Much unpleasantness ensues

Yuck.  That about sums it up, actually.

So yesterday was the sonohystogram.  Woohoo, dildo cam!  Ugh.  Not…pleasant.  I mean, you know it’s going to be fun when they recommend four ibuprofen four to six hours before, then a repeat dose an hour before.  Which I did.  I think I should have tripled it because OW.  I mean.  Ow.  I could think of plenty more pleasant ways to spend thirty minutes.

But the good news is nothing at all abnormal…mostly…I think.  No fibroids or polyps or other weirdness…but they count follicles on ovaries – one wasn’t viewable from the right angle or something because of a large one (which he didn’t seem concerned about and I’m not playing Dr. Google today), but the other had twelve.  Which is the line for a PCOS indicator.  I thought he said more than ten usually is, but I was sort of breathing through some ridiculous cramping and all I could really think was CAN YOU GET THAT THING OUT OF MY CERVIX YET? and this here thing says more than twelve.  So…woohoo, still no real answers!  But it makes sense to me.  This is starting to feel like a somewhat futile investigation, but I will still do the pincushion thing next week.  I mean, who doesn’t find hormone levels interesting?  Not me!  It will be interesting to see if I have any insulin resistance.  My grandma had diabetes.  She also lost at least one pregnancy that I know of…came up in some conversation well after her passing.  I guess it was far enough along that there’s a grave somewhere, but they didn’t name the baby.  So sad.

Oh, hey, look at that!  My genealogy buff cousin has photos up on one of the tree sites.  Sweet.  Here she is  at eighteen, 1932:  (link)

Cute as a button, that Carmel Cappabianco.  Awww.  That would have been four years before she married Grandpa.

So.  Yeah.  I really dunno where I was going with that.  To top it off, the antibiotic they prescribed as a precaution for the test decided to make me violently ill this morning.  So…gross.  People should never have to vomit unless they’re drunk or…pregnant, I guess.  Dammit.  Okay, full circle.  We’re done here.  For now.  Nap time, if I am lucky.


Who am I kidding? Two for the road.

This is a cover of a Grateful Dead song

As I was walkin’ down rubadub square
not a chill to the wind but a nip to the air
from another direction she was caught in my eye 
It could be an illusion but I might as well try
might as well try 

she had rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes
and I knew without asking- she was into the blues
she wore scarlet begonias tucked into her curls
I knew right away she was not like other girls
like other girls

Well I ain’t never been right as I ain’t never been wrong 
as heaven works out the way it does in this song (hey)
‘cuz once in awhile you get shown in the light in the strangest of places
if you look at it right 

It was the summer of love and I thank the stars above
because the woman took a lovin’ over me
and just to gain her trust I bought a microbus
because I sold off all my personal property

A tight tye-dye dress she was a psychadelic mess
we toured to the north, south, east, and west
we sold some mushroom tea we sold some ecstasy, we sold nitrous, opium,
acid, heroin, and pcp 

and now I hear the police comin’ after me
yes now I hear the police comin’ after me
the one scarlet with the flowers in her hair she’s got the police comin’
after me

but there ain’t nothin’ wrong with the way she moves
all scarlet begonias and a touch of the blues
and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with the love that’s in her eye
I had to learn the hard way just to let her pass by
let it pass by
oh just let her pass by

(lyrics/note via)

You’ve got your hair permed
You’ve got your red dress on
Screamin’ bout how second gear was such a turn on
And the fog forming on my window tells me that the morning here
And you’ll be gone before too long

Who taught you those new tricks?
Damn I shouldn’t start that talk,
but life is one big question when your starin at the clock
And the answers always waiting at the liquor store, 40 oz to Freedom,
so I’ll take that walk.

And I know that ohhhh…I’m not comin back
Ohh not going back
God knows not going back

You look so fine when you lie it just don’t show,
That I know which way the wind blows
40 oz to freedom is the only chance I have to feel good,
even though I feel bad

And I know that ohhhh…I’m not comin back
Ohh not going back
God knows I’m not going back
God knows I’m not going back

(lyrics via)

I seriously thought it went that second beer was such a turn on.  I crack myself up.  But I see it; I do miss driving a stick-shift.  Anyway, when I leave work on really bad days…if anybody else is left…I’ve in the past said (stolen from a coworker), “I’m leaving!  And I’m not coming back.  Until tomorrow.”  

And so it goes.   

Speaking of which (what?  I dunno), I was pondering earlier…and here’s where I lose the train of thought.  Oh  yes…something regarding the below, I’m sure…mmmhmmm.  Right!  Grandma.  I don’t have any pictures too easily uploadable from here, but there is one somewhere that I’ll never forget stumbling onto – a shot of her in her (guessing) late teens/early twenties on a barstool or the like (could have been a normal-height stool, she was tiny so it’d be hard to tell without someone/thing else in the picture), in the driveway (not the middle, like against the garage door), nearly falling off the chair in laughter, clutching a bottle of… Seagram’s?  Maybe.  Not sure what it was exactly, but it was HILARIOUS to give her a little grief (I was probably 15 or 16 when we found it flipping through an album of old, old pictures).  GRANDMA!  How OLD were you there?  She giggled as though she’d forgotten until that moment that the captured moment ever happened.  Or maybe she never remembered it, that’s why someone had to take a picture?  Gold.  I don’t remember what she said, but I hope someone still has that shot.  I’m getting all freaking sentimental.  It’s my parents’ anniversary; my sister’s getting married.  Blub.  Good people.  Salute!

Oh hell yes. I knew it had to be good.

“Italian Horn”  (what we call it)
I’ve always wanted to look this up but never just did it.  So yes, today, in the middle of a stupidly busy work day…here I go.  
My grandma gave each of us granddaughters a golden version.  I generally stay away from yellow tones unless they’re holding a really purty something else; this silver one came from my sister’s ventures to Italy.  I want to say Venice or Milan?  Not for sure at this point.  Anyhow, as much as I’ve let go of most of my superstitions in the past few years, I find myself wanting to wear it when I know I’m going to need ancestral strength or something along those lines.  So here are a couple things that tickled my funny bone (from here):

The Evil Eye (Malocchio)
Concepts of the Evil Eye are some of the most ancient and prevalent superstitions of the entire Mediterranean. Every culture seems to have their own version of the Evil Eye and their own ways to combat it. One thing they all have in common is that the Evil Eye is caused by jealousy and envy. By coveting somebody’s possessions or more importantly admiring another family’s newborn baby can cause a curse, even if envious person did not mean it. My grandmother tells the story of how my aunt was the victim of the Evil Eye as an infant and got some type of “sleeping sickness” where she could hardly stay awake.
She took her baby to a local woman who could perform a test by dropping olive oil in a plate of water. The oil formed one large drop in the middle of the plate- a sure sign of the Evil Eye, but after chanting the right prayers that only women are allowed to know, the oil broke up into tiny droplets and spread out. This ritual broke the curse of the Evil Eye and my aunt was said to have gotten better immediately.
The Devil’s Horn (Corno)
An offshoot of the Evil Eye curse is the use of the Corno, or Devil’s Horn amulet. These twisted red coral, gold or silver amulets are often worn as necklaces by men to ward off curses on their “manliness” – very similar to a Mojo. They can often be seen sold in Italian jewelry stores and especially during Italian American festivals. Although most men who wear one will say it represents one of the horns of the devil, the Corno (also known as Cornuto or Cornicello) predates Christianity by thousands of years. Related to the Corno is the hand gesture known as the mano cornuta, which also wards off the Evil Eye by extending only the pinkie and index finger like a pair of horns and pointing it down. When this gesture is made pointing upward (similar to the heavy metal salute to the Devil) it is as an insult to somebody, meaning their husband or wife is unfaithful. 

I find this extra hilarious because the men in my family are not jewelry-wearers.  So…yeah.  Hilarious.  To me, anyway.

Because I am a delicate flower.

Today has been a waste. Jet lag is weird. Still, glad to be home, though the thought of another work week beginning tomorrow is utterly exhausting. All in all, had a deliriously good time. Only a couple things I wont miss. First, the hard water. Was taking about three times the quantity of the same conditioner that, used at home, makes my hair feel like pure silk to even be able to drag a wide toothed comb through it and not make me cry. I wonder if that has anything to do with the tendency of many German women to keep their hair very short. Second, chicken or egg question for you: do you think Germans have always been hardasses, or is did that start only after they started making toilet paper like that?

No, the Germans were very nice and hospitable. Especially the German-Italians. But the toilet paper is scary. Only one place we went (I guess I tend to pee nearly everywhere I go, is that odd?) had the typical cheap one-ply you see in every public restroom in the states. Mostly everywhere, it’s like that Brawny paper toweling you can repeatedly wet, wring out, and scrub an entire kitchen with. Seriously. Exactly like that. One bier garten had no paper towels by the sink, but using the toilet paper to dry your hands? Not at all an absurd idea, as it would be here. Exactly like a not-shitty-cheap paper towel here. Weird. So yeah, sorry. I’m not quite back up to speed yet. I made a point to carry a little notebook and jot down funny things and notables, all wannabe-writerish, so I do have semi-coherent things to say about the experience, but right now all that comes to mind are the basics and the most basic differences and I have not even unpacked my phone charger, let alone found that little notebook. Best food thing about being home? Beef. No room for good grazing, still scared as shit about mad cow disease = no good beef. Too bad, so sad. Best German food thing? Hmm. Too many. The abundance of Italian food, hah. The actual cream-colored cream for kaffe. The constant option of mit oder ohne when offered water. Mayo proffered under the title of French fry sauce. The chocolates on my pillow. Oh, the chocolates. Red wine served by the liter. My friend places the order, and the waiter asks what I’ll be drinking. Hah. I think that should get us going to start. If you finish the liter, they bring prosecco, gratis. Pretty fucking sweet.