Monday, April 22, 2013


I love my mother so very much!  No offense to any other amazing moms out there I might know, but in my humble opinion, my own mom is the best. :)  She's so funny.  She probably doesn't mean to be funny sometimes, but she is.  People who make me laugh are awesome. Laughing is my favorite.

Since I moved to Huntsville, trying to explain my family's accent is kind of hard, because I think people might think I'm exaggerating them a bit.  I'm really not. Huntsville isn't far removed from my hometown, of course, and plenty of rednecks live out here, but it does have more than its fair share of northern and international transplants, and the southern dialect is still a bit new for them. Since I did public speaking in high school (and because of a cute boy I knew who told me he thought southern accents didn't sound very smart), I beat my accent into submission, and because of that I've met quite a few people who don't realize I'm from the south. At least not until I've talked to them for a while.  At any rate, they seem surprised when I mimic my mother or sister's accent, because they don't understand why my own is so different.

I tell you all of that because I wanted to show you an automatic email I got from our voice-mail provider.  It sends us an email letting us know that we've gotten a voice mail so that we know to check it.  It used to just have the "You've Got Voicemail" message on it, but they've upgraded to having a computer actually transcribing the messages people leave so that you can read them without having to go through the hassle of signing in to the website to listen to them.  Usually, with the exception of some names and places, the computer transcribed messages are very accurate.  When my mom calls, her accent confuses it.  Here is the message I got:

"Hi Kayleen. Hey we made the dog-show-or(?) were sick or out on the balcony looking out at white-riley(?) hey I just thought I'd let you know I would not it okay alright(?) love you all. Bye bye."

I was all...what?  Did she have a stroke?  Then I listened to the message, and what you see above was not even close.  I'm not going to tell you what she actually said, because I want to see if any of you know your "Country" enough to decipher it.  Personally, though, you may need to get in touch with a Navajo Windtalker to see what they think. :)

Tuesday, April 16, 2013


So...I hurt myself.  Some of you already know this, but I'm going to talk about it anyways because it's my blog and I do what I want!

In light of full disclosure, I'm going to embarrass myself.  I hurt myself at the gym, but I didn't realize it at first. Well, let me rephrase... I knew I'd hurt myself, but it didn't seem so bad.  Maybe the endorphins had kicked in and  I wasn't feeling too much pain, or maybe I was just not paying attention, but I wasn't concerned about it until I got home, and by then my left arm had gone numb.  I'm going to assume that most of you would have thought at that point "Huh, I must've pulled a muscle or pinched a nerve."  Alas, my first thought was "OMG, I'm having a heart attack. I'm going to die here, on the floor, alone in my house."

Now, I'm not usually one to jump to that conclusion right off the bat, but to be 100% honest, I don't expect to live to be an old person.  My father died of a heart attack, my mom has heart issues, and I figure that if it isn't cancer (also rampant in our family) that takes me off, it'll be my heart doing something weird.  So there I was, in my kitchen, trying to decide if I was having a heart attack or not.  So, I Googled the symptoms.  That was not smart.  I didn't have most of them, but it "reassuringly" said that "For women, heart attack symptoms aren't always the common ones."  Well, damnit.  That pushed me over the edge and I began to have a panic attack, which in turn caused more of the symptoms that aligned with the common heart attack symptoms.  Greeaaaat.

Deep down where my common sense grows, and I do have some whether you believe it or not, I knew I wasn't having a heart attack.  Granted, I have very little useful medical knowledge, but something told me that I'd be in much worse shape than I was in if I were truly having a heart attack.  However, the rest of my brain went unto complete panic mode.  I called Steve and told him I was sure I was OK, but just in case I died unexpectedly, I was sorry.  Sorry about what, I couldn't tell you, but panic attacks are a bitch to begin with, and having one while you are convinced you are going to die are even worse and they make you a smidge irrational.  Did I head over to the hospital?  Nope.  I went on to work.  I figured that if I was going to die, why not do it at church? Cut out the middle man, right?  So I got to church, ransacked the first aid kit for some aspirin, and then sat down on the floor. Also, to cover all my bases, I took one of my anti anxiety pills. I was sitting there, in the floor of my office, all alone (everyone was late that day) wondering if I was going to die.

In case you're wondering, I didn't die.

No, I probably should have taken the anti-anxiety pill much, much sooner.  Once I calmed down, I realized that my arm was numb because I'd hurt my back.  I'd been so worried about my heart that I had ignored the fact that I'd pinched a nerve or pulled a muscle or whatever I'd done.  I was also very embarrassed that I'd gone to the edge of crazy for even a fraction of an hour.  Luckily, I hadn't gone to the hospital and insisted that I was dying.  I really, really don't want to end up being one of the people an ER nurse talks about when they are recounting stories about patients.  I mean, unless they are talking about patients who are awesome.

So that crisis averted, I managed to live with my back & neck pain for a few more days.  It was unpleasant, but I could deal with it.  It got kind of bad, but nothing I couldn't handle. At least I was able to handle it until the day I bent down to pet the cat.  Seriously, I just bent over to pet Rorschach and it was like my back said "NOPE! No more!"  It felt like I was stabbed by an icicle.  Everything locked up and I couldn't straighten up all the way.  Steve had to help me to bed and I just lay there like a slug.

As I was telling a friend of mine, I think pain is stupid.  If I'm going to hurt, I want to have to work for it.  Laying in bed or on the couch and just hurting because I'm awake annoys me.  I know pain is important because it helps you to understand your limitations and keeps you from doing things to further injure yourself, but still, it's stupid.  I didn't listen to my pain, and of course, that make it worse.  The day after I had to be put to bed like somebody's maw-maw, I decided that it wasn't so bad.  I had errands to do and I needed to get them done that day, so I hauled myself out of bed and out into the world where I pretty much walked around without bending my neck or moving too fast.  It sucked.  I wound up on the couch for the rest of the day lying on a heating pad/ ice pack, except for when I managed to construct a nifty little harness to strap a cold pack to my back so that I could get up and move around.  The pain came and went all weekend, which was no fun, but at least I didn't have to be immobile the whole time.

I went to the doctor this morning, and he didn't seem very concerned about my back.  I thought he'd at least refer me to a chiropractor, or prescribe a muscle relaxer or something, but he didn't.  So I guess this will just have to pass on its own.  If not, I'm going to have to find a chiropractor on my own.  Fun stuff.

At least I didn't die of a heart attack, though, right? Silver lining! :)

Friday, April 05, 2013


1) Finally!  I keep wanting to sit down and write, but I never seem to have the time.  I had no idea I'd be so busy at work that I couldn't do this, and that stinks because I can think of a thousand things to talk about while I'm at work.  When I get home, I can't remember anything.  That is not an exaggeration.  I think I'm getting old.  :(

2) So, speaking of work, it's still going well, albeit I'm very, very busy.  I honestly didn't think I'd be doing so much stuff, but the pastor keeps finding new things for me to do.  Ditto for the youth pastor, who has apparently realized I have a hard time saying no, even when I really, really don't want to do something.  At least I've managed to convince him that I will not, under any circumstances, travel with his youth group.  If I wanted to be responsible for children, I'd give birth to some.  Plus, I would be the most terrible chaperone ever because I'm really not very mature and I have very little patience!  Don't get me wrong, I really like and respect all the men I work with at the church, but I do find myself wanting to hide from them sometimes!

One of the things I've been doing for the church is editing the videos of the Sunday morning sermons so that they can be distributed to our home-bound members on DVDs. That is one of my favorite things, because it seems to mean so much to those people who can't actually make it to church.  It gives me a warm fuzzy, so I'm glad the women's group came up with the idea!  I also edit the videos to be put on YouTube, and I'm learning that copyright laws are a bitch-kitty.  We've been hit with several infringement "cases", which have mostly been redacted, because whomever views our videos probably understands that we - as a church- aren't trying to make money or actually infringe on anything.  By all means, we should fall under "Fair Use" because the music is just a part of our services, and we also have a CCLI license that should cover our butts for almost everything, but the scouts on YouTube are hyper-vigilant about making sure we know we have music in our services that someone else wrote.  I wouldn't care a bit, but if the claims aren't redacted (which they mostly have been) our channel can be taken down.  The weirdest thing, is that most of the larger publishing houses have removed their claims, which allow us to keep the songs in our videos for free, but the smaller, Christian-based companies actually want us to pay them.  I don't think that's what Jesus would do, guys!

3)  So I went to the dentist the other day, and everything was going fine until the dental hygienist grabs this...thing.  It looked like a regular, pointy, scraper thing, but when she put it in my mouth it actually sent a bolt of vibration through my head.  It scared me to death, which made the lady start to laugh.  I have very, very sensitive teeth (and she didn't know that) so she was using a "Sonic Scaler" on my teeth.  That is not a Doctor Who joke, it is a real and terrible thing.  If you are unaware of what this is, imagine that horrible, pointy thing that dentists use to scrape on your teeth, and then add intense vibrations that shoot through your head via bone-conduction.  It sounded like a drill.  It also caused my teeth to spark so much pain that I almost fainted.  Luckily she put the danged thing away when she realized she was torturing me. 

Other than that, the only incident of note was that they found a cavity.  I have no idea how I could get a cavity because I'm super weird about making sure I brush and floss, but Dr. Knight did say my tooth had been on his "Watch List" like it was some kind of enamel terrorist.  He said I have an old filling that was coming loose and right next to that was the tooth they'd been watching, so I imagine that it had been damaged by the old silver filling, which in turn caused a cavity.  He asked me if I'd had any pain, or sensitivity (UM, HELLO!) with that tooth, and I had.  In fact, I made a special appointment with them MONTHS ago because I thought I'd cracked that same tooth because it hurt when I bit down on stuff.  They acted like I was some kind of hypochondriac because I didn't want to chance another root canal by catching any problems early.  So for all I know, they could have fixed whatever was going on back then, but they decided to wait until now to make sure my terrorist tooth went into full jihad mode.  Boo.  So now I get to go back in two weeks and get stuck with needles and have a drill in my grill.  Joy.

4) My house is still a wreck, but not for lack of trying to fix things. Well, that's not 100% accurate.  I've been too tired and busy to go on a full scale assault of the guest room to clear it out, but I have made some efforts.  Plus, we still haven't found a place for the stuff we had to move when we redid the kitchen and since we still haven't been able to find the right kind of base boards, we can't move everything in the kitchen back into it's proper place.  I am so grateful to have a home, and I love where I live, but I'd love it even more if I could move around without knocking things over or tripping over something.  I realize we sound like candidates for an episode of Hoarders, but trust me, we just have very little room to store our normal things. The closets are tiny, the attic has no floor, and our garage is not temperature controlled, so finding space to keep things out of the way is hard.  This house was probably built for nudists who didn't have furniture or any other possessions.