#autoimmune

Speak Easy

Posted on by akiwifreund

Last week Friday, February 5th, Nikki (http://ilivebreathe.com/) and I had our first chat on Blab. The agenda was to talk about toxic people, the diverse challenges we face when interacting with them, and when to let them go. The recording went much longer than we planned at 1 hour 45 minutes, but if you are interested, here is a link to the show:

https://blab.im/82740adeac204a028576bc288ef25703

We decided to come back this week with another show, and this time the topic is self-care. What do you do to bring yourself back from the pit of despair? Do you allow yourself to laugh or cry? If you have seen the movie “Amelie” (French with subtitles), you know that each character is assigned a list of things that seems like a very simple pleasure. Amelie’s father likes to take all of his tools out of the toolbox, clean out the box, and very carefully put the tools back in. A patron at the eatery carries a mini tape recorder with him everywhere, and then records unusual laughs. Amelie likes to stick her hands into barrels of dried peas.

What do you do to make yourself feel better about your circumstances?

Join us on Blab for a discussion on self-care; we’ll start at 6 pm EST/3 pm PST Friday, February 12th.

https://blab.im/nikkiseefeldt-sickadilly-chat-2-self-care-strategies-rare-dis-disability-chronic-illness

Movin’ On Up!

Posted on by akiwifreund

I’ve been added to this network for bloggers who are focused on chronic illness. I am hoping to continue entertaining everyone with my stories about doctors, dating and down time (because I’m in bed for at least 22 hours a day). Occasionally you may see product reviews or ads, but please know it’s still me and my voice and my forthrightness about what is happening in my world.

Many thanks to the creators and curators of Chronic Illness Bloggers for directing traffic and addressing specific needs, and allowing me to take part in it.

Here is the home page:  http://chronicillnessbloggers.com/

Did You See That?

Posted on by akiwifreund

“The X-Files” is gearing up again, and to piggyback off of that, the CIA has released documents and pictures from the 1940s through the 1960s pertaining to UFO sightings and encounters.

The technology that was available during those decades pales in comparison to what we have now, and the world is certainly much smaller – getting a report from, say, the UK or the Belgian Congo can take seconds or minutes as opposed to weeks.

There are times when I feel like an alien, explaining my mysterious disease and strange allergies. However, I did not feel a tug at my heart looking at these photos, so I can only guess that no one has captured my mother ship on film (or the CIA hasn’t released the reports).

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3422014/The-truth-really-CIA-releases-thousands-declassified-X-files-aliens-flying-saucers-unexplained-phenomena.html

A Step In The Right Direction

Posted on by akiwifreund

There’s a little release party going on for Barbie, and it signals a change in awareness and acceptance. Hooray for that! All of those years of articles explaining that Barbie’s measurements would leave her on all fours with missing ribs to account for her mind-blowing tiny waist have finally been heard. Barbie will come in petite, tall and curvy, as well as different hair colors and skin tones to be a more realistic reflection of our American society.

http://nytlive.nytimes.com/womenintheworld/2016/01/28/meet-barbie-in-her-new-forms-petite-tall-curvy/

I quite like Quartz in general for human interest stories, including the Barbie makeover. Here is their take on it (and incidentally, whomever dressed Barbie in the first shot should be shot, because the cutesy tank top says “Be Your Self,” with no hyphen to indicate that it should be “yourself,” as in, one word with a hard return between syllables):

Curvy, petite, and tall Barbies will do nothing to empower our girls

I think they may have felt a little pressure and saw true competition from the Lammily doll, which was created through a crowd funding site and is now going into large-scale production. The Lamilly has far more realistic measurements, flat feet and honorable career outfits. I hope that the “new” Barbie doesn’t push the Lammily out of the market. Options must be celebrated, and small businesses supported. It shouldn’t take crowd funding to get a sensible role model to girls and boys for mass consumption. Every little message we send out into the universe regarding women’s bodies, who owns them and who has a right to dictate what they should look like makes a difference in how children create their own values. Why not embrace inclusive standards rather than exclusive? (BTW, some of the pics on the Lammily site depict girls reflecting on periods – something you’ll never see Barbie doing, but every female with a functioning uterus and ovaries goes through. Why not make it a safe and open topic?)

http://lammily.com/

Just as a side note, I happened to access my blocked call list today because I had to add another solicitor in my phone (they always find a way to get around the “Do Not Call” government list), and I noticed that Nashville called yesterday. That was the first time in three weeks. I guess he got tired of being milked for money by the fake profile Russian and Chinese “girls.” He’s going to keep singing the same song about how he’s never broken up with anyone, and he just doesn’t understand what’s going on. Sure ya do, Nashville. You got caught jerking off. Here, I’ll get you a Barbie doll…………

Look Me In The Eye

Posted on by akiwifreund

On Friday, I wrapped up (I hope) a series of daily appointments at the University of Minnesota with a visit to an ophthalmologist.

Something happened while I was waiting to be seen. Actually, something was brewing the week before, but I wanted to deny it was happening, or would get worse. I think it has reappeared after more than five years because this is the first time since July 2011 that I have not had any successful shunt surgeries for 8+ months, and my brain/brain stem are getting seriously stressed.

Normally my symptoms resolve and I can open my eyes all the way when I’m laying flat. That’s the result of cerebrospinal fluid moving away from wherever it’s pooling and pressing on the brain stem and the nerve roots leading to my face. However, the tremors do not resolve with laying down. I remember being in an MRI machine in August of 2010 and the techs yelling at me to hold still because they couldn’t get clear pictures of my neck. I had absolutely no control over the tremors. This time around, for about a week I could feel the tremors in my neck when I laid down to sleep at night. I hoped it was the worst they would get.

Unfortunately, I have not been spared. The tremors are exhausting. And it’s bad enough that the world is already swimming around me – but the tremors really scramble my brain. They make my head constantly nod “yes.” I asked the resident doctor examining me for the ophthalmology test to document the tremors, since they started when I was sitting in a waiting area close to the examining room where I would be seen.

The reason why I insisted on seeing the ophthalmologist is that I wanted to have my vision problems documented – and not how they wished I could see, but what I could actually see. It’s going to take 12-15 months for me to get a hearing with a judge for a disability determination; I want to load the judge up with proof.

A tech took me through a ptosis vision field test. In the great scheme of things, it was pretty benign; no one had to stab me with needles or get me to take my clothes off. First they do the test without altering the eye to “see” what I can see. Then after that eye is done, the tech has to tape the eyelid so that at least 20% more of the lid is lifted. Have you seen the “tape game” by Jimmy Fallon? This is what it felt like. For extra special fun, my head was nodding so much that the tech had to grab my head and hold it in place for the test.

 

Talk To Your Doctor About Your GD ED

Posted on by akiwifreund

A week or so ago, when I was being driven to my daily appointment to get the dressing on my wound changed, the cabbie asked me if I was single. He was Somalian and he told me how if I visited his village, I would have many offers of marriage within the first hour. In his culture, it’s important to visit your neighbors and check on them. They value personal bonds. They also obviously have a serious gossip network, which explains why everyone would know I’m single in a very short amount of time. I secretly wondered if I could demand goats as my bride price.

I didn’t ask, but I wondered if he was mistaking me to be about 10 years younger than I am – that happens often. I think that the paralysis of my face actually works like Botox gone bad. I also didn’t tell him that I am not able to have children (thanks to my hysterectomy 5 years ago – BEST DECISION EVER). That aside, I’m already at an age where bearing children would be very risky. I didn’t bring up the fact that I’m also completely bald, as I think that would be the last on a long list of deterrents.

I was hit up by a 24-year-old on OKCupid today asking if 24 was too young. I wrote back that it was. It’s another somewhat terrible reminder that I am middle-aged.

Another reminder that I am middle aged: I date middle-aged men. I seem to have hit the bubble where their penises don’t stay hard or even get hard. We get to the awkward point where they are trying to shake the shit out of their dicks to force the blood to go down there, or they are trying to stuff their very soft unit in me and get pissy if it just flops out.

Then they blame me. I’m “too excited.” I’m “in the wrong position.” My “legs aren’t the right length.”

Physiologically, I am not the problem. I’m 5’5″and not considered short. Even though I had a hysterectomy, I kept my ovaries, which means that my hormones are still coursing through my body – I haven’t gone through “the change” yet. Believe me when I say that I am more than sufficiently able to welcome a foreign object.

What’s the problem with these guys? Well, weight is an issue. I fully acknowledge that I am overweight, and I notice the difference in my ability to perform bedroom gymnastics according to how overweight I am (my weight fluctuates). These guys are sporting the full pregnant belly, though. I imagine a big elastic band resting at their hips, cutting off the blood supply.  They also huff and puff from the effort; I often have to ask if they are getting tired and if they would like to change things up.

One guy was overweight (6’1″ and over 300 lbs) and insulin-dependent. Diabetes affects blood flow greatly – that’s why doctors recommend that diabetics stay away from pedicures. Any tiny nick to the skin could cause a huge wound because a lack of blood flow stymies our body’s repair mechanisms. So, yeah, his penis was definitely having blood flow issues.

I hate the smell of cigarettes and I’m allergic to the smoke, but smoking also affects blood flow to the extremities.

Some men are very accustomed to jacking off to porn. It’s alarming how much they abuse their poor penises. It’s like angry jacking off, or jackrabbit fast. There’s no way my very human body is going to be able to replicate that. It gets to the point where the men only respond to this violent kind of touch. One of my exes was a smoker AND could only do the jackrabbit thing, so when he was ready, I just had to make sure my arms and legs didn’t touch him so he could pound away. You know in movies when EMTs or doctors are trying to use the paddles to revive a patient and they yell “Clear!” to make sure no one is touching the patient when the current goes out? That’s pretty much what I had to do for the jackrabbit guy. Clear!

So guys, talk to your doctor about your goddamn erectile dysfunction. You might hear something you don’t want to about lifestyle changes. But if you want to screw like that 24-year-old who wants to bang me, then you might have to make some changes. Hell, the rest of your body may feel better too.

If you’re not willing to put in the work, then learn how to do other things that don’t involve the penis.

Don’t ever, EVER, blame me for your ED.

I Saw Another Ghost

Posted on by akiwifreund

First and foremost, my ass is healing. The hole used to be the size of an adult thumb, and now I think it’s more child-sized. I have been doing a daily bath with epsom salts, and my body has been doing the rest of the work with the superhealing mechanism that was triggered by the wound. The surgeon does not need to make any more hamburger.

Second, there was a lot of confusion surrounding my bed situation. I saw a doctor at the U of MN on January 4th, during which time I was “prescribed” a hospital-style bed that should also help me avoid further bed sores. I was handed the script and told to do the rest. I pulled a North Carolina and said, “Do what now?” I called my insurance company to find a durable equipment company; the insurance company told me that my doctor needed to call the insurance company first for a pre-authorization. I sent a message to the doctor who prescribed the bed, and got a message back late last Friday; when she called, the insurance company told her that I was supposed to go to the durable equipment company. So it took me a few days, but I finally tracked down a company that was contracted with my insurance company and might have what I need. I called them, the intake person laughed at me and told me that I was doing way more than I should have, and that she would work it out with the doctor and the insurance company.

Nothing is ever easy.

When I developed this issue and got the prescription for the bed, the first thought I had was, “How am I going to explain that to Nashville?” I mean, the surface area is going to be halved, but then again, it’s supposed to be adjustable, so……….

Turns out I worried for nothing. I called him over that first weekend in January and told him that I was due in the surgeon’s office Monday and that there was no way I could make a date happen on that day. We chatted for a while, and he told me about his neighbor attempting to steal his brand new puppy that he paid a breeder $1200 for. We talked about him setting up security cameras. I couldn’t seem to convince him that the neighbor “knowing Nashville was real, real mad” wasn’t enough of a deterrent from the neighbor trying again. Then Nashville made some excuse about it being late (even though he normally works 3rd shift and it was only 10 pm, so he was definitely used to being up then), and we hung up. He texted me the next day to tell me he hoped that I was feeling better, and I told him to give the puppy extra pets from me.

The day after that, I saw the surgeon again, so I had a better idea of the timeline with the healing of the hole in my ass. I called Nashville and left a message.

And then…nothing.

I waited about five days, and then I signed on to OKCupid to see when he last logged in. I hadn’t been on since Christmas, but the system told me that he was online in the wee hours of the morning on the same evening we traded texts. So in other words, Nashville was still cruising for chicks. He totally ghosted me.

I don’t know why exactly, but I’m not bothered enough to blast him. Instead I blocked him on Facebook and OKCupid, and automatically forwarded his texts to junk as well as marked his calls as automatically going to voice mail. I don’t expect him to call or text again since he cut off all communication, but I just wanted to be sure that he would have to go out of his way to figure out how to contact me.

I still have his Christmas gifts.

I couldn’t have been happier to be able to recycle his god-awful work calendar – which consisted of guys with hunting rifles hauling around the bloody animals they just shot.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to confirm this, but I’m wondering if he got sucked into talking to women in Russia or the Philippines like my former hookup did. He is definitely the kind to give them his last penny because of some sob story.

Nashville used to tell me that he thought I was too “high class” for him, or too smart. He also bemoaned the fact that I can’t drive, but as soon as he said that, he would tell me how much he loved my neighborhood and that he would like to move to this part of Minneapolis/Saint Paul. I told him that he had to make some decisions, that there were certain things I couldn’t change, no matter what.

Rather than speaking to me directly, he chose to ghost me. Nashville always used to say that he never, ever broke up with any women, they always were the ones to break it off.

Well, Nashville, those words better stop coming out of your mouth. By pretending I never existed, you broke off the relationship.

I’m still looking for my unicorn.

P.S. – time to recycle my Star Wars cup – Nashville was using it as his spit cup when he stuffed his face with chewing tobacco

 

 

Time’s “Ten Things You Didn’t Know About Men, Backed By Research”

Posted on by akiwifreund

By Eric Barker (writes Barking Up the Wrong Tree.)

Scientific studies show:

— Being too rich and good-looking can actually hurt a man. Then again, marriage may be a bad deal for handsome guys.

— You can predict how many women a man has slept with by how funny he is.

— Yes, most TV commercials make men look like morons.

— Companies pay women more if a male CEO has a daughter.

— Poor and hungry men prefer heavier women. Rich and full guys like skinny girls.

— Attractive TV anchors make men unable to remember the news.

— What’s the chance that a man’s kids are not really his, biologically?

— Punching things does make men feel better.

— If men’s jobs didn’t affect their ability to attract women they’d be far less ambitious.

— Men fake orgasms too.

 

The first item that caught my eye was the second on the list, predicting how many women a guy has banged according to how funny he is. Testify! But what is harder to match up is the type of humor. I deeply value humor, but I’m a snob. I can’t watch The Simpsons or Family Guy. I just can’t. Even if the satire might be something I admire, I can’t relate to cartoons with moving mouths. I was cured of that by age 10.

Second item of note: Attractive TV anchors. I mean, we’ve all seen the “naked news” spots, right? Usually it’s the damn Russians putting porn stars in front of a camera. Apparently, they don’t have to be naked for dudes to lose their minds.

Third item of note: If men’s jobs didn’t affect their ability to attract women, they’d be far less ambitious. I know some guys who are there already. They are not currently camping out in my bed, nor will it be likely that they will. I have never gone around with the attitude of “I’m lazy” but I’ve heard so many men say that. More importantly, after they say it, they demonstrate it. I believe them, I have no grand illusions of changing them, and they need to stay far away from me.

I was hit up on OKCupid last night by the I’m-separated-but-probably-going-back-to-my-wife-and-kids guy. He got a new screen name.
Him: Still horny?
Me: You got a new screen name and you ghosted me. (I wanted to say, “No, fucker, I have a new hole in my ass, and not by choice.” This whole bedsore thing is really cramping my style.)
Him: I got fooled into giving my phone number out to women who live in Russia and the Philippines so I decided to start new
Did you meet someone
Me: Doesn’t matter if I did or not. No one wants to hear they are a consolation prize.
Him: just asking
Me: No you weren’t. You were trying to make a bootie call, I am just not picking up.
Him: sorry just asking

Oh, yes, he’s just so innocent! He disappeared after November and he thinks the best, most innocuous way to greet me is “Still horny?” No wonder he has only slept with 4 people in his 39 years. (I was number 4.) I sure hope his wife lets him come back home soon. I’m done raising him.

‘Scuse me, I’m off to find my poor and hungry guy, I hear they like big asses on their ladies.

 

Digging for Gold

Posted on by akiwifreund

This morning, when I retrieved my mail while I was waiting for my sister and her husband to arrive, I received a notice from the Social Security Administration regarding my disability appeal. They said:

*You have the ability to stand and walk without assistance. (That’s a blatant lie – I use my cane for everything.)
*You have the ability to use your hands and arms to perform tasks. (Apparently it’s not a requirement for me to see what I’m doing.)
*You are able to get along with other people for short periods of time. (It’s called Minnesota Nice, bitches.)

“We do not have sufficient vocational information to determine whether you can perform any of your past relevant work. However, based on the evidence in the file, we have determined that you can adjust to other work.”

What would be really helpful is if they included a list of employers who had job offers for me and would not require me to be upright at any time. I can’t see well enough to travel to a location outside of my home, and most employers at least want an interview. So their insistence that I work “somewhere” is pretty weak, considering they don’t have an prospects lined up for me. (I don’t want to hear, “That’s how they do it.” I know they’re assholes.)

The next step is for my attorney to file a request for a hearing, which I understand takes 12-15 months to occur. In the meantime I’ll continue to go to doctor visits and try to find someone who can put a name on this disease and tell me what to expect.

This morning I went to the surgeon’s office at the U of MN to have my wound checked. When he put a fair amount of pressure on it, I started yelping, which led him to believe that there is still some pockets of pus hanging out back there.

Rather than going through the process of shooting me up with Lidocaine and slicing down deeper and purging out more junk, the surgeon took the stick end of a swab and used that to dig around in my wound – think of it as a meat tenderizer, he just kinda made hamburger out of my flesh – without any topical numbing whatsoever. I broke out in a sweat and I had tears rolling down my face. I knew I had to lay still but I was also fighting to get away from him and just make the PAIN STOP.

He said he was stepping out for a few minutes to allow the bleeding to die down; about 10 minutes and a good, sobbing cry later, his nurse came in to re-dress the wound. I’m glad I had that time to myself.

 

 

That Girl Is Poison

Posted on by akiwifreund

Recognize this phrase? I have a station set up on my Pandora titled “New Edition,” and since some of the members of the singing group New Edition split off and formed Bel Biv Devoe, the song “Poison” comes up on my play list. Bel Biv Devoe sang about the dangers of getting tangled up with a woman who was bad news; however, it’s not just romantic relationships that suffer when someone is nasty or devious – friends can be poisonous too.

I am eternally grateful to the friends I have made over the years who tolerate my weirdness and bluntness. Without a doubt, I am humbled by the friends who have mopped and sanitized my house when I have returned from the hospital. I am indebted to the people who have shuttled me around to doctor appointments and grocery store runs, and who have replenished my stock of food and supplies. I have tried to be a good friend in return when I have been able to, which admittedly has been very infrequent for the past 5.5 years because I can’t seem to stay well enough to be out of bed for any length of time.

Unfortunately, because I have the reputation of being a good listener and the voice of reason, my bedridden status has trapped me into being something of a therapist for some. One friend helped me get to a doctor’s appointment about five years ago. This woman and I had become friends back in 2006 when I was working a couple of jobs to pay for my second trip to Europe. That one ride of eight miles nearly cost me my sanity.

Because she found out that I was stuck in bed when I called her to help me get to the appointment, I believe she saw it as an opportunity to unload all that was bothering her – after all, I didn’t have anything better to do, right? This friend was going through a nasty divorce. She would call me at all hours nearly every day, crying and asking me what she should do in certain situations. She would never actually take my advice.

Our interactions became more strained. I finally resorted to telling her, “I don’t know what you should do” every time she called with a new crisis. She switched to texting me instead of calling me. I’m not sure if she thought my answer would somehow be different. Just for the record, it wasn’t.

This woman had a good heart, and I did get a ride from her when I needed it most. I just did not think that I was forever obligated to take on the stress of her failing marriage. For that reason, I cut her off completely. Subtlety wasn’t working, and telling her I was exhausted and stressed from fighting to be heard in doctor visits had absolutely no effect. I feel a twinge of sadness when her birthday shows up on my calendar, but I know that if I pick up the phone and wish her a happy birthday, the cycle starts again.

Another woman I became friends with was introduced by a mutual friend. We became acquainted after we spent a holiday together; I brought a movie that she had watched many times in her native country as a young girl, and she translated the film for us as it did not have any subtitles. I’m going to christen her Ms. Lederhosen.

I met Ms. Lederhosen as she was going through a nasty divorce with her second husband. I had suggested we get together for movies or nights out because it seemed like she needed to do things that would distract her from all of the emotionally draining stuff she was going through. Unfortunately, it was all she would talk about. I’m not exaggerating when I say that. I could say something like, “This tomato soup is good.” Ms. Lederhosen would reply by saying, “Oh, R. (her ex) likes soup too. You know, when we were married, he used to make me take care of his daughters, but they were lazy and did not like me. I would tell them to do something and they would go to their dad and he would tell them they didn’t need to do it.” It’s how every conversation would go. Everything tied back to her ex, no matter what I said, no matter what I tried to talk about.

I remember one time we made plans to see a movie. When we picked our seats out and got settled with our beverages and snacks, she started talking about the ex. The lights dimmed and the movie started; Ms. Lederhosen was not letting that stop her. Other patrons in the theater started saying “Shhhh!” loudly, turning towards us. She wouldn’t shut her trap. I told her that we should wait to chat until the movie was done. She kept talking in a loud voice because she had to finish that story. Well, she finally did…and then throughout the movie, she ran a commentary on what was happening on the screen. At that point I made a mental note to never see another movie in the theater with Ms. Lederhosen.

The ex was dragging out the divorce, filing extensions and demanding spousal support. Ms. Lederhosen was constantly calling and texting to rehash what he had done. At one point she asked me to proofread letters and documents for her because they were going to be used in her case. I would always set aside what I was working on and comb through her submissions because I knew how picky judges could be.

Ms. Lederhosen finally decided to pursue her U.S. citizenship. She didn’t have many friends, so she asked me to prepare a letter of good character for her attorney. Again, I set everything aside and whipped together a professional piece to convince the Court that she was a productive member of society.

She didn’t care for her job or boss, so Ms. Lederhosen sent me her resume so I could send it out to my contacts and enter it in my employer’s database. She wanted to respond directly to her ex’s demands through family court but didn’t want to pay her attorney to do it, so I arranged for a friend who was a paralegal in family law to assist her.

Ms. Lederhosen met a man through a woman who facilitated a social group for foreign-language speakers. I had hoped that meeting someone new would calm her down regarding the ex and encourage her to discuss other items of interest, but no. She even told me that her new man was complaining that she was too focused on the ex.

I was able to meet the new boyfriend when Ms. Lederhosen brought him and her little sister over to my house to visit; it was her sister’s first time in the U.S., so I made an effort to speak slowly – her English was good, but there is always a huge adjustment period when anyone is suddenly immersed in a country where the language is not their native tongue. Often Ms. Lederhosen would interrupt to talk about her ex. At one point, her current boyfriend grabbed her face, squeezed her cheeks and said “Stop talking.” She didn’t, of course. Her sister got completely put off and eventually just fell asleep on my couch while the boor hijacked the conversation.

A few months later, I had reached the point of blinding pain with my shunt – I had developed an uncontrollable leak. Ms. Lederhosen had indicated that she was at her boyfriend’s house but that if I needed a ride to the ER, she was more than willing. I took her up on the offer. They didn’t end up keeping me to bring me into surgery as I had hoped, because at that point they wanted to figure out which parts of the shunt I was allergic to, which would take months. They sent me home with big bad painkillers instead.

Facebook can make or break friendships, and in our case, it broke ours. Actually, for me it was the last straw. I had posted a story about a product that was being given to girls in sub-Saharan Africa to allow them to continue safely attending school during the bleeding days of their menstrual cycles. This charity was distributing silicone cups that could be used to collect the fluid for up to 12 hours and then be emptied and washed in private. Well, Ms. Lederhosen did not like that at all.

She hijacked the post by first saying that she would never want to use a product like that and that she was perfectly happy with her birth control pills. I explained that birth control pills were not an option in this region, and that it was a much safer alternative for the girls instead of their normal methods, which included stuffing their bodies with dirty rags, newspapers or mud. Ms. Lederhosen said she asked her boyfriend’s mom, and she agreed that she wouldn’t use a product like that either, and they were stupid for not using birth control pills. I explained that in this region, pills were not readily available or transported easily, and not everyone could or should be on hormones, and that the girls just really wanted to attend school and the cups were a viable option. Then Ms. Lederhosen posted a huge paragraph about how American women are stupid, fat and lazy, and she was able to lose weight by eating organic foods and exercising (which had nothing to do with what was being discussed).

I blocked her on Facebook. It’s no wonder she has few friends! Unfortunately, my phone at the time was not able to block calls or texts, so for two days she sent me all kinds of nasty messages about how she was prettier, smarter, more successful and thinner than me. Ms. Lederhosen told me how I was jealous of her relationship with her boyfriend, and how my college degree was the equivalent of elementary school in her home country. I sent back one message saying I was not interested in competing with her, and her messages just got nastier. She told me how she was a much better friend than me because she drove me to the ER that one time; of course, she conveniently forgot about all of the ways that I tried to help her when she needed it. Finally she stopped and went radio silent.

Two months later I got a card without a return address. I opened it to discover it was a note from Ms. Lederhosen, telling me she missed me as a friend and that we should be friends again. I didn’t have a return address for her and so couldn’t send anything back, and her info had been deleted from my phone long before that. A week later I got a text message from her saying that she didn’t hate me anymore and that we should be friends. I again told her that I did not want to compete with her, and that she said horrible things that made it difficult for me to want to be friends with her. Well, that just set her off again – 16 messages of vile, nasty words.

Around Thanksgiving of 2015, I received another text from her. Ms. Lederhosen said that she missed me and that I probably still had some bad feelings, but she was there for me if I needed her. The response that I didn’t send but really wanted to? No fucking way.