Secrets from an Introvert

I spent almost the entire weekend alone and it was heaven.

For the longest time, I thought there was something wrong with me. In my early-twenties my friends would be out every weekend, going to clubs and staying out until the wee hours of the morning. I’d join them from time to time and it was fun, but I usually would spend the night anxious and the next morning I’d be exhausted. It didn’t make sense, because we’re taught to believe that we’re supposed to be out every weekend, living it up and dancing the night away while we’re still young. But so often I would just want to be back at home, where I wouldn’t be wearing heels that make my feet hurt and I didn’t have to wait in line for a toilet.

I would spend entire nights at the club checking my watch and wondering when would be an okay time to leave, worried about how much sleep I would get and if I would be too tired the next day to do homework. I knew that a night out was going to take so much more out of me than my friends who seemed to do this every weekend. The only way I can really explain this is that when I went out I constantly felt like I had to be “on” and the outgoing, non-awkward, social genes that came to my friends so naturally were something I had to fake every time I went out. So the next day, not only would I be tired from being out late and drinking, but also exhausted from having to pretend I was someone I was not. To be clear, I would have fun when I went out but it came with a cost (and not just a hangover). So because of that, I had to learn to reserve my energy.

Eventually, my friends would stop inviting me out and I’d only tag along on the rarest of occasions. I spent a lot of time wondering if I was depressed, boring or unlikeable. I would meet new people and so shy, which was weird because around those that know me I’m talkative, funny and loud. I knew that I was different from many others, but I wasn’t sure what it was. There was a period where I thought I was agoraphobic (the fear of spaces and social situations… you know what, read the Wiki article, I can’t sum it up succinctly here), due to my inability to concentrate in loud places and wanting to hide in the bathroom at parties. Alas, I was not. I was just an introvert.

The great thing about age is that with it comes wisdom. As I’ve gotten older I’ve figured out why I’m attracted to quiet nights at home with a few friends and wine versus out at a noisy and crowded restaurant, and it’s not just because buying your own wine and drinking it in your home is cheaper than the same bottle at a restaurant. In the past few years I’ve been able to pinpoint why I want to stay at home, but not only that but become okay with it. In my twenties I’d make up excuses for staying at home or lie about having plans with others to get out of plans, but I don’t do that anymore (as much). I’ve also learned to leave a party when I want to, it used to be that if I was going out I was staying to the end (I believe this is what kids these days refer to as FOMO), but now I’m a fan of the Irish Exit. This also gives me time to get home at a respectable hour and the ability to transit home and avoid a costly cab ride.

Perhaps thats part of growing up and becoming an adult and owning your flaws… except being an introvert is not a flaw.

The past few weekends have been busy, friends birthdays and weddings, mixed in with dinners and nights out with friends. I love spending time with my friends but having absolutely no plans this weekend has been a dream. It gave me time to reenergize for the upcoming week and weekends as this upcoming month will have a calendar full of activities again.

 

Over time, I’ve cultivated a group of friends that I love and want to spend time with and I think this has been one of the best things that an introvert can do. I go out with them and while the act of going and being among people and in crowds can be stressful and tiring, it’s worth it because I’m with people I love. They also seem to be similar to me and like staying in as well, so a night in with a bottle of wine (or two), some gossip and Broad City is a perfectly acceptable way to spend a Friday night.

It’s also important to understand that you don’t even need to be with other people, you can totally spend Friday and/or Saturday night at home. And that’s 100% ok.

From the amazing Hyperbole and a Half, who gets it.

This weekend I spent it almost completely alone in my house, save for a visit from my parents and a brief meet-up with a friend on Sunday afternoon. I ran some errands and went to the store, but for the most part talked to no one (woohoo self checkouts!) and that’s just what I needed to get me ready for a busy October.

Does a weekend alone sound like heaven or is it the worst? Share your ultimate chill weekend plans in the comments! 

How to get an MRI

Alternate titles for this post: An ode to the Canadian healthcare system; It’s not a tumour; or My humour is wasted on the medical community.

I recently had to have an MRI. But before I get into that, let me tell you why.

I recently acquired what I like to refer as Skull Water. Basically, I have too much water in my skull. It happens to 1 out of every 100,000 women so it kinda makes me feel special but not really because 100,000 is not a very large number when you compare it to the 7 billion + we got roaming this earth. That’s not going to stop me from using I’m one in 100,000 as my new pickup line though.

This was caught during a routine eye exam and answered a lot of questions about why my face randomly went numb in a few spots earlier this year. What my skull water does is it presses on nerves and can numb certain parts of my face, sometimes momentarily or sometimes for a few days at a time. It typically happens when I’m retaining water due to the heat or hormones. There’s been times when it has been so uncomfortable and horrible that I’d cry out of frustration, most other times it’s just a weird sensation that almost feels like Novocain.

On the plus side, it was the inspiration for The Weeknd’s I Can’t Feel My Face (Note: I can’t verify the truthiness of this statement)

Right now my goal is to get the extra skull water out of my head by peeing and sweating it out. If it doesn’t go away I may need to get a lumbar puncture (aka a spinal tap), but I really hope it doesn’t come to that so bring on the water pills.

Anyways, last month I was at my doctor’s for a check up for this skull water business and he casually asked if I had gone for an MRI for this. I’ve known from the beginning that some of my symptoms are the same as those associated with a brain tumour, but both my eye doctor, this specialist dude and the hours of googling I put in to become a specialist in skull water all agreed that I likely didn’t have a tumour because I didn’t have the major symptoms of a tumour (vomiting and headaches). So after a few months of visiting the doctor to get checkups and to make sure things were going as they should (not getting worse), my doc was all like “oh shit, we should get you an MRI to cover my ass.”

Ok, he didn’t say that but his casual bedside manner was very close to that.

I appreciate this guys candour, I don’t want some doctor to sugarcoat things and be wishy washy about the details, but sometimes it can be a bit much. He essentially knows I don’t have a tumour (thank god), but wants me to get the MRI to double check this, which is what I wanted. It’s just that telling me to get the MRI to make sure he wasn’t misdiagnosing me so he didn’t get in trouble could’ve been rephrased to put more emphasis on my health.

So I get a referral for the MRI. In the referral they ask if I need sedation, I say no and the nurse calls me a champ. Apparently turning down drugs to lie in a tube is being a champ. Go me!

If you know anything about the Canadian Healthcare System you may know that it’s not the fastest in the world. Don’t get me wrong, I love it and would rather spend 6 months waiting for an appointment to see a specialist than live without. I honestly cannot wrap my brain around Americans who are against Obamacare. And just because you may have to wait for an appointment or procedure that isn’t an immediate need (my mom has been waiting to get on a list for knee surgery for years), doesn’t mean you’re waiting months for cancer treatment as the anti-healthcare politicians would suggest. Even though the skull water isn’t an immediate threat, I did get an appointment with a specialist within a day when my optometrist first caught it.

When I got the referral for the MRI, I settled in for a long wait. Seeing that we were sure it wasn’t a tumour, I assumed it wouldn’t be until later this year I’d get my appointment. So imagine my surprise when the MRI people called and said I could come in week from that day, at 7am, on a holiday. Since I’m not super happy about waking up before 7am (or even 8am), I asked if they had a later date, they said around Christmas… 7am it was! (Note: I’m very aware that this is not typical of the British Columbia health care system and wait times are typically 3-6 months, I got my appointment in a week because someone else cancelled and I called at the right time. I was very lucky)

When the day came, I couldn’t sleep the night before. Mostly because I was in bed early anticipating a 5:30am alarm and so I started counting back how many hours I would sleep if I fell asleep right now. That never works by the way. I also started wondering what they would see in the MRI and what if there was a tumour. I finally fell asleep and an hour and a half later my alarm went off.

My mom took me to the appointment, partially for moral support but also because I needed a ride since transit doesn’t run that early on holidays.

My appointment was for 7am, I arrived a bit before and filled out all the paperwork, finally at 7:20 a guy around my age came to get me for my MRI. I was asked in the paperwork if I had any shrapnel in my body as well as if I had a pacemaker or any other metallic items inserted. Nope, I told the guy. He asked about my tattoos and said they may warm up and that I can alert him via a tiny alarm I’d hold during the procedure that would stop the MRI and he’d come help me. I asked him if this would mean we’d have to restart, he said yes, I decided I’d put up with any pain they could throw at me. I tried to joke with him, but he wasn’t having any of my nervous (and quite hilarious if I do say so myself) remarks.

In all, the guys asked me four times if I had a pacemaker or any medical device that might be metal, I’m not sure what he was trying to achieve with the repetition. Maybe he thought I was the Will Ferrell character in Austin Powers and needed to be asked three times before I’d admit to it?

He took me to a dressing room and told me to change into some scrubs, leaving behind all my own clothes (and bra) in a locker. My only regret is that I didn’t bring my phone with me, I had left my purse with my mom and regret not having my phone because the lighting in the change room was fabulous and my make-up was on point. I wanted a selfie (unfortunately no full length mirror so I wouldn’t get a scrubs selfie even if I had my phone).

After I changed I found the MRI guy again and we went into this room with a long tube. Again, I kinda wished I had my phone so I could take photos even though that would be a big no no in a room with a giant magnet in it.

 

The whole thing lasted about 20 minutes and you just get on that bed and lie completely still as you get put into the giant tube and random scans are done. I would’ve fallen asleep in there except I can’t sleep on my back and it was too cramped for this girl who likes to stretch out. Also, the noises are kinda annoying despite them giving me ear plugs.

I could see how someone who is claustrophobic would need sedation, there is literally no where to move as you’re strapped down and your head is in this weird cage

It actually got pretty boring in there. I kept trying to think about what they were scanning, thinking it was just my brain but I felt the magnetic and radio waves on my arms as well. My various tattoos didn’t heat up and there was no pain or discomfort involved. I kept trying to think nice thoughts because I’ve seen one too many shows where different parts of your brain can light up depending on what you’re thinking of and I didn’t want bad things to light up. But then of course my brain kept going to the weird dark places.

After I stop trying to control what I was thinking of I started naming the sounds the machine would make. Each sound would last 30 seconds to a minute, sometimes repeating at different parts in the scan, and sometimes it would be silent. One noise reminded me of my morning alarm, another reminded me of a microwave beeping. It wasn’t until afterwards, while at Starbucks, I realized one of the sounds was the same sound the Starbucks oven makes when it’s done warming up your pastry.

Luckily, the experience wasn’t too horrifying so I won’t be having PTSD when I’m at Starbucks or my alarm goes off in the morning.

I haven’t heard back anything from my doctor, I’ll visit him in a week for my monthly checkup, but I’m assuming since I haven’t heard anything in two weeks that I don’t have a tumour.

Hopefully this helps if you’re about to get an MRI, searching around online before the procedure I couldn’t find any info about the little questions I had. So here’s a few of the questions, along with the answers that I now know:

• Can you wear make-up during the MRI? Yes
• Can you get an MRI if you have make-up tattoos? Yep, it may burn but I didn’t notice it
• Can you wear contact lenses during an MRI? Yes
• Will I need sedation during an MRI? I imagine if you’re claustraphobic you’d like it, but it really wasn’t that bad for myself who isn’t. It was like being tucked in really well, except instead of blankets it was a metal tube.

Leave any questions you have in the comments! Have you ever had a MRI, what did you think of the process?

How to avoid being stood up publicly

While I have some issues with this image, it was all that came to mind last night. As both Jen and I have mentioned before, we are single girls, and while I genuinely love living my life independently, I am open to relationships and once every few months I actively seek one out. I am happy to meet new people and date, but it is not a huge pressure for me. Unless I have a great time I don’t really move along with the relationship, and thats fine. I take another break for a few months and try again. In my experience this has all been just a-ok, and have met some nice guys but none that I wanted to move further with. So recently when I was in a phase of actively seeking a relationship, I met a guy online and we got along well and started texting. He seemed nice, but I wasn’t overly into it, and after a couple days of not texting I thought that it had fizzled out and I was not all that disappointed. A couple days later, he texted again and asked if I wanted to meet up, and I said sure. Don’t worry, this story doesn’t get weird or twisted. While this guy may be a run of the mill douche, nothing bad happened other than some ego bruising.

So first red flag, he asked me out for a week and a half in the future. Odd, but okay. So after continuing to stay in touch for that week and a half, we decided where we were meeting up and it was all good. On the day of, I texted asking what time would be best, and he said 7:30 because of work issues, and that is when I made my smartest move of the evening. We were meeting somewhere super close to my apartment, so I said, text me when you park and I will walk down. So as 7:30 rolled around, I was talking on the phone with my cousin, just chatting away, and I let her know that I would have to hang up when I had to go, and no problem. Then 7:40 rolled around.

Now lets get one thing straight. I am kind of a stickler for punctuality, so this kind of bugged me, because if I was going to be late, I would let the person I was meeting know, especially if there was a potential for a relationship, but alas, he did not. Then 7:50 rolled around, and at this time, I was pretty peeved. I was still on the phone with my cousin, but decided to text and ask if he was on his way. And it is officially a day later and there has been no response.

This feels shitty. Whether you are the most confident person in the world or not, having someone not make the effort to meet up with you sucks. I was really upset, and a million things ran through my mind about why this person thought that not only was I not someone that they wanted to meet up with, they didn’t care even enough to make up a lame excuse as to why they aren’t coming. I have decided that this doesn’t have anything to do with me (because I’m fucking awesome) and has everything to do with him. Man though, that ego bruise sure smarts.

So after thinking a lot about this, I have come up with a few things that I will utilize in the future to make sure that I don’t feel like I am going to be let down.

1. Choose to meet somewhere close to you, not only does it make you more comfortable to be in your own neighbourhood, it gives you an easy entrance and exit strategy.

2. Make sure (if possible) not to leave your place, or at least a neutral location until it is confirmed that said internet stranger is on the way. When Jen and I were talking last night, I was talking about how shitty it would feel if I was in a restaurant waiting, and the guy never showed up, and Jen brought up the fact that even though I know this wasn’t the case, I may have thought that he came, saw me, and left. I think that may have broken me for a good while.

3. Have excellent friends and wine at the ready. Even though this person was not a part of my life, it seriously hurt. I felt rejected, and not as awesome as I should feel. But friends (and wine!) make you see that it is not about you, it is just a mega-douche who you are better off not knowing.

Anyways, I hope that someone can use what I learned in my quasi dating flop. I am once again, going to take a break from the online dating scene, but I have not lost hope yet.

P.S. I also looked super freaking adorable, and was wearing a new top, so I wore the outfit the next day.

What kind of dating stories do you have to share? Please comment below with any online or otherwise horrors. Sharing is caring!

Tales from the vet

So I have a dog. Or an almost dog. I have a pug named Lilly. She is lazy, and usually pretty chill. She even likes going to the vet. Or she did, until last Thursday.

Baby Lilly

Warning. Things are about to get graphic, so if you don’t like a story that ends in poop, I suggest you take a gander at one of our other posts – completely poo free. I will also pepper this post with cute pictures to soften the blow of the story.

Now, Lilly has been scooting her booty around the floor for a few weeks now, and like any good 21st century gal, I hit up the internet for some advice that would save me from a likely expensive vet visit. If you can tell from the title, the internet failed me. It didn’t actually fail me, it just made it clear that if I was a halfway decent pet owner, I really should take her to the vet to rule out worms, and potentially get her (excuse me while I gag) anal glands expelled. Apparently it is quite common for pugs to need their anal glands cleared out from time to time, and when I used to live across the street from a dog groomer, I would take Lil about every six weeks for a wash, and to get that pesky booty back in working order. Since I recently moved, the Lil hasn’t gotten her customary pampering for quite some time, so things had really… built up. So when I took her to the vet finally, I was prepared for the worst. Also. It was time for her nails to be trimmed.

Angry Lilly

Another little thing about Lilly, is that she hates getting her nails cut more than any dog I have ever seen. I used to live alone, so the holding down and nail cutting was all on me. Quite often I would arrange it so that I was basically sitting on her to get her nails trimmed. Either that, or she was swaddled like a wriggling babe. You may not know this, but pugs are STRONG! I think Lilly is like 90% muscle, 10% fat.  One of the worst times I ever cut her nails she fought me so hard that she moved her paw right as I was about to cut it, so blood was dripping everywhere, as I had cut the quick (the blood vessel in a dogs nail). Moments after the shock wore off, I noticed that things smelled… a little off, and I realized that she fought so hard that she pooped herself. So I cried. It was traumatic for both of us, and I say that it ended with blood, sweat, poop and tears. Not my shining moment as a dog mama. Ever since this debacle I have vowed to not cut her nails myself. So I swallow that $4o and take her to the vet (groomers won’t do it anymore).

Snoozing Lilly

So on the morning of Thursday July 2nd, we braved the inevitable trauma, and headed to the vet. Lilly was all sunshine and daisies when we arrived. She sat perfectly to get her weight taken, socialized with other patrons and the vet techs, and was all around lovely. What a lie. I knew what was coming. She was just buttering everyone up before she went ape shit. Sneaky beast.

Lilly with her sis Maya

Shortly after we arrived, we were taken to the back where these things are done. The vet starts by… expelling her anal glands. It was more like an explosion of the anal glands. And if you have never smelled this putrid liquid, you are not missing anything. I have tried my best to block this from my memory, but alas, for comedy’s sake, I relive it.

Lilly in a sombrero

As soon as that was done, the vet did a few other checks as to what might be bugging Lilly’s booty. No fleas, no worms, no other options, so yay. But I knew the worst was yet to come. It was nail time. I started having Vietnam-esque flashbacks to the injuries, both emotional, and physical that I have incurred at the hands of this beast. I prepared to hold her as the vet tech got the Dremel out (sander type thing for especially stubborn dogs nails).

Me and Lilly

We were able to get all of her nails shortened, but not without injury. Lilly managed to push her paw with uncut nails through my new shirt from J. Crew and puncture my back. There are still Lilly nail punctures today. Charming I know.

Lilly chilling

As soon as the nails were trimmed, I looked around, feeling drained, but not as horrified as usual, until I look at the floor, and see that the Lil managed to squeeze one out. Classic. If you are easily embarrassed, the pug is not the dog for you.

Lilly being regal

Do you have any embarrassing stories about your pets? Please share to make me feel like less of a moron!