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Moving on Up

Yes, the big move is happening. So if you want to keep up with me (all five of you), go here from now on:
Complete and Total Bisch, PT III

Going Back… to 2008

1) I wrote an entire post about my California adventure with Ken and Erica…and it didn’t save. So that’s coming up. However, it may not be on here because…

2)…I just realized ads are showing up on my posts here. You can get rid of them if you sign up for the pro account, but…no. So I think I’m going back to blogger. Updates as they occur…

Two Firsts, One Week

So, two interesting things happened to me this week that had never happened before:

First, I’d been nursing what I thought was tonsilitis since last week. Then, suddenly, this disgustingly gross I don’t even know what grows in my throat and I’m like, “This is a first.” So I call my doctor and…he doesn’t call me back. So I find a new doctor. And even though by the time I see him the gross disgusting whatever in my throat has shrunk, it’s still there. And he’s like “Ah, so have you ever had mono?” And I’m like “UM, no” and do not decide to tell him the story of how I was one of only a few people on my floor freshman year of college to not get it. And he’s all like “Get out.” And I’m like “No, I’ve never had it.” And he’s like “Because that thing in your throat is caused by one of two things: A food particle is caught in one of your tonsil’s pouches or mono.”

People. I’m 34 years old, and I possibly have mono for the first time in my life. Making it even more head scratching is that writing this book, along with making me MIA from blogging a lot, has kept me from being, uh, smoochy-smoochy with anyone. I don’t share drinks with people. I don’t have any contact with other people’s saliva as far as I know. It could still be the food particle thing, but I doubt I would’ve had swollen glands with that now, would I? So yes. I get mono roughly 20 years after I should’ve had it for the first time. Makes sense. I’m going to blame the air ventilation system on the PATH, which blows so harshly it dries out my contacts, so why wouldn’t it blow other people’s germs down my throat? Or maybe it’s my dungeon of an office. Who knows.

Also for the first time this week, as many of you have experienced as well: Snow in October. And not just flurries. Like, full-on ugly wet snow. Along with never having had mono, that’s never happened in my whole life before Halloween, either.

It’s like the wintry weather got jealous of the earthquake followed by a hurricane thing and decided to let loose early, to remind us it’s still the superior form of natural phenomenon or something. Weather is immature like that.

Since these things tend to happen in threes, I’m going to hope my first lotto win happens this week. Or my first book deal comes through. Or something awesome along those lines.

The Best Night Ever

Fifteen years ago today I had Yankee pot roast for dinner at Ruby Tuesday. It was Parents’ Day at the University of Delaware and after going to the football game for a little bit, my parents and I went out for a “real” dinner at the local mall and then I pushed them out quickly because the first pitch of Game 6 of the 1996 World Series was going to happen and they had two hours to get home to see it. No one should miss even a second of a possible World Series clincher, especially when their team hadn’t been in that position in, oh, 18 years.

I was lucky that year – I lived in a dorm with quite a few Yankee fans, as opposed to the year before, when I experienced Edgar Martinez-induced angst amongst many smug and gloating Orioles fans. So as the game progressed, people were in and out of my room, I was in and out of theirs. It was the strangest feeling that night, being wound up like a spring, eyes bugging out, but not really talking, not really wanting to believe what could happen lest the Braves make a comeback.

And then John Wettland came in and made things exciting. I couldn’t sit. I clung to the corner of the cinderblock wall in my dorm room like my life depended on it. Mark Lemke would NOT go quietly. And then, and then…

Here’s what I remember about the ball hitting Charlie Hayes’ glove: Screaming. Me screaming. My dormmates in my building screaming. A friend of mine said he was walking across campus when it happened, heard the collective roar and was like “Oh, the Yankees must’ve just won the World Series.” I ran around hugging and high-fiving various people on my floor. I high-fived my friend’s forehead by accident. I called my parents at the party they were at and screamed my thanks at my father for making me a Yankees fan. I sprinted up to the third floor, my feet not touching the stairs, and hugged and high-fived all the Yankees fans there. I will never forget the smell of that stairwell, either, as it now just reminds me of utter joy, where before it was just an old stairwell smell. I’m not sure there’s ever been a moment of my life where years and years of emotion added up to that one explosive moment in victory, especially since it was so unexpected, given what had happened in the first two games of the Series. There’s no replicating that kind of delight, to be sure.

Fifteen years later, it still makes me smile.

So I’m suffering with some kind of throat infection right now, in which each gland is swollen on different days and today is hurting the absolute s*** out of my left ear. And of course this is probably one of the last nice weekends for a long time. But that is not what I want to post about. No, I want to share the fever-induced realization I came to on Friday at work, when I was struggling to power through the day. At one point, there were a lot of different conversations going on around my cubicle, none of them particularly loud but I just couldn’t handle the sound of all of them at once. This is something that wouldn’t bother me on a normal day, but throw in a fever, chills (with the building AC still cranking) and the inability to swallow without pain and I just wanted to be anywhere but there.

Anyway, this took me back to a time when I was in the first grade and at one point during the school day, I started to feel really, really crappy. Same symptoms as above but I think I was nursing a higher fever at that point because I could barely focus. I was miserable and finally went up to ask if I could go to the nurse. We had a substitute that day, one I really liked because I think she’d read us Dr. Seuss books when I was in kindergarten and she was a nice older woman – except in this instance, she wouldn’t let me go to the nurse. I can’t remember her reasoning: it was either she didn’t believe that I was sick or it was later in the day and she figured I could suck it up and tough it out or whatever. But I was genuinely sick and I needed to lie down. That’s all I knew. I guess I wasn’t much of a hellraiser back then, because I went back to my desk and sat down and continued to feel crappy in silence.

Finally, our release was drawing near, and there was still some time left before dismissal, but what does our substitute want us to do for fun? Start drilling us with math problems for fun. And not just any math problems: multiplication. Which we hadn’t learned yet. She kept grilling us about this stuff and my classmates were like “Huh?” and I remember thinking “I DON’T KNOW I JUST WANT TO GO HOME.” At some point, my friend Kimberly, who was in second grade, came down to our classroom like she always did before dismissal because she walked home with my friend Brian and me. The teacher starts grilling her about multiplication and of course she understands it because she’s in second grade and she’s learned it, so she kind of saved us there, but still. I had to sit through god knows how many more minutes at my desk, feeling awful, because of math – and not even math that was helping me learn. It was math for the sake of torture.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where my realization comes in: it’s probably half the reason I was terrible at the subject from there on in. Because if I can’t handle minor things like people talking when I’m sick at 34, I can imagine I was probably scarred for effing life over that little “game” of multiplication when I was 6. So there.

Now I’m going to go suck on a lozenge and try not to be bitter about any of this.

You know what I’m so, so psyched about right now? Like, even though it’s the World Series and the Yankees aren’t in it? Well, it could be that Pop Up Video – quite possibly my favorite TV show of the 90s…well, next to Mystery Science Theater 3000 — is now back on TV. I’ve powered through these last few playoffless weeks by catching up on the videos that I haven’t seen since the show went off the air in 2002. And that’s pretty much every video made in the last nine years, so they’re all new to me.

Anyhow, it’s made me realize that recent songs are 1) really long (the show starts two-three minutes earlier than my DVR is set for – I’m guessing to accommodate for the fact that every song is like five minutes long now) and 2) really repetitive. Or maybe I’m just more sensitive to that since I’m turning into a crotchety old bag. Still, there are some videos that are just ripe with awesome factoids and snark – “In Da Club” might be my new favorite, if only because I learned the average human “poops 420 pounds a year” (think about that) AND there was a reference to The Babysitter’s Club. Also: Suge Knight coming to the video set and everyone running and hiding. That one isn’t on the Vh1 site, but this one is, and I sort of love the “Yes, that’s Kenny G.” bubble. Also: Shot at Bo Duke’s house. Who knew?

So glad you’re back, old friend!

I know, I know, I’ve got to stop gushing about seeing the Yankees on Twitter. But you have to understand that after years of following this team, it’s nice that all of a sudden you get a little bit of insight into the guy’s playing for it. For instance, this week, Dave Robertson had this really sad Tweet about the season being over and not knowing what to do with himself. I was all feeling Sad Clown for him, but today saw him cheering the Giants on via a Tweet and realized he’ll be fine.

Then this happened (Hughes is a Tampa Bay Lightning supporter, for those not in the Twitterverse:

The season’s over and yet I can still be delighted by Yankee doings. Technology rules, man.

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