Life Gets Expensive

Several large expenses are cropping up in my life, and they've conveniently chosen to do so a) at the same time and b) when I took an underpaying job just so I wouldn't lose my mind. Causing the most fun at the moment:

The Bed. My bedframe, which has lasted me a good while and at least two moves longer than a cheap-ass Ikea piece of shit should, is falling apart. And this weekend it literally fell apart, though I've jury-rigged it so it works until I get a new one.

I knew after my last move it wasn't long for this world, and I'd really wanted to get a fairly decent bedframe to replace it when it finally went. That was before my old job evaporated.

I've found a couple in the $600-700 range at West Elm that I really like, but right now I'm not sure I can afford more than the $200 it would cost to get another cheap, shitty Ikea frame.

Cost to replace: $200-700 + tax, depending on how good a bed I decide to get.

The Car. This isn't as bad as it could be, particularly given that I'm putting about 700 miles a week on it, but my car is about to hit 120,000 miles, which means a 120,000 mile tuneup.

The dealer quoted me $500, my friendly local mechanic quoted me $300. Guess which one will be performing this maintenance.

I also need a battery, as I discovered a couple weeks ago, so that'll be about another $100.

Total cost to ensure continued proper functioning of vehicle: $400 + tax.

The Clothes. This is at least for a happy reason, but the death-by-a-thousand-cuts this is causing is pissing me off a bit.

I've lost a lot of weight in the last 14 months, so a lot of my old clothes don't fit anymore. I've dropped three jeans sizes, I'm now fitting about a size smaller shirts, and other articles of clothing are needing to be similarly replaced.

I'm trying to get away with wearing my now tent-sized old clothes as long as I can. I was always pretty good at camouflaging the actual extent of my fatassedness, so I can still do pretty well with a fair amount of my older stuff. But the number of items I can still get away with is rapidly declining.

I'm going to take a stab at thrifting for t-shirts and the like, but certain...delicates...you have to buy new, and that gets very expensive very quickly. Even buying stuff on sale from Old Navy, the cost to gradually replace my wardrobe is running around $100-200 a month.

It will continue to do so for much of the remainder of the year, until I stop losing weight.

Estimated cost through end of May: $200-400 + tax.

Grand total, that's anywhere from $800-1500, plus tax, that I'll be spending in the next couple of months.

The $600 "Please for the love of God save our economy!" check from W. and the gang will help, as will the fact that I've been making a fucking mint off of mileage at my temp job, which is helping to offset the crap salary.

However, I really would have preferred all these expenses come to me when I a) had a job at my normal salary and b) wasn't coughing up for my health insurance out of pocket.

Stupid money.

Dork Dilemmas

Being unemployed in January is probably a good thing for the average gadget geek like myself, since the twin peaks of lust for shiny things both take place during the first couple of weeks of January.

The Consumer Electronics Show (CES) is taking place in Las Vegas this week, where almost every electronics company is unveiling its product lineup for 2008.

Next week brings the annual MacWorld Expo, where Apple faithful come to drool over whatever lickably shiny object Steve Jobs deigns to unveil during his keynote address.

Both of these events lead to an absolute orgy of gadget blog coverage (Google Reader is buckling under the weight of the feeds just of Engadget and Gizmodo), and to try and keep up even without having a job to do on top of it is a bloody nightmare.

I mean, it is fun to read about crazy shit like the leopard-print Taser with mp3 playing holster, the LCD you install on your car bumper so other people can watch what you're watching, or the 150 inch plasma TV that is over five times the size of my Gigantic Damn TV.

What would have been even better is to have seen these ridiculous items in person. Alas, it is not to be.

The thing that really sucks is that theoretically, if I had the money, I could have gone to both CES and MacWorld and at least gotten on the exhibit floors. This is also one of the very few times I would actually be able to attend either conference.

The problem is, between rent and COBRA, I'm burning through my unemployment checks completely before the first of the month is even over, and every other expense I have comes straight out of savings.

So burning $40-50 on admissions fees per conference plus approximately one billion dollars per tank on gas (just over two tanks to Vegas and back, more like three to SF) is not really in the cards.

I tell you, it is going to kill me next week to be sitting here, knowing that I could have been in San Francisco groping the goofy gadgets I'm simply staring at pictures of, but my stupid fiscal responsibility is winning out.

Breaking Out An Old Meme

You're all now officially On Notice.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

Chicago was awesome. The game was ridiculous. Reuniafest was everything I'd hoped for and then some. I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to see since I was only in town for two and a half days, but I got to see a decent number of y'all, which was great.

I didn't want to come back, and I so do not want to go back to work tomorrow. Stupid reality.

Anyway, a few odds and ends from the weekend:

- Nate and I stayed with Mark, and that led to my favorite Inappropriate Joke of the weekend, which was that we were off having threesomes, but they were the worst threesomes ever because absolutely no one was getting what they wanted.

- [whining]I hate my foot. Hate hate hate hate hate. It hurt all weekend, I kept having to sit on barstools instead of actually standing to talk to people, I repeatedly had to leave early because it hurt, and I blew about $50 on cabs I probably wouldn't have blown if I could walk more than a few blocks without feeling like my leg was going to fall off. This horseshit better end soon.[/whining]

- Man, I've gotten spoiled living in California where you basically can't smoke anywhere indoors. My throat is still killing me from trying to shout over the music in several smoke-filled bars, and all my clothes smell like they spent the weekend at the bottom of an ashtray. You guys will love life when the ban goes into effect at the beginning of the year.

- So for those of you who heard me panicking about the potential writers' strike, here's a fairly good summary of why TV people in particular are panicking about this.

- On the flight back, as we were coming in for a landing, I got some sort of air bubble in my sinuses, leading to some of the most excruciating pain I've felt in several years. And I include everything involved in my foot ridiculousness in that. Fortunately, it managed to dissipate by the time we landed, but I'm still feeling residual pain. Ow.

Exercise The Demons

Part of why things have trailed off a touch on this blog is because of the absolutely absurd amount of gym time I've been putting in lately.

5 days a week, killing myself at the gym, waiting for the tiny little reward on Sundays when I see that, if I'm lucky and have been trying to watch what I eat, all that fighting has lost...one pound!

This all started in February, after several weeks of sedentary moping, when I looked at the scale and saw a number I swore I'd never see.

I'm a quarter of the way to where I want to be from where I was, which, thinking about it, is actually pretty decent. But the slow, slow pace is just maddening.

I'm hitting something similar with my foot (which I go to Physical Therapy for the other two days a week), where it's miles better than it was, but the pain and continued PT are making me nuts.

I want to be in shape and running around, not fighting for ever tenth of an inch of plantarflexion and just about dying on the recumbent bike.

Stupid body. Why must you make me pay for my prior indiscretions?

Das Gym

Being back at the gym all the time on top of three nights a week of physical therapy leaves me very little free time to do goddamn near anything else.

I like being back at the gym because it's a massive stress reliever, but it kills an extra hour to hour and a half out of every day I go.

That hour to hour and a half gets killed out of every other day by physical therapy, so with four days a week at the gym and three at PT, plus minimum 10-12 hours a day at work, there ain't much left.

I find it ironic that in order to get in shape to enjoy life, I have to pretty much commit to not having one.

The Itch

A cast itches, there's no two ways about it. It's absolutely maddening when it's in an area I can't reach, but usually if I ignore it, it goes away pretty quickly.

The one thing that's making me batshit crazy right now is the place where my stitches are itches. And it won't stop.

I could reach it to scratch it if I found a long enough item to scratch with, but I'm supposed to get the cast off and the stitches out tomorrow, so I can't risk a) ripping stitches or b) getting anything infected.

So I have about 13 more hours to sit here, trying to ignore the massive itch on my foot, and hoping this at least goes away long enough for me to get some sleep.

Shanghaied

Why is my new computer still bouncing around Shanghai tonight? Why is it not in my hot little bored little hands?

Oh well. At least it's in FedEx's hands now. I guess I'll distract myself by continuing my Shield marathon.

Edit: Yay, now it's in Anchorage! I'm going to drive myself crazy with this.

Grounded

I was a real goody two shoes when I was growing up, so I've never actually been grounded. Lately, I feel like I've been getting a taste of what I missed out on.

It's been about six weeks since the first cast went on, and I've barely left the house. I do still have TV privileges unlike a grounded teenager, but I don't have much else.

Even when I could sort of walk after the first cast but before the surgery, the longest I've been out is for a few hours.

I bought a tank of gas before the first cast. Even picking up and dropping off my mom at LAX, it's still half full.

I've got another week in the cast and then a couple days of trying to decrease the atrophy enough to come back to work.

All I want is to get out of the apartment to do more than wash all my bedding or get the mail.

Why does it feel like it'll be a fucking eternity before I can do that?

The Most Effective Diet Ever

It's called the "it takes a lot of effort and pain to get up" diet.

It forces you to ask yourself: Exactly how hungry am I? Generally, the answer is: Okay, not that hungry. Also, ow.

We've Managed to Bargain Them Down To...A Booting

So my orthopedist stuck me in a boot for a couple weeks starting last Thursday to try and stabilize my collapsing arch.

The boot is a little hilarious because it has a pump which can allegedly be used to pump up the cast to give more support. It's about as effective as the pumps in my Reeboks in fifth grade, which is to say: Not effective at ALL.

Anyway, it seemed to be working over the weekend. My boss was out of town Thursday, and I just went to the gym (recumbent bike, which puts just about zero pressure on the ankle, plus arm-based lifting) and then slept all day Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

But Monday, when I went back to a real work schedule, the façade came down. My job involves a lot of running around, and when you've got one of these fuckers on, it's like dragging an anchor around.

The good news was that it seemed to be doing its job and making the parts of my foot that had been hurting hurt a lot less.

The bad news was, it's so heavy and immobilizing it's a) killing the rest of my lower left leg and b) making me absolutely exhausted.

I've already made two dumb mistakes at the end of the day this week because I was so tired I couldn't focus on anything but getting home and getting my leg out of Foot Jail.

Luckily I've finally got a second and third opinion set up in the next week, so at least I'll have some idea of what can finally be done to rid myself of this horseshit on a more permanent basis. And really, rid all you of it too, since I'm sure you're sick of hearing about it.

Doesn't mean I'm going to stop bitching about it though. I don't think this blog would still exist if I didn't have medical maladies to whine about.

I Stand Corrected

I was bitching about my continuing singlehood to some friends this weekend, saying it felt like I was in the midst of the longest dry streak in the world.

It was good to learn that I still have a ways to go before I can claim that title.

Courtesy, of course, Dave Barry's Blog.

The Revenge of Mr. Cranky Ankle

I had a longstanding follow-up appointment with my orthopedist today. I walked back and he was talking to my physical therapist (whose office is across the hall).

After I finished giving the PT a light berating for Tuesday's fiasco, the orthopedist came in, and started investigating why my foot's not getting better.

His conclusion: Two of the major tendons that hold my foot together (the anterior and posterior tibial tendons) are starting to fail. He thinks that I need to get surgery to prevent the tendons, anterior tendon in particular, from snapping.

And not just simple laproscpic surgery, no no. But "let's disassemble and reassemble half your left leg" surgery that would leave me on crutches for 4-6 weeks.

Resetting at least one of the two affected tendons, lengthening the calf muscle (which he thinks is putting more strain on the tendons), and doing a couple other things that went over my head. 4-6 weeks, no weight on the foot at all.

I have a job where a substantial portion of my day is spent schlepping stuff from Point A to B, and occasionally to C. I live on the second floor of a building with no elevator. 4-6 weeks on crutches is going to be a special little corner of hell for me.

The orthopedist at least is willing to try re-targeting my physical therapy and really ramping it up for a couple weeks to see if it at least makes a difference.

He also, whether he likes it or not, will have to wait for both the show's season to wrap filming (my boss is directing the finale, and ain't no fucking way I'm dealing with that on crutches) and for me to get a second opinion, since I'm clearly not going through with anything this drastic without getting a second goddamn opinion.

I'll know more in a couple weeks after doing the intensive PT and seeing how it works, but it's not looking good. I've written off today to wallowing, but hopefully starting next week, the re-targeted PT will actually start paying off.

Cross your fingers for me.

It's The Circle of Life

As you may have noticed, blogging has died down a bit recently. It's not because I have nothing to say, it's just because I have nothing interesting to say.

The weeks are all the same: Mr. Cranky Ankle gets better, then gets worse. I go to work. I come home. I watch television on my Gigantic Damn TV. I get cranky about doing PT at 7am because it means I have to get up at 6. Lather, rinse, repeat.

On the weekends, I watch more television and movies because Mr. Cranky Ankle seems to have something against me leaving the house and participating in life, because every time I try, I end up taking several painful steps backwards in my efforts towards recovery.

I could bore you all to tears with repeated dissections of my various recurring activities, or possibly a diatribe or two about my near-constant lack of sleep because of either the ankle, the cat, or some combination of the two (like when Chaplin slept on my bad ankle and I didn't wake up until he'd clearly been there for a couple hours).

Instead, I'll simply post this one whining rant, and you can reload it over and over again, and it'll be just like having me there.

Technology. Ain't it grand?

Cranky/Pants

Still no MRI of DOOOOOOOM yet, apparently the delightful folks at Blue Cross thought I could do with a weekend of sitting in my apartment and watching Rear Window.

I had to take the trash out today, and when taking the trash out and getting the mail leaves you whimpering in pain, you know something's fairly seriously wrong.

Also, I went to put on a pair of jeans I bought recently today and experienced everyone's favorite delightfully distressing "they won't zip!" moment.

Actually, not even just that. It was more, "They won't zip and simply having them buttoned is crushing my kidneys!"

This despite being purchased at the same time as another pair of pants of the same style and size, which I wore Friday with absolutely no problem.

I double-checked the size on the tag sewn into the pants, and it claims they're my size. I had a lot of Chinese food last night, but I don't think I had that much.

Damn you Old Navy, and Damn you to Hell, Mr. Cranky Ankle!

DOOOOOOOOOOOOM

Well, the need for the MRI of DOOOOOOOOOM is official.

Went to the doctor this morning, and there are basically two main possibilities about why my ankle has severely regressed in the last four days:

POSSIBILITY "BAD." The ankle is inflamed because pieces of bone have broken off from the location of my avulsion fracture and are irritating the tissue. If this is the case, I have to have arthroscopic surgery to remove the pieces. However, once the pieces are removed, the swelling should go down and I should be fine.

POSSIBILITY "WORSE." The ankle is inflamed for no particular reason, I have to do several more months of rehab, and there's a strong possibility this will turn into an unpredictable and chronic issue with no cure other than repeated stints rehabbing whenever it flares up.

I didn't think I'd ever be in a position where I had to say this, but man, I really hope I need surgery.

Brrrrrrrr

I spent four years living in Chicago, and during that time I was virtually impervious to cold.

I mean sure, there was the time junior year when I rode my bike to class in the howling wind and the -20 air temperature, and I said, "Man, it's pretty fucking cold out." But I was tough.

I have lived in Southern California for over three years now. I have gotten used to never having it be colder than 50, even in the depths of winter.

Because of this, I am now the biggest, most irritating whining pussy in the WORLD when it comes to cold.

This was confirmed tonight upon my arrival with my dad in Sun Valley, Idaho. The predicted low: -8.

It was about 10 degrees out when we came back from dinner, and the whining from when we left the restaurant 'til we got back in the house was pretty much ceaseless.

It's not supposed to get out of the 20's once this week. I'm so fucked.

On Your Mark, Get Set, Week!

Posting will be light this week due to the following whiny excuses reasons:

1. I have to go to the dentist at 7am tomorrow and get a cavity filled.

2. I have to do about a week and a half's worth of work in three days. Oh, and do so while pulling double-duty on Wednesday.

3. My mom is coming to town.

4. Because of #3, I spent half the weekend cleaning and will spend most of tomorrow doing so as well.

5. I agreed to bake a pie (and signed mom up to bake one, too) for the potluck Thanksgiving we're going to. This is my first attempt at baking a pie. While I'm generally good at baking things, I sense that this is going to be hilarious.

6. Did I mention that my mom is coming to town?

7. I'm finally rejoining a health club Saturday, so I have to go exercise. No, seriously.

Wheeeeeeeeee! Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

D'oh!

One of the brides in the wedding I'm going to in Chicago this weekend (lesbians, not polygamists) emailed all their out of town guests to warn us about the current Transportation Fun Zone that's been declared in the South Loop.

This should be fun.