MS quote of the day? Year? Ever?

“You are so brave!” they gush, generally when I have done nothing more awesome than to roll up to the dairy case and select a carton of vanilla yogurt. “I could never do what you do!” Of course they could -and likely would- do exactly what I do, maybe do it better, but the very thought of ever being like me so horrifies them that they can’t permit themselves to put themselves on my wheels for even an instant.

-Nancy Mairs, Waist High in the World

The Woman Speaketh

I feel like for a while, Ann Romney’s (peculiar) thoughts on MS have been a lot of speculation based on not that much quotation, but I bring you this gem, courtesy of Oprah.*

“I think a lot of women have autoimmune diseases. I think what happens is, women have five balls up in the air all the time, and they can do it for a while. And then all of a sudden the body just says, Sorry….Done. It gives you a few warnings, and then your body goes, I’m gonna make you crash to the ground where you can’t even pick your head up. Women try to push through so many things, and our bodies physically can’t do that.” -Ann Romney

I’m sorry, what? You think MS happens how exactly? Is this real life?

I mean, I know we don’t know the cause of MS and I know that women have a higher incidence, but there is literally no evidence to support her theory. Especially since she makes it sound like this disease of overworked Super Moms when, in fact, typically the onset of symptoms happens between ages 16 and 24. Not quite the same thing. Not quite what she’s talking about at all. People as young as 11 get MS. That’s not from baking too many brownies. This is real life, Ann. Also, she says this other thing:

“The prescription for MS is no stress, have a normal life, eat well, and exercise.”

 

Wait, Ann, I think you forgot something. What’s that thing… that thing that usually get prescribed.. that thing… hmm.. medication? Drugs? Yeah, that’s it. You should try some of that sometime, I hear it works better than even horseback riding! Who woulda thunk.

Not gonna lie, I did identify with one thing she said (and then immediately hated myself for agreeing with her):

“No one understands, unless they have MS, what fatigue is.”

I’m down with that. But beyond that, girl, you crazy. Crazier than Middletown residents in October. (hey, WesKids, you know what I’m talking about)

In other news: My meds weren’t super working in that I had migraines allthefucking time and my migraine meds were making me not human (dizzy, tired, unable to get out of bed, burning fingertips, the usual) and so I got switched to a nice, highly addictive mix of barbituates, acetaminophen, and caffeine. Welcome to the land of upper-downers, population: Me.

(thank you all for continuing to check in on my blog even when I’m being inattentive)

 *I heard Mitt let her out of the binder for this interview**

**Obligatory Mitt Romney + women in binders joke

That’s Awkward, eHarmony

The bff-sky, in his fantastic way, has provided me with more things to think about in the form of this quote from one of his anthropology readings this week:

“Perhaps to improve its marraiage numbers, eHarmony does not admit physically ill, thrice-married, or– until a 2009 policy change — gay clients. eHarmony also for a while offered a marital tune-up service to help its marriages last.”
A Hochschild 2012, The Outsourced Self: Intimate Life in Market Times

That’s ridic(ulous). Um. What? Also, how do they even determine that? Do you need to get a physical to join eHarmony? That seems difficult to pull off. Can’t people just lie about their health or how many times they’ve been married?

Outside of the practicality concerns, this is also discriminatory and icky and I hate them a lot. Sick people want love, too.

Mister Matthew Krakaur’s Birthday Card

This is a blog post. It is also Matthew “Eli Manning” Krakaur’s birthday card.

Dear Matthew Krakaur (“Kraksy”),

It has been many days since I last saw you* and I miss you dearly. On this day celebrating your birth (“birthday”), I wish I was there to watch you turn, before my very eyes, into a human being who has lived for twenty years (“twenty-something”) and anticipate that it will be very entertaining. You should probably watch it happen in the mirror just so you don’t miss anything. You have been a great and wonderful friend (“bff-sky”) and a member of my nearest and dearest group of human acquaintances (“keyform”) for now several years. You have, among other things, introduced me to many lovely songs (“Pentatonix covers”) and ideas (“call me maybe”). Were I there, I would play you a song on my large guitar (“cello”) and discuss with you the wonders of life (“beanbag time”) whilst occasionally bursting into song (“happy birthday to you!”) and harmonizing (“plush”).

Since I am not there, I am instead writing you a blog post (“self-indulgent”) and I have taken a picture for you. This is that picture:

It was blurry so I made it more beautiful (“the cartoonify feature on Gimp”). In this picture, I am holding one of the two largest and oldest rats who live in my lab (“the elders”). You may not be able to tell from this picture, but he is exceedingly large and mauled my left wrist after I took the picture (“assisted suicide”), but I prevailed. It made me very sad to hold him, as I had never done so before and hope to never do so again. It was fairly awful and he is too old and big to clean himself so he is fairly disgusting (“ohmygod”). I only did it because it is your birthday and I hoped you might find it amusing. I hope that soon I shall see you by way of a webcam (“skype soon?”) and that your birthday is exceedingly wonderful.

Affection and debauchery,

Me!

*cleaned your room and moved out all your stuff for you with Talia! and then you SAID you were going to come back for a day to pick up the remainder of your stuff which you must have done because it was necessary but you did not see me on such an occasion. This was highly uncool.