She's a Handsome Woman

[While this song was playing, Toddler Child stood in front of the computer smiling and said, "Wok and woll. I like wok and woll."  I chose the Muppet version for him.]

I saw my nasal surgeon today.  It's been six months since my "nasal surgery NOT a nose job".  As a result of the surgery I can breathe great, and I'm generally happy with the aesthetic improvement, although I wish it wasn't quite so subtle.  I've heard when girls buy new boobs they often wish they'd gone bigger.  I'm having that feeling about my nose.  I was so afraid of not looking like me that I cautioned the surgeon multiple times to be conservative during the aesthetic part of the surgery.  Now I wish my nose was a little more refined.  I should have gone *BIGGER*.

Because my surgery was complicated, I'm still swollen.  I know I need to wait a full year post-op, which will be May 2009, for all swelling and tenderness to subside.  Today the doctor injected steroids into the sides of my nose directly above the nostrils to help resolve the swelling.  YES, it hurt, but it was quick.

I had Toddler Child with me.  I wasn't expecting to get shots in my nose.  I was concerned I might make disturbing noises and scare him.  I DID make noises and tears shot out of my eyes, reflexively, not boo-hooey.

Toddler Child asked, "The doctor make you feel better?"  I told him yes and that I was fine.

The nurse came in and cleaned the pen marks off my nose.  I expected the steroids to resolve the swelling immediately - like right then - but it takes about six weeks.  When I looked in the mirror, I was disappointed to see I had even more swelling where I'd been injected.  The nurse assured me it didn't look that bad and would be gone by the end of the day.

Toddler Child studied my face as I carried him out of the office.

He said, "You looooook handsome."

NOTE:  We have pictures of my nose immediately after the surgery and after each follow-up appointment.  Chris usually takes the photos, but he's in Denver today.  I don't know how people take all those artsy self-portraits.  You should see the 75 other shots I took to get these two lame ones so you could see my nose.  I took some close-ups, but I'm too vain to post those.

Something's wrong with my radar.

I can't judge a person's character anymore. Not that I should be judging, but I find myself quickly placing people I meet into one of two groups now. Reserving only a small space in my head for the select few I deem normal, which—in my defense—is actually defined broadly. It's a quick trip however, if someone's even slightly leaning towards one of the other two buckets in my head.

 

(The overlap between Religious Radicals and Swingers is by design. Open your eyes. It happens.)

This all started about six years ago...

Our new neighborhood in Utah.
As I've mentioned before, we love living in Utah. When we first moved here though, we went through some adjustment and subtle culture-shock. For about six months we felt the desire of some to convert us. We expected and even understood prosletyzing to a degree, but after awhile it got old. Things are better now, and it's important for me to say that my Mormon friends are NOT trying to convert us. (At least I don't think so. Maybe they're just really good at it.)

We also had some experiences with Jehovah's Witnesses and Evangelical Christians where views were radically off center. It seemed we were running into more and more people with extreme opinions.

Our first night out in Utah.
It took us about a year to settle in and find a sitter that could manage Oldest Boy's diabetes (he was five).  Chris and I went out to dinner. We ate and drank slowly, but found ourselves finished before 8:00 PM.

On our way home, I suggested we stop at a club and dance, something we hadn't done in a long time. I told Chris we'd probably be the oldest ones there, but who cares. He agreed, so we randomly picked a place.

When we walked in, things were different. 

The band wasn't playing yet. We decided to grab a table, wait, and dance as soon as the music started, then we'd head home.

The place was big and set up like a banquet hall with folding tables and chairs. Maybe this is a Utah thing,  I thought. Not many people, and the ones that were there weren't that young . . . and they looked like Midwest, bowling alley people. Hmm.

We sat close to the bar at the first table in a row of about ten. People began arriving—more bowling alley people—and gathered at the tables in our row. They carried gift bags, and were happy to see each other. It looked like a large group celebrating someone's birthday. A few people said hi to us—we asked if we were invading their space. Nooooooooo, they said with BIG smiles.

The band was finally getting ready to play. We were feeling . . . different. Something wasn't right. 

A woman with the large group was wearing a gold lame top. She came over to our table and sat very close to me. The woman made small talk then asked, "Are you here with AFF?"

I told her no, that we just drove by and wanted to grab a dance before heading home. "We're new to Utah", I virginally offered. I figured AFF must have something to do with Agriculture or Farmers.

She left our table. Chris said, "Follow me. We're leaving."

As we walked across the dance floor, dozens of couples staring at us longingly, it clicked that those people were swingers and we were being checked out and hit upon. I felt violated. AFF stands for Adult Friend Finder. I researched when we got home, and I'm not including links, so google away if you're interested. If you're a member, please keep it private. I don't need to know.

The Problem.
I feel like I have Post Traumatic Religious-Radical/Swinger Syndrome. When we meet new people I'm hyper-suspicious now. I'll say, "I think she was hitting on us. I bet they're swingers." Or, "He was churchy. Did they seem too churchy to you?" 

Last Night.
Chris called me on his way home from Oldest Boy's basketball practice. 

Me:  "Did you talk to anyone?"

Chris:  "Yeah, but it was hard. It was super noisy."

Me:  "Were the 'So-N-So's' there?"

Chris: "No. I didn't see them."

Me: "I think they're swingers anyway."

Chris:  "You've gotta quit that."

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down. So does watching old home movies...

It's Monday, and it's raining.  Oldest Boy had a hard time getting up this morning so I sang The Carpenter's song to him.  Funny, it didn't help.

Chris spent time over the weekend transferring old Hi8 tapes to our computer.  [We recently converted to Macs and the easy, intuitive part hasn't kicked in yet for me.  I use this large-screened, high-powered computer like a $500 PC.  I don't know what I'm doing.]  The tapes transferred in real time and were displayed on the computer screen during the process.  We all enjoyed checking out what was playing throughout the weekend.  Oldest Boy couldn't take his eyes off himself.

Watching footage from 9-12 years ago left Chris and me both feeling...  unique.  Not good and not bad.  It's intense.  I enjoy watching video of recent events, but the emotions that accompany viewing life when significant time has passed - are heavy.

I saw my grandfather, who's now deceased.  And my grandmother, who's physically and cognitively deteriorated.  It was almost too much.  Too much feeling.  I wanted to jump into the computer - to go back - and at the same time, look away. 

Watching the births (not literally - I was opposed to the actual birth being filmed) of Oldest and Middle Boy left me stirred.  Seeing glimpses of our life 10 years ago was conflicting.  The scenes captured were happy and cute, but I remember the moments when I was less patient, uptight about unimportant things, and I want the opportunity to right those.  I know Mother and Mamaw would both say, "Honey, I understand."

I just spoke with Em on the phone. (She's a dear fleshly friend who is NOT jealous of my bloggy friends - is that better Em?)  Her father passed away much too young a few years ago.  She said it's hard to watch video of her dad, but she finds comfort in it too.  We concluded that maybe the more we view images, the confusing, intense emotions will soften.  I don't know...

If I knew how to pull a few seconds of the transferred data in iMovie to imbed in my post, I would.  If it wasn't a rainy Monday, I bet I could figure it out.

 

We're all feeling a little melancholy today.  Dumb Carpenters.