So I went in for my CAT scan yesterday. And that is a memory which will live in infamy in the deep, dark recesses of my nightmares. Ok, maybe it wasn't THAT bad, but it was still an ordeal. But you know what they say - bad times usually make good stories.
So I had called my friend Sandy to see if her driver was available to take me to my appointment. Luckily he was, but it was gonna be close timing-wise since Sandy and her three sons all had dentist appointments which were supposed to end just before I needed to leave for my appointment. Well, LUCKILY they came straight from the dentist's to my house. I say luckily because had Sandy not been there to go into the Clinica with me, it would have been an even bigger nightmare. As it was, Sandy was able to help me through the first few hoops I had to jump through.
We entered the building, and fairly easily found the sign pointing to the Tomographia (CT Scan) area. Technically the building itself is called a Clinica, which made me think it would be like a clinic in the US - a smaller, specialized medical building. Well this place was a big ol' zoo! Not as big as a hospital, but much bigger than a clinic. To top it off, it was textbook organized chaos. Once you figured out how everything works, yes, it kind of makes a convoluted kind of sense, but to just walk into it was sensory overload. There were people milling around in all sorts of lines, and there were people sitting in waiting areas governed by a number system. After waiting at the "Tomographia" desk for several minutes, we learned that I had to first pay for my procedure at a different place. So we tracked down that place, only to be told that we need to get a number to be able to pay, and the numbers were only available at reception. So we trucked back to reception and got a number and walked back to the pay area. At this point Sandy left, made sure I had her phone number, and wished me the utmost luck.
So I waited for about 30 minutes until my number was called. In my pathetic halting Spanish I was able to give the woman behind the glass my information (on its own, speaking to someone behind a giant pane of glass is difficult. Try doing it in a foreign language you haven't even begun to master!). I think she glossed over a lot of the information that's usually required, and I noticed that my birthday got listed as October 2, 1978, but beggars can't be choosers. So once you give the woman your information, she then prints out a sheet that needs to be taken to the cashier. Now, when I initially made this appointment, I asked how much it would cost. I was informed that it would be 6000 pesos, which is just over $200. Pretty damn steep for an unemployed sponge, but still better than the 10,000 pesos I was quoted by the other two places I called. So imagine my surprise when the cashier told me to pay 10, 200 pesos! Yeah, 6000 plus the cost of the dye used in the procedure, plus the cost of administering the dye. Luckily I had taken every single peso that I had to the appointment with me, but when he gave me the total, I honestly didn't know if I had enough. As I counted it out, I serious had just - JUST - enough to pay for it. I brought every single peso I had with me, and I left with 200 pesos in my pocket. That's about six dollars. Yikes.
So having averted that disaster, I then went back to the "Tomography" desk, showed them that I had paid, and was given a number and told to sit down. After another 30 minutes of waiting, I finally got called in.
Then ensued a farcical episode in which I didn't understand which articles of clothing the nurse wanted me to remove and basically ended up being undressed by the nurse who then laughed as I fumbled with the gown and tried to get me to give her my shirt (I think she seriously wanted me to give her my shirt!). I was told to sit as the nurse put a giant needle into my arm where the dye injection would eventually go. I was led into a sub-zero waiting area and told to consume four glasses of water. While chugging and freezing my arse off, I kept hearing all these alarms going off and was, admittedly, more than a little intimidated by this needle sticking in my arm and the thought of some creepy dye eventually going into me.
Finally they came to get my cold butt and water-logged belly and took me into the room where the CT scans were done. Of course, the nurse again spoke no English, so I just kind of had to do what I thought he wanted me to do and hope I was doing it right. I lied down and he had me put my arms over my head, he then attached the dye tube to the needle in my arm and, holy uncomfortable feeling of the stuff being injected! Yeah, it hurt, and man, did it ever hurt, but it wasn't so much the pain as it was just...freaky. I did not like it, not one little bit. So then the machine starts to whirr and a voice comes on through an intercom on the machine. A voice not only through a crappy intercom, but in Spanish. So, of course, I have no freaking idea what was just said to me. I figured it was probably telling me to be still, and hey, if I was doing something wrong, eventually somebody would come in and tell me so, right? So the machine whirred and clicked and then my arm throbbed again as they must have pushed the button that squirts even more creepy dye into my system. Except then I had a strange cool feeling at the back of my head. When the nurse came in to let me out of the machine, he discovered that the dye tube had leaked, and was coating the back of my head and part of my back. Now, it's not an actual dye - it's not bright green or anything (as I had pictured it), it's clear, but that was a small condolence considering that my head was soaked in it. Luckily enough dye had gone into my system and we didn't have to repeat the process. So I was told it was ok and I could go.
I went and changed back into my clothes, and sat down at the nurse's station to have the needle removed from my arm. Well the nurses went to and fro, and to and fro, and to and fro, and after about 20 minutes I finally had to flag one down and ask for it to be removed.
And at long last I was free to go - and FLEE I did!
Phew.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Level Up!
So I'm a week into my solitude, the family left a week ago and it's just been me and the dogs. I thought I'd been going nuts at this point, but I actually kind of like it. I have this huge house all to myself - yeah, this solitude suits me. Heh, I did have one visitor - some random guy stopped by to fix the internet. I wasn't going to let him in, but he had the Claro (the company name) truck and badge and outfit and showed me the work order with Dave's info on it, so I let him in. He spent the next 30 minutes
A) Fixing the internet
and
B) Trying to get me to go on a date with him
Now, mind you, he spoke NO English, and I speak incredibly bad Spanish. He was not going let something as pithy as no common language stand in his way though! I just wanted to sink to my knees and scream, "I'm a lesbian! Just leave me alone!" I know it's a silly thing to complain about, but I'm so sick of feeling like a seal swimming in a sea of sharks whenever I go out (and now, apparently, even when I'm home). Every time I go out, almost everyone just stares and stares at me. It's like the women are thinking, "what the hell are you doing here, gringa?" and the men are thinking, "what the hell are you doing here, gringa? And is there any chance I can fuck you?" It's like they have radar - "Attention! A cute, white, single, American girl is approaching! Maybe you can marry her and go live in the US, and if not, at least maybe you can get her in bed!" No wonder I like this solitude!
My other great story goes like this - so I've been having some GI issues (not army men, my stomach) so my sister scheduled an appointment with a specialist. I went to see him, and he told me he was going to have me get a CAT scan and some blood work. So I go to the front desk and they just look at me like I'm a virus. So I mention that the doctor said I needed the scan and the blood tests, and they're like, "so?"
Me - "well, um, where do I get those done?"
Receptionist - "here"
Me - "like this office?"
Receptionist (looking at me like I just crawled out of the primordial ooze) - "No. The blood work you can have done downstairs, the CAT scan you have to have elsewhere."
Me - "Oh, ok. Can you recommend a place?"
Receptionist (writes down a list of three places) - "You HAVE to get it done at one of these three places."
This is how things go in the DR, it's like they fuck with you on purpose. It's like a computer game; you have to ask all the right questions, and only when you've done that and jumped through the hoops can you advance to the next level. But wait! It gets better. I schedule a CAT scan, but between the blood work and the CAT scan it's going to be more cash than I had (I guess according to Joan, you NEVER want to use a credit card here) so I scheme a plan where I go to the US Embassy (there's a bank there you can get money at), then go to the clinic to get the blood work done. There's one particular test that I needed to bring with me to the CAT scan, so I needed to get it done before the CAT scan (which is today) but not more than three days in advance, so I decided that Tuesday would be a good day to do it. Well Tuesday comes and I go to the Embassy, only to find that the bank is closed because there's a "hurricane," which here in Santo Domingo resulted in some grey, Seattle winter-like drizzle (only warmer). Any excuse to not go in to work... So, ok, at least I had enough money for the blood work, I could still get that done. The day I had the initial consultation with the GI doctor, I went down to the clinic and asked how much the blood work would cost. They looked over the tests and gave me a price. (A very pricey price, actually.) So I get to the clinic and show them the list of tests that need to be done, and the woman asks, "oh, have you eaten breakfast today?" And I'm like, "yeah." And she says, "well some of these tests can't be done unless you have an empty stomach. You need to come back on a day when you haven't eaten breakfast." Cue head hitting the counter. Also cue a slight panic since one of the tests I NEEDED for the CAT scan two days later. So luckily that test doesn't have to be done on an empty stomach. Ok, so I ask to just have that one done. The woman takes the blood sample, and I ask when the results will be ready. "Three days." She says. Cue more panic, I explain to her again that the CAT scan is in two days, and I need to bring the results with me. Finally she understands what I'm trying to explain and is able to do a rush on it. All of this done in my horrible, pidgin Spanish. Nothing like the deep end to help teach you to swim.
A) Fixing the internet
and
B) Trying to get me to go on a date with him
Now, mind you, he spoke NO English, and I speak incredibly bad Spanish. He was not going let something as pithy as no common language stand in his way though! I just wanted to sink to my knees and scream, "I'm a lesbian! Just leave me alone!" I know it's a silly thing to complain about, but I'm so sick of feeling like a seal swimming in a sea of sharks whenever I go out (and now, apparently, even when I'm home). Every time I go out, almost everyone just stares and stares at me. It's like the women are thinking, "what the hell are you doing here, gringa?" and the men are thinking, "what the hell are you doing here, gringa? And is there any chance I can fuck you?" It's like they have radar - "Attention! A cute, white, single, American girl is approaching! Maybe you can marry her and go live in the US, and if not, at least maybe you can get her in bed!" No wonder I like this solitude!
My other great story goes like this - so I've been having some GI issues (not army men, my stomach) so my sister scheduled an appointment with a specialist. I went to see him, and he told me he was going to have me get a CAT scan and some blood work. So I go to the front desk and they just look at me like I'm a virus. So I mention that the doctor said I needed the scan and the blood tests, and they're like, "so?"
Me - "well, um, where do I get those done?"
Receptionist - "here"
Me - "like this office?"
Receptionist (looking at me like I just crawled out of the primordial ooze) - "No. The blood work you can have done downstairs, the CAT scan you have to have elsewhere."
Me - "Oh, ok. Can you recommend a place?"
Receptionist (writes down a list of three places) - "You HAVE to get it done at one of these three places."
This is how things go in the DR, it's like they fuck with you on purpose. It's like a computer game; you have to ask all the right questions, and only when you've done that and jumped through the hoops can you advance to the next level. But wait! It gets better. I schedule a CAT scan, but between the blood work and the CAT scan it's going to be more cash than I had (I guess according to Joan, you NEVER want to use a credit card here) so I scheme a plan where I go to the US Embassy (there's a bank there you can get money at), then go to the clinic to get the blood work done. There's one particular test that I needed to bring with me to the CAT scan, so I needed to get it done before the CAT scan (which is today) but not more than three days in advance, so I decided that Tuesday would be a good day to do it. Well Tuesday comes and I go to the Embassy, only to find that the bank is closed because there's a "hurricane," which here in Santo Domingo resulted in some grey, Seattle winter-like drizzle (only warmer). Any excuse to not go in to work... So, ok, at least I had enough money for the blood work, I could still get that done. The day I had the initial consultation with the GI doctor, I went down to the clinic and asked how much the blood work would cost. They looked over the tests and gave me a price. (A very pricey price, actually.) So I get to the clinic and show them the list of tests that need to be done, and the woman asks, "oh, have you eaten breakfast today?" And I'm like, "yeah." And she says, "well some of these tests can't be done unless you have an empty stomach. You need to come back on a day when you haven't eaten breakfast." Cue head hitting the counter. Also cue a slight panic since one of the tests I NEEDED for the CAT scan two days later. So luckily that test doesn't have to be done on an empty stomach. Ok, so I ask to just have that one done. The woman takes the blood sample, and I ask when the results will be ready. "Three days." She says. Cue more panic, I explain to her again that the CAT scan is in two days, and I need to bring the results with me. Finally she understands what I'm trying to explain and is able to do a rush on it. All of this done in my horrible, pidgin Spanish. Nothing like the deep end to help teach you to swim.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Is My Cute Button Broken?
Why would anyone want a puppy? It makes absolutely no sense to me. Oh yes - sign me up for an uncontrollable ball of energy who's going to poop and pee everywhere, who you'll have to send hours training and who's going to disrupt your schedule. Why? Because it's cute? Here the thing though...
puppies = so not cute
I look at puppies and I see a nightmare. A vision that has proven true beyond a shadow of a doubt with Ned. I never wanted a puppy, I don't like puppies, and trying to raise Ned is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Not hard in the "building the pyramids" sense, hard in the emotional sense. My great failing is that I get frustrated so easily. Maybe that's why I have an in-born internal mechanism for not thinking puppies are cute; somewhere inside of me it just knew that I couldn't handle it. I feel like Jekyll and Hyde, I understand that he's a puppy and the house is already covered in urine markings from the other poorly behaved dogs so I shouldn't expect him to be good at being house broken, but it's just so frustrating. I've been working so hard for so many weeks now, and I obviously Ned gets the basic gist of it - he's especially good at holding it over night, and always is a superstar about waiting until we get outside to eliminate - but what I don't get is the times where I'll take him out, ask him to pee, show him the pee mat, wait, and when I'm finally convinced that he really doesn't have to pee , take him inside where he then pees on the floor. I've known so many dog owners in my life that love to wax on and on about how smart dogs are... um... really? It drives me nuts - if the dogs can hear a paper being rustled in the kitchen and come running because "noises in kitchen = possibility of food" why can they get it straight that "peeing outside = happy owner, peeing inside = enraged crazy owner." I read and read and re-read all the damn websites on how to train your puppy. I've done it over and over and over... crate, outside, pee, reward, crate, outside, pee, reward... but it seems like the second I give Ned any sort of trust, he turns right around and makes me regret it. This is not a healthy situation for me to be in. I can only hope that one day I'll realize how much this made me grow and helped me to learn about blah blah blah.
For the record...
Rats = extremely cute
Possums = cute
Bats = cute
Yes, there seems to be something wrong with my cute button. And I like it that way.
puppies = so not cute
I look at puppies and I see a nightmare. A vision that has proven true beyond a shadow of a doubt with Ned. I never wanted a puppy, I don't like puppies, and trying to raise Ned is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Not hard in the "building the pyramids" sense, hard in the emotional sense. My great failing is that I get frustrated so easily. Maybe that's why I have an in-born internal mechanism for not thinking puppies are cute; somewhere inside of me it just knew that I couldn't handle it. I feel like Jekyll and Hyde, I understand that he's a puppy and the house is already covered in urine markings from the other poorly behaved dogs so I shouldn't expect him to be good at being house broken, but it's just so frustrating. I've been working so hard for so many weeks now, and I obviously Ned gets the basic gist of it - he's especially good at holding it over night, and always is a superstar about waiting until we get outside to eliminate - but what I don't get is the times where I'll take him out, ask him to pee, show him the pee mat, wait, and when I'm finally convinced that he really doesn't have to pee , take him inside where he then pees on the floor. I've known so many dog owners in my life that love to wax on and on about how smart dogs are... um... really? It drives me nuts - if the dogs can hear a paper being rustled in the kitchen and come running because "noises in kitchen = possibility of food" why can they get it straight that "peeing outside = happy owner, peeing inside = enraged crazy owner." I read and read and re-read all the damn websites on how to train your puppy. I've done it over and over and over... crate, outside, pee, reward, crate, outside, pee, reward... but it seems like the second I give Ned any sort of trust, he turns right around and makes me regret it. This is not a healthy situation for me to be in. I can only hope that one day I'll realize how much this made me grow and helped me to learn about blah blah blah.
For the record...
Rats = extremely cute
Possums = cute
Bats = cute
Yes, there seems to be something wrong with my cute button. And I like it that way.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Dogs, Hurricanes and Solitude
So my family is away from the homestead for two weeks, and it's just me and the dogs. Oh and the hurricane. But the hurricane hasn't hit yet, so for now it's me and the dogs. The first 24 hours was rough. Neuf was the poster child for separation anxiety, and vomited twice, and between Jack, Neuf and the newbie, Ned, I probably ended up cleaning up about 6-8 pee puddles - one right on top of one of the vomit pools. To top it all off, we recently changed Ned's puppy food, so at 4 in the morning the poor guy was hit with a bout of diarrhea, and ended up having to take a fat, gooey dump on my bathroom rug. Luckily after that first 24 hours, everything seems to have calmed down.
I find that I'm really enjoying this solitude. Due to the path my life has followed, I've led something of an extroverted life. Especially in the past few years, I've really forced myself to get out and be social, when in reality, I'm really I big ol' homebody. I like people, I like talking and getting to know folks, but when it comes down to it - I'm so much happier not having to chat and be social. My brother-in-law keeps mentioning how I must feel so trapped here, and forced to live on their schedule, which includes early, early mornings and not a lot of social time. I keep assuring him that it actually fits in quite nicely with my lifestyle. I wouldn't necessarily call myself a morning person, but I do like waking up when the sun comes up and going to bed soon after the sun has gone down. It seems very in tune with the world's rhythms. There are times when I get into the swing of staying up until 2am and sleeping in, but I guess I just adapt to my situation.
One very nice thing about this solitude is that I've been able to record a lot of my songs. I always feel nervous singing when other people are in hearing distance - a fear that proved itself valid after my sister said some things about my singing that, I'm sure were meant to be helpful, but just ended up being hurtful. So it's nice to have everyone away so that I can feel free to experiment and not be worried about being overheard. I'm continually surprised when I play back the songs I recorded... I actually LIKE them. I like the sound of my voice - and those of you who know me know that's a HUGE step for me. For those of you who don't know me, well, I've battled all my life with the "I can't sing" complex, so to finally be producing something I can listen to and enjoy is awesome. Plus, I live being a songwriter. I've said to people before - I've been a poet for years, but now that I can play the guitar I write songs. In my experience, people are A LOT more open to hearing a song than they are to listening to a poem! It's so nice when you can be so proud of something you've made.
I find that I'm really enjoying this solitude. Due to the path my life has followed, I've led something of an extroverted life. Especially in the past few years, I've really forced myself to get out and be social, when in reality, I'm really I big ol' homebody. I like people, I like talking and getting to know folks, but when it comes down to it - I'm so much happier not having to chat and be social. My brother-in-law keeps mentioning how I must feel so trapped here, and forced to live on their schedule, which includes early, early mornings and not a lot of social time. I keep assuring him that it actually fits in quite nicely with my lifestyle. I wouldn't necessarily call myself a morning person, but I do like waking up when the sun comes up and going to bed soon after the sun has gone down. It seems very in tune with the world's rhythms. There are times when I get into the swing of staying up until 2am and sleeping in, but I guess I just adapt to my situation.
One very nice thing about this solitude is that I've been able to record a lot of my songs. I always feel nervous singing when other people are in hearing distance - a fear that proved itself valid after my sister said some things about my singing that, I'm sure were meant to be helpful, but just ended up being hurtful. So it's nice to have everyone away so that I can feel free to experiment and not be worried about being overheard. I'm continually surprised when I play back the songs I recorded... I actually LIKE them. I like the sound of my voice - and those of you who know me know that's a HUGE step for me. For those of you who don't know me, well, I've battled all my life with the "I can't sing" complex, so to finally be producing something I can listen to and enjoy is awesome. Plus, I live being a songwriter. I've said to people before - I've been a poet for years, but now that I can play the guitar I write songs. In my experience, people are A LOT more open to hearing a song than they are to listening to a poem! It's so nice when you can be so proud of something you've made.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
What's so bad about conflict avoidance?
My sister is great. She's amazing, I love her so much and I'm so proud of her I could puke. She's accomplished so much in her life. I'm in awe and envious of her a lot of the time. The flip side is that she's stubborn and fairly single-minded. Her way is the best, or if not her way, then something very similar. On the straight and narrow. Bare bones. 1+1=2.
I am not that way.
I will never be that way, but by god, she's gonna try, isn't she?
I'm sure most families are like this; it's kind of the family stereotype, really. I think for the most part my family tends towards the fairly ok side. I LOVE each and every one of my family members and I may have my own opinions of their lifestyle choices, but I also feel that they are their own unique selves and get to make their own decisions. I might say something if I really feel a particular way, but for the most part, I keep my mouth shut, and I don't question then because I know that everyone sees things just a little bit (or sometimes a lot) differently from everyone else.
My sister thinks I'm passive-aggressive. Yes. She's probably right. When I moved to the west coast, especially Seattle, I heard so much about how p-a Seattle is. And I kept thinking to myself, "passive-aggressive? Really?" Because it seems to me that what is know as "passive-aggressive" behavior is really just being polite. Ok, well let me differentiate. Always being passive-aggressive and "pretending" to be nice while secretly bubbling in a mire of loathing is not so good. I'm talking more about not getting in someone's face if they say or do something you don't like. I talking about respecting that other people have different ideas and opinions and not confronting them just because yours may differ. I'm talking about actually trying to talk out a problem rather than yelling it out. It's not pretending that an issue isn't there or not talking about it, it's talking about it without screaming and hostility. From where I stand, I want nothing to do with aggressive, hostile behavior. I despise it. If someone comes at me with a hostile attitude, I shut down. My pulse quickens, my stomach grips, and it's like a flat-line in my brain. I am incapable of engaging in an argument. Now, y'all can psycho-analyze this into the ground, nature/nurture, blah blah blah. It's the way I am. I LIKE being this way. I do not want to cause conflict, I do not seek out conflict, if there is conflict in my circle, I do my best to resolve it. I understand the sometimes conflict is a good thing, and sometimes it's been thrust upon me and has been very beneficial. But there are some people who eat, drink and breathe conflict, and due to their very nature - think everyone else should be like that too. They assume that you are a weaker, lesser being if you don't argue about everything, and often it seems like they think that by being upfront and aggressive they are somehow more in touch with their feelings than polite people.
There are people I know who argue a lot. For them it IS therapeutic, it's how they communicate, it's their nature. I understand that they methods are different from mine, and as a result, I don't tend to be close friends with those kinds of people. But then there's family... ah yes, the stereotype... you can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family. What happens when family members have differing communication styles? Well, I think we've all seen what happens, almost every family I know has turmoil, and I think it's due in most part to lack of similar communication. It's just the way it is, and I think the only thing that you can do about it is try your best to see things from another perspective. There have been times here when I've gotten FURIOUS with something my sister said, because in my mind it was a huge insult. But I've held my tongue and when I got the chance to simmer down and re-examine things from how I know she operates, I've realized that what I took to be an insult was just her being direct with me. I'm not saying that my sister never does this in my case, but I do wish she'd be a little more understanding when we talk about touchy subjects and not insist that her way of communicating is best. And yet, I know that is part of her nature too, and I have two basic options -
1) Get really fed up and leave.
or
2) Suck it up and do my best to maintain a great relationship with my only sister who is letting me stay in her beautiful house for free and not to mention feeding me and allowing me an amazing opportunity to live in another country.
So, what have I learned from this? I like the way I am. I like my communication style. Sure there are things I can work on, and I appreciate being made aware of those things, but ultimately it's my decision. So often we are so unaware of what makes us tick in the first place, trying to have a conversation with another person about touchy stuff can be one of the hardest things in the world. Especially when you know that person doesn't think in the same ways you do.
I am not that way.
I will never be that way, but by god, she's gonna try, isn't she?
I'm sure most families are like this; it's kind of the family stereotype, really. I think for the most part my family tends towards the fairly ok side. I LOVE each and every one of my family members and I may have my own opinions of their lifestyle choices, but I also feel that they are their own unique selves and get to make their own decisions. I might say something if I really feel a particular way, but for the most part, I keep my mouth shut, and I don't question then because I know that everyone sees things just a little bit (or sometimes a lot) differently from everyone else.
My sister thinks I'm passive-aggressive. Yes. She's probably right. When I moved to the west coast, especially Seattle, I heard so much about how p-a Seattle is. And I kept thinking to myself, "passive-aggressive? Really?" Because it seems to me that what is know as "passive-aggressive" behavior is really just being polite. Ok, well let me differentiate. Always being passive-aggressive and "pretending" to be nice while secretly bubbling in a mire of loathing is not so good. I'm talking more about not getting in someone's face if they say or do something you don't like. I talking about respecting that other people have different ideas and opinions and not confronting them just because yours may differ. I'm talking about actually trying to talk out a problem rather than yelling it out. It's not pretending that an issue isn't there or not talking about it, it's talking about it without screaming and hostility. From where I stand, I want nothing to do with aggressive, hostile behavior. I despise it. If someone comes at me with a hostile attitude, I shut down. My pulse quickens, my stomach grips, and it's like a flat-line in my brain. I am incapable of engaging in an argument. Now, y'all can psycho-analyze this into the ground, nature/nurture, blah blah blah. It's the way I am. I LIKE being this way. I do not want to cause conflict, I do not seek out conflict, if there is conflict in my circle, I do my best to resolve it. I understand the sometimes conflict is a good thing, and sometimes it's been thrust upon me and has been very beneficial. But there are some people who eat, drink and breathe conflict, and due to their very nature - think everyone else should be like that too. They assume that you are a weaker, lesser being if you don't argue about everything, and often it seems like they think that by being upfront and aggressive they are somehow more in touch with their feelings than polite people.
There are people I know who argue a lot. For them it IS therapeutic, it's how they communicate, it's their nature. I understand that they methods are different from mine, and as a result, I don't tend to be close friends with those kinds of people. But then there's family... ah yes, the stereotype... you can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family. What happens when family members have differing communication styles? Well, I think we've all seen what happens, almost every family I know has turmoil, and I think it's due in most part to lack of similar communication. It's just the way it is, and I think the only thing that you can do about it is try your best to see things from another perspective. There have been times here when I've gotten FURIOUS with something my sister said, because in my mind it was a huge insult. But I've held my tongue and when I got the chance to simmer down and re-examine things from how I know she operates, I've realized that what I took to be an insult was just her being direct with me. I'm not saying that my sister never does this in my case, but I do wish she'd be a little more understanding when we talk about touchy subjects and not insist that her way of communicating is best. And yet, I know that is part of her nature too, and I have two basic options -
1) Get really fed up and leave.
or
2) Suck it up and do my best to maintain a great relationship with my only sister who is letting me stay in her beautiful house for free and not to mention feeding me and allowing me an amazing opportunity to live in another country.
So, what have I learned from this? I like the way I am. I like my communication style. Sure there are things I can work on, and I appreciate being made aware of those things, but ultimately it's my decision. So often we are so unaware of what makes us tick in the first place, trying to have a conversation with another person about touchy stuff can be one of the hardest things in the world. Especially when you know that person doesn't think in the same ways you do.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The Cur Saga
So it's hard to housebreak a puppy. It's even harder when the two dogs who already reside in the house are not particularly housebroken. Generally, Jack and Neuf are good dogs, but Jack is getting old and incontinent, and Neuf is just a douche bag who likes to pee and poop in the house to show us all whose boss. So the house is full of dog odors and Ned, who is used to going any ol' where in the first place, thinks the whole house should be his bathroom. On top of all that, Ned has decided that since he's now bonafide, that means he should never have to set foot outside in the rain ever again. Ok, princess.
So I read up a bunch of websites on housebreaking your puppy, and most of them recommend crate training. I tried this for two days before collapsing in a fit of rage and tears. Ned loves his crate until he's forced to stay in there, then it's crycrycrycrycrywhinecrycry. I'd let him out for bathroom time, and when it would be time to go back in, suddenly the crate that's been his happy home for the past three weeks becomes a punishment and a thing to fear. Plus, he'd be so neurotically intimidated by what was going on that when he was let out and taken outside, he couldn't relax enough to eliminate, so it was right back into the crate, and thus developed a complex about going outside for a few days until I was able to lure him out with meat and snax. While we were outside, I tried to remain as calm as possible and wait for him to do his thing, but the only place he feels comfortable lettin' it all fly in inside. It rains here at least once a day, so that didn't help any either, instead of eliminating, he'd just stand at the door and whine. I can't fathom how people with carpets deal with this. At least we have all tile floors here, so the dozen or so small pools of wee are easily cleaned up. And to his credit, I will give him props for learning to pee on his wee-pads inside. Mostly he's figured out to use them. Though I can't help wondering if those just encourage him to think that eliminating inside is where it should be done.
I guess I should just be grateful that I have pretty much all day everyday to see to his training, I can't imagine trying to do this on a regular work schedule. ...Come to think of it, I can't even imagine BEING on a regular work schedule.
So today, tropical storm Emily is pissing down on us. I was hoping for a lot MORE rain and thunder and lightning, but all she's delivered so far is a constant stream of light rain. It's making for what I'll call a Novocaine day. Everything just feels a little numb. Speaking of Novocaine, I'm in the process of getting a crown put on one of my teeth. It broke when I was back in Seattle, and I figured that I'd just get it fixed when I was down here, and I wagered things would be a lot less expensive here. When I got the estimate in Seattle, the total was around $1,500. Wowza. When I went in to the dentist here in Santo Domingo and she gave me the estimate of around $500, and I was like, "oh, that's great." But with some pokey silver utensils in mouth, the dentist thought I was being sarcastic and said, "I know, right, just what you wanted to hear." If there hadn't been pokey silver utensils in my mouth I would have explained to her that it was, indeed, just what I wanted to hear, but opted instead to stay moot and avoid the possibility of getting poked by the pokey utensils. So last Monday I completed visit 3 of 4, and I have a temporary crown on now. It feels really weird and flat, kinda of like a really hard piece of gum has been wedged between my teeth. Well, at least it's not the snaggle-tooth that was there for two months after it broke!
So I read up a bunch of websites on housebreaking your puppy, and most of them recommend crate training. I tried this for two days before collapsing in a fit of rage and tears. Ned loves his crate until he's forced to stay in there, then it's crycrycrycrycrywhinecrycry. I'd let him out for bathroom time, and when it would be time to go back in, suddenly the crate that's been his happy home for the past three weeks becomes a punishment and a thing to fear. Plus, he'd be so neurotically intimidated by what was going on that when he was let out and taken outside, he couldn't relax enough to eliminate, so it was right back into the crate, and thus developed a complex about going outside for a few days until I was able to lure him out with meat and snax. While we were outside, I tried to remain as calm as possible and wait for him to do his thing, but the only place he feels comfortable lettin' it all fly in inside. It rains here at least once a day, so that didn't help any either, instead of eliminating, he'd just stand at the door and whine. I can't fathom how people with carpets deal with this. At least we have all tile floors here, so the dozen or so small pools of wee are easily cleaned up. And to his credit, I will give him props for learning to pee on his wee-pads inside. Mostly he's figured out to use them. Though I can't help wondering if those just encourage him to think that eliminating inside is where it should be done.
I guess I should just be grateful that I have pretty much all day everyday to see to his training, I can't imagine trying to do this on a regular work schedule. ...Come to think of it, I can't even imagine BEING on a regular work schedule.
So today, tropical storm Emily is pissing down on us. I was hoping for a lot MORE rain and thunder and lightning, but all she's delivered so far is a constant stream of light rain. It's making for what I'll call a Novocaine day. Everything just feels a little numb. Speaking of Novocaine, I'm in the process of getting a crown put on one of my teeth. It broke when I was back in Seattle, and I figured that I'd just get it fixed when I was down here, and I wagered things would be a lot less expensive here. When I got the estimate in Seattle, the total was around $1,500. Wowza. When I went in to the dentist here in Santo Domingo and she gave me the estimate of around $500, and I was like, "oh, that's great." But with some pokey silver utensils in mouth, the dentist thought I was being sarcastic and said, "I know, right, just what you wanted to hear." If there hadn't been pokey silver utensils in my mouth I would have explained to her that it was, indeed, just what I wanted to hear, but opted instead to stay moot and avoid the possibility of getting poked by the pokey utensils. So last Monday I completed visit 3 of 4, and I have a temporary crown on now. It feels really weird and flat, kinda of like a really hard piece of gum has been wedged between my teeth. Well, at least it's not the snaggle-tooth that was there for two months after it broke!
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