a bagel, put the pain on the shelf and decided to keep an eye on it. kept climbing. wasn't leading my 9's like I would've liked (hesitation thy name is suki)...but climbing smart and balanced.

then I started pooing blood.

it took peggy, gino and oqui about 12 hours (several multi-pitch climbs later) to convince me to finally head to the hospital. not gonna lie...the feeling like death, inability to eat, fever, dehydration and pain didn't hurt in compelling me, either. I still wasn't worried, though. I was accused of being "tough", trying to be a hero, etc, etc...but in reality. I just wasn't concerned. i figured...ok. I'm a little sick. need some more water and sleep and OH FAN-FLIPPING-TASTIC...I blew a gasket in my butt. embarrassing, maybe...but(t) still, no worries.

I hate emergency rooms.

I hate emergency rooms like I hate Oprah. (bitch)
I hate emergency rooms like I hate G-dub-bush.
I hate emergency rooms like I hate strange fingers in my ass.
I hate emergency rooms ALMOST as much as I hate men who hit kids and women.
I hate emergency rooms like I hate black licorice.
I hate emergency rooms like I hate commercial television.
I hate emergency rooms like I hate thrash metal and tom green.
I hate emergency rooms...because you only go there when something bad happens :(

I hate emergency rooms.

because of recent pneumonia incident I knew what I was getting myself into when I finally decided to go. a bare ass...(minus the finger up it) in a shitty paper gown. cold room. uncomfortable girney. hard pillow and needles in my arm. I just didn't want to go that route...nothing heroic about it. quite frankly....I think I was being a pussy.

it went worse than I expected. they said I tested positive for blood in my stool (OBVIOUSLY - I just shat out a bucket-full)...and that I needed to be admitted.

NOW I was petrified. I can't really explain my reaction...other than to say sheer terror. i was hoping my symptoms would be minimized...negated or ignored, even so I could just go home. but doctor douchebag gave me the "this is serious" look...and I lost it. I can't tell you how glad I was that Oqui was there with me.

I acted like a little kid who needs stitches. I refused. told him I wanted to go home. I'd leave against medical advice. I pitched a fit and cried and shook for hours...I was tired. weak. scared. it finally hit me...tonight they could find something really wrong with me. I gave in.

I drank their iodine. I had the tests. I shook all night. occassionally a nurse or a tech tried to offer comfort...more often than not they offered drugs.

I refused the antibiotic (tendon rupture, anyone?)...only to be brow-beaten into taking it later...somehow without getting any further information out of them. irresponsible of me. completely wreckless and immoral of them.

its so fucking clear now (that I'm home) that everything they did to me to make me better made me feel worse. the dyes injected/ingested for the scan made me so sick I couldn't stand. the antibiotic made me nervous, uncoordinated, at risk for injury and scared. the needles petrified me. the cold chilled me...even the gown demoralized me.

I. hated. it.

a clear abdominal scan and 493 explosive iodine and cranberry induced poos later...he cleared me to travel home...with no idea what was wrong.

strange how...now that i'm here:

I'm not scared anymore.

I'm seeing my doctor later (no doubt to have more drugs pushed on me) for the sole purpose of making sure that I've done everything I can to rule out something seriously wrong (I wanna live. I love my daughter)...then I'm ignoring this whole fucking thing.

I'm done with allowing anybody to tell me what my body needs. I'm a woman. we have fantastic instincts...

and from now on, I'm going to trust them.

la musica

I'm packing.
the hub is wallpapering.
the kid was surfing.

I've got the disc changer downstairs rocking out Lauryn Hill, LL Cool J, couple of old school mixes and Dido (I know. I know...Dido).

the hub is on his 83rd repeat of his new Jack Johnson cd.

and the kid is watching Akon videos on-line.

what you hear depends on where you stand. I should trump them all and plug the changer into the house wiring. ha!

my tea's stone cold I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
the morning rain clouds up my windows, but I can't see at all.
and even if I could it'd all be gray, but your picture on my wall...

wonder how much extraneous power we're burning up b/c we can't agree on music?

and I'm off...again.

man, do I need a new superhero pose, or what?

tomorrow morning will find me on my way to rumney, nh to get my climb on.

not the painful kind on a bike that involves my quads screaming for mercy (wait. they do that on the flat parts, too...)...this climbing involves rocks, the part of my body that actually is in shape, a rope, and occassionally some success in reaching the tiz-op.

I'm not sure what level I'm leading at these days (or ever, for that matter). If I bang out a good number of 5.9's on lead I'll be content.

If I lead a 5.10 I'll shit myself. twice.

once out of excitement...and once just for fun.

10's on top-rope are no big whoop. in west virginny I can usually flash up to a 10b...work c's and d's. I'm curious as to the grading in rumney. 10's may be WAAAAAAAAY out of my league. I guess we'll just see.

as per my last (ass) post...I'm quite obviously not in tip top shape. my mental game has been shot to hell, too, since I got pneumonia. I over-worked myself prior...now I'm not working enough (for fear of blowing a lung?). I haven't been climbing at my peak for a few months now...

I'm hoping to (can anyone tell me how to do that cool strike through thingy?) I WILL rectify this situation in New Hampshire.

I will climb like the wind. rock solid. wreck shop. make myself proud...and work my partner to death.

sorry, oqui.

I'm on a mission.


see you kids in a few!

Hugs, Kisses and Candy Bars,
The Suki

I have a ginormous ass. (aka PMS strikes again)

a lil' rant of mine today on a climbing forum. well...because I'm pissy.

her:

Quote from: rose on June 19, 2007, 12:24:32 PM
Also, I have a few friends that own houses in Rumney, and feel I have a different perspective. Rumney is a town. It is not like down south at Miguel's where you can get rowdy. Or a Del and Marty's where climbers are welcome. Or a Rogers where coffee is dropped off at your camp site.I agree it isn't all the things you mentioned, but there might be reason why a climbers locale hasn't been erected before. The Calm Post will most likely offer that connection you seek.

me: (10 days later hehehe)
Rose,

I was sent a link to this thread by a friend, being as we're heading to rumney tomorrow...and we were hoping to find a nice little pesto-y/hummus-y type place to eat...and voila'!

And while I realize this is probably all old hat, now...I have to admit, though, I had an immediate and intense reaction to a few of your statements about a 'miguel's type place' showing up in rumney. In particular that you have a few friends that own houses in there.

Cool geological features...such as rock faces, boulders, mountains, rivers, etc..are in short supply. What I don't think this planet has a shortage of, however...is people. While I feel for your friends' property values (I happen to own a home myself)...I couldn't possibly sympathize with them if their town were to turn into rock climbing, dirty sandal wearing, hippy central. The rock is THERE...the homes could've been built ANYWHERE.

I once lived on beautiful little main street america. quiet town. great place to raise kids...also home to the twice annual motorcycle hill climb. several weeks a year our town was OVER-RUN by obnoxiously loud motorcycles sans mufflers...and hordes of leather clad enthusiasts. twice a year I was annoyed to high heaven by the noise and congestion...but twice a year I suffered quietly.

The hill they climbed...was there. Who on Earth was I to begrudge them their (however annoying to me and loud as all get out) communion with nature?

No one. That's who. If I didn't like the environment I chose to live in...that was nobody's fault but my own. I even broke down and went to the events.

They were happy...so I enjoyed it for them.

(granted I don't know your background, but) I feel that you could at least offer the same consideration to your FELLOW climbers. Holy cow, woman. You sound like you don't even LIKE those you choose to recreate with. Climbers' advocate, much?

I haven't been a climber too terribly long, but I can say that in my year and a half...and several dozen trips, I've come to realize this much:I like climbers.

On the whole we're ethical, in touch with our surroundings, conscious (and considerate) of others...and know how to have a good time. While I'll agree that we're a huge bunch of port-a-potty slaughtering poop factories (we eat alot of granola)...I wouldn't have a problem with a miguel's opening up in MY backyard.

hell...if I had a crag and a few acres...I probably WOULD.

I mean...come on..how far does the sound of a 2am streaking carry, anyway?

and a picture of my ass:

(I deleted the rear and front views...too much for one day-and my pants)

and ^ this, folks...is why I decided to buy a bike. climbing works wonders for my (killer, if I do say so) arms and back...but doesn't do diddly-piss for the (yicky pooey icky gross blecht) ghetto booty and (newly acquired) love handles.



fuck. n. a.

why didn't somebody tell me I was so god-awful tubby???

I hate you all...

especially you, rose.

[/snarl]

my mom read my blog (and other news)

I get a phone call this evening.

ONE BAJILLIONTH, HUH?!?!?!?

why you little ungrateful sack of *insert string of suki's momma's sayings here*

so I told her to create an account and retaliate.

look out, peeps. my momma's coming...and is she is CUR-RAZY. (quite obviously. normal folk don't go raising kids like me).


in other news I wanted to kill the husband fifteen thousand and seventy-three times today...until we shut the windows and doors and turned the ac on (and went to wendy's. I should tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the rootbeer/vanilla frosty float...err, truth.)

friendly advice:

if you have a significant other...and want to retain them...never ever ever. ever. never. (ever) attempt to work together on a home-improvement project. when its hot. we were stripping the old wallpaper off the studio walls...because of the sanding and dust we turned off the ac and opened up the balcony door and studio windows.

instant oppression.

within thirty-four POINT six seconds I threw a marker at his head...only b/c I couldn't reach the screwdriver.

he's a lucky man. I'm a pretty good shot.

needless to say...he's now in there (and has been for several hours) all by himself repapering the joint. only fair. after all, he earlier told me "it's MY room. MY room. if you don't like it, you can get out."

yeah. I almost became a fairly wealthy widow today.

I'll go back in a few, help him tear and crinkle and maybe bring him a cup o' tea...

cause the air conditioners back on...

and I kinda like him a little bit, again.

REVEALED!!!

the major secret.

(yet another) boy who has a crush on the kid had a secret. he shared it with the others in their group. boys and girls.

betrayed. the kid felt left out and double-crossed.

whispers. glances. knowing giggles.

finally...in a moment of (weakness?) clarity and trust...the truth came out.

he has hair on his ding-a-ling.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa hahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!

we're totally moving to the top of a mountain...and I'm getting one of these:

yesterday I:

-started giving fellow volvo drivers the jeep wave

-begged the kid back from her dad, stole the niece, made them both wear dresses and took them to my mother's house to celebrate her one bajillionth birthday. dev and alan showed up with sammy. bringing the total number of females in that kitchen to seven, thereby ensuring an obnoxious time. I miss living with them :(

-googled myself. maiden name. married name and (all) my alias(es). surprisingly...the alias(es) are way more exciting

-went for the big hair (yes. I have a photo. no. I don't think I'll post it)

-finished off the casserole

-was forced by the teenage contingency ("doood. seriously. you won't believe how hot he is! for realz, yo. He even gave me chocolate. that's mad hot.") to find pictures of Zayne on-line.

-made faces out the front window at everyone who passed by for an hour and a half

-met "Jakey" the super cute, shaggy blonde boy who has a MAJOR crush on my 11 year old and managed not to castrate him. (her father and step-father are displeased with my restraint)

-accidentally gave dev crab dip...then four benadryl

-got home by 11 and was out twenty minutes later.

a good day.

opposite of yummy.

I spent the morning reading "they survived on human flesh" the tale of the uruguayan rugby team who ate their dead teammates after crashing in the andes mountains.

no big whoop, I thought. I could do it.

then I made my sammich.


needless to say...the hub will have a nice fat yummy sammich awaiting him when he wakes up...


and I'm still really hungry.

today I:

-applied for three jobs. one I don't want. one I know I won't get and another that's a whopping six hours a week.
-fought with Cingular (the NEW AT&T) for 38 minutes for a $92 credit
-got an email about the alaska gig. its still tentative
-chatted with the d-ray both on the phone and on-line (simultaneously?)
-got to round nine in chuzzles
-set a personal goal to bid on a minimum of one dozen items on e-bay this evening
-remembered that last night I heard a mother say to her small child "quiet! or I won't love you anymore"
-baked a slamming chili-cornbread casserole
-couldn't fit into my pants OR bra
-decided not to eat anymore casserole
-hit the rock gym to climb off some calories and boredom...only to find no super awesome cyclist peeps there :(
-passed three vehicles at one time...nearly shitting myself in the process
-remembered the car accident yesterday and slowed the fuck down
-saw noah, jerry and simon and didn't hug any of them (hmmmm...)
-renamed my dogs shit-for-brains and fuck-nuts (they were previously dumbfuck and ass breath)
-got a message from the hub stating, "hi. it's mark"...like I couldn't tell
-played the same song on repeat for 42 minutes before I realized it
-watered the plants (<----big deal. very big deal. I was quickly approaching a plant disposal crisis)
-missed the kid like crazy.

six more days of her "week at daddy's" to go...

anyone wanna make sucky crafts, watch stupid movies and argue non-stop with me?

crime scene

wear your helmet.

the area immediately surrounding my house was turned into an all out crime scene for six hours this evening. it was car v. motorcycle. the car containing three 19 year old girls and one 16 year old one...the motorcycle being ridden by a 25 your old man.

the young man was (it saddens me TREMENDOUSLY to think that there will be lots of was'ing about this guy in the days, weeks, months, years to come) breathing when he left the scene. those who saw it prayed for his quick and painless death.

wear your helmet.

witnesses said he was driving like young kids often do on motorcycles. weaving in and out of traffic. pushing the limit. going too fast. getting a thrill. as I type he's either already dead or fighting the battle of his life...and countless others will be affected forever by what happened in a split second tonight.

PLEASE wear your helmet.

I awoke from a nap this afternoon a half hour late for a family volleyball game...ran outside, probably about to drive too fast and too carelessly myself, and saw a car...with a motorcylce underneath it. the girls in the care were unscathed physically...the biker had just recently been removed from the scene. my gut dropped. I've seen this before. I've NEVER liked how this looks.

as a small child, maybe five or six years old, there was a motorcycle accident down the street from us. as a minister AND a motorcyclist...my dad ran right down. in the confusion...I managed to slip through the police cars, on-lookers, etc...

and watched my first person die.

when I was older, still a motorcyclist, my father took my mother for an afternoon ride...planning on being home in an hour or so. six hours later we got the call from the hospital from my father. "I'm ok, but your mom is hurt pretty bad."

seeing that motorcycle lying on the ground. seeing the cracked windshield. seeing the blood stained cement...took me back 25 years. watching a living, breathing person slip away. seeing their limbs stop moving, their eyes go dull and almost being able to actually see their spirit slip away. it took me back 18 years to my mother's battered body in traction...wondering if she was ever going to be ok and if she hurt real bad.

I talked to the driver. I talked to her friends. I talked to her father. I told her...no matter what she does, she can't blame herself. It was a dangerous intersection. It could happen to me. It could happen to anyone. As long as she knows that she did what she was supposed to...if she drove cautiously, checked carefully and paid attention...she's not emotionally response for his death (quality of life?)...

yet I know its not true. all of those girls will forever feel responsible for what happened. "Was I going too fast? Was I talking too loudly? Did I distract her? I shouldn't have asked her to go back to get my phone..."

I came home this evening at almost 11 o'clock to find the car still there. the motorcycle still there. fire trucks and cranes lighting the area. crime scene specialists everywhere...

trying to recreate what happened.

making me sad and scared.

ensuring I won't sleep tonight.

I don't believe in God...but I'll be doing my equivalent of praying for all of those kids tonight...
and probably every time I pull out of my parking spot.

and I know...I'll never make that left turn, again.

it would appear...

that I've earned myself a mountain biking nickname.

We did the short version of the loop surrounding Blue Marsh today. We cut over at Church Road (saving ourselves 7 miles of hell, from what I understand)...but promptly got lost on side trails and racked up (I'm guessing) another 3 or 4...

long. excruciating. miles.

I watched mile marker 26 pass (minus 7 for the lazies)...and watched. and watched. and watched and sobbed and ached. and watched...and didn't see a trail marker for about 35 minutes.

yeah, we're goombas.

all told it was about 25. my mind and body...

were prepared for 22. the last leg of the ride was sheeer unadulterated torture. I didn't ACTUALLY cry...

but I wanted to.

bad(ly).

*cries now just thinking about it*

about 6 miles in I gave up on climbing.

forever (and ever and ever and...). I took my bike for a nice lazy stroll up the rest of the climbs racking up a whopping 33 1/2 day ride time. awesome. I stopped to eat three times. I stopped four to pee. I stopped twice to check my phone. I stopped once because a rabid groundhog growled at me (the husband said it farted. I think not!). I stopped to tie my shoe. I stopped to read a RedBook. I stopped to commune with nature. I even stopped once because I was tired...

at one point...I had to stop because (and here's where the nickname comes in...) my nose was all cloggy-like. I went for the snot rocket technique...

and missed.

having witnessed the entire operation, my husband has now dubbed me "Captain Snotty"...

and has henceforth named my left foot "the boogie foot."

I wasn't the only one getting a new handle. the husband is now to be referred to exclusively as monkapotamus ("I'm gonna ride it!")

and that's about all there is to that.

Looks like this may require surgery...

the husband thinks he popped a nut. I got the point of my seat up my ass when my tights got caught. that groundhog found our address...and a real biker laughed at us.

I'll eat your babies

when we reached the crest of the last hill I tried to shift into something a little more peddle-able when I heard the husband declare "that's it. I'm done peddling for the day!"

good call. eff shifting. we coasted "home".

upon reaching the parking lot I sprawled myself about as flat as a suki can get...and laid there. immobile...for a really long time.

the hub looked at me and said "well, I guess I'm not getting YOU to do this, again"

I was all like: what you talking 'bout turkey??? just cause it was hard (and hurt alot) doesn't mean I didn't love it.

yeah. it was hard. it hurt alot.

I loved it.

where my witches is at?

today is the summer solstice.

...which means last night was the witching night. (eye of newt. wing of sparrow)

its a tradition with the women in my family to convene on the solstice, eat plentifully (ow), drink up all the liquor we can find (double ow), make fire and commune with the universe. last night...

we initiated the youngings. there were more "virgin" margaritas, coladas and daquiries floating about last night than denim skirts and jelly bracelets at a roller rink (am I the only one REALLY upset that the 80's are back? I mean, come on...the fashion, music and hair all sucked the first time around and I don't know 'bout you...but I am WAAAAY too young to have seen that shit return just yet. where was I...oh, the spiderwebs).

the girls (11 and 12) were told that they were not children last night...but fellow women, full members of our little society and would be treated accordingly.

ha. fricking. ha! that lasted all of seventeen minutes, due to the little dorks gorging themselves on fruit roll-ups and juice boxes. while I'm all for encouraging independence...I KNEW...

if one of them hurled. grown, self-assured women, my ass...I was cleaning it up.

once we got their eating under control (only b/c my mother just started sneaking it to them on the sly) we got our witching underway. I collected a spider's web and caught its inhabitant in a matchbox...mostly to freak the kids out (heheheh I'm evil).

they were all "wha....wha...what are we gonna do with that???" then I showed them the cauldron.

again with the evil auntie suki.

we made up for my torturous teasing by allowing them each the use of words "damn it" all evening. my holy god was my kid hilarious! I cuss like a sailor on leave, but my child will find her death at the end of a four-letter word. but since grammy gave the ok on the d-bomb...the kid was marching her narrow azz around all night lending more than her fair share of psuedo-profanity to the event. I had to bite my tongue more than on(c)e (hundred times) to keep from giving her a tongue lashing. howev...I was in the spirit and rolled with the punches (and rum).

our actual goal for the evening (besides instruction in the proper use of profanity) was to bring about communication and clue them in to their real powers. my mother taught them how to build a fire, we all wrote our wishes/prayers/concerns/thanks/requests to the universe and burned them cathartically (my kid, surreptitiously, threw one in that said "DAAAAMN IT! that felt good").

then we sat around talking about our gifts and powers. the kid, we've determined is socially gifted. she's like an equalizer for all situations. her calm puts people at east. the niece, we've decided, is gifted with great attitude and awesome perspective. things roll off her back that would have me angry-blogging for hours. my mother, the whackjob, still talks to dead people...

and I...read minds.


in fact, I know what you're thinking RIGHT now...

you're thinking I'm retarded.

2 dogs

1 grape.

45 minutes.

that's how long the entertainment lasted. I'm not sure what it was about this particular grape. they've had grapes before...

but this one. this one was magical. they took turns chasing it around the house, pawing at it, picking it up with mouths, paws, I think they even used a nostril once or twice...tossing it into the air...then chasing/stalking/pursuing it again.

one would fall out due to exhaustion...then the other would pick up the slack. that grape was tortured. (I, however, was quite entertained until...)

one of them...

finally ate it.

found

remember the "compromising position" I found myself photographed in while at the New River Rendezvous?

welp, Joel (e-master flex) finally found those shots.

hahahha

now I want him to find the shots taken from behind...

^ random dude. I think he got it.



^ my personal fav. full extension. yeeeeeeah, boyeee!