Beijing or Bust

Greetings from Beijing, home to the finest air pollution problem and best-preserved body of a former dictator.

Getting here was no treat. Delay upon delay followed by an outright cancellation made for a very unhappy me on Saturday. I knew this trip would be grueling, but I had no idea I would have to add on missing one whole day, canceling appointments and rescheduling all of them to fit into our cramped schedule to the mix.

Sunday's flight out was uneventful but jam-packed with what I think were a bunch of TB patients. It was most likely just a result of the poor air quality riddling their lungs. It's amazing I didn't puke at least three times on the plane with all of the hacking and spitting and other disgusting-ness on-board.

So far everything has been fine. In fact, better than I ever could have anticipated. Great meetings. Nice hotel. Interesting cuisine (I miss my Chinese buffet, but I knew that the food would be...different). Did I mention great meetings?

Initial thoughts on Beijing:
* It's urban. I expected something not quite as built up.
* The toilets work well (I really expected less, seeing as how I almost stepped into one in Nagoya last year).
* The grasp of the English language by those I would expect to not understand is amazing.
* The lack of understanding by those who I would expect to understand is equally as amazing.
* I think I ate something I shouldn't have. I am...(wait for it)...amazed that I didn't have one bit of problem with it (digestion-wise), but am still refusing to contemplate just what animal I may have unknowingly (and a bit involuntarily) consumed.

Because we couldn't get a flight home tonight or any time tomorrow, we're here for another day. Which means tomorrow is our sightseeing day, to which I'm looking forward. We'll hit all the big ones (Mao included), which means I will have seen things I only thought I would ever read about.

I am beginning to think I am my very own Travel Channel.

Weirdos Abound

In all honesty, I was happy, relieved, and a little uncertain when it was revealed that John Mark Karr was supposedly JonBenet's killer. Who wouldn't want to believe it?

And then there's the news that there is no DNA match and in fact it's not him.

Look at him. He's weird. And surely has committed all sorts of sicko crimes. And should be tried appropriately for them. So naturally one wants to believe that someone who eludes to committing said crimes against a little girl is in fact guilty. He's a weirdo.

But nearly as weird (and guilty) are the DA's office in Colorado and the law enforcement agencies that collected him from Thailand, treated him too well, wasted over $9K on extraditing him back here (does that amount include the wining and dining?) only to find out what we all figured out the more his face was pasted all over the news and the more he spoke out: He didn't do it. And we may never know who did.

Is it still an active criminal investigation? Are there credible leads? Will there be any resolution to this unpeaceful story?

Ma'am?

Most women in the Midwest dislike the term "ma'am." Especially if recipients of this term are under the age of 60. And even then, I wonder if they reeally like it. There's just something about it... Something old-ladyish and too respectful... Something really not "Midwest" at all.

This evening I returned home with my arms full, and a guy who couldn't have been that much older than me held the vator for me. I thought it was a nice gesture since up until this point, I was the only one in the entire building that had proven to hold doors of any kind for anyone.

I went to punch my floor and saw it was already lit. Aha! A floor-mate. I quickly started to put doors with people's faces together and determined he must be the Italian who ordered pizza often enough and listened to sports programming all the time. Upon disembarking onto our floor, I told him to have a nice evening. The same sort of thing I would tell anyone with whom I shared an elevator (and floor).

His response: "You too, ma'am."

It literally stopped me in my tracks. MA'AM? Surely, he must've been joking. At least that's what I told myself. But I turned around and he was going about his business, fitting his key into the lock of the door of the Italian man who orders pizza frequently enough. It was him, and he is a ma'am-caller. Ugh.

I understand the respect thing, but really, ma'am...to me?? He's, like, my age (or thereabouts)! Talk about too formal and way off-putting! I sure hope he doesn't throw that term around at the bars.

I have been inspecting the gray hairs and searching for crows feet or wrinkles ever since. Ma'am. I am so sure.

ER: My Own Non-TV Show

Notes from my unhappy phyiscal has stayed with me, playing in that vast wasteland called my subconscious. I know this because the past few days I have stopped and taken my pulse for no good reason or stopped and thought to myself, "Gee, I wonder if that bp is dipping more towards the normal range." But I always move on, these thoughts being real yet fleeting.

Funny how the subconscious can hold onto something it thinks will really get your goat. Mine threw all of the medical cards in my face last night in the form of a raging anxiety attack. Of course, never having had an anxiety attack before, I just thought I was dying.

Heart racing, mind racing, heart racing faster. Entire left side gets heavy. Is my arm really tingly, or am I just getting hot and cold flashes? Heart racing even faster. I cannot even count the number of beats it's going so fast. Breathe. Relaaaaxx. Shit. Heart still beating faster and now I am light-headed. I am going to die. This sucks. Heart still racing and I am about to pass out, but I can't pass out because what if I don't wake-up?

All of this- and surely more- went racing through my mind for about 1.5 hours. As it got worse instead of better, I finally decided to call Rafferty, who raced over, let herself in, took my pulse (she's not a nurse, but can pretend to be one quite well) and announced that though she was sure this was an anxiety attack, for peace of mind we should go to the ER. I didn't really want to, but off to the hospital we went.

So I had to admit to the nurse that I drank more than 2 cups of coffee that night. And I wasn't hungry for dinner (but was starving at that point). And yes, I can admit that all of those things are possible triggers, especially when combined with the others. But it was scary nonetheless. Especially when the anxiety and subsequent reaction to the initial episode compounds matters.

There was no firm "this is because of stress and anxiety" diagnosis, but there's also nothing physically wrong with me. My EKG was stellar, even at the height of my attack. My chest x-rays are fine. They even ran blood tests to check for blood clots, and that came back negative. So...being diagnosed with a racing heart is a little ambiguous.

My heart rate eventually came down and, believe it or not, my blood pressure was down to a normal range for the last two hours I spent in the ER. (Someone tell my primary, please!) I am more tired than anything else right now.

It was an awful, terrible, wretched experience. I hated every minute of it. Thank god for Rafferty and all the good folks at my ER (including the hot orderly/nurse).

I see my doctor a week from tomorrow. I intend to share with her my feeling that if this happens again- especially if I'm traveling- I will not only be unhappy but perhaps screwed as well (depending on the country). Anyone who knows me well knows pill-popping is soooo not my thing. I hate medicating myself unless it's entirely necessary. In this instance, half a Xanax may be exactlty what would do the trick.

I am thankful I wasn't dying and am happy that I passed all of those tests with flying colors. It does make me wonder if this behavior modification thing might actually be unhappy for me, or if perhaps this has something to do with detoxing. Either way, it was awful. I'll opt for the TV show over my own visit any day of the week.

Ten-Year Mystery Put to Rest

It's just a shame poor Patsy couldn't be around to see the day that proved her innocence.

I'll admit that it was convenient to suspect one or both of the parents, although a bit impractical after all of their furvent denials throughout the last decade. Now that they have arrested the former teacher and once the trial gets under way, I'll be interested to hear what aspects of the entire situation were never shared with the public and how the police zeroed in on him, faced with sex charges in Thailand no less.

This is Less than Reassuring

But I suppose if I was the boy, I could understand why absconding would be a nice option.

Behavior Modification is Bad for My (Mental) Well-Being

There are certain truths I may not like but accept:

A healthful diet is good.

Diet alone does not do the trick. Hence, grueling exercise.

Alcohol is (supposedly) only good in moderation.

Smoking is (supposedly) not good, even in moderation.

Stress is bad and one should do whatever it takes to lead a stres-free life.

I get it, believe me. And I do my part to try keep all factors well-balanced in my life. Note the key word in that sentence: try.

I am good about going to the doctor for the annual work-up. I actually thought yesterday's visit would be a good one, and was confident of that. Apparently, I was wrong.

First question posed by Dr. C: "Tell me, how are things?"

Hmmm... We never start this way, which tipped me off to the fact that the nurse's precursory report couldn't have been a good one.

My response was something along the lines of: "Good...status quo...Let's not beat around the bush; be more specific, please."

Dr. C: "Are you under a lot of...stress?"

Well, that gets to the heart of the matter. I wanted to respond sarcastically; tell her that mine was the most stres-free of lives and what would ever make her think that I have an ounce of the hated feeling flowing through me...But decided that a calm and honest response was more helpful.

"Of course I'm stressed," I told her. "Work is stressful. I now I have a mortgage and bills and who doesn't worry about that? And let's not even go into the personal life. And being at a doctor's office- the one where I generally get some piece of not-so-great news with every annual visit? Yeah, that's a huge piece of it, too."

The great thing about Dr. C is she gets it. But it didn't change the bad status report. Blood pressure? Through the roof. Formerly barely existent heart murmur? Pronounced. Weight gain, dehydration, increased seasonal allergies, 70% chance of contracting diabetes thanks to lovely family legacy... The good news kept flowing.

The great thing about Dr. C is she doesn't believe in just writing out a few prescriptions and saying see ya next year. I love that about her. She's all about behavior modification first. And I understand it and think it makes sense as a first step.

Caffeine intake (which is generally pretty limited) will be cut drastically (good-bye frequent Starbucks trips).

Tasty libations will be brought down to a minimum (I will really miss you, Bud Light, but my waist line may thank you).

Which means that those few smokes should be- need to be- cut as well (bad left-over college habit, I must bid you adieu).

Exercise and healthy eating- taken care of already, but I guess I need to take a better look at the greater scheme of things and see if there is anything I can modify there.

There's not much else I can do about the personal or work life. It is what it is. I have no complaints about either aspect of my life, but work especially is high-paced and carries a decent dose of stress. I will be searching for decompression methods, I'm sure.

And then...I wait. Just for two weeks, and then we see what the bp looks like...and then we take next steps. In the meantime, I'm sure all of these changes will be good for me on other levels as well.

I started the behavior modification thing today. Why wait?

One cup of coffee in the morning. Acceptable.

NO alcohol on the company summer outing today (with open bar for the entire three hours, this pained me).

No alcohol tonight (I don't miss it. I'm tired anyway and have a big day tomorrow, so this was a good move).

Decaf coffee instead (me not being decaf drinker, I can say it wasn't half bad).

Thinking all of these things through- making these very conscious choices... It was more stressful than just living my life as I have been! Admittedly, I was snippy and possibly bitchy and definitely tired and perhap a bit crabby. But...I didn't falter during day one, and if I can handle the mental turmoil, this behavior modification thing may be a good thing on so many different levels.

Boys Will Always Be Boys

The FTF is the epitome of the average 30-something single man. He enjoys after-work cocktails with co-workers often, manages sweet seats at all Midwest sporting events, owns his own home and works hard for the money spent on mortgage and recreational drinking and entertainment...and when he's out with the guys, will revert back to college antics.

This well understood, I knew things would become...interesting...when his Smooth Ex-CoWorker became his Current Smooth CoWorker in April. Now, sitting by his side on a daily basis, was the one man that has played the role of big brother, fraternity president, coaxer of all, and egg-er on-ner of most all rolled into one. In other words: sweet, wonderful, playful FTF would undoubtedly morph into sweet, wonderful(ly annoying at times), playful (like an amusement park), devilish man about town. FTF can usually contain his antics and knows the fine line between silly fun and pure annoyance with me.

Having met Smooth CoWorker, I understand how easy it is to both like and be repelled by him -- and all the while still walk away thinking, "That was fun. He is fun."

With FTF being suspiciously quiet the past couple weeks, I knew something was brewing. Smooth CoWorker loves the relationship FTF and I have together (pure, unadulterated jealousy), and he enjoys looping me into some of his grander antics. It all began yesterday with abundant annoying calls followed by even more frequent and outlandish emails. At first it was mildly amusing, peaking at an outright laugh or two, quickly followed by a severe dip in humor. By 8:30 tonight, I was grumbling, "Friggin' juvenile 30-somethings" every time the phone rang.

FTF knows my displeasure and likely knows Smooth CoWorker has pushed all of my buttons (including a few I never even knew I had). FTF, always looking for a way to stay away from the Wrath of MoC (smart boy), has wisely disengaged himself from the "fun" while chuckling wanly on the sidelines. This has not deterred Smooth CoWorker.

Since I expect this from the two of them when they spend too much time together, I have decided to beat Smooth CoWorker at his own game. This, coupled with killing him with kindness, has already turned the tables.

In the meantime, I'm slightly disappointed in FTF. Why this time around? There's fun and games and then there's this new level Smooth CoWorker always takes things to, and I keep thinking, I don't want to be the fun-squelcher, but can't you please grow up a little?

Looking ahead, FTF and I have a penchant for Labor Day get-togethers, and this year should be no different. However, I can't help but think how unattractive all of this is. There's either going to be a huge amount of forgiveness fun, or he's going to be working hard to crawl back into my bed.

Attention Joe(l) Rosen(berg)

Dear Joe(l) Ros(th)en(berg):

It appears as though you're in some sort of financial bind. Perhaps you've defaulted on your mortgage or some sort of home loan. Your creditors and other assorted people who have no shame in calling ALL DAY (and into the evening hours) also have several different names for you, all variations of your given name, I'm sure.

I know this because they keep calling and looking for you. And they won't stop. It's obvious you're running from these folks, and I'm sick of them calling me. So please -- do the stand-up thing and contact them. Or give them a phony number. I've tried to straighten it out with them to no avail. They think I'm screening your calls, which is laughable since based on the harrassment the people on the phone are providing towards me, I'm fairly sure I would like nothing about you or your character let alone help you in this situation.

Yours in Honesty,
MoC

My "Take That, Winter" Escape

Because I can't stand winter and swear every year that I will embark on an island vacation as the cold weather descends on the city, I have finally gone off and booked myself a warm weather destination vacation that will drive those winter blues away.

Last night I booked an 8 day/7 night vacation to St. Martin. Sooooo excited. Will be staying here. Sandy beaches and snorkeling? I'm so ready. Island rum: Beware. Pain au chocolat, here I am come. Sun...I worship thee.

So. Cannot. Wait.

I luuuurrve frequent flier miles.

Drinking Like an Adult

A friend who happens to be a karaoke nut was hosting a show last night at a little townie bar in Jeff Park. Rafferty and I, plus a few other friends, met up to laugh, sing shockingly awful songs (on purpose), and laugh some more. Of course, in the mean time, many drinks were imbibed. Because you need to drink a lot in order to spend that many hours in that particular bar with many of the particular bar's patrons, playing/singing along to really bad karaoke. With that said, it was a riot and good fun.

As the evening wore on, Rafferty and I decided it was time to make our exit. Because today is pool day and we can't ruin that. As we were saying our good-byes, Rafferty noticed that a friend of hers from her gym who had come out upon the request of Rafferty was really, really drunk. Like, making-no-sense-and-propped-against-the-bar-so-she-doesn't-fall-over-drunk. My first thought was, how did she get this way? She seemed just fine an hour ago when she was obsessing about whether or not she should sing (I didn't really care whether she did or not; I just wanted her to stop talking). Apparently, this girl just kept sucking down her rum and cokes and was now severly obliterated.

Rafferty looked at me, at her gym friend, back at me and said, "MoC, I'm hungry and we're going for food." Since I'd grabbed a ride to the bar with her, I had no choice but to join the food parade, which was a big, obvious effort to sober up Gym Friend so she wouldn't toss her cookies anywhere near us. As it turned out, the diner event annoyed me immensely and sobered me up to a sickening level. Because now all of Gym Friend's "yo's" and "you hear me, girl's" were just killing me.

So the pancakes the Gym Friend shoveled into her mouth didn't do anything for this girl, and Rafferty apparently felt responsible for her. Bear in mind, I did not. Rafferty is a good-hearted person and a kind soul, and in her desire to get home she had no choice but to suggest that the Really Drunk Gym Friend stay at her house. You may wonder how or why this affected me, and here it comes: I was tasked with driving Drunk Gym Girl's car back to Rafferty's house. Really, quite the last thing I wanted to do at 3am. But I tend to find myself doing things like this (you know, responsible-like stuff) every now and again now that I am well past the Let's Pretend We're Still in College stage of life.

We all made it back in one piece. Drunk Gym Friend's car is safely with her. I am home and worrying about calling over to Rafferty's and having Drunk Gym Friend- who is now likely Hungover Gym Friend- still be there and infringe on our pool day. Because I don't think I can take one more "yo" from her. I don't want to be a responsible adult today. I want to just sit and lounge and read and nap and not care.

Melting is an Art Form

I enjoy the hot weather and look forward to the spike in temperature every summer. However, this heat wave we're experiencing is a bit extended and over the top. Let me just say, I LOVE my AC. (This is not breaking news for anyone in the continental U.S., who I am sure is embarking on a similar love affair.)

I welcomed this past weekend and reveled in lounging in the Family Fun Center. The water managed to stay chilly for many hours, so I was able to refresh my tan and use nature's cooling mechanism all in one. A productive use of the weekend days, if I do say so myself.

Seeing as I don't have such luxuries during the week, I quickly gave up trying to stay cool while commuting or while working in the penthouse office with sun beating through the windows and AC that is weaker than my whistle. Instead, I have opted for melting with style.

I strut down the street and convince myself that it is sunny and 70 while sweat is blinding me as it trickles into my squinting eyes.

I imagine the light breeze is gently blowing my wavy hair away from my face rather than making the frizzy thick mass cling to my flushed and damp forehead.

I picture myself wearing a loose, flirty sundress tickling the back of my knees instead of the uncomfortable suit clinging to my back and hips.

Oddly enough, such fantasies calm me and put me in a more peaceful place until I can collapse inside air conditioning. I do wonder just how much longer I can lie to myself, though. I have given up looking in mirrors because my hair is beyond repair (yes, even indoors). And when I do catch a glimpse of myself- reflected in a storefront window, perhaps- I audibly gasp and move faster, far, far away from the offending sight. Again, I can only do this for so long.

Despite any lies to myself, I was certain that all of this sweating would surely make me drop a minimum of 5 pounds. I'm still waiting.

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The good thing about the heat wave is I have little desire to do much but chill in front of the AC when I return from the office. Which means I am getting a lot of movie and TV watching in, due entirely to my friends at NetFlix. This really was the best prize I have ever won (forget the fact that it is also one of the only ones I've ever won).

Because it was critically-acclaimed and I heard so many good things about it, I queued up "Arrested Development," and am halfway through season two. I have no idea why I never watched this show when it was on the air. It is by far one of the funniest, smartest shows that was on the tube in the past 5+ years.

It has also renewed my pre-teen crush on Jason Bateman. Funny how things come full circle.

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Because heat weakens the body and mind, it's little surprise I found myself in the midst of a little accident Saturday night. A big glass at a local bar found it's way crashing down around my flip-flopped feet. Who knew flying glass could slash so deep? I'm healing well, but can only shake my head at the stories associated with some of my scars (or soon to be scars).

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And because one must think of island heat in the midst of a heat wave (but of course!), I am officially planning my winter vacation. I am 99% certain I will be saying Bonjour to St. Maarten in November. Around then, my tan will need a major boost and I will be ready to warm up my chilly skin and rejuvenate my body, mind, and spirit.