Ask me how much I like moving furniture. Go ahead, ask.

What I’ll tell you is that every time I move (over 25 times now) I swear that next time I’m just going to burn the house down.

Actually, next time I’m taking two suitcases. That’s a different story.

Today we didn’t move houses, just a little furniture. One bed in, one bed out.

Somewhere in the grumbling, complaining and grunting there was light.

I have started making attempts to do my taxes. And it’s giving me a headache. Literally. I started my taxes tonight and when I was done, I had a headache.

My taxes are complicated because not only did I move states this year, I also worked in two states for the same job while being a resident in one state (I moved from New Jersey to New York, but remained working at the same PR agency, but in both the NJ and NY offices, instead of just the NJ office which I previously worked at full-time). Confused yet? Good. Me too.

My advice? DON’T DO THAT. It really sucks. I can’t even be eloquent about it. That’s how badly it sucks.

So I am going to take a break from worrying about taxes for now. I don’t even have all my forms in yet (the little ones, like interest from ING Direct). I will probably end up doing it by hand because TurboTax and HR Block can’t seem to understand my predicament, so I am going to do it myself. I actually had my dad do it on the phone with me tonight, and so far, his answer is the best answer (the one with me owing the least – I freelance, and tend to underpay, so I usually owe). But TurboTax? Wants me to pay $2200! And don’t even get me started about a couple of the others. It’s ridiculous. Do you think the federal government would mind if I just, you know, skipped doing my taxes this year? Just one year? It’s so confusing. They would understand, wouldn’t they?

If anyone wants to do my taxes for me and promises not to steal my identity… wait. I’m asking the Internet. Nevermind.

But seriously folks, don’t work in two states at the same time. And don’t move either. Pick a state that you like and just… stay.

Gah!

TGIF, right?

Yesterday, I wrote about the conundrum of whether to consider yourself “suffering from” or “living with” diabetes. For the most part, I said that I think of myself as living with diabetes. I am a happy, well-adjusted, functioning member of society with really great hair. But it hasn’t always been this way. Here is a story of suffering from diabetes:

My first emotional breakdown regarding my diabetes happened when I was 18 years old. It was in the middle of my freshman year at the University of Oregon and I remember sitting on a wide, cement railing outside one of the dormitories and sobbing, while my friend David sat next to me and was most certainly wondering what in the world he had gotten himself into. I remember telling David how tired I was from having diabetes, because I had had diabetes for ten years – ten years – and it was never going to end. For some reason having hit the decade mark actually hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt knocked over, out of breath. I was running a marathon with no end in sight. And I had to keep running.

I hate running.

I remember feeling distraught and discontent with the idea that at 18 years old, I was sick. It hadn’t really occurred to me before then that that’s what I was. Obviously I was intelligent enough to realize my life was on the abnormal side of things, having to test my blood sugar and wear an insulin pump and figure out how many carbs could possibly be in a chocolate malt milkshake. It was the first time, however, that I realized that I almost died. At age 8, my pancreas ceased to function properly, and with that went the life-saving hormone called insulin. Even though I was saved by the miracle of modern medicine, I was sick. The protected bubble of my childhood had evaporated and while the symptoms of low and high blood sugar hadn’t changed drastically, my own personal realization that my health was my own and it’s future destruction could possibly be my fault knocked the wind out of me. That’s a lot of responsibility for someone who was at the same age as the kids getting drunk at keggers and having unprotected sex!

I tried to explain to David what it was like to be 18 years old and to be sick. He was not sick, at least not with anything he told me about. I tried to explain to him what it was like to have a chronic illness, one that sat passively for periods of time before clubbing you over the head when you least expected it. I tried to explain how tired I was of having to worry about how everything I did impacted my health in some way. He thought I was being overdramatic. Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.

I remember realizing that this was forever. I don’t think I realized what forever was until I hit 10  years and I knew how long 10 years felt and I realized that I was going to have to do this four or five or six more times, depending on how long I managed to live. I remember already being exhausted, and sad.

David tried to say something to make me feel better. I remember him smiling, trying to make light of the situation, trying to make me not take myself so goddamn seriously. I glared. He said something about how a lot of things are forever, or a lot of bad things are forever, or something that sounded stupid then and probably still sound stupid. I remember thinking, “He doesn’t get it.” I thought that no one understood what facing forever was like. Most people are not stuck with anything forever. Almost everything that seems permanent can be changed. You can even change your gender. But you can’t change your chronic illness. It’s with you, for life.

Most people don’t understand what it’s like to be young and sick. Calculating the amount of carbs in your vodka cran, and wondering which would hit your system harder: the alcohol or the juice. Wondering whether to ask a friend to grab you an orange juice or if that would make you seem weak and not worth having around if you were going to have an “episode.” Trying to avoid looking like a social pariah. Trying to gauge the reaction of the guy at the bar and whether or not he’ll hit on the pretty blond next to you if you made a sudden movement that reveals an insulin pump attached to your stomach. Sexytime, eh?

There is nothing worse than be young and being different, and having a chronic illness made me different. It was easy enough to hide, and the fact diabetes allows itself to be hidden from view makes me forever grateful to it. But that doesn’t change the inner battle inside. The one where you are screaming with yourself that EVERYONE ELSE IS DOING IT SO WHY CAN’T I? I should not have to worry about whether or not eating pizza and drinking beer at two o’clock in the morning could kill me. I just shouldn’t.

When I think about what it took for me to overcome my emotional breakdown during my freshman year, I distinctly remember it not being easy. It took a long time, especially since I didn’t have much support at that time. I was – and still am – seen as a Leader! and Inspiration! and Influencer! and a bunch of other titles that suppose to make me seem like I’m perfect and put together and all matchy-matchy with my shoes and handbag. I went to therapy, even, for four months during my sophomore year to help cope with my life. Diabetes made me stressed and overanalytical. It made me think I was supposed to identify the problem in every situation and then fix the problem. Adjust the basal rate and increase the bolus ratio, right? Didn’t work so well in real life, as it turns out. I learned that I can’t dial down people’s emotions and I can’t increase the ratio of people who like to people who don’t like me. You sort of have to take it as it comes.

I am a fan of realizing the good that you have in life, and not taking anything for granted. I am also a fan of a good cry and punch to the pillow.

It took awhile, but I’m starting to appreciate the fact that I am a young woman with a chronic illness. I have the opportunity to speak on behalf of people who cannot, to educate those who are uninformed, and to inspire those who are scared. Through this, I know that I am not alone. I am not alone in worrying about health insurance and despising my lack of freedom to runaway . I am not alone in wondering if that bag of popcorn was such a good idea. I am not alone in wondering how much of my life I will actually get to live. But what I do live, I will live great.

I may be sick and I may be young, but I am cute and kick ass.

There are a lot of things about the way people discuss type 1 diabetes that annoy me. And in some cases, drive me totally bat-shit crazy. The most obvious is that I don’t like when people use the term “diabetes” to describe something that is innately type 2 only, such as “If you lose weight, you too can cure your diabetes!” or “Obesity is a leading cause of diabetes.” I don’t like when people say “You can’t eat that,” I don’t like it when people say, “Do you really have to do that here?” and I definitely don’t like it when people say, “Oh, grandmother died from diabetes.” You know, there is a reason you shouldn’t walk up to strangers puffing away on the streets going screaming “OMG SMOKING CAUSES CANCER YOU’RE GONNA DIE!!!”

Because it’s RUDE.

But what really gets me is when people talk about “diabetic sufferers.” I actually wrote a bit about this last spring, and had quite a bit of lovely feedback.

However, I have surprisingly noticed a couple of people with diabetes using this phrase, which shocked me a bit. I was thinking about this over the weekend and I’ve decided that I, personally, am not a diabetic sufferer. But I know people who are. I know people who are caused pain by diabetes day in and day out. There is definitely a select group of people who suffer because of diabetes. But there is also a large group of people who are not necessarily suffering from diabetes and I sort of resent this label that I am suffering in some way.

I am a 24 year old college graduate who successfully moved across the country, scored a gig at a top PR agency working in the fastest growing field of social media, I have a totally awesome boyfriend, I have traveled to 18 states and 3 countries, I have awesome friends, and everything else in my body is working perfectly fine after 16 years of having type 1 diabetes. Do I look like I’m suffering?

Of course, I suffer sometimes. Diabetes is a wackadoo disease that doesn’t like to sit still. It is unpredictable and annoying from minute to minute. I suffer when diabetes makes me feel physically ill. It creates emotional hurdles that are out of this world (more on that later this week…). But that’s the disease, not me. I am not wallowing away in a hospital bed waiting for my end days to come. I am part of a vibrant, active community who doesn’t sit still for an instant.

Suffering happens, but it is not a state of being.

A lot of this is semantics, I realize. It is the words in which we use to describe the exact same thing. What is suffering to one person may be living to another person, and vice verse. I am sure there are people reading this who think very well that they are suffering from diabetes, and like I said, it’s fine to think that. I am not talking about people are legitimately suffering from the effects of diabetes. But I think it is strong language to describe each and every one of us as “sufferers” because I think it paints an unnecessary negative picture of people who are living with diabetes. There is enough drama in my life without having someone treat me as a fragile doll incapable of doing anything for herself or making rational decisions about her medical care.

While I was doing a bit of googling on the term “diabetic sufferers,” I came across this post in which a man named Matt Browne stated:

Knowledgeable diabetics don’t suffer. The term “diabetes sufferers” is biased and certainly not appropriate. It creates stigmas.

I think this, in my mind, is why I don’t like the term “diabetic sufferers.” I’m perfectly willing to discuss all the drama that goes into keeping me alive. But I don’t “suffer” from the finger pricks, the multiple gadgets I carry around in my person, the lifeline tethered to my abdomen. They are not pleasant and they are downright terrible things to have to do on a daily basis, but when I’m walking down the streets of Manhattan, or I’m window-shopping in Soho, or having a coffee in the Village, I certainly don’t consider myself to be suffering. In fact, to say that I think belittles the people who actually are suffering.

Perhaps someday I will come to a point where I am suffering from diabetes. Perhaps someday I will go blind or suffering an overflow of protein in my urine because my kidney are damaged or perhaps someday the tingling I feel in my feet first thing in the morning will turn into full blown diabetic neuropathy.

Perhaps.

But until that happens, until that happens for each and everyone of us, please, I beg you, do not call me a “diabetic sufferer” unless I really am suffering. Please do not make this disease prematurely worse than it already is.

What do you think: Do you consider yourself a “diabetic sufferer?” Why or why  not?

This may follow the rules of logic, but I don’t like it! How about you?

I have never been very good with numbers. I’m not good with numbers when it comes to my blood sugar levels, counting carbohydrates or calculating insulin (thank God for the Bolus Wizard Calculator!), and I am definitely not any better when it comes to my financial life. I don’t know when exactly it started, but towards the end of my college career, I started to rack up quite a bit of debt. At first it was just a thousand dollars. Then it was a couple thousand. And then it was more. And more. I don’t know how I left it get so out of control, but the next thing I knew, I had almost $7500 on my credit card. Now, thankfully, it’s my only credit card and I also don’t have any student debt, so I have never had to juggle multiple minimum payments or high interest rates.

When I had a charge that was reimbursable, either through my company or some other source, I would put it on my credit card so as to not drain my debit account. I also put a lot of miles on my credit card through purchasing items for my apartment, both in my initial move to New Jersey and when I moved to Hoboken in 2008. I also put my Apple computer on my credit card when my last company took away the corporate laptop I was using as my sole computer. That was a hefty $2,000 addition and I’ve been paying for it – literally – ever since.

I’m certainly not proud of the debt I’ve accumulated and honestly looking back at my statements I wonder why I even though to charge some of these items, but in reality I know that it was probably at a time of the month where I was running low on normal funds because I didn’t have a budget. For many of the months, the amount I paid off and the amount I added to the credit card, which means the debt never really went anywhere, and I still suffered a finance charge. Last fall, I became obsessed with budgeting. I downloaded a bunch of budgeting Excel spreadsheets, but like logging my blood sugars, that quickly turned out to be a fool’s dream. Instead, I’m trying to think big picture. I did manage to capture a couple months of expenses and I learn quite thoroughly that I spend way too much money on eating out. It’s disgusting. This is why Erik and I committed ourselves to cooking at home more often, breaking out the cookbook and purchasing items such as a waffle maker and a Crockpot to make some of the items we’d traditionally want to go out and eat (brunch is and always will be my favorite meal of the day).

I’ve also learned a few tricks to keep myself from eating out during the workday. I have all the items I need for breakfast, lunch and snacks in my desk or in the freezer at work. I don’t have to even get up to get something to eat, and surprisingly, I am not grazing or eating more than I would otherwise.

But I have been working on it, slowly. When I sold my car last summer, I stomped my debt down by $3,300, but sadly I haven’t made too much progress since then. The debt, through a series of poor choices and an expensive Christmas, has stayed relatively the same. This week, I deposited a check for $475 from freelance money I make, from the focus group I was in and to pay off the tickets to see the ballet that Erik and I are going to for Valentine’s Day (yes, you read that right: we are going to the ballet for Valentine’s Day. Why yes, I do have the greatest boyfriend ever.). This brings my debt down to a new total of just over $3600, the lowest that it’s ever been in almost 2 years.

One of the reasons I had such a hard time this past year was I was still using my credit card. A large portion (nearly all, actually) of one paycheck goes to rent, leaving me four weeks to subsist on just one. I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time living off essentially one paycheck a month. Plus, some additional savings and payments were coming from that first paycheck. For awhile, I was using my credit card at the beginning of the month, and then using my second paycheck to pay off the credit card and then used debit the second half of the month. But that left me with very little money to actually pay down my debt. Now, I have taken some of my automatic deductions and moved them to the other paycheck to help even things out, and hopefully I won’t have to rely on credit to get me by. So far it seems to be working, though I suppose only time will tell.

Money has always been a tricky beast for me to deal with. I don’t deal well with denial or sacrifice, which is probably why I’m an overweight diabetic with an A1C of 8% (for my new 20sb friends, I should be at 6.5% or lower). I do have some savings – not a ton, but some – and I’m working on building that so I can afford to take those vacations I keep talking about (hello Italy!), afford a house someday and, you know, a few other important life changing things that will cost money. It’s frustrating, because I always feel like I give and give and then I get burned out and want a piece of cake. I almost feel like I have to reward myself for my sacrifices. “Oh, my blood sugar is good so let me go have a cookie,” is a common thought of mine. Or “Oh I saved $20 on that dress, I think I’ll go buy some socks too.”

It’s really willy-nilly what goes on in my head.

Goal for 2010: No more willy-nilly!

Busy day today. I was up late last night working on some design projects – love getting back at it (more on that later)…E’s school this afternoon. Fun stuff… I must catch up. Question of the Day: Is it easier to shuffle off to work every morning or is it easier to be “just” a mom?

Spam Twitter profiles! I don’t want to know “The Quickest Way To Earn Money In A Bad Economy” (though that doesn’t sound like a bad idea right now). I hate getting followers like that. I hate that advertisers and scam artists are in the social networking bubble now. I feel like they’re invading my personal space. I know there’s nothing “personal” about the internet but you get what I mean. One time, I mentioned “Teavana” in one of my Tweets, right? And what do you think happens? I got an email on my Blackberry that “TEAVANA is now following me on Twitter”. UGH! What? Sheesh. Not even a minute went by and I was already being bombarded with their product. Hoold up people! Take a step back!

And that is what grinds my gears…

Sometimes I just want to tell the world to…..

I have friends that have family members down there. Some have heard that they’re family members had died. Some still haven’t heard anything. My prayers go out to everyone down there in Haiti and to the family members that are stuck here worrying sick for them.

I have a VW Jetta…and I hate it! My car sucks sucks sucks! I hate you VW! You suck money out of my wallet for a crappy @$$ car!

I flew home and arrived on Monday morning, dreading the next 10 weeks away from him but looking forward to my birthday spent with my kids that week. Three and a half days later, on Thursday I got the phone call.

The phone call I hope with all my heart I never get again.

Within a couple of hours, I had booked my flight, made my phone calls, and was on the way to the airport. The kids called their dad and arranged to be picked up and stay with him, and closed up the house for me.  Then I ran. A drive to the airport and a shuttle ride I don’t remember, a nearly 3 hour delay as the plane arrived late and had to be prepared for the long flight, 10 hours in the air, a 45 minute taxi ride to the hospital, and then those doors.

And fear.  I was so afraid.

When I saw him there, hooked up to all the monitors, wires and tubes, and looking like shit but alive…I finally got my breath back. When he opened his eyes and smiled at me, I wanted to fall down on the bed with him and nearly did. He slept most of that first day and night I was there and I didn’t take my eyes off him.

Because he’s a hard-headed Scot, he was too stubborn to stay in bed. By the next day he was walking the (very short) hallway, and the day after that they let us out on the grounds with strict orders to stay “very close”.

Which is what we did for the rest of the week. We walked every inch of the hospital grounds, including the forest pathways through the trees.

And back and forth to the little coffee shop where we made friends.

And on day 4 we snuck out. It sort of became a necessity when we both ran out of clean clothes, and we had to buy at least one change of pajamas. Also, in my panic, I forgot to throw extra underwear in my bag (Ahem) . The day after that I took my first solo trip into Rio to find a few more things we would need.

When he got the all clear after a week, we went home with strict instructions. Take your meds, no smoking, no stress, no work for a while and walk every day.

There are worse places to do your rehab.

Going back to the states that time was the hardest one yet. All I could think was, what if I lost him? Why am I leaving? How do we do this?

Long distance. Life is too short to keep that distance. Our time is coming.

That’s a BMW that blasted past me going like 85 on the way to work today.

Can’t really tell huh?

That’s because my window is covered in the rain that should have been a warning to him not to drive so fucking fast.

I don’t wanna say people “deserve” this kind of shit but, come on, you’re taking your life into your own hands with this level of stupidity.

Why do girls like this always demand to be respected? I think it’s sad when a girl has to demand her respect instead of just automatically getting it. Well news flash ladies- girls like this don’t get respected unless they respect themselves first! Girls nowadays display their goods all over the internet (via Myspace, Facebook, Twitter,etc). For what? What is the reason for it? Are you competing to see how many sexy comments you get on your profile picture? Are you competing to get the most attention from strangers that don’t even know who you are? Ugh- I’m so over that already. Why can’t you be just as interesting with your clothes on?

• Steal the worst car in the neighborhood.
• Take it between the hours of midnight and 8a.m.
• Drive it around for a month and abandon it in a parking structure.
• Don’t forget to leave the car a disastrous mess.
• Take the following with you: Stereo, Lord of All (The Master’s College Chapel Band CD), Christmas gifts left in the trunk, Hebrew Bible
  Brand Stinking New Comforts from the Cross Book, Dirty Dishes left in the Trunk, Clothing and Shoes, Hebrew Children’s CD, All Electrical Cords and the Camera
• Leave these possessions belonging to the car’s owner: CDs – both secular and Christian and Catch Phrase
• Leave the following items that belong to you the theif: Hair Ties, Food Wrappers, A Toy Gun, A personal CD with a crazy personalized cover that says so-and-so’s Bar Mitzvah

This post was inspired by seeing my recovered, stolen vehicle today. It was so sad. I loved that beat up thing, but no longer. It was a disaster. I don’t understand why a family would joy ride in a stolen car, trash it, and then abandon it. So sad! It appeared to be a family because of the items I saw in the car.

The bad news: Since they found the car, it wasted more of my time. I had to go down to the Sheriff’s Department 2x, drive around looking for the tow shop, drive to the impound lot, and talk numerous times on the phone with State Farm.

The good news: State Farm has been a gem. My car is now theirs, but I got a few CDs back and I will be receiving a check in the mail.

The weird thing: It didn’t look like the police when they recovered it fingerprinted anything. It seems like with all they left behind they could have gotten something. Who knows, the person may already be in the system.

Chandelier at Olympen. Awesome “brown pub” that’s been done up. Spectacular traditional food (I had lutefisk) and cheap beer (well, for Norwegian standards – 50 kr for 0,5 l).

Ps. I LOVE chandeliers.

View from the Airport Express Train. First glimpse of the sun in sooo long.

WAYNE’S COFFEE is a Swedish coffee chain that has opened up shop in Oslo.   Delicious double espresso ice latte!  I can’t believe they’re getting away with the blatant Starbucks ripoff logo, though. It was quite funny, actually – I was practically sleepwalking on Sunday morning, so I decided to go get a caffeine hit. When I got to the coffeeshop, however, the girl working there was fast asleep.  As in snoring, with her legs up on the counter.  Sometimes I suppose you just have to catch your Zs when you can.

From inside a Tuk-Tuk at YAYA’s Thai Beach Bungalow restaurant.

-Verb (used without an object)- to feel intense dislike, or extreme aversion or hostility.

The other day I was just talking to one of my friends like I do all the time, and I realized something. I say the word ‘hate’ way too much. I don’t know why either. I’m pretty sure that I didn’t actually hate whatever I was talking about at the moment, so there was no real reason to use it, it just slipped out.

I realized that for all the times that someone has told me that ‘hate’ is a strong word, I never really thought about it. I just responded with a smile, or said something back, but I never paid them much mind. I’d simply acknowledge what they said, and then go on with my day as if nothing at all had happened. But, the other day… something just clicked, and I finally understood why people always say that.

The event behind this… revelation, of sorts, was not that special. I was (again) with my friends, and one of them had recently purchased a new plaid shirt and worn it for the first time. Short sleeves, in green and brown, it brought out the green in her eyes, and looked really good. I complimented her on it, along with some of my other friends, but there is one of my friends in particular who had nothing nice to say about it. After I told Abby* I liked her shirt, Sarah* said to her, “Yeah, I guess it looks okay. I hate how everyone is suddenly following this whole plaid obsession, it’s totally lame. And if you were going to get a plaid shirt, why did you buy one in, like, guys’ colors?” It was the look on Abby’s face after she said that that made me dislike the word ‘hate.’ Sarah had just used it so harshly, and I felt so bad for Abby, that I knew that I could never do that to anyone… ever.

Anyway, I’ve decided that my new goal is to completely stop using the word ‘hate.’ I don’t like it, and I really think that if I have a more… positive attitude (more so than before at least)  towards everything, then I’m going to enjoy life a lot more. If you only look at things with a negative attitude, then most likely, your experiences are going to be negative. If you’re a more optimistic person as well, then most likely, your experiences will be positive ones as well.

So, in a quest to improve my quality of life, and my entire outlook on everything, I’m giving up the word ‘hate’ completely. I’m going to try to never say it again, even if I’ll probably slip up every now and then. And I think, that if everyone were to try and accomplish this goal, we’d all be a lot happier.

*Indicates that the names have been changed. Obviously.

Now I’ll be honest, I love award shows…but the AMA’s have not been one I have watched regularly – or ever for that matter. I tend to watch award shows where the awards given out matter and isn’t just an excuse to play crappy music. But this year’s AMA’s – airing Sunday night – proved to be a little more interesting than usual.

Shocking moment #2 – Jlo’s Louboutin fall. I love how her song was about her over-priced high heels only to fall with them on, live Sunday night. Well at least she picked herself up gracefully, and besides she had a lot of cushion to protect her from the fall. What makes me angry is that when aired in the west coast, her fall was edited to a slow motion jump. I mean come on!!! We all trip and fall, and just because her performance didn’t go quite as planned…was it really necessary to edit it out???

Shocking moment #1 – Adam Lambert’s “Shocking” performance. For anyone who hasn’t seen the video yet, American Idol runner-up and soon to be gay icon Adam Lambert performed his first single since performing on AI. Horrid song aside, Lambert managed to peeve quite a few people as he took a male dancer’s head and shoved it in his crotch – this of course was cut for the west coast – and aggressively made-out with a male keyboardist.

Aside from the fact that this was overtly choreographed and obvious that he needed to do something shocking – so we no longer focus on how bad the song was – this whole thing really gets me steaming. I knew after watching it why is was censored – as the US is still light years away from equality for homosexuals – but it still doesn’t take away from the fact that I am still peeved that it was. For the last 20 or so years we have been literally thrust into the crotches of straight female pop stars, but when a male does it to a male, somehow that’s where the line is drawn. I am just utterly disappointed by the double standard apparent at the AMA’s. Shame on you! But as angry as this makes me, they may have created a new viewer for next year.