My Vision of the Future

11:00 am at the medical center information desk...

Hi. I'm here to see a doctor.

Okay. You'll need to go to window 24 to pick up form 863-B and be sure to specify what your symptoms are, past medical history, and your tax bracket.

---
11:27 am at window 24

Excuse me, could you tell me where form 863-B is located? The guy at the information desk told me to pick it up at window 24.

Well, they used to be here at 24, but now you'll have to go online, download the form (we're "Going Green," you know), print it off, get a notarized signature and then turn it in at window 19.

First, how is that any greener if I have to print the form on paper? and Second, do you have a notary on site, or do I have to procure the services of a notary elsewhere prior to being assigned a doctor?

As for the snide comment about the environment, your grievance will be noted and you will be placed on the No-Fly list for being an ecoterrorist. And the notary is in the building just past the outside entrance on your left. You just go in the door marked 1423-R, walk down the hall, turn left at the end, make a quick right past the copy machine, and look for the notary window marked 18-J. But I think they're closed for lunch, so you'll have to come back at 2:00.

But it's 11:30 now... Do they really take three hour lunches?

That's part of the work furlough program. If the government gives them a 3 hour lunch, they're not considered full time employees, and they don't have to pay for their health benefits.

---

2:01 pm at the notary marked 18-J

Hi. I need to get this form notarized.

That'll be $15.oo.

--

2:45pm At window 19

Okay. Here is my notarized form 863-B, and now can I please be assigned a doctor?

Well, you can... But you're not supposed to turn it in at window 19. Nope. You need to take this to the line corresponding to your medical specialty. Oncology is line 12, OB/GYN is line 8, Cardiology is line 14, Gastroenterology is line 6, Radiology is line 12...

Wait a minute! You said Oncology was in line 12.

Well of course I did. At odd hours, Oncology is in line 12. Even hours, line 12 is radiology.

But what if I get in line at, say 2:50 (which would be radiology) and then 10 minutes passes and I'm now at the front of the oncology line.

Hahahahahaha! Silly! You would never get through the line in 10 minutes! It will take you at least an hour. So, when you get to the front of the line at 4:00, you'll still be in radiology.

---

4:59pm at line 12

Hi. Is this currently radiology or oncology?

You still have one minute of radiology time in the line.

I need to turn in this notarized form, and would like to be assigned a doctor to get a mammogram.

Well, that would be perfect if you had stepped in line a few minutes earlier, but now it's 5:00 and we are closing. You can try again tomorrow. And since you had this notarized today, you can skip that step and just come straight into the radiology line. But since it was notarized on a different day, you will have to pay a $20 surcharge.

But in my tax bracket, I'm not supposed to have to pay any surcharges.

No. That was before the president decided unilaterally to add surcharges to every form that is filled out. We're trying to "Go Green," so we're deterring waste by adding these surcharges.

But the guy at window 24 said I had to fill this out! How can you charge me for something that I have to fill out to get a doctor?

I'm sorry. That's just how it works. We have to pay for this free health care somehow! And since you've kept me 5 minutes past closing time, you will also be billed for my overtime. You'll just pay that when you file your taxes. It'll be on line 7c of the D67 form.

So, I don't get to have a mammogram today?

No. And to be honest, we don't even have the budget for it this month... Um, errrr, seven months. So once you get assigned you doctor, you'll just have to wait for us to mail form 32-J. That will be like a pass to be assigned a medical district that the doctor is working in for that month. Just look for the green form with the big, bold letters 32-J in the window. You should be expecting that sometime before Christmas.

But it's February! And I found a lump in my breast!

Well, then you should have gone to oncology. Thank you. Come again.

On Being "Normal"

Wayne has always told me he is glad I am not a "normal" girl. By that I think he means my interests extend beyond the latest hair, fashion, and makeup trends; he has always praised me for not getting lost in soap operas and shows like "The Bachelor." I guess he somehow got the misguided notion that normalcy does not coexist with good fashion sense and fairy tale romance.

But I know a lot of really cool women who are really in to these types of shows and they are pretty dang normal. So who's to judge? Maybe I'm missing out?

I was on Facebook around the time "The Bachelor" premiered this season, and there was one of my dental school friends posting on his page that his wife was forcing him to watch as payback for making her watch "Mythbusters" with him the night previous. So, to pass the time more enjoyably, he and his buddies were posting a play by play on his wall, complete with color commentary a la Dudeness. And it was freakin' hilarious. I thought, "No WAY it could be this cheesy! ...Really? They are actually playing 'On the Wings of Love' by Billy Ocean?!? ...And the guy is striking a Top Gun pose on his motorcycle? What am I missing out on?"

So I tuned in. And I did so at great expense, because while I would have much to chat about with my girlfriends who were regular viewers, I had lost the respect of the man I married. You should have heard his absolutely HORRIFIED reaction when he found out: "NOOOOOO! I can't believe you're watching that crap! How could you betray me like this? My image of you is shattered!" Shana, what would Jack Bauer say?"

Wayne should know better than to use tactics like this on me. I'm a Scorpio with a Taurus moon sign... hence, I'm stubborn like a bull and like to pop you with my stinger. So I totally dug in my heels... and watched every single episode to spite him.

But he was right. Shhhh. Don't tell him. Can I make that typeset any smaller?

Oh, my gosh! That was such a load of CA-RAP!!! How desperate do you have to be to subject yourself to such humiliation and become one of these women vying for the affection of one (albeit superstudly looking) dude? I mean, I get that you have recently acquired a marvelous set of silicone ta-tas and need to find the perfect venue to wear low cut dresses to show them off... But COME ON, girls!!! The guy is sucking face with every girl on the show? Doesn't the prospect of communicable diseases cross your mind every time he macks on you? Aren't you afraid of lip V.D.?

And why, if you end up being the girl that almost wins his heart, but loses to the other skank with no self respect, would you go on a reunion show and listen to the show's host say things like, "So, your heart got totally stomped on that day. How did that make you feel?" "Uuuum. LIKE TOTAL CRAP, YOU JERK! What do you think?" "Gee , why don't we watch the clip that made you feel like jumping out of your hotel window." "Sure, Buddy. That would be awesome. But don't mind me while the clip is playing and you are panning on my face while the audience watches for my pained reaction... I'm just going to ingest this bottle of pills. Please don't try to pump my stomach."

Or even better, if you end up being THE girl--the one who has won the heart of Superstud--you have to watch the entire season of him explaining how he adores all these other women, and then watch him make out with them... Over and over and over again. If that doesn't put you directly into marital counseling, then I don't know what will.

So I guess I'm not normal after all. I HATE this crap. Give me a terrorist threat and Jack Bauer's penchant for ridding the world of Nu-cu-lar weapons any day. 'Cause watching that herd of stupid women almost made me want to blow some stuff up, myself.

L.A. -ti-FRICKIN-da!

I HATE L.A.!!!

Not just a little bit... I really, REALLY, REALLY hate it! I mean, it's nice enough to visit if you have lots of money to spend on fine dining and fancy hotels. There is a lot of art and culture to see if you have the time or inclination, and the beaches and weather are superb. But if you want to get to any of those places, chances are you will be stuck in traffic at some point in the journey. And once you get there, you will probably have to pay $12 to park. And then if you decide to make another stop, it'll be more traffic and more parking fees. And while you're stuck in traffic, you will probably get honked at... or shall I say HOOOOOOOOOONKED at, because let's face it, the only way to successfully express yourself in a moving vehicle in L.A. is to really lay on the horn to make sure your frustrations are entirely understood. Flipping the bird is a frequently encountered local greeting on the road, too. It's practically like waving hello around here.

So my solution to this problem has been to take the bus to and from work. There are many things that make this sound appealing: I can let somebody else deal with the stress of driving in traffic. It picks me up a block away from my house. I don't have to pay for parking. For UCLA employees it is only 25 cents to ride. It's the "green" thing to do. And, I can read or study while I bide my time. But the caveat here is this: BUSES LIKE TO CRASH INTO OTHER CARS WHEN I AM IN THEM! I have been in three bus accidents in the year and a half that I have been here. I have never been hurt, but Holy Freaking Crap! THREE TIMES?!?

This morning's crash was particularly delightful, as we collided with a brilliant driver trying to shave a minute off her commute by running the red light to get onto the freeway and turning right into our path.

Bus-1: Stupid commuter-0.
Time saved trying to beat the light: Negative 3+ hours.

Thankfully, a little old man who was riding the bus with me was kind enough to check on the commuter's well being, as she was visibly in shock and quite embarrassed... Oh, wait. I got that wrong. That's what it looked like he was going to do as he shuffled over to her window and rapped on the glass. Instead, though, he just gave her his best mad-dog stare and shouted, "YOU STUPID BLANKITY-BLANK-BLANK-BLANK!" And then his wife beat him up with her purse shouting profanities at him and trying to usher him away. Can you feel the love this city has to offer? ...Where even the geriatrics are compelled to physically and verbally assault their fellow man? It's like a freaking Hallmark card every day!

But that wasn't even the best part. To add insult to injury, as I was herded safely off the bus onto the sidewalk, I began walking to try and get to the next stop in order to continue my journey to work. I got about 50 feet away from the accident when another commuter, obviously annoyed by the traffic that our little situation had created, sped past us, fanning an enormous spray of puddle water from my head to my feet. It soaked through three layers of clothing and gave me the delightful aroma of "Au de Gutter" all day. The only thing that could have made it the perfect trifecta of Monday-ness is if a bird had pooped on my head (and I imagine if the bird hailed from L.A., he would probably drop his load... and then flip me the bird as he headed South for the winter!)

Needless to say, I am counting down the days when I can leave Los Angeles in my rearview mirror. The only problem is: I'll probably get stuck in traffic on the way out and it'll take me six hours to drive the 25 miles to get out of this wretched place.

Excuses! Excuses!

Oh, how I wish I had an amazing excuse as to why I have not been posting. I can't just say it's all Facebook's fault. I've used that excuse before. I wish I could say any or all of the following to lend validity to my blogging suckiness:

1. I've been sunbathing in Aruba for the past couple of months and have soooooo many pictures to upload, I just don't know where to begin.
2. Sorry. This press junket for my latest Oscar nominated movie has just sucked the life out of me. Between the premiers and the fittings for the Red Carpet, I just haven't had time these days.
   
3. I haven't been able to blog because I have been spending so much time exercising, feeding the homeless, adopting Hatian refugees, and cleaning my house. I don't know what's gotten into me these days, but if I keep it up, I may be nominated for sainthood. Did I mention that Brad and Angelina were so impressed, they gave me one of their kids? It was getting to be too much for them, but they thought I could handle it.

No. Not me. Here's the state of things since December 2009 in the real world:

1. Nathan's tonsils no longer exist.
2. Wayne's mom is waiting in Salt Lake to go on her mission to New Zealand.
3. My dad and I are working out the details for me to start work in the Santa Rosa practice this August.
4. Hayden is one of the finalists for a singing competition that I didn't even know he had entered, but may win a scholarship if he proceeds.
5. Tuba practice still sounds a little like a dying cow, violin practice similar to a dying cat.
6. It's 80 degrees in February in Santa Monica.
7. My brother Scott is going to Afghanistan.
8. My other brother Scott resurfaced on Facebook.
   
9. Wayne celebrated the Saints' win in the Superbowl. He has loved them since he was a kid and they generally have sucked for most of that time. It was a thing of beauty to watch them redeem themselves in their first Superbowl ever.
   
10. I spent way too much time on Facebook and Hulu.
11. Oodles of my time is being spent as a wonderful role model for my children...
    

l

So that's it. Just imagine how bad at blogging I will be when I finally get that Sainthood. You'll be luck to hear from me bi-annually. Till then, I'll try to be a little better.

Merry Christmas From the Van Cleaves!!!

When It Rains, It Pours (and sometimes it pours out of places it oughtn't)

I feel badly for my sister-in-law, who wrote a gut-wrenching expose about the "Cough Syrup Incident of '09" on her blog. In it, she describes the frustrations that go along with trying to convince toddlers to partake of nasty medicines to help them feel better, but having to convince their heightened gustatory senses that if they just muscle past that first HORRID taste, everything will be A-Okay. It sucks.

I'm writing this post in an effort to commiserate with her as I describe the wretched "Diarrhea Incident of '96." If you are squeamish about bodily functions, turn back now... Do not pass Go... Run for the hills... You are advised not to proceed. But, if laughing at someone's abject misery, despite the mention of excrement at multiple moments throughout the telling of the story, join me in my humiliation and feel free to laugh at my expense.


It all goes back to the days of Nathan as a toddler.

He was a cute little guy, but certainly had strong opinions about things. When he was feeling crappy, he was particularly stubborn. When he was about one and a half years old, we were working as assistant managers at Midway Estates, and he had caught a particularly virulent flu bug that winter--the symptoms of which involved non-stop liquid poop that would shoot violently out of his bum with hurricane force. Did I mention, it would not stop? Not for anything in the world. I tried the B.R.A.T diet (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast) to try to plug him up. I tried to keep him from moving, because if he was jostled at all, "SPLOOSH!" out shot the next detonation. Over the course of the afternoon and into the evening, he had systematically exploded his intestinal contents on every stitch of clothing he owned, every piece of clothing I owned, every piece of bedding, every towel, gone through an entire case of diapers, had a butt as red as a baboon's, and was in dire need of fluids. And did I mention, he didn't want to drink any fluids because he was stubborn and cranky. A frantic call to the pediatrician that night assured me that if I couldn't get so many cc's of clear liquids into my son by morning, he was destined for the E.R.

So all night long, I kept him out on the couch (with what really amounted to a tarp underneath him), and woke him up every 15 minutes to give him droppers-full of water. He hated me, but I knew it was for his own good. I stayed up with him the entire night, and in between hydrating the poor kid, I did laundry ALL NIGHT LONG. From sundown to sunrise, I just kept those machines full... and since I had the key to the laundry room, I was able to do upwards of 8 loads at a time.

By the time the sun came up, I had filled my entire living room floor with a Matterhorn-sized heap of clean laundry, and I had successfully gotten enough fluids into my poor dehydrated son to stave off the dreaded hospital visit. An ounce here, an ounce there, and Nathan was miraculously chipper and agreeable. He had apparently forgiven me for disturbing his sleep. That morning, his little head perked up from the waterproof bedding on the couch, he flashed his winning smile, and climbed down from his perch... right over to the pile of warm, inviting laundry, where he toddled right to the very peak of clean, fresh linens... where his bowels unleashed their final paroxysm on top of the ENTIRE heap in one, final, projectile explosion...

...And I cried. I cried huge, raking sobs. I buried my face in the floor and could not stop for an indeterminate amount of time. Pleading prayers for God's tender mercies poured from my soul. And then I looked at my bewildered little boy, with foul-smelling excrement oozing down his thighs, diaper rash burning beneath his Pampers... And then I wiped away my tears, put on the bravest face I could muster, and started all over again.

So, here's to you, Diana... and to all the mothers out there who can share your misery in one way or another. We feel your pain. I hope Avery feels better soon!

Tuba-riffic!

Tonight was Hayden's tuba debut. We adopted this modest brass instrument into the family in September. We've tried shoving pillows down the bell to suppress its mighty resonating din, but The Tuba's very determined master has declared, "It changes the sound." (Ummmmmm. I hate to tell you this, Kiddo, but that's kind of the point. In this case change=bearable volume.) So, in order to spare the neighbors from bleeding eardrums and psychological breakdowns, Hayden has requested to stay late after school and rehearse afterward in the band room on a regular basis. Therefore, we had no idea what sort of noises would be emitted from his new friend tonight. Would it sound like a dying bull as it had just a few short months ago? Would he even be able to hoist it into place? It's almost bigger than he is!

Well, there were no dying animal noises... An occasional squawk like somebody stepping on a farm animal's tail, but not nearly as bad as I suspected. He did a great job, and it was one of the least painful Middle School band concerts I've ever attended.
Here he is in all his glory:

Can you see the one I was keeping my eye on? See him way back there in the back row? Barely able to see over the music stand?


And, yes... He was actually quite adept at carrying it, despite the obvious size discrepancy.

Congrats, Buddy!