Life sucks and then you die

Today I had the pleasure of once again feeling my body dragged into Pioneer Comprehensive Medical for a series of tests and analizations that will further determine the fact that all my hormones are severely screwed up.
I sit in the dim little patient's room. It is supposively pleasant because it is painted royal purple using the statistics of Color Therapy; personally I think it a product of bad taste or even colorblindness. Dr. Terina comes in wearing a white suit with a slit much too high for a woman her age, sits down, crosses her legs, consults her clipboard, and asks me several extremely personal questions which I can't answer. Her watery blue eyes bore into my head and I stare at the floor.
"Your testosterone is a little low. Your thyroid is a little low. Your estrogen is a little low."
As Terina continues to explain all the deficiencies in me, my mother will casually cut in with:
"Yes. I would definitely say that Joslynn has mood swings. Actually, she's like that all the time. No, I'm pretty sure she's depressed. Now, will that cream make acne better or worse?"

I hate having my blood drawn. Certainly, I am diabetic, and I do poke my fingers four times a day with a lancett, but there is something terrible about the flobotamist inserting a long needle into your arm. The nausea, the poke, the thought that there is a foreign object under my skin and in my vein, and that it is taking something out. I faint every time.
I have to go back to that wretched clinic next month, two days before my birthday. Supposively I have a wheat sensitivity. What? No bread, no crackers, no high carb foods. Now I will starve to death but I will still gain weight because of the medication that my mother sneakily slips into my water.
Humans get viruses. They grow old, they wither, they get cancer, they have heart attacks, they die.
There certainly is a great deal to live for in the future.

The truth about Men

They are nasty, horrible, dim-witted, putrecent, evil slobs.
And that's all I've to say about that.

Jos's Ideal Playlist

Feel free to add as much as you like to this list. I realize that my not so eclectic taste is still developing, and I have not even scratechd the surface of all the good music out there. So add your favorite song-- if you dare.

NEW ADDITIONS:
1979: The Smashing Pumpkins
Snails: The Format
Flower Duet: Lombard
Shadow Boxer: Fiona Apple

Playlist

Mason Jennings: Ballad for my One True Love
Soft, simple, acoustic bliss. Unique and ingenuitive... but not so much that it disturbs the flow of the song.
Other noteworthy song: Train Leaving Gray

The Beatles: In my Life
I consider this song a masterpiece. It gave me a true glance into the lyrical depth Lennon & McCartney were capable of. Plus, you've got to love the "harpsichord" (electronic piano) solo in the middle. A timeless classic.

Death Cab For Cutie: I Will Follow You...
Not a typical Death Cab song. It is just Ben Gibbard on acoustic guitar, with his fragile tenor, simple delivery of words, and unexpected turning of phrases on a well-worn lyrical road. My love of this song comes with it's quiet determination and gentle lyrics. The way Ben personalizes the afterlife and draws in childhood Catholic school experiences is impressive, to say the least. It is sweet, touching, and filled with devotion. What more could anyone want?
More Death Cab tunes: Crooked Teeth and Lack of Color

Jose Gonzalez: Heartbeats
This song is genius. It has a soft, glowing aura of meshed rhythms and delicate guitar leads. Gonzalez's direction with the warm melody of "Heartbeats" is evidence of a wealth of romance, emotion, culture, and class. Whenever I hear it, I stop whatever I'm doing and just listen. There aren't many songs that can make you do that.

Butterfly Boucher: Another White Dash
I want to turn this up until my ears bleed.
Butterfly's music is fresh, vibrant, beautiful, powerful, passionate--and she rocks like only a girl can. Yeah!
Also: Life is Short, A Walk Outside

Leslie Feist: Mushaboom
Feist has an amazing, throaty, laid back voice. The lyrics to this song are beautiful and intuitive, while diverse instruments and a catchy chorus make you want to sing and dance every time you hear it. Indie has never been this good.
Other Feist songs: Tout Doucement and Gatekeeper

Josh Rouse: Saturday

Clever guitar playing, and a deep, laid back voice is the epitome of coolness-- and the essence of Josh Rouse.

Also look at: Streetlights, Sparrows Over Birmingham

The Cure: Just Like Heaven
I have an enduring love for this band, especially for lead singer Robert Smith. This is a favorite of their many great songs-- mostly for it's gorgeous lyrics, scintillating rhythms, and emotional expressiveness. A classic through and through.

Imogen Heap: Goodnight and Go
It has been said that Imogen's music is a perfect marriage between skillful songwriting, the human voice, and electronica. This song is an instantly exciting example, with little electronic mini-melodies that combine to make the whole. They come in waves, building and strengthening, then ebbing and dissipating. The central chorus is supremely beautiful, and may indeed bring on a few goosebumps. It's super trendy, but I love it. Good music to listen to on a night out.

The Killers: All These Things That I've Done
For a great band, you need a great singer. Brandon Flowers fits the bill perfectly. He's got charisma and a very unique vocal style. All the Killers look good, with their scruffy unfashionable glamour that all the best bands have. It also doesn't hurt the band if you have a great drummer. Ronnie Vanucci's infectious energy is the power and drive behind this song. It's a good one to listen to when you're on your last stretch while running.

Other Killer songs: Mr. Brightside, Under the Gun

My Top 10 Hit List

Because I have been trapped in my home with a horrible illness and very little fresh air, I am feeling a tad bit critical. At this point I feel like ripping down anything and anyone that annoys me in the slightest degree. Therefore I am making a list of the things in this world I hate most. Believe me, there'd be more if I had the endurance to keep the criticisms flowing. Luckily I have narrowed it down to 10. They begin with the least offensive and end with the very worst. Good luck and stay away from me until I am adequately healthy once again.


#10: Hairy armpits... on women.
Self explanatory: shave your pits, and the world will be a happier, healthier place. If not, then please put on a long-sleeved shirt.

#9: Hangnails.

Is there anything worse than trying to make your bed, and having your hangnail catch on the sheet? There is nothing quite as painful or annoying. Too bad I don't like steak... supposively eating more protein helps prevent these little suckers.

#8: Dr. Laura Schlessinger.

Every time I am trapped in the car with my mom behind the wheel, I am forced to listen to... "Shut up! You're pregnant! And your husband is... gay? You are the dumbest girl I have ever talked to. Call me back when you get a life." Click.

#7: Gheorghe Zamfir.

For sixteen years I have listened to this Pan-flute virtuoso murder such classics as John Denver's Annie's Song, Billy Joel's She's Always a Woman, and the crownig glory-- Yesterday, by The Beatles. Words cannot describe the shrill melodies that escape from this man's pipe.

Mr. Zamfir: you are hairy and old. Please announce your retirement and go back to Romania.

#6: Judge Judy.

Primetime T.V. watching for me on weekdays is at 3:00 p.m., right when Judy Sheindlin's infamous show begins. Why Fox still airs it is beyond my comprehension. Why I watch it is even more baffling. The court cases are ridiculous. Watching people trash talk each other over trivial matters is much more entertaining than it should be, though still not enjoyable.

Oh, and Judy, please don't write anymore children's books. You are corrupting them with your negativity and colorful language.

#5: Boogers and Books.

They don't mix. Have you ever checked out a book from your local public library, only to find little crusties on the edge of the pages? I have. A word to whoever blew snot all over my copy of Gone With the Wind: Don't blow or pick your nose while you read. I don't care if it itches, or you have a cold. Keep the fingers out!

Putrecent nose-pickers...

#4: Itchy tags.

Hail to the designer geniuses who invented the tagless T-shirt! At last someone understands that I would rather walk around in my bra than wear a shirt with an itchy, obnoxious, tag in the back.

#3: Orange skin.

It happens to the best of us. We just get so curious about that fake tanning lotion, or that tinted spray... "a beautiful bronze," quothe the bottle. Well, I look back on streaky, orange, oompa-loompa legs and beg to differ those adjectives.

#2: The mysterious missing sock.

It happens every time I wash my clothes. A single sock is eaten by the washing machine monster. And he always chooses the cute ones, that don't go with any other socks. I now have a whole drawer of single patterned socks without any friends.

#1: Swass.

You're in a car with leather seats. It's hot outside... well over ninety degrees. Upon arriving to your destination, you exit the vehicle and- oh man- your butt is wet. Sick.

Squirrels!

Today I received the most interesting e-mail. It was so incredible, I decided to publicly post it.


Just a note...
It has been going around that it is your birthday, or it soon will be.... We want to commend you on being fabulous and humble at once. You are a divine young pecan and you look like sweet honey and yummy picnic scraps. I think we would all like to knaw on a bit of you right before our long winter's nap or just any nap. We hope you have been given much and have a desire to give back to the environment. We have a suggestion on how to do this:
Last year you starting drinking-and this year you are just a bit more "nutty"- so lay off the booze and send us some freaking nuts!
P.S. We prefer a sweet honey glaze on decedant cashew morsels just bite size-- not too hard, but definetly not squishy! Please put them out midday as we are not morning creatures and like to groom before making appearences -maybe you could sing the infamous "i want somebody" while we chew- your voice always soothes things as they go down, and please wear your little white coverup that ties in the front- we miss seeing it everyday... or maybe we just miss seeing you everyday.
P.P.S. what are you wearing
The Squirrels of Abbey Church
2nd Tree on left 4Th Branch UP
Maple Tree, OH

Itsy bitsy teeny weeny...

There are some aspects of a girl's life that are just plain unpleasant. There's childbirth, and menopause, and mood swings... but that's all natural. The real pain, as I have come to find, comes from the tediousness, and the frustration, and the fatigue from... swimming suit shopping!!
That's right folks. I forgot in my bitter little rant the wretched and much dreaded swimming suit. The fact that I must soon bare my lily white and jiggling thighs to the entire world has completely slipped my mind. That is, until today.

Standing in front of a cold dressing room mirror, I look at my image reflected in the glass. Somehow I have tricked myself into trying on a disgusting little suit with big ugly polka dots. It accentuates all the wrong parts of my body and makes my face look green. Or maybe that's just the lighting. This is the third store I've been to today. My feet hurt. I am dragged onward... next stop....
Malls and superstores. Huge signs announcing sale after sale after sale-- it all becomes a big whir of color and fluorescent lights and too strong perfume. Somehow I have managed to spend all my swimsuit fund on other things: lotion, a shirt, some shorts. I look at the miles of racks ahead of me full of elastic wastebands and bold colors and want to vomit. No more!
The day progresses. It grows hotter, and hotter. As I walk outside to my car, I can hear my hair sizzle and I begin to feel the skin melt off my face. Step after step... dragging, reluctant, we arrive at stop number seven. Nothing. There never is anything.
Swimming suit shoppers always settle for second best. Not even second best. Third, or fourth, or fifth... by the end of the day one is so tired, one loses all desire to find the perfect suit. This is wise thinking, because it doesn't exist. It is always too short, or too bulgy, or it has a neckline that plunges down to the bellybutton. Any way one wants one's swimming suit, one can be guaranteed that a frantic day of last minute shopping won't find it.
I knew it was time to leave when I was publicly examining my gluteus maximus in a hideous rainbow bikini bottom, and a young man came towards the mirror with several shirts in his arms, caught my eye, and quickly headed in the opposite direction. Upon further inspection I discovered that I had unknowingly wandered into the Men's dressing room. So much for being a 'shopper girl' and knowing my stuff. The truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing. The young man is a witness to that fact.
So I bought the rainbow suit. I justify my actions with the rationalization that it was on sale. Pay no heed that I look like a colorful monster or an overgrown care bear when it is on my body. Just take into account the sacrifices and the pain I had to endure to find the perfect, not so perfect swimming suit.

Your mom is a man!

I enjoy Sunday evening walks with my Koseli. It is our time away from the ever-present frantic atmosphere in our home. The moment one steps into a cool rainy twilight, and smells the lilac bushes and the wet dirt, one can envision many lovely things. This is when Koseli and I tell each other stories. We never pay much attention as to whether or not the stories are true, although they usually are-- at least halfway. Even with the absence of lighting bugs we can add a little mystery and romance to our conversations. The most common theme of our stories however is... "What-a-coincidence!" or, in other words, ironic situations that involve humor.
At least, we think they're funny.
This story is my personal favorite:

A certain young man who happens to be both of our acquaintance comes from a very prominent Californian family. We heard this story from his own lips, and he had it before from his little brother Cameron, who had it firsthand... So it must be perfectly straight. Now this man's family had a very kind Hispanic maid (her name was Magil, and she called herself Lil, but everyone knew her as Nancy) who would bring her son... Pablo... to the estate with her every day as she worked. Pablo was a quiet child-- however, this was on no account of shyness because he spoke not a word of English. At least, that was what the family thought. As time flew by they discovered many thieving characteristics in this young boy; especially when missing trinkets were found in his possession... usually hidden beforehand in the flowerpots. When confronted about his impulsive stealing problem, the frightened child combined the few English words he knew into a most startling sentence... "YOUR MOM IS A MAN!"He roared. And like a toad he hopped the fence of the garden and was gone.

To this day, when conversations become dry and awkward, you just might hear me say, "Your mom is a man!" I believe that these simple words have the power to liven up even the dullest of topics and spark the interest of even the most boring talker.
I encourage you to give it a try. Go ahead, see what happens. You know you want to.

The Cruelty of Children

Children can be horrible little creatures; there is no use denying this fact.

Last night I talked to a first grader. We were talking about books- books from the library, bedtime stories, books in school- and suddenly, indescribabely, the conversation turned toward bullies.
"This kid in my class, he's a bully. He reads bully books." he randomly proclaimed.
"Bully books?" I questioned, "What are those?"
He responded promptly, "They teach you how to be mean, and push people around. There is this one book called Bullies are Made for Pushing People Around."
"Are you sure? Do you think anyone would write a book that teaches people how to be mean to each other?"
"Maybe," he replied, "the person who wrote it was a bully too."
The way this young boy rationalized the meanness of others set me to thinking. It was such a comforting thought! Why are bullies mean? Why do they push you sometimes, or call you names, or take your lunch money? It's nothing personal-- after all, they're just getting it from a book.
When I pulled into the driveway of this little boy's average South Jordan million dollar home earlier in the day, I felt anticipation and obvious fear, almost as though I was the one being faced with bully problems. Three squooshy faces were pressed against the living room window, eagerly anticipating my arrival. Why on Earth, I wondered, do these little ones like me so much? I'm not fun, I don't even know them... and what good are a couple of snot nosed kids to me anyway?
Last night, as I tended this first grader and his sisters however, I discovered something very important about children; they're worth it.
Babysitting jobs usually become a series of terrors and intense abuses, and last night was no exception. I was soaked with a hose, forced to give piggy back rides, and I very nearly had my finger bitten off. Despite all that, there were some moments of clarity that allowed me recognition as to why people all over the world sacrifice everything for their children.
As the weary night wore on, one fell asleep on the couch. I carried her to bed, tucked her under her pink blanket and bent down closer to look at her face, now devoid of the devilish mischief of the day. Her eyes opened and she placed her sticky little hand on my cheek. That was all, and that was enough. It was in that moment that I forgave her completely for the conniving tricks she'd pulled on me that day, and it seemed to me that as she slept angels had indeed landed on her eyelids.

Children are cruel. One minute you could be madder than anything at them, and the next they'll steal the heart right out of your chest. They know nothing, but, as with my conversation with the first grader about bullies, they seem to know so much more about the human psyche than any adult mind could ever hope to perceive. I heard once that children are designed with wide eyes and large foreheads because it appeals to the mothering instinct in adults. But last night, when I received a goonight kiss on each cheek, I was the one being cared for.

Maybe children aren't so horrid after all.

Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da, Life goes on...

Can it be? Summer is upon us!
The realization hit me full on today like a heat wave... for three fabulous months I am liberated from the shackles of school. For this brief interval, I can enjoy the suffocating heat that creates shimmering mirages, sizzling sidewalks, and the putrid odor of baking asphalt. I am sure that the next time you see me I will be sporting a magnificent tan-- or at least a fashionable sunburn. If I am lucky my skin will peel off onto my brother's pillow like it did last summer. What better way to get him back for sticking his finger in my toast?
Because I am basically unemployable, I will enjoy a very lax and lazy atmosphere in my home. I plan on spending many hours eating bon-bons and watching Days of our Lives. If the soap operas aren't dramatic or cheesy enough for me, all I have to do is discuss my sister's relationship with her boyfriend. With my newly acquired free time, my mother has already found several exhilarating tasks for me to do, stressing her desire to teach me ethical lessons in hard work and sacrifice. Example? This morning I was assigned the duty of moving enormous flower pots from the backyard to the front. This of course was no menial task, and the situation was much improved by the fact that I moved the wrong pot. Fifty pounds of dirt, not to mention the bricks at the bottom, were replaced and I started my job afresh- this time the right way-renewing my love of accidental run-ins with centipedes and worms. I enjoy looking at their slimy, googly eyes and many legs. After all, I have been told that we bear a definite physical resemblance.
In the next three months I am sure I will attend many fabulous parties. I will stay in contact with every person who signed my yearbook, and I will have a date every Saturday night. Guaranteed.
Yes indeed, Summer is here friends... With it comes broken hearts, skin cancer, and cataracts. Enjoy!