We Just Figured Out Blue's Food

I can get so much mileage out of that post title. ^__^

My roommate, tired of her food getting "lost" behind, say, a gallon of milk and not being discovered again until it had started to smell, decided last night that we should separate out our food by shelf.

Our refrigerator looked pretty full to begin with; but as it turns out, 90% of the stuff in there is actually hers.

When I separated my food out onto its shelf, I discovered I had the following inventory:

1 jar peanut butter (store brand)
1 jar strawberry preserves (store brand)
1/2 loaf whole wheat bread (store brand)
Almost-empty squeezy jar of mustard (store brand)
1 jar lime-ginger pickle (Priya brand)
1 block sharp cheddar cheese (store brand)
1/2 block sharp cheddar cheese (it was a 2-for-1 sale)

Admittedly, in the freezer I have enough sabzi and gobi aloo to last another ten days, and a giant "family-size" bag of brussels sprouts which I portion out and eat along with my PBJ or cheese sandwiches.

I also have half a box of pancake mix sitting on top of the refrigerator, along with some instant oatmeal that I am not actually going to eat because I discovered too late that "sugar free" actually meant "coated in aspartame," and I can't stand the taste.

If the sabzi contains broccoli, potatoes, chickpeas, and green-and-yellow beans, and the gobi aloo contains... well, gobi and aloo... am I getting a balanced diet?

Ascetics Invented Yoga 'Cause They Were Poor

I'm busy. I start teaching at 11 a.m. and end my theatre rehearsals at 10:30 p.m. The days seem to blur into one another; despite our progress both in class and in rehearsal, it feels like I am doing, over and over, the same thing.

Thus: the busier I get with school/work-related activity, the more important it seems to be that I have some kind of alternate creative outlet, something wildly different than what I am doing the rest of the overstuffed week.

Last year at this time, it was cooking. Up through about February, it was still cooking -- but around the beginning of the year, something started to change.

At first I thought I was imagining things, but then the WSJ confirmed it: grocery prices have skyrocketed.

Milk has gone up by 26% and eggs have gone up by 24%. Grocery stores have tried to entice shoppers by cutting prices in other areas, but, as the WSJ notes:

At a Wal-Mart Supercenter in a northern suburb of Chicago, the price of a box of Little Debbie Frosted Donuts was recently reduced to $1.50 from $1.63 while a box of Sunbelt Oats & Honey granola bars was cut to $1.66 from $1.80.

But even with the promotions, the price of a basket of goods selected by Credit Suisse researchers at a Chicago Wal-Mart was up 2.5% in February compared with January. The basket price of a Target Corp. store in Chicago was up 2% and that of a Kroger Co.'s Food4Less store in Chicago was down 0.1%.

Since January 2008, I have purchased milk once: a quarter-gallon to make the quiche, and it was an event. I've purchased eggs twice this year, I believe.

I eat a lot of lentils and spinach, and when there was a sale on vegetables at the Kroger, bought a bunch and made enough sabzi to stock my freezer for a while.

So what have I been doing instead? Yoga -- and I've become obsessed. Obsessed to the point where I kind of plan my meetings around ensuring I will get an hour-long yoga break at some point during the day.

I started out doing a session in the afternoons, before rehearsal; then switched to the mornings, then realized that on certain days I could do mornings and afternoons. I've gone online and drooled over videos of ashtanga, fantasizing about a day when I could take ashtanga classes because it's supposed to be the hardest yoga ever, and learning it would be a superchallenge.

Long story short, it finally hit me: the reason I've become so interested in yoga and exploring my physical endurance is because I, literally, have nothing else to explore. I have frugalized myself down to such an extent that the only thing left is my own body. Other forms of entertainment -- shopping, movies, going to bars, going to concerts, discovering new music, even cooking -- are all out, at least until I get a post-graduation job.

On the plus side, I've got back abs. I've never had back abs before. I suppose lack of income has its benefits. ^__^

Blue's Body Betrays Her

Whatever I've got... don't get it.

Officially, it's bronchitis. But... damn. This thing is wiping me out.

When I'm not in class or at rehearsal, I'm sleeping. I can't take two steps w/o coughing.

And -- tragedy of all tragedies -- I can't do yoga.

This from a person who was still doing yoga with a friggin' cast on her foot, modifying positions as necessary, including a full quota of "girl push-ups" ('cause I couldn't do the regular kind with the cast), which aren't yoga but are evidently the best indicator of physical fitness out there.

It's been eleven days since I first fell ill (and fell quickly, too -- was watching a movie with my sister and felt fine at the beginning, but ended up feverish, shaking, and coughing by the end). Two days ago I thought I was well enough to try yoga again, if for no other reason than mild physical activity seemed like it might help speed up the recovery. (I also get cranky when I don't exercise.)

So I raised my arms above my head to start a sun salutation... and set off a fit of coughing.

I bent over to touch my toes and set off another fit of coughing.

Etc.

Evidently movement = coughing (even stretching = coughing), which makes exercise a problem.

Which means that I am very, very cranky right now.

My body has also betrayed me recently in terms of its rapid hair growth; very nice when it's on my head, less so everywhere else. Sally Hansen promised me I would be hair-free for five to eight weeks; I was hair-free for less than two. The waxing job lasted for exactly thirteen days; stubble started turning up about the same time I caught the bronch. Now I'm all fuzzy again.

'Cause bending over to shave... starts a coughing fit.

*facepalms... then coughs.*

srsly. 2 sick 2 blog.

or 2 spl.

been sick since Tuesday evening of last week. nearly all dc plans canceled. still sick.

ttyl.

We Just Figured Out Blue's Shoes

I first noticed it this morning, when I went in for my first interview of the week.

The look starts at the top of the head: sleek, shiny hair, pearls, crisp dotted-swiss blouse, decent suit, tidy manicure... and then it stops.

The eyes wrinkle. The meaning is clear.

What are these horrible shoes doing on this poor girl's feet?


I didn't think they were that bad when I bought them. Sure, they have the telltale orthopedic sole, but they don't really look like old lady shoes, right?

Yet in a world where every other woman is wearing calf-length stiletto boots, these shoes are 100% wrong.

I kept getting the look, particularly as the day wore on and my foot started to tire out. Of course, by then the look was changing from what's with the terrible fashion choice? to poor thing, there's obviously something wrong with her.

So I've got to figure out some way of preventing people from ever noticing my shoes. This might involve a longer pant cuff, or a distractive measure like a sudden burst of conversation.

It's a shame that I can't wear a handicapped tag like the one I currently have on my car. Something that says "Inside this ugly shoe is a toe that is still, technically, broken; the bone has only formed a hard callus and will take another month or so to fully heal."

Then there should be an asterisk with the note "And she was not drunk or anything like that when she broke it!" ^__^

Blue's Anti-Product Placement: Secret Platinum "Vanilla Chai" Deodorant

While I was shopping for my leg wax, I also made a stop in the deodorant aisle. (Note to readers: this was not an "impulse buy;" I always shop with a list -- and who impulsively buys deodorant, anyway?)

Like I've done for the past year or so, I scanned the products -- and rescanned -- hoping to find my favorite brand, Crystal Clean. It wasn't there. It's never there. The internet says they're still selling it, but I haven't seen it in a supermarket for ages.

Then I saw something quite unexpected. To wit: deodorants "for ladies" generally come in two kinds of scents: floral and beach. Floral is self-explanatory; the beach deodorants, however, never smell like sand, or salt water, or fish, or anything like that. They smell like "Caribbean Cool," which isn't a recognizable scent at all, but at least it covers up the B.O.

Anyway. I'm getting off track. In the middle of all the "Sweet Pea" and "Ocean Breeze" and the occasional "Powder Fresh," I saw a deodorant that claimed it smelled like something fabulously different.

Chai.

Yes, Secret just launched its "Vanilla Chai" line, and to its credit was presenting the scent in glittery, girly colors as opposed to, say, the blatant cultural travesty of Caress' "Exotic Body Wash." (OMG it smells like sandalwood!)

But seriously. Chai? As an underarm scent? Do people really want to raise their arms and be reminded of a hot beverage?

Since my mission is to "test-drive corporate multiculturalism so you don't have to," I bought a stick of chai deodorant and went home. Here is my (highly scientific) report:

Secret Platinum "Vanilla Chai" Deodorant is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike chai.

It doesn't smell a thing like genuine desi chai; it smells nothing like Lipton faux-chai; it doesn't even smell like the monstrosity that is Starbucks chai.

It smells, if it smells like anything, like the goo that comes out of a gas-station cappuccino machine; a gritty combination of sugar and vanilla with a little coffee thrown in. (How can a deodorant smell "gritty," you might ask? Trust me.) It's the only deodorant I've ever put on that makes me feel like I need to brush my teeth.

The smell lasts all day, which is... what it's supposed to do... but I can't say I'm a huge fan. I guess I'm stuck with it until the stick runs out.

Anyone else try this stuff?

Happy Feet

I've had the pins out of my toe for four days now.

No more cast, though I do wrap the top half of my foot in the equivalent of an Ace bandage so the healing toe is kept close and tight with its buddies.

The first two days were extremely painful, as my foot re-adjusted to its new surroundings (and lack of pins), but yesterday I woke up without pain, and it hasn't hurt since.

I can walk quickly again, and I can walk without getting tired. This is delightful, after five-odd weeks of shuffling around and measuring "should I go to the library?" by how many steps it would take to get there and how many I had already taken that day.

The weirdest part of all of this is feeling my big toe wiggle again. The break was below the knuckle joint (and in fact the bone never completely broke through -- that's why I was able to wiggle the toe even after it was broken, and why I put off going to the doctor for a week, since the old adage is "if you can wiggle it, it ain't broke"). After being completely immobilized for over a month, bending or wiggling the toe sets off all kinds of funny alarms in my nerves.

I don't do it deliberately, because the Ace bandage doesn't encourage it, but I find my toes instinctually responding like they used to; i.e. moving like a foot, instead of a block of wood, and so every once in a while the toe curls up without my thinking about it, and then it's kind of fun to feel the nerves react.

It's great to be able to take a shower without having to wrap my leg in a plastic bag. The skin on my entire foot is still really dry and scaly, despite my use of loofah and moisturizer, and for some reason there are several hard yellow calluses on the sole of the foot.

The toenails seem not to have grown at all, strangely enough. I found this out when I went to clip my toenails this evening; the unaffected foot needed clipping badly, but the other foot didn't have nails long enough to clip. That part I don't understand.

Anyway, I'm doing really well and am so glad to be back on my feet again. ^__^

Balm for a Twenty-Six-And-A-Halfth Birthday

Today marked the end of an epoch.

I bought a skin moisturizer which also... sigh... reduces the appearance of fine lines.

When I was in Hyderabad, one of my students said "Madam, you really should put oil on your face, for your wrinkles." (I loved my students' honesty.) He told me that coconut oil was best, and so I diligently applied coconut oil to my face for about a week, until I made the connection between applying coconut oil in the morning and sunburning in the afternoon. Turns out coconut oil was what people used to slather on their bodies in order to achieve those really dark tans. Who knew?

After I returned from India, I was hanging out with a friend and he took a silly picture of me on his digital camera. It was before I broke my toe, and so I was showing off my hard-earned yoga flexibility (incidentally, today was the first day -- after a week of no practice, and then two weeks of one-footed practice -- when I was finally able to once again flatten my back in the seated forward bend).

I looked at the picture. "See, this is the problem," I said. "My face looks older than the rest of my body."

Which it did. Bending in my yoga pose, I looked like Gumby with a bunch of crinkles in his forehead.

Then I noticed this post, at HERstory. Anna's been using Neutrogena Healthy Skin Anti-Wrinkle Cream SPF 15 since her late 20s, and she's gorgeous.

And I'm in my late 20s.

I put it off for a while, since no one really likes thinking about buying wrinkle cream at twenty-six, but I realized the other day that moisturizing my precious face with the same Bath and Body Works Sweet Pea Body Lotion that I use on my elbows is probably not a good idea.

So today I bought a facial moisturizer that -- oh, I couldn't bring myself to buy anything that said "wrinkle cream" on the box, but I did buy one that is designed "to reduce the appearance of fine lines."

It wasn't the Neutrogena, unfortunately, as I don't have that much cash in my pocket (the Bath and Body Works stuff was a gift), but it was a store-brand alternative.

I'll keep you posted as to the results.

Handicapped Parking Revisited

Called the university's Disability Office and got permission, instantly, to park in the "visitor" handicapped spots.

That was astonishing.

I hadn't expected that at all, given some past experiences with university bureaucracy. But it worked right away, thankfully. ^__^

What Makes America Grate: Handicapped University Parking

Years and years ago, my sister was assigned to write an elementary school essay titled "What Makes America Great." She messed up the homophone, and the spellchecker didn't catch it, and so the entire essay came out as "What Makes America Grate." As in: Immigration makes America grate because...

I thought of that today, because of two things that recently happened... one that I will post now, and one that I will post later on this week.

Today's "grate" installment?

I had my foot checked out again, and the doctor asked me how close to the university I was able to park. I explained that I didn't use student parking, since the passes were expensive and the lots were nearly always full, and so I parked on a side street about four blocks away from my building.

"Four blocks is too far away," he told me. "I'm writing you a pass for a handicapped tag, and I want you to park in the handicapped section of the student lot. Those spaces shouldn't fill up as quickly, so you'll probably get one."

I grimaced at the thought of having to shell out $150 for the lot pass, but figured I was already in for the cost of the surgery, so what was a few more dollars here or there?

The handicapped tag certifies me to park in any handicapped spot, university or otherwise; but before I went to Student Parking to shell out for the lot pass I decided to do a short reconnaissance.

I drove my car through the lot, looking for the handicapped spaces.

There weren't any.

It was a large lot, and there were many parking spaces in relative proximity to the university buildings, but none of them were designated as handicapped parking.

Then I drove to my building to check out the possibilities there. It's got a theatre attached, after all; it should be required by law to have a few handicapped spots.

Yep, there were two handicapped parking spaces outside my building. Both with notices: "For Visitors Only. Must Display Visitor Pass."

It didn't seem to make any sense. Obviously I wasn't going to pay for a student lot pass, as there was no guarantee that I would get a space, let alone one near the university proper (and a space at the far end of the lot would mean a further walk than my current street space), and I wasn't entitled to use the ones closest to my place of work as they were reserved for visitors.

I should start talking to everyone I see on campus with a cast or crutch or wheelchair and ask them how they do it.

Broken-Toed Yoga

I am delighted to report that there are a number of yoga exercises that can be performed with a foot encased in a soft cast and orthopedic shoe.

Triangle, for one. And plow.

Essentially, anything that doesn't force me to bend the foot (in other words, no down dog and no cobra and no child's pose).

This is great.

I can also technically do sit-ups with my foot like this, although that is less exciting. (Friggin' sit-ups.)

I am so much happier now that I can get back to my quasi-yoga practice again.

Strong Bones Weren't The Only Things Building Up

So that whole "eat most of a block of cheese in one sitting" thing?

NOT RECOMMENDED.

Um... seriously. Don't do it.

Ouch.

Calcium Equals Strong Bones, Right?

So I'm doing better and walking more quickly... and I'm absolutely starving.

I have plenty of dal, thanks to my slow-cooker, but when I was driving home from class today all I could think of was "I want a cheese sandwich..."

A few hours and three cheese sandwiches later, the block of cheese is nearly gone.

Is this 'cause I'm growing bones back together?

Also: 500 bonus points for the first person to name the source of the following quote:

She finished my cheese. I had this brand-new brick of cheese. She devoured it.

So I Creep, Creep, Yeah...

Okay. First day back on campus after the foot surgery and I am discovering just how difficult walking around is.

Scientifically, it's because the cast and shoe immobilize my foot, so I can't "push off" from my toes. I can't push off from anything. I take a step with my left, and then literally lift up the immobile right foot and set it down next to the left one.

Ca-CHUNK. You get the idea.

This is also a fairly slow and laborious process. I wasn't expecting it to be quite so laborious. It's kind of exhausting. Which is driving me crazy, since I'm the sort of person who tries to suck it up and keep putting one foot in front of the other (it's what saved me during many of my Indian adventures, for example; the ability to just keep walking despite pain, sun, food poisoning, and repeatedly getting lost).

Side anecdote: today, limping down the street towards my university building, I got offered a ride from a friendly guy in an electrician's truck. I hopped in, and he asked me where I was going. I told him I was going to the theatre building, and then he told me that he was also a MFA graduate... in my very program. I almost asked him to teach me how to become an electrician, instead. ^__^

Anyway. But I've got to figure out some better way to get around, because this method of "walking" isn't working. It takes me ten minutes to shuffle from one end of the building to the other. People have suggested I go on crutches, but I'm not sure that would increase my speed (not to mention that I wouldn't be able to carry things very well).

I'm going to have a meeting with our Alexander Technique instructor later this week, and I hope he'll give me some tips for how to limp more effectively. Just slugging it around today has made my entire body hurt, and I've got to figure out how to get across campus to teach my class tomorrow. Perhaps I'll start walking a half hour early.

Thoughts?

Update on the Giant Blue Foot

My giant blue foot, which I was mistakenly calling a "Smurf Foot" until I remembered that Smurfs wear white footed leggings (except for Smurfette, who wears heels -- btw, if you want to read something bizarre and anti-feminist, check out Smurfette's biography), seems to be healing a bit.

There's no pain left except for an occasional dull throbbing, so I'm off the Vicodin (for now).

I haven't done much walking because my doctor told me to stay in bed for these past three days (I go back to my university work tomorrow), but I can already tell that walking is going to be really weird.

For starters, although I have a complete range of mobility in my ankle, I have no mobility within the foot itself, and the combination cast and orthopedic shoe put a lot of weight on my leg. To understand what walking is like, strap a large brick to the bottom of your foot and see how well you get around.

I told my roommate that I wanted one of those signs that said "Slow-Moving Vehicle."

Showering is no big deal (strap on a garbage sack and tape it to the skin), but getting dressed is tricky. Even putting on sweatpants is a long, inch-by-inch process. Do you remember what it was like trying to get a pair of pants on a Ken doll? It's the same problem.

Every once in a while I can feel the pins, but they don't really hurt. They just feel... there. That's cool. I'm dorky enough to think it's cool. ^__^

This sort of thing is theoretically supposed to teach me patience and blah blah, but I'm already pretty good for patience and am more interested in finding out how to get around without completely screwing up my body alignment, etc. Thoughts?

Everything You Need To Know About Toe Surgery: or, Pretty Blue Foot!

So yesterday I had surgery on my (right) big toe, since the break was complicated enough that it couldn't simply be buddy-taped to my index toe.

(It is a testament to my nerdiness that when I saw my own x-rays, the first thing I said was "cool!" and then when the doctor gave me this "no, it's not cool" look, added "I mean, that looks like it's going to be difficult to fix.")

I showed up at the hospital ready to roll up a pant leg and let the surgeon do his work, which... shows how little I know about surgery.

Things I learned:

1. I got the full "awesome" treatment, which included being wheeled around the (tiny) hospital in a wheelchair. Am waiting to see how much they're going to charge me for the ride.

2. I had to remove all of my clothing, including my bra, because the three metal hooks "might interfere with the equipment." The hospital gown they gave me had been pre-warmed for my comfort. I wish all of my clothes could come to me pre-warmed.

3. The operating room (operating theatre?) looked pretty much like they do on TV. I was hooked up to lots of beeping machines, there were those giant round lightbulb things hanging over me, etc.

4. The local anesthesia hurt terribly going in, but after that I didn't feel a thing.

5. Not even when the surgeon took what appeared to be a small electric screwdriver and literally screwed things into my toe.

6. There was a nurse whose duty seemed to be to stand by my head and ask me questions, so as to distract me from what was going on at my feet (she also prevented me from craning my neck up to watch, unfortunately). What question did she lead off with? "You have a very pretty voice. Where are you from?"

6.5. To tie in to the "where are you from?" question and Manish's recent post on mispronouncing Sanjay, when I was first introduced to my surgeon he asked me ("building rapport," no doubt) why I pronounced my name incorrectly. I explained that it used Germanic rather than Italianate vowel sounds, and he knew what I was talking about, which was actually pretty neat. Those med-school grads are smart.

7. At the end, they gave me a choice of colors for the soft cast which I will be wearing for the next 4-6 weeks. It should be obvious which color I picked.

8. The soft cast (and its combination orthopedic shoe) are gigantic. So much so, that when I was in the recovery room trying to put my pants back on, the nurse helping me said "you might not be able to get that foot into any of your pants, honey" and brought me a pair of scrubs to wear home. I'm excited to see how much these cool scrubs are going to cost me. Also curious to know what I'll be wearing for the next 4-6 weeks.

9. Vicodin rocks. The nurse did warn me that I would wake up at 2:30 a.m. in great pain regardless of the Vicodin, and whadda-you-know, she was right. I wonder why.

10. When I go back to school I am seriously going to get a cane from our prop shop. The surgeon and the nurses all told me "you can walk normally on this," but I have found that trying to put any weight on the foot results in giant screaming pain and thus have been literally hopping back and forth to only the most necessary places, like the bathroom. (If this continues for the next day or so I will call them to ask if the pain is "normal.")

11. If you're ever planning to have surgery, go to your local animal shelter and adopt a cat. Having a kitty purring on your chest is the best thing to make you feel better. If I were the entrepreneurial type, I would start a business that rents cats to people recuperating from illnesses and injuries. (The business would also include a human assistant who would stop by every day and feed the animal, clean the litterbox, etc. Oh, and feel free to tell me that this business already exists.)

That's all for now. I'll keep you posted as to my recovery.

Still Broken-Footed, But Now It's Cool

Went to the surgeon today, and it turns out that A. my foot will be very easy to fix and B. my insurance will cover 80/20.

Which is nice.

I was given the opportunity to either be completely anesthetized, or to just have my big toe numbed.

The cost differential was a bit ginormous ($700 for the entire body, $100 for the toe), so I elected that they numb the toe only.

Which means... I get to watch the surgeon work on it.

This is making my nerd heart very happy.

Broken-Hearted and Broken-Footed

I have to see an orthopedic surgeon tomorrow.

To quote a friend: "But that's the most expensive surgeon of all! My husband was going to be an orthopedic surgeon before he decided to become a professor... yeah, we regret that mistake all the time..."

I was going to write a quirky post about the ironic fun of breaking my big toe and driving my car into a ditch in a two-day span, mocking up my mishaps Bridget Jones-style and dubbing myself Calamity Jane, only without the guns (and without the anti-Native American rhetoric).

But mostly I am feeling miserable about two aspects:

1. How am I going to pay for this? (The first thing out of my doctor's mouth after she told me that I needed to see a surgeon was "and your insurance won't cover it.")

and

2. How long will it be before I can start doing yoga again? (Not doing regular stretchies makes Blue very cranky. Friends can attest.)

It's really weird to be sitting here knowing that there's a bone broken somewhere inside of me. The strange thing is that it doesn't hurt at all. Which makes me, probably, very lucky.

w00t lucky!

Done with Doxy!

This past Sunday marked an epoch in my India-travel-adventures.

Sunday was the four-week anniversary of my arrival back in the US.

More importantly, it was "the last day I had to take that damn doxycycline!"

Yep, I'm finally free from the possibility of contracting malaria. I'm also free of the perpetual stomach-lining-burning that came every time I took the doxy, for nearly four months straight.

It doesn't seem like only four weeks since Hyderabad. It seems like years and years. It seems like it's been as long as it took man to evolve from dinosaurs.

But, then again, I've returned to my former state of penury and winter darkness, and every day seems that long.

Cheer up, emo Blue. Spring will come soon.

Blue is Not Alone (in being food poisoned, that is)

So I'm in my hotel -- and first of all I have to give a shout-out to the hotel staff for taking such good care of me; checking on me every hour to make sure I'm okay, etc. -- and there's a knock at the door.

It's an elderly gentleman from the U.K. who is here on a pilgrimage. He's also come to check to see how I'm doing.

Then he tells me that his son is also food poisoned. He also gives me a piece of advice: eat only at the Golden Temple. "It's only you young people who try eating at the local dhabas," he said.

I have no problem with that. Of course, first I have to want to eat food again. ^__^