Do you want to talk about my blood test? Let’s talk about my blood test and urine test (surprise!) yesterday. I waltzed down to the doctor’s office at 8:15 a.m. in the morning. The nurse/receptionist was on her bluetooth, but I couldn’t see that she had a bluetooth on because her hair was covering it. She smiled and me and I wrote my name down. No one else was there. The waiting room, which by the way, looks like 1985 threw up all over it, was empty. “Oh GIRRRRRRRRRRRL!” I hear the receptionist yell. “You should do SOMETHIN’ about that. You should DO SOMETHIN’.” It took me some time to realize that she was not talking to me and referring to the horrible bangs I have from a botched haircut, but was talking into her headset to a friend about some issue I was not concerned about. What I was concerned about was the fact that for some reason, my veins are a mystery. They are an enigma. They are a mystery wrapped in an enigma. In short, they are very hard to find. Very hard.

Once when I was in college, I went to the health center to donate blood. I wanted to help. I wanted to save lives. It took 2 med students in training and a professional to declare that blood could not be drawn. FROM EITHER ARM. Yes, that’s right. I’m a mutant creature apparently, with veins that cannot be located.

She took me into the back room and I told her explicitly before we started that my veins are hard to find. She asked if I drank water this morning. I naturally said no, because I was under the impression that I was no meant to eat or drink anything before the test. It just goes to show you how rarely I have these things.

Anyway, she felt around both arms and decided she was going to have a go with my right arm. Fair enough. As she was looking to find a vein, she also came to the conclusion that my veins were a mystery wrapped in an enigma. Surprisingly however, with a bit of prodding, she managed to find a vein, although it was more to the side of my arm, than in the middle. Fine I thought, I don’t even care. You caught a vein on the first try, you’re practically an expert, nurse Bluetooth. She filled up three viles of dark burgundy blood and bandaged me up. You know, I could never be an intravenous drug user, even if I wanted to. I would never be able to find a vein and get high. I’d miss every time.

I was relieved that it was over, however, contrary to what I thought, it was not. On no siree, a urine test was in order - one about which I had NO IDEA ABOUT.

“Now all I need from you is a urine sample. Here’s the cup, your name is on it. Go into the bathroom. There are some wipes in the cabinet. Wipe yourself, then catch the urine MIDSTREAM.”

Sure, why not? This doesn’t sound particularly difficult, except for the fact that I emptied my bladder this morning, BEFORE I came in for a blood test. Had I known I was going to have a urine sample as well, I would have saved all my good pee for you guys. I walked into the restroom nervous. How in the world was I going to trick my body into thinking I had to pee? I reached over to the cabinet and grabbed a towelette and wiped as instructed. I sat down and tried to persuade myself to pee. My stream of thought (no pun intended) went as follows: rivers, lakes, faucet water, big tubs of water, c’mon pee, let’s go pee, rivers, lakes, pregnancy test commercial featuring giant stream of pee, gimme something, anything!

Just then, the flood gates opened for about 5 seconds and I managed to gather about 20 ml of pee. By the way, the cup was about 60 ml, so I tried again. I went through about 4 songs on the Oldies station that I could hear playing in waiting room before I decided that that was all the pee they were getting from me. I took my cup, wrapped it in a towel (per the urine sample instructions on the wall) and left it for the nurse. I grabbed my stuff, said thanks and left, with a throbbing arm and a dehydrated bladder. Then I sat in traffic for an hour until I made it to Santa Monica. What a day.

If you have fear of some pain or suffering, you should examine whether there is anything you can do about it. If you can, there is no need to worry about it; if you cannot do anything, then there is also no need to worry. Do not think only of your own joy, but vow to save all beings from suffering. This is sharing in its highest form and purity beyond all poisons of this world.

This is a portrait I drew of Henry and I last summer. It’s acrylic on canvas and was finished in one night, although it still needs some touch ups. I put this photo up instead of one of Henry in his current state because he’s sleeping and not only do I not want to bother him, but he looks so scruffy and I’m sure he hates his life at this points, so I’m not going to play intrusive journalist right now, you know?

He’s been holed up in his crate, but he’s doing well. The staples in his legs are getting looser, which is a good sign. He has an x-ray and suture removal scheduled on Thursday and hopefully I can take that horribly annoying Elizabethan collar off his head. I think I hate it more than he does. It’s just awful. It is amazing how well the dog formally known as Mr. Pick. E. Eater is responding to food. He gobbles up his dry and wet food and the chicken and turkey and peppers he’s allowed in between. Because of this, his poop schedule has become so normal - once in the morning, once in the evening.

He finished up his antibiotic medicine today and will be off his pain meds this week. His hair is growing up at an astonishing rate, so we’ll have to even it out in a month or two. He is in dire need of a bath and he knows it. He self-grooms like a cat every chance he gets.

He didn’t make much noise during the earthquake that rocked Los Angeles today, except for letting out a big yelp the minute it was over.

More updates after his next vet appointment!

So about half an hour ago, we had an earthquake here in Los Angeles. It registered on the scale at 5.8, with its epicenter about 2 miles from Chino Hills. It started off like there was a big truck rattling outside. Someone yelled, “Earthquake!” as a joke, we all laughed for about 2 seconds and then, it got a bit worse. “Oh no, it really is an earthquake.” I saw about 10 heads darting up from cubicles. No one ducked and covered, we all just stared at each other as if to say, “Is this really happening right now?”

The United State’s Geological Survey reported it at being 29 miles from the Los Angeles Civic Center. Having been through the Northridge earthquake, this was nothing. Somewhere, somehow, Victoria Beckham is implementing the Earthquake safety she learned on “Coming to America.” Transplants, welcome (officially) to Los Angeles.

This weekend I did a major rehaul of my room. This included getting rid of school papers that I had kept since I was a freshman in high school. Yes, I’m nostalgic like that. I also wanted to get rid of the big hunk of wood in my room, otherwise known as the oversized desk that took up too much space. I spent all of Sunday afternoon with his task at hand and by the time I was finished, I had filled up three garbage bags full of paper, notebooks and old scantrons. I managed to get the desk out of my room on my own, but not without scratching up the opposite side of my door. Oh well. I was left with more space than I had bargained for! Oh space, how I love space. As a journalist, we’re trained to abhor white space. Fill every corner with text or graphics, no matter what the cost, I used to be told in school. But oh, how I love space. It compliments design real well, especially home design.

I was left with a desk half of the size of my previous one and to be honest, I was ok with this. I still am. In fact, I’m glad it’s small, because it’s forced me to get rid of more crap. I also bought myself a new duvet and pillow cover from Ikea.

The redesign of my room is far from complete. I still have to paint the walls, get rid of more unnecessary junk and find a place to store the obscene amount of books and magazines I have. This DIY project is far from over. In addition to the room redecorating, I did some wardrobe restocking as well. I wandered over to Anthropologie, quite possibly my favorite store on my lunch break and picked up a few things.

I’ve never owned a lingerie bag in my life, but it was so dainty and delicate, that I had to get it. Plus it was half off. You get what you can at Anthropologie. I also splurged and got a wool shrug by Moth.

From now on, I’ve decided to shop a different way. I’m going to pricier pieces, that will last me a long time, instead of getting a lot for less. So this was my splurge of the month. Although, let me just say, I could spend my life savings at Anthropologie in one go. I’m not even kidding.

The walls between old allies on either side of the Atlantic cannot stand. The walls between the countries with the most and those with the least cannot stand. The walls between races and tribes; natives and immigrants; Christian and Muslim and Jew cannot stand. These now are the walls we must tear down.

So history reminds us that walls can be torn down. But the task is never easy. True partnership and true progress requires constant work and sustained sacrifice. They require sharing the burdens of development and diplomacy; of progress and peace. They require allies who will listen to each other, learn from each other and, most of all, trust each other.

Will we stand for the human rights of the dissident in Burma, the blogger in Iran, or the voter in Zimbabwe? Will we give meaning to the words “never again” in Darfur?

Will we acknowledge that there is no more powerful example than the one each of our nations projects to the world? Will we reject torture and stand for the rule of law? Will we welcome immigrants from different lands, and shun discrimination against those who don’t look like us or worship like we do, and keep the promise of equality and opportunity for all of our people?

People of Berlin - people of the world - this is our moment. This is our time.

People of Berlin - and people of the world - the scale of our challenge is great. The road ahead will be long. But I come before you to say that we are heirs to a struggle for freedom. We are a people of improbable hope. With an eye toward the future, with resolve in our hearts, let us remember this history, and answer our destiny, and remake the world once again. - Obama’s speech in Berlin on Thursday. Read the full transcript of this amazing speech here.

Writepudding fully endorses Obama. Yes we can!

Photo by Patrick Dentler

Today Henry went to the vet to have his bandages removed. It’s been exactly one week since his surgery. He’s doing well, but very anxious to get up out of his crate. When the nurses brought him out, I saw his little pink legs dangling, with a million stitches all over. Fur, dried up blood, metal stitching and pink skin. It was not a pleasant site. I hesitated posting the photo below of his legs and was about to censor myself, but I thought I’d go ahead and do it anyway, because if anyone ever comes across this post and has a dog who will need luxating patella surgery and they want to see photos, it will be here for their reference. I know that before Henry has his surgery, I looked all over the web for photos, so it’s more helpful than hurtful. Plus, I’m not a fan of censorship. That being said, I’m putting the photo behind a cut for the faint of heart.

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It’s now day 7-post luxating patella surgery, and as far as I can tell, Henry’s doing well for the most part, although he’s completely miserable in his crate. It’s the most time he’s spent in there, ever. He never sleeps in there, but on my bed with me and only goes in to fetch his toys out. He’s having a hard time adjusting, but he has to suffer now for the greater good of the functionality of his legs. When I put him on his pad to pee, he spins around like a banshee until he finally can’t hold it in anymore. I spread his legs, so he doesn’t get any pee on his bandaged feet. He only goes pee once a day and because of all the medicine he’s been given, his urine has a really putrid smell, a bit like asparagus-pee. For the short times that he’s out of his crate, he walks pretty well, although he looks like he’s walking on stilts. For being so small, he’s pretty fearless and seems to have forgotten about the fact that he had major surgery. If I didn’t immediately put him back in his crate after his daily bathroom session, he’d be running a muck in the house, bandaged legs and all.

He was suffering from a bout of constipation, as he hadn’t had a bowel movement since we brought him home on Saturday, so I gave him a teaspoon of pumpkin puree and this did the trick, although he ended up going his crate. I really don’t mind where he goes, as long as he goes. On Thursday he goes in to get his bandages removed I believe and I’m a bit scared of this, because I got a peek at one of the staples in his legs, and it was not a pleasant site.

By the way, if you’re reading this and your dog needs luxating patella surgery, which usually runs in the thousands as far as price is concern, a good option is Care Credit. Care Credit works like a credit card, but with perks such as an extended payment plan and no interest. It’s main purpose is for medical emergencies, such as pet surgery. I used it to cover half the cost of Henry’s surgery. More updates as we go along.

Today’s cake was a smashing success! Everyone loved it, which was great because I was really nervous about it.  I thought about Henry the entire day. The vet even called to check up on him, which I thought was the sweetest thing. I wish I could work from home so I could be there with him at all times. I’m feeling a bit stressed out and frustrated at the situation. He didn’t sleep all of last night in his crate. He kept moving around, so finally I put him on top of my bed and cradled him until he went to sleep. Needless to say I am in dire need of sleep today. I’m feeling upset as well, because he would not relax. He was standing on all fours, even though his hind legs are bandaged and he just kept moving around. I finally got angry and yelled at him and forced him to just sit down. He got really quiet and just kept looking at me with those big brown eyes. And I felt horrible. I guess I’m feeling overwhelmed by this whole thing too. Right now, he’s in his bed with my cardigan as his blanket, sleeping. He hasn’t had a bowel movement since Saturday and I was a bit worried, so I gave him some canned pumpkin, and I’m hoping this will help.

On Thursday I have a doctor’s appointment that is so long overdue. My last doctor was a complete idiot, so thankfully not only did she get up and decide to leave California, but Nat recommended her doctor to me, who I’m looking forward to seeing. I’ve got a number of things I want to talk to her about, mostly the fact that I have a sneaking suspicion that I have hypothyroidism. The symptoms completely match up with what I’ve been experiencing and my mom was also diagnosed with it many, many years ago, so it seems likely that I have it.

It’s only 10 p.m., and already I’m feeling sleepy. I guess I’m finally realizing that I’m getting old. Although if I said that out loud to anyone, they would look at my cross-eyed and proclaim, “You’re not old! You’re only 23!” I feel much older than 23, let me tell you. Plus, my idea of fun is knitting and baking and watching Bollywood films. By default, I’d say I’m at least 58.

I am a mug collector. Some people collect stamps or pens. Not me. I collect mugs. I think it stems down to the fact that I not only love the various designs on mugs, but they’re something I use in my daily life, unlike stamps that you hide away in a scrapbook. Since tea is so important to me, collecting mugs are just natural. Whenever Keeg and I travel, I can’t resist buying a mug.

The one on the left, if you didn’t already know is a quote from The Smith’s “Reel Around the Fountain,” courtesy of Keeg. The one on the right is a standard Ikea mug I bought for 69 cents on which I drew a matryoshka doll on with ceramic paints. It was my first attempt, so it doesn’t look all that great. You really need a steady hand to be able to draw on mugs with paint.

That’s my Democrat mug from Urban Outfitters. It’s a great size and it’s got people I like on it. The second one was bought at I believe TJ Maxx. If you’re into mugs, Marshall’s and TJ Maxx are great places to find quirky and unique ones. It came with a tea bag holder in the shape of a bee.

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