Sunday, January 31, 2010

Grammys, or should I call them "Schammys"

I turned on the Grammys at exactly 7:02pm CST to see the ending of Lady Gaga's "Pokerface" with the transition into "Speechless/Your Song" with Elton John. I love Gaga but find her live performances to be a bit confusing to me. And while I love the theater and musical expression, I still don't completely understand her.

Some of the award winners weren't exactly who I would have thought deserving of the Grammy, but it is not my job to decide. To be nominated in the category alone makes them worthy, I guess...

What I have most been disappointed with is the quality of performances. Specifically focusing on Taylor Swift. While I believe her to be wise beyond her years as a lyricist, I find her vocal quality as low as you can imagine. Still, she has dominated the music scene this year winning numerous awards. Should I not feel duped when this happens? To award a singer for her inability to remain on key while performing live?

Seriously? Do you think the Grammy Committee was contemplating a polite course of action for asking for the Grammy back? Because if I were them, I would be embarrassed.

I understand the purpose of the Grammys is to celebrate ALL music forms; however, I feel as though it's an excuse for horrible performances.

People complain about performances and have no merit to their critique. These people base it off of what they've seen/heard by the judges on "American Idol," but let me be clear. I wouldn't take advice or direction of critiquing musical capabilities by people who use the word "pitchy." I do understand music and have been surrounded by it since birth and studied it. Which probably isn't a good thing when you want to just sit back and enjoy a performance.

Still, I think there needs to be some responsibility put on "performers" when it comes to tonality, rhythm and creativity.

Now, let's end on a positive note of the evening. I enjoyed Pink's aerial expression and choreography. The fact she dipped herself into a pool a la "Flash Dance" was AWESOME! Also, Beyonce in her military "Don't Mess With Me or You'll Go Home a Hen vs. Rooster" get-up was sweet. When she broke out into "You Oughta Know," I thought I had died. I had heard she performed this song while on tour, but it was awesome to have it on the Grammys. I was surprised how much I enjoyed David Foster, Andrea Bocelli & Mary J Blige's performance. It really did move me. The ice and fire of the two genres/sounds was great.

Most surprising fact about tonight's performers...Bon Jovi had never performed before tonight! What? You're telling me that during all the Grammys of the hair band years, Bon Jovi NEVER performed? Well, I was shocked. It was a great touch to allow the public to vote on which song Bon Jovi performed. Of course I voted. When my friend, Jennifer, told me it was open voting. I hopped on www.cbs.com/grammys to vote. When I saw "Living On a Prayer" was one of the 3 songs, I knew it would win. Even still, I voted for "Always." Can't beat a rock ballad.

Each year, the Grammys puts together a year in review of all the musicians and executives who had passed. I was a bit upset that Ellie Greenwich didn't get any further respect than her name at the end. A lot of well-known music has her influence.

When Les Paul's RIP came up, I thought of my dad. And when they paid a tribute playing a Gibson Les Paul electric, I remembered my dad. From when I was younger, I remember my dad jamming out in the basement with his Les Paul.

***BREAKING NEWS: Taylor Swift just won for album of the year.***

On that note, I need to go. I seriously cannot believe that. I like the girl but come on...that's some BS.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Missing Buddy the Wonder Dog


One of my last posts back in December was right before Christmas. It candidly detailed the struggles my family was having in choosing whether or not to operate on Buddy's, our family Golden, front left leg. It was an amputation surgery due to stage 1 bone cancer. And even after University of Illinois' Veterinarian Department reported Buddy as a good candidate for amputation surgery, our family all had reservations about it. The UofI reports coupled with the stories from friends' experience with dogs having only 3 legs, the decision was made to go through with the surgery. Even though my dad, mom, brother and I all were scared that the morning we took Buddy into the vet would be the last we would see him "healthy," none of us said anything to the others about our fears.

I wish we had.

Buddy died the Saturday, basically a week, before Christmas.

Buddy came out of the surgery as well as expected for a 107 lb dog to. He was groggy, uncomfortable, scared and crying. But he seemed to be as any other dog before him that had this type of surgery. Aunt Doctor Becky (ADB) asked us to stay away from the vet clinic that Friday of his surgery, because she wanted to keep his blood pressure/heart rate as steady and low as possible. However, she did say we could come that next morning to see him.

Saturday morning hit, and my dad was anxious to get us all over to see Buddy. We rushed to get our warm clothes on and got to the vet around 8:30am. Buddy was lying in his recovery pin with only three legs. It was definitely a shock to see him, but I have to say that I was expecting a horrible wound that would have been bleeding profusely. Instead, there was a clean, white gauze bandage wrapped all around his front shoulder and just a hint of stitches where the top of the surgical cut was.

Buddy laid on the floor with a morphine drip to ease his pain. Doped up or not, he knew we were there and started whimpering when he saw us. ADB suggested that we speak calmly to him and make sure to give him pets and kisses. Each of us took turns, Dad-Mom-Me-Rob-Me-Dad-Mom-Me-Rob-Dad-Me-Mom-Dad-Rob-Dad to cover Buddy in as much love and positivity as we could to help him start his healing process. Earlier, Buddy had been able to get help onto his 3 legs and out to go potty with the assistance of ADB and one of the vet techs. ADB tried to help Buddy onto his legs to show us how he was progressing, but Buddy struggled in pain and confusion. My mom sucked in a quick gasp of air. I looked over to see her sea green eyes start filling with tears of fear.

I've never told my family, but when I saw Buddy struggle that morning, my heart sunk with pessimism that we would lose him instead of see him recover. Still, I prayed and prayed that our Golden Angel, Buddy, would be ok.

Saturday evening at about 10:15pm, Buddy passed away. His red cell count had dropped by 24% within an hour, but ADB couldn't find any severe bleeding when they went back in to try and save him. Truth be told, we believe Buddy's pain was too severe for him to handle, his heart couldn't take it, his fear was inconsolable and the anesthesia made him sick.

Amputation may be right in a black and white sense in that it takes away cancer. But it truly can be seen as a selfish decision. We do it to keep the dog with us instead of really thinking about the quality of life that dog would have. We didn't stop to think whether or not Buddy would really want that. He was like a little boy who never really understood the big and scary things around him. We did the surgery to make us feel as though we had done everything to keep him with us.


I haven't written about Buddy's passing because I still cry every time I think about the end result of that surgery. I cry at remembering the look on my dad's face when he rushed into my room screaming for me to move my car so that he could get to the vet. Not being able to understand him, I asked "What?" and watched him break down in sobs. I cry at the fact that ADB called my dad that Saturday afternoon crying and urging him to get back to the vet office as quickly as possible because Buddy was leaving us. I cry at never being able to forget the sobs coming from my dad on the car ride to the vet as he cried "I've killed my dog...I've killed my dog."

I cry that our best friend didn't get to see that Christmas and run with his brothers in the snow just one last time. Or the fact that Buddy was probably so confused why we would have done that to him. Or the fact that our once perfect Golden passed with one of his legs missing. Or the fact that I'll never be able to come home to visit my family and see him waiting with a toy in his mouth and his Golden plumed tail wagging in greeting.

I wouldn't wish bone cancer on any pet. It is the worst cancer to have to decide treatment for. All the treatments suck balls. We had 3 options:
1. Manage the pain through medicine, which only lets the cancer grow, causing extreme pain and suffering.
2. Cancer/Tumor Removal surgery, which removes the "infected" area but leaves only a minute chance of Buddy living past three years without it coming back.
3. Amputation

There's no right choice. Every choice has to come from the respective family. Our family's initial reaction was to not do the amputation. But we were hopeful and chose the option that would have ridden his body of all the cancer to ensure it never came back.

If you ever have to make this choice, I cannot stress enough the most important step-make sure you are completely comfortable with your vet and staff. Without a doubt, we are incredibly and immensely blessed with the staff at Northgate Pet Clinic in Decatur, IL. This clinic is truly THE BEST in that town (Sorry everyone else, but the truth is cruel).

Northgate treated Buddy like their own, and ADB was part of Buddy's extended family...don't forget that Winston is Buddy's uncle (even though he's younger) and ADB is Winston's mom. During those seven hours when we fought to keep Buddy alive, Northgate attempted everything short of trying to reverse time to save him. I don't know of any other clinic that would have had the dedication and quick thinking to do some of the things the staff did. They wanted him to stay as much as we did, because he was one of their favorites (Sorry all the other pet parents, don't be jealous. No puppy can be like the Buddy dog).

I did learn one lesson out of this loss-I will never choose amputation.

Our family didn't have the Christmas spirit after losing Buddy. We all cried for a week, off and on. My mom missed her daily snuggle fest with Buddy--something that started when Buddy was a wee babe. Buddy would find time in every afternoon to cuddle up with Mommy for nap time, just like a four year old would. The grieving got easier and our family was inundated with food, cards, memorials, José (for margaritas of course!) and loving stories. It really showed how many people were touched by Buddy.

Kaiser, Buddy's German shepherd brother, was and still is in mourning over the loss of his best friend. He wouldn't eat for a week straight, and he had tear marks down both sides of his eyes/nose. Kaiser didn't move from the front door for three days straight in hopes his friend would be walking up the sidewalk to reunite with him. Still, now a month later, Kaiser isn't 100% back to his normal self. Well, that is if we could even call Kaiser normal. However, he is starting to eat and start playing with Cody.

Any person who thinks dogs don't feel or build relationships is on crack and should never EVER have a pet...other than a fish or a bird.

Since Christmas, I hadn't really cried about Buddy. Until this past Monday, and I have cried each night since...including as we speak. Most of my family and friends know that I believe in the Power above, and as a result, I pray. Whether it's in the morning as I prepare for the day ahead, during the day when work sucks, gasping through a workout when I feel like I'm about to pass out or at night in a traditional manner, I find time to reflect and pray. Each time I get to praying about Buddy, I BREAK DOWN! It's crazy.

Last night, I told God to make sure that if he was going to take Buddy from us to make sure he's getting long walks and not too many cookies because my mom and dad had worked so hard to get him down to a "respectable" Golden weight. I think I told Him, "We don't want him fat again, now do we?" Haha! Seriously? Have I lost my mind???

I don't think my family will ever get over Buddy. We were so lucky that we were his family. Absolutely no other dog had Buddy's personality. I mean, what other dog have you heard played practical jokes on his family and four-legged siblings? For instance, when Mom and Dad put him on his diet, Buddy would have to eat his gross diet food alone in the laundry room so he wouldn't steal Kaiser or Cody's food. One day, Buddy planned his rebellion. He ate his dinner, which only took three seconds as he swallowed instead of chewed his food, and started running toward the front door barking. That caused Kaiser and Cody to follow suit. Well, Buddy only got six feet before turning around and heading to the other two food bowls. When K & C returned to finish eating, Buddy stood over the last bite of Kaiser's food chewing eagerly at the stolen morsels. He was genius, cunning and hilarious. What else is there to say?

He will always be our supersized Golden boy with the most perfect Golden tale and incurable stink foot disease (thank you Dad). He'll always be the best cuddle bunny and friend who ate anything if it smelled slightly edible. Buddy will always be the most perfect puppy with velveteen ears the softest I've ever felt. And we'll love and miss him until we see him again...

Weather Watch on Monday, January 25, 2010

Today, a Monday, started as off as any normal Meridith Monday does. Absent-minded and rushed. I couldn't get myself out of bed, because the air in my room was so cold. So cold, in fact, that I imagined my life as a winter hermit, who lived in a heat tent underneath her own comforter. After coming to my senses and barreling out of bed, I was able to get ready and pack a breakfast in under 45 minutes, but I was still running fifteen minutes late.

As I rush out the door and take my first few steps outside, I stop dead in my tracks and see what's happening in front of me. There's a slight sprinkling of snow commencing its fall from the clouds above, and the air is as cold and icy as a deceived lover as it wraps around me like an airtight seal.

"Great," I think as I look down at my black pumps with no stockings to cover the bare skin of my feet, "my piddies are going to freeze today!"

Continuing my walk to the car, the wind pushes me just slightly off my balance. The rush of cold air seeps through my coat, beats its way through the barrier of my cotton sweater and silk top, and rests icily on top of my skin. As the goose bumps blush their way onto my skin, I stop to look at nothing, purse my lips and acknowledge the fact I stupidly chose to wear my "early winter/late fall" coat, which is light weight, due to the fact that the past few days warranted a lighter coat. However, I didn't bother to check Monday's forecast to dress appropriately.

"Seriously, Meridith, could you have paid anymore LESS attention to today's weather forecast?" I rhetorically ask my knowing self.

Being that I didn't want to be any later than I already was, I jumped in the car and made my way into the office. Traffic started off the bat as my CR-V made its way onto I-90 West. But getting further along, it broke up right before Rosemont. I love living in Chicago now, and I waited almost four years to do so; however, the fact it can take up to 75 minutes to drive only 20 miles into work baffles me.

Even though I woke up late and was running way behind schedule, I got to work at 8:42am-just twelve minutes past my desired time. Hurriedly, I grab my work bag and breakfast. I stepped out into the briskly chilly air and felt the wave of cool air rise up my legs and past my non-stocking'd, pump wearing feet. Shuffling across the black top of the parking lot, my feet felt like icicles and I wondered if I could make it to Target and back before our 10:00 a.m. conference call. "Deal with it, you dumbass," was all I could think to myself as I walked to the sales office door. I unlocked my way in, turned on the lights and stepped into my cubicle. Our office always runs cold, and today was exponentially more painful given my attire for the day-there was no way to gain my heat back and stay warm.

Note to self: Watch the news in the morning for weather updates!

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Contemplation of a rhinoplasty...

Are you perturbed about the thought of plastic surgery? Or the fact that many people (especially in L.A.) look nothing like they were supposed to? Yeah, I am, too...except for the fact I've been contemplating a rhinoplasty, aka nose job, for the past 8 years and totally understand why people go under the knife to correct their insecurities.

Granted, Heidi Montag's recent nip/tuck/plump/pull procedures were a tad much (as there were TEN of them), but I don't agree with people passing an arbitrary judgement that everyone should be happy with what God gave us and learn to deal with it. Well, not all of us were born with some of our current appearances...so, does that mean some of us are ok to go under the knife to get it back???

***WARNING: TMI in the following posting. Abort now if you don't like to hear a girl talk about gross things...***

For those of you still with us, this blog will detail why I've considered plastic surgery and why I feel that no one has the right to tell you if you should/shouldn't feel badly about going under the knife.

My story begins when I was eight or nine years old. As a young kid, I was an athletic, rambunctious tom boy having a hard time learning to grow into my quirkiness when all the other "pretty" girls were so different looking than me. This is the place where my nose was altered for the rest of my life, which has caused me physical and beauty-related problems. Furthermore, I have broken my nose twice and truly know how it feels to wonder what I would look like if it hadn't happened.

Aaaaactually, the first time my nose broke was because of my BITCH of a next door neighbor's purposeful maliciousness. Before a softball game, Mandy (bitch neighbor) agreed to help me warm up. She was three years older than me and thought she was hot shit. As we threw back and forth, Mandy kept throwing harder and harder. Because I knew she was doing this on purpose to watch me flinch or to ask her to ease up, I kept acting as though I didn't notice. When my mom and dad came to get me from the front yard, I threw Mandy's softball back to her. I told her I'd see her later and thanked her for warming up with me. Then I hear her semi-yell...

"Hey Meridith..."

As I was turn around, I felt the softball *SMACK* right into my face. I hadn't even got completely turned around. So, I KNOW she had thrown the ball while she called my name. I staggered backward clutching my nose and looked up to see Mandy smirking at me. She snottily said, "Ooops! Catch!" and started smiling. Knowing that she had done this on purpose for her own amusement, I started crying my eyes out. My parents were getting into the car, which was in the garage, when Mandy threw the ball at my face and didn't know what had happened until they heard me whaling in pain. I remember the heat of my body surging to my face, the metal taste in my mouth and blood running through my fingers and down my red jersey.

As my family and friends know, I snort when I laugh/cry. Even though I have a better control on it now, back when I was a kid...I couldn't stop it. There I stood, hyperventilating and snorting blood back into my throat. It felt as though I were choking and suffocating.

My dad, my hero, rushed out of the garage and asked what had happened. Turning my face back toward the softball's line of flight, I took my shaking pointer finger and indicated with bloody certainty that Mandy, who was sauntering up her stairs as if nothing had happened, had done this. From the lovely, malevolent attitude of her mom and brother just like her, I still, to this day, have no doubt this was for her own enjoyment and entertainment.

Sadly, this wasn't my first adventure to the ER, because I was quite "graceful" as a youngster. I had been in three times before for stupid, idiotic occurrences. Like dancing in the freezer aisle at the grocery store and ramming my head into freezer case door handles, or twirling in the living room and tripping on the carpet and landing my eye on the corner of the TV, or playing on top of our playhouse and falling off onto a cinder block lying next to our deck. (True definition of a klutz.)

Still, this broken nose was the first time I had truly broken something.

The nurse and doctor told my parents that the bridge of my nose was broken right under the bridge between my eyes. I distinctly remember the click, and resulting rush of pain, as they set it back in place. After taking an x-ray to ensure it was aligned, they inserted some tight gauze roll up each nostril. I had to breath through my mouth that night and couldn't do anything physical for about 3-4 weeks. Being the fact it was right before summer, I was PISSED. There went softball, hide & seek, kick the can, basketball and swimming. And for that following month, I tried to avoid Mandy as best as I could. However, because our neighborhood consisted of only 3 blocks and had only ten kids at the time, it was difficult to avoid her.

The result of my break left me with an elevated, and quite distinct, hump on my nose that looked like a "camel's back." I was in my formidable years and already extremely self conscious of my face.

Four years passed before the second nose break. It was during a basketball game. Oh basketball-it was a love/hate relationship. I LOVED the game and was actually pretty good. I started playing when I was in 5th grade and found I had good instincts for the game. I still was klutzy, though, and tended to get a lot of bruises during games.

Our team's point guard and I would always end up smacking our heads or tripping each other...didn't matter if it was during practice or a game. It was bad, and quite painful. Clarification on this, I should say that I was the one responsible for this, due to my klutzy nature, and Becky was the innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time...every time. To this day, my mom talks about Becky and basketball saying, "Didn't matter where on the court they were, Meridith and Becky had a magnet that led them to disastrous collisions. Oh, and the SOUND when they ran into each other...!!!" *insert cringe face here*

So, during a basketball game, I went up for a rebound and was literally butted out of bounds, which caused me to lose my balance and trip over my feet. My balance was lost and I couldn't find it quick enough. My face met the "padded" wall with a terrifying CRUNCH, and I instantaneously felt my nose crack. Another trip to the ER.

From my second nose break, the hump got bigger and resulted in a soft spot on the ride side of my nose. Any time the weather gets worse, it gets softer and causes horrible sinus problems and congestion. I have suffered from migraines since I was 12, and I find that my nose only escalated the level of intensity. Even worse, I haven't been able to breathe out of both nostrils at one time since I was 8 or 9. Imagine that...l-o-v-e-l-y.

During my freshmen year at Millikin, my parents urged me to talk to my ENTA doctor about my nose to see how bad the damage was from his perspective and to ask for a plastic surgeon referral. After an x-ray, the doctor told me that there was a deviated septum but it wasn't the worst he had seen. Well, YEAH! It hadn't been crunched into a million cartilage bits. But it definitely was causing some airway constriction and added "height" to my once pretty curvature of my nose.

But my decision to NOT get a rhinoplasty came when my ENTA doctor told me the surgery could alter my vocal range and tone. Because I was a vocal music education major and was performing in opera scenes, I opted to deal with my large schnoz. However, that didn't stop me from feeling extremely sensitive and conscious about my nose. To me, it is my worst feature. From it, I have a hard time looking into peoples' eyes for an extended period because I don't want them looking at me back. I don't want them to look long and hard and see the huge bump on my nose that shouldn't be there.

I've learned to deal with it, and it's almost as though my broken nose stories are my battle stories. Looking in the mirror every day, I think about my nose every day. And I would opt into rhinoplasty if I could afford it.

If people can afford corrective/plastic surgery and choose it is right for them, more power to them. I just wish people would be more tolerant and stop peremptorily judging people they do not know.

(Except, I did judge Heidi Montag because I thought she looked prettier before. Bad, I know. Eat my own words!)

***FOOT NOTE: The debate is still out whether or not I broke my nose for a 3rd time while in my junior year at Millikin. I tripped and fell into my friend's buttock area. My nose clicked a bit and started bleeding, but I didn't go to the doctor. My dad thinks it was broken, but I think ti wasn't. ***