Peanut Head

I'm a peanut head. If that term is meant to describe someone who sometimes doesn't pay attention to what's going on around them, then that was me a couple of days ago. You know that recent salmonella scare with peanut butter products? For some reason, it just didn't really register or I maybe I thought that tainted food products don't make it into our little nirvana in California. It wasn't until I found myself nibbling on my fourth peanut butter cracker while at work doing research on the internet that the awful truth hit.
There I was, quietly reading about Obamania in Europe on msnbc.com, when my eyes scanned over a photo of a package of crackers wrapped in orange with the word 'Austin' prominently displayed. It looked unsettlingly familiar. The image was used to illustrate an article on the peanut butter product recall. Seems that Kellog Co. is recalling their Toasty Crackers with Peanut Butter because the FDA found salmonella several packages.
"Oh shit!" I screamed, throwing the offending package across the room. My coworker ducked just in time as the crackers tinted with an orange hue not found in the natural world hit the wall and exploded into a flurry of salmonella shards.
"Good god! What's the matter?" the coworker cried.
"I'm going to die!" I said, sticking my finger down my throat in an unsuccessful attempt to cough up the crackers. "Look!" I yelled, turning the monitor around so he could see the news clip warning people to stay away from Austin peanut butter crackers. "That's EXACTLY what I just finished eating. I'm feeling sick already."
"And you're just hearing about this now? It's been on the news for, um, about a week."
Ignoring his last comment, I quickly sent a text to my girlfriend, letting her know that I was on my way to the ER to get my stomach pumped.
"You know, it's very possible that the crackers you ate aren't from the tainted batch," the coworker said. "Don't you think you're overreacting?"
I stopped for a moment to consider this. "Yeah, maybe," I admitted.
I took a deep breath and really checked myself for signs of cramping and the impending runs. Nothing. I felt fine. In fact, great.
"If I don't show up at work tomorrow, you'll know why," I said, and started imagining all the fun things I could do on the day off I had inadvertently set myself up for.
Well, I didn't get sick and I didn't capitalize on the day off. I figured I was lucky enough to get passed this scare without incident. Why tempt fate? It's like when you were a kid and you ditched school, telling your teacher you were absent because your grandmother died. And then she does.
Even a peanut head can appreciate the curse of karma.

More work for less money

The economy's in the crapper, that's quite evident. In my quaint little resort, stores are closing with frightening regularity and while tourism is still the number one industry, the hotels are hurting and even fine dining establishments are now offering blue plate specials. All you can eat escargot for $49.99. Who can pass up that deal?
The only business that seems to be truly thriving are our local Indian casinos. It seems the worse things are financially the more likely people are to try to turn nothing into something. Makes sense.

Mean-opause

I woke up drenched in sweat... again. The wet, sticky, hair plastered to the back of my neck kind of sweat. I thought about changing out my top... again, but I was so tired, I just did the chicken-flap with my nightie, waving it around under the covers in a feeble attempt to get some air into the damp recesses of my body. I know. It sounds gross. And it is. Welcome to menopause.


I'm 47 and I think I'm entering what's called peri-menopause. I'm right on the cusp, just beginning the spiral into soaked sheets, hot flashes, rabid mood swings and sex drive disturbances. My body has somehow started to build fat in areas I didn't even know could BE fat. I'm not on any menopausal drugs--no HRTs yet (hormone replacement therapy), no regular anxiety meds (although popping a Xanax every now and then sure sounds good as of late)--and while I'm sure that's all to come as I continue this unasked for journey, I thought maybe blogging about it from start to finish, that is if it ever ends, might be therapeutic.


I'm thinking about creating a blog site dedicated to menopause, a kind of homage to the emergence of the crone (more on this later), as my partner is going through it too and we could kind of tag-team our experience, although she's a little further into it than I am. Imagine, two women sharing the joy! It'll either be hysterical or horrific--or both--but it'll probably never be boring.

Creeping into the 21st century

Blogs.
Who knew that people would be so interested in the ramblings of others? I didn't. I still don't. But I cannot avoid the future any longer; technology's curled finger beckons and I must respond. I'm a writer by design and an editor by necessity who spends 10 hours a day reinvigorating someone else's marginal creativity while denying my own.
Once upon a time I wrote a column in a magazine called Noise in My Head. It was filled with useless musings, opinions, memories, meandering thoughts--a true homage to self-absorption. But here's the weird thing: people liked it! Go figure. Maybe it's that kind of literary voyeurism that makes blogs so popular. In the spirit of reinvention and a nod to cyber expressionism, I'm going to give this a shot. Kind of like a journal, only different.