Sixth grade is bad for your posture

My capacity's post reminded me today how hard sixth grade was. How many tiny rules one had to abide by in order to escape embarrassment. I have to admit that I survived fairly well, thanks to parents who could afford Guess jeans (golden on nearly that alone) and a street-savviness garnered from thorough reading of Sweet Valley Twins and Babysitter's Club books.

However, here's the code of conduct I remember living by:
1. Slouch just enough to have your bra strap hit the top of your chair (to avoid snappage). Under anything at all light colored, wear a tank top over the bra so no one can tell you're wearing one (however it is very important to wear one, whether you need it or not).
2. Before sitting down in the caf, do a light sweep the chair with the hand (to avoid the grape-on-the-seat trick)
3. For lunch, do not eat the a. sloppy joes b. spaghetti c. hamburger d. beans e. anything with enthusiasm.
4. Beware of the potential for the kick-me sign. (If excess laughter occurs, a subtle sweep of the back will confirm that it's not you. No matter how popular you are, you're at risk. Slouching also prevents against the sign).
5. "Best friends" half-heart necklaces are not exclusive.
6. While it's cool to have your period already, never show any other sign of menstruation. Re: pads, emulate Russian nesting dolls: makeup bag in purse in Espirit bag, etc.
6. At sleepovers, never be the first to go to sleep. Best to be near the end. Be sure to ration water to avoid the hand-in-the-water pee trick (which you're pretty sure doesn't work, but you want to be safe). In truth or dare, while both are risky, truth is safest. Better to confess to kissing that boy in the lake last summer than running naked around the house.

Holy mackerel

I ate a tuna sandwich this weekend.

A few months ago I decided that after 11 years as a vegetarian, I should start eating fish. It's so good for you, I reasoned. And I'm tired of going to fabulous restaurants on vacations and having something pedestrian and American.

The interesting thing is that I don't like fish. Tunafish sandwiches aside, I've always hated it. Abhorred the smell of it, the texture. Had difficulty eating bread and most everything when I arrived in Japan because it all seemed vaguely fishy. Don't like overripe melons for the same reason.

So on New Year's, I had shrimp for the first time in my life. It was fine as long as I didn't inhale. I had a bite of crab cake last week. Same thing.

So when my mom offered egg salad or tuna sandwiches for lunch at the cabin this weekend, I brazenly made myself a tuna sandwich. The first bite went fine and soon I stared down at my empty plate and thought, Wow, I just ate a tuna sandwich. How strange.

And now I need to move on, because if the health properties of fish is why I started, canned tuna is not where it's at.

24 days

Until yesterday, I had a migraine headache every day for the last 24 days.

The first week, I figured, oh, jet lag.

The second week I called my doctor. I ruled out blood pressure (med-low), pulse (fine), and pregnancy (nope) for her.

The third week I called my doctor again and got an appointment. Her only guess was that a change we made in November to the way I take the pill (designed, ironically enough, to give me less headaches) started causing me headaches in January. I left with my old pill prescription, "try not to take pain relievers/supermeds every day because they'll lose their effectiveness," and "it'll take a month for it to work it's way out of your system, so hang in there." And also a prescription for a medication that slows my pulse to provide short-term relief.

I wanted desperately to write about it while I was in the midst of it, but it's easier for me to pretend it isn't happening (hence the rather stilted blog entries as of late).
So, sorry about any crabbiness or preoccupied-ness of late. It's good to be back, for real this time.

Winner

of the personal gold medal is the scratching pole, for helping me oust Husband out of the blog closet.

Buried treasure

Stilton was so excited to wish us Happy Valentine's Day that he was up at 6 jumping on the bed and meowing, then bolting downstairs, then running up again and meowing.
Cadbury is a genius kitty. We should call NASA. He is playing fetch, neatly retrieving the crumpled receipt, trotting back to drop it in our hands, then flying off to attack it again.
Johnny Weir is on the tube (not the subway kind). Husband is fondly remembering when he [didn't] see him pee.

Things that I did not get on Valentine's Day:
A Weimaraner
A blizzard
My ofuro

Things that I did get on Valentine's Day:
Takeaway Indian food from our favorite place
Spa time
One doting Husband

A "personal gold medal" to the first person who gets why I might have alluded to buried treasure in this post's title... it's right in front of you! E-mail me to collect.

What I didn't write about

Some days it just isn't there.
I've been trying to write for awhile tonight... thinking that it's been a bit since I've written.
Taking a suggestion from Husband, I wrote a post about my athletic history. Then it seemed too complicated, so I turned it into a post about my confidence in my athletic ability, concluding with a reflection on broomball, but then it seemed weird to mention broomball. So I condensed and then expanded that into a reflection on when I first felt strong (15, carrying a canoe) and when I first felt pretty (first week of college), but it seemed too overly-dramatic-personal-introspection.
Then I exceeded my half-hour limit on writing posts.

So here are my thoughts:
1. I read somewhere about how Swedes and Norwegians can go somewhere and speedskate for hours on some unless path, and how no one talks when they skate, it's just you and the endless ice. I'd like to go there and do that.
2. I'm pleased the world has discovered kakuro, the "new" sudoko, as I have loved these puzzles for years.
3. My new favorite anytime food: Bob's Red Mill 10-grain hot cereal. Husband had to sell out today and downgrade to the 8-grain, as both the 10- and 9-grain were sold out. But he knew better that to degrade himself with the 7-grain, even though they only had one pack of the 8 left and we go through one a week. [To eat, add one scoop natural chunky peanut butter, one splash soy milk, and a swirl of maple syrup. Mmm.]

Nurse Husband

One thing I really miss about being a kid is having someone pick you up and take care of you when you're sick. Somedays the thought of driving myself home from work is enough to... well, enough to make me want to stick it out, oddly enough, although the drive can never be avoided. And while when I get home all I usually want to do is crash in the guest room bed with the cats and sleep, occasionally I've really wanted someone to pick up comforting food and a good movie. So it was a treat today, on migraine day #7, to finally throw in the towel and come home and to have Husband here to dote on me. He fetched me water (with a lime), brought me flowers (purple tulips-excellent choice), ran the errands that needed running (including getting me some cash), and is in process of procuring comforting food--soy cheese pizza, from local hip pizza joint. With Anne of Green Gables, The Sequel on the screen and the cats in my lap (it's kind of hard to type, actually), what more could a girl ask for?