Flyover Syndrome

Hi, my name is Jenna and I have flyover syndrome.

"Hi, Jenna."

I've had flyover syndrome since I was a child. Through my traveling "back east", Europe, and the Bahamas, I felt that the states passing underneath me were there to make the journey a bit longer, to make the trip that much sweeter.

I didn't hear much about those states other than whatever weather catastrophes would take place and that everyone in L.A. had moved to L.A. to get away from those states.

"You're from L.A.? No one is from L.A."

Whenever Angelinos have to travel to those states, it is normally for business, trapped in chains, seeing only the inside of offices, hotel rooms and mediocre restaurants. This does not improve the problem.

However, I have begun to develop an antidote for this affliction. It is not easy, inexpensive or guaranteed to work on everyone. In fact, I hypothesize that those who are from those states, those who have escaped if you will to Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Boston, etc... will be the most resistant to my proposed cure. However, for the rest of us interested in dealing with the affliction here is my idea:

For those of you living with this disease, you have to know someone knowledgeable about and content in living in those states and go for a visit. It is true, Wisconsin,Michigan, Minnesota, etc... (pick one of those states as an example) would not be a typical weekend getaway. The beaches of San Diego, wine country outside of Santa Barbara, or even Vegas would normally come to mind. But remember, we are trying to deal with an illness and we must be willing to think outside of the proverbial box. To visit relatives who don't much care for their surroundings will not aid in the cure, in fact this will only worsen the problem. However, to visit friends who can take you to yummy restaurants, fun spots (bars, parks, stores, etc...) and generally help to illustrate the good points of one of those states will help to end the affliction.

For those of you who want to aid in the cure, who want to sponsor a friend as a visitor and help deal with the problem, you have a very important role to fill. You must not merely serve as a host, a place to say, but more of a guide. If your visiting friend is a golfer, take him/her to that course in Wisconsin that is ranked one of the twenty best in the world. If your friend is a foodie, keep him/her the hell away from all chains and instead introduce him/her to some of the tastiest food they'll ever eat. Guard them from the weather that pushes people to move from those states. Instead only invite them when the weather, although not perfect, is fairly moderate so that the extreme cold or frightening humidity is merely a conversation topic. Experiencing extreme weather would only strengthen the syndrome and not aid in the cure. This would set the treatment back further than when we begun.

Now, we have a long road ahead of us to fight flyover syndrome, but if we all do our part, we can help to find a cure.

true dear diary

I think this will be my first post in a true dear diary fashion. Might be tmi, might be helpful.

Dear Diary,

Today I had my first mammogram & ultra-sound. I'd heard about this my whole life. I know they've been getting the word out for years about the importance of mammograms after 40, the importance of early detection, the importance of being aware. And, as you know dear diary, I'm not after 40, not by a long shot but this was necessary.

No, nothing's wrong, just going on the advice of several doctors as a preventative measure. All the specialists agree, though my former gynecologist does not. Then again, I never really liked him. I like my current gynecologist, but you already know that.

Alright, I'll get to the point of this entry, all the stuff they don't tell you about mammograms.

What they do tell you
You're asked to disrobe before you talk to the doctor.

What they don't tell you:
You can ask to see the doctor before you disrobe.

What they do tell you:
You'll be smooshed.

What they don't tell you:
Your boobs will be handled like foreign objects by a technecian.

What they do tell you:
The denser your breast tissue, the more difficult it is to see anything.

What they don't tell you:
An ultra-sound brings the odds highly into your favor to see if anything is amiss.

What they do tell you:
To follow them out of the xray room into the ultra-sound room.

What they don't tell you:
That you'll be making this trek half naked wearing only an open paper shirt, carrying your clothes, purse and dignity down the hall.

What they do tell you:
To lie down, what the ultra-sound entails, exactly what they're doing.

What they don't tell you:
That you'll be covered in ultra sound goo when you meet and talk with the doctor again.

What they tell you:
That there's soap, water, paper towels and wet wipes to get all the goo off before getting dressed.

What they don't tell you:
That they'll stand there working until you ask them to leave;

That even after you leave they'll knock and walk right back into the room when you're half-naked and washing up after a humbling experience, telling you that they need to use the computer;

That you can tell them to leave the room, to give you a minute to clean up and compose yourself;

That this is going to be an emotionally draining experience, having one of the parts of your body that defines you as a woman, that earns you attention, comprises part of puberty and motherhood, just the fright that could all be taken away with one oddity on a computer screen;

That one of the most private, intimate parts of your body is "handled" while you're half-naked by several different people as their job...no kindness, no understanding, just work, like I would shuffle paper;

That you're going to feel like a moron 'cause this shouldn't be a big deal but it is;

That you're going to feel vulnerable and off-kilter.

Thursday ramblings

Its odd how such small seemingly unimportant details can carry so much meaning.

I have this little pouch. It was free at a sample sale I attended with E. We have both used this odd little envelope far more than we ever expected. It's the perfect size to toss your id and some cash into for the gym or a flea market or traveling. In fact, when I broke the plastic holder I was given for my key cards at trial, I grabbed the little pouch. It was just the right size to hold my key cards and id. That silly pouch soon turned into my trial wallet and I couldn't leave a room without that or my cel phone. I had both on me at all times.

Trial was an amazing experience. I learned so much; I felt like I was on information overload 18 hours a day. Compound that with sleep-deprivation, tempers, teamwork, inside jokes and so much more that I can't even begin to describe...it was an adventure. Well, trial's over...new friends made, new love found - sitting here, unpacking that silly little pouch, it hits me like a brick wall. Trial's over. New friends have returned home, love is soon to follow.

I was fine until I make the genius decision to unpack that silly little pouch. At work. Yeah, I know I'm an idiot.

But mixed with the inevitable sadness of goodbye is the overwhelming gratitude for this incredible experience.

All I want is a Pepsi

Right now, my life is just 20 minutes more than I can handle. Given my life is just a wee bit chaotic this week, I just need 20 minutes to keep all the parts moving smoothly. If you could add another 20 minutes to my day, that would be great. Last night, I needed another 20 minutes to get out of here on time. And then this morning, I needed another 20 minutes to get out of the house to make it to work on time.

But my chaotic life is nothing compared to my neighbor.

As I'm leaving the house this morning, 20 minutes late (and on 3 hours of sleep), hair wet, no lunch, grinning from ear to ear, I see something curious: my neighbor standing in the middle of the street screaming at a taxi about 30 feet in front of her.

Now, if you're not familiar with my street, this might not sound too odd to you, but let me give you a little background.

I live on a quiet cul-de-sac in a super cute neighborhood. My street can be difficult to find and the houses aren't well numbered. Pretty much anytime you call a cab, they make it quickly but dispatch always calls when the taxi is approaching 'cause they're not sure what house is yours. After the call, you step outside, wave at the taxi and then run back in to get your bags. Its a good system and its worked for my family for years. But, I don't think my neighbor got the memo. And, if I had to guess, she's a stay at home mom (which I admire, I just make the point 'cause I don't think she uses taxis much).

She's standing in the middle of the street with her bag screeching at the top of her lungs at the taxi. I'm sort of doubting that's what the other neighbors wanted to hear at 8:30am.

"TAAAAAAAAAAXI!!"
"TAXI MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"
"WHERE ARE YOU GOOOOOOOOOOOING?!?!"

Now, keep in mind the Taxi isn't going anywhere. He's sitting at the top of the street, facing away from her, calling dispatch to figure out which house is hers. I'd even bet money her phone was ringing but she was so busy screeching, that she didn't hear it ring.

After about 20 seconds of screeching, the taxi turned around and picked her up. I drove past the taxi on my way out of the cul-de-sac.

He didn't look happy.