. : : stevensturm.com : : .

Quote of the Week

"So... how long have you been a midget?"

Crazy IS Terminal

It all started a couple weeks ago when I developed a headache that wouldn't go away. I felt awful for like five days, and laid in bed for a whole weekend with a cold washcloth on my face. Miserable.
I'm a bit of a hypochondriac, so I was pretty sure it was an aneurism or a brain tumor. I had all but updated my will. Finally, I decided it might be time to consult an actual doctor rather than self-diagnosing a terminal illness... again.
When the doctor came in, I shared with him my prognosis, and told him that I had already signed my living will and arranged for hospice care. But I wanted his opinion too. Just for confirmation. He checked my blood pressure - which was normal. High blood pressure is not usually associated with tumors and aneurisms. Oddly, he ran no further tests.
"Just a headache," he declared, nonchalantly.
"Just a headache? How could you even know that? Don't you need to do an MRI? Inject dye into my veins? Shave half my head awkwardly and do exploratory surgery? I could be dead in a week and you're all, shrug, 'prolly just a headache'? What kind of a doctor are you anyway?"
Then he starts asking me personal questions like "what do you do for a living" and "are you in a relationship" and "do you work out" and "what's your family like".
"Look doc, I'm not here to speed date you okay? I came in here with a brain tumor and I just want to get this badlarry knocked out and either die or get on with my life. Besides, never mind that its inappropriate for you to be asking me out right now, 60 year old men with slightly out of control eyebrows aren't my type anyway, not that you're not a perfectly nice man. I'm sure you will make someone a very lovely mate okay, but let's get back to the subject at hand."
So then - here's where it gets good - so then he grabs his prescription pad and he goes, "Okay, here's something to help with the headache itself. You know... ahem... until we can get that tUUUUmor out of there. And I'm going to write you another one for anxiety. It's called Cymbalta."
"OOOOHHHHH HEEEEEEEELLLL NO! I have seen the commercials on tv for Cymbalta. I know what that's for. I'm NOT depressed. I'm no burnout. I have a good job and great friends and a new house and I get along great with my family and I go to church and everything. I don't need any anxiety medicine. And also, who ARE you anyways that you can spend five minutes with me and you don't run one single test and now you're trying to tell me I'm stressed out like you even KNOW me. Besides all that, do you THINK for one minute that I am going to just stroll into my friendly neighborhood CVS Pharmacy and be like 'here's my prescription for burnout medicine because IIIIII'M crazy. Is there a generic for this? Is it on the list of prescriptions that I can get with my ten dollar co-pay?'"
And I'm pretty sure I threw some air quotes in there at some point - probably for the word co-pay which needs no airquote. "
[Big inhale] "...and you know they are going to be talking about me behind the counter. I'm going to go pick out hair gel or something while they fill the prescription and they're going to be all 'Lookit. Its a prescription for Cymbalta. He's totally nuts. Look at him over there picking out hair gel as if he ever leaves the house. Look look. I got five bucks that says he hoards too.' Where did you get your EM DEE anyway? I come in here with a serious neurological condition and you hand me a prescription for anxiety medication. Who does that? Does Cymbalta thin your blood? Did you consider that these anxiety meds could actually worsen my condition? Did you think of that EMMM DEEEE? Fine. Just fine. Gah. Okay here. Just give it to me so I can go."
So he looks at me for a minute and he goes, "That. That right there is what this will help with."

NOTHING Compares

I was halfheartedly watching tv this morning while getting ready for work when I heard a charismatic tv commercial voice exuberantly announce, "Nothing compares to the Toyota Corolla!"
Really?
If you're the creative director in charge of the BMW M3 or Audi TT account or even the moderately unique - albeit redneck Dodge Charger, you can throw around an idea during your brainstorming session like "nothing compares." But when you are charged with the (well paying) task of making a Toyota Corolla seem appealing, can we try just a little harder than nothing compares to the Toyota Corolla? Because, let's face it, there are lots of underpowered, blandly styled, uncomfortable, entry level sedans that do quite compare to the Toyota Corolla.

Quote of the Week

"I'm pregnant. I'm sorry."

New Job

Do you think that on his first day as the new President, Obama will be like, "Hey, where's the copier? Anybody know how to use this fax? Patty, do we have to dial nine to get out? I wasn't sure if we would go out to eat on my first day, so I just packed something, but if you guys want to go to the China Buffet we can do that too. I didn't drive though."

...cause that was totally my first day.

An Open Letter to the City of Columbia

It is with the most insincere and sarcastic form of gratitude that I would like to thank your very diligent utility workers for digging up my entire street with no warning so that on the way home from a $30 full-service car wash, I could splash through the red Carolina clay.

On Autumn Leaves and Change

About a year and a half ago, I wrote a post about how surreal it felt to travel back to Charleston for the first time since moving away. I'm sitting on an airplane right now headed back to Indiana for the first time since moving to Columbia three months ago. What makes this trip even more "out of body" is that I'm going up to actually move my belongings to SC.

In my post about going back to Charleston, I talked about the very clear direction I felt about going to Indiana, about how it had been time for a change, but that I wasn't sure what to anticipate going back. Would I feel some sense of confirmation that I had made the right decision? Would I realize that I missed Charleston deeply and regret everything?

That same sense of uncertainty is what I feel now. There's already some sense of regret that I left having lost my job, having never really adapted to the culture, having no idea what "that" was about. And yet, you can't live with regret. You make life's decisions as wisely and as prayerfully as you can and then you live with it.

I think the most unfortunate thing is that my job in Indiana had me so perpetually stressed out, I'm not sure I was ever really myself the whole time I was in Indiana. I certainly didn't have the emotional energy to invest in a social life or adapting to the Midwest, and I'm not even sure the people who I do regard as friends know the real, non stressed out me. What I'm getting at is this. Now that I don't live there anymore, I might really like it. How idiotic is that?

Maybe I'll have some sort of epifany about what Indiana was really about. Maybe I won't, and that's fine too. There are lots of things in life we never really know the answers to.

Worst case scenario, I'll get to see some people that I love and miss a lot. Oh, and the leaves are changing in Indiana, and that's certainly appropriate.

Quote of the Week

It's not paranoia if they're really after you.

Fashion Forwarned

It doesn't matter how emo you are, tight tight jeans are not okay on a man.

Woof

I decided this morning that maybe I've taken baby-talking to Huger just a tinybit too far. I took him out this morning to do his business, and as I sing songed "does my Hugerbaby nees to makes a shoo shoo pie for his daddy? Does you nees to make a shoo shoo pie!?!?!," I caught the neighbor staring at me from her screened porch with the most bewildered look I've ever seen.
When she saw me see her seeing me, she actually turned and ran in the house.
Welcome to the neighborhood, idiot.