All posts tagged allergies


Published December 17, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I rarely wake up and say, “This is going to be a perfectly normal day!” In fact, I rarely have anything that could remotely be called a perfectly normal day.

I knew today would be odd because, well, it’s me, and because today would have been my 21st wedding anniversary. My divorce has been final for a little over a year, so it’s still a little shocking that I won’t be having dinner at a new restaurant (new to us) and playing movie roulette with Katboy.   Okay, not shocking as much as crummy.

So there’s that. The odd factor is sufficiently upped because I am still waiting for my Dr. to approve refills of a pretty potent seizure medication that I have been taking for over a decade. (I don’t have seizures, but it is prescribed to ward off migraine and to just generally keep my neurons from deciding to just starts slam dancing.) The lack of this medication is causing me to be woozy and dizzy and a little disoriented.  This is further magnified by the fact that every single thing I am allergic to is in bloom right now. This includes Christmas trees. My sinus are tender and sore, my eyes are puffy and runny and my hair is dry. (The hair thing has nothing to do with anniversary or allergy, it’s balmy weather related.

My roommate, BK, is fully moved in so I knew that would call for adjustment. I have never had a roommate wake up perfectly pleasant and engage in polite conversation over coffee before going about his day.   My only other roommate experience was with someone who was so unpleasant that I wouldn’t leave my room until I knew what kind of mood he was in. So far the pleasantness has continued even thought my prescription has still not been refilled, my eyes are still blurry and my paycheck still hasn’t arrived. But I had coffee and I am about to have meatballs and green beans and watch Drunk History until it is time for me to take night meds and fall asleep because I absolutely have to finish editing and get The Classic up on Kindle tomorrow.

But I have Klonopin.

Ugly Public Meltdown

Published July 5, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

It would be cool if I could open this blog with my mugshot or a copy of the headline that my friend Steven Alan McGaw has always predicted “Noted Writer and Educator jailed in bar brawl.”

Nope this is not about MY Ugly Public Meltdown. I haven’t yet had that and I think I deserve one.

Come to think of it, I didn’t even have a very public meltdown when my head blew up.

Anyway, I entered the entire phrase into both Google and Bing.

Guess whose meltdown process is at the top of both lists: Amanda Bynes.

Here’s Google’s top:

And Bing:

This article really stands out to me

Amanda Bynes’ public meltdown says more about us than her

What does it show about society when we commodify a pretty female celebrity’s meltdown? We certainly don’t do that to men. It’s an interesting article, but I’m caught by the first few lines.

Ms. Bynes is 27 and she is clearly falling apart. What drove her over the edge? Who knows? I care only because I, too am teetering on the edge of losing it and it is entirely possible that I will post horrible things about tween celebrities.  I care, too because I think we treat the kids in our society badly and then act shocked and surprised that when they freak out.

It is unnatural to perky and perfect all the time.

This is especially difficult when the entire world is watching you and you know you are making an ungodly amount of money. It’s even harder when you know that you are making said money to actually be that perky and perfect.

It’s hard.

I’m remember how hard it was to just be 27.

I wasn’t breaking rocks in the burning desert, but I was in Grad School. There were days that I would much rather have  been breaking the rocks, but slave labor is slave labor.  I was tired all the time and was trying to work and teach and do well in a program that seemed to be set up to force people out of the profession they dearly love.  There were days that All I could do was drag myself from my car to class and keep from ramming my tiny Geo Metro into a bridge abutment so I would have to listen to one more presentation on Vaudeville. Now that would have been an ugly public meltdown.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to have to deal with the normal stuff then add the pressures of the previous years and be concerned about your career and the fact that every time you sneeze  someone  assumes that you have a drug problem, when all you need is a little Claritin (I have no idea if Ms. Bynes has allergies, I’m speaking in a very big forced metaphor. )

It would probably make me want to have an ugly public meltdown.

It’s hard for everyone.

Cut people some slack

Relevant, Relative, you decide- Es Verdad la tercera parte

Published April 13, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I finished reading The Heavy and have now started on the second book. (When I have made it through the huge stack of books I blind dogged out of the library, I will put the whole list together, just in case anyone cares. )

I am not as enraged as I was when I picked up this book.  (Now don’t panic, Writer Chick has not mellowed. Not by any means. I just don’t want to waste the rage by whipping myself up into a frenzy unless it’s for something really good. Judging from the events of the past few months, I think should be conserving my energy.)

As I am trying to find out what truth really means, I am discovering that truth is flexible and relative. I’m not sure if that means that truth is relevant only if it agrees with you.

When I started this book, I began with a notebook and a stack of tape flags. This is probably the most important thing I learned in grad school. Always mark something you think might be relevant and write down why it may important. You will not remember later and your professors will nod sagely at you,(The grad school equivalent of a smiley face sticker) when you are the only one who bothered to look up the word “tenet” in the assigned reading.

So I set down to critical read, and I immediately started to flag any sentence or phrase that might suit my purposes and reinforce my social rage at fat shaming.   Over the course of the day yesterday, I loaned my pen and some of my tape flags to a few students.  Then I lost track of the flags for awhile. This turned out to be a happy accident. (This was around the pickle juice stained pages. ) I thought, maybe, just maybe, my prejudicial viewpoint might skew someone else’s perception of the truth. I would be a hypocrite if I decided how I felt about the whole book if I was going to judge it all by a few sentences read when I was already angry. (I’m a crazy bitch with angry management issues, but I am no hypocrite.)

Anyway, the book did a reasonably good job of explaining why and how Weiss  put her daughter on a diet. Weiss has some good points, kids do need to learn how to make good choices, and empty calories and junk foods are indeed pushed on children every day. Elementary school children don’t really have the necessary decision making skills that adults do.

Weiss likened her need to educate her daughter about safe food choices to that of parents of kids who have nut allergies.  Severely allergic children need to learn to be vigilant  because a poor choice could kill them.

I agree that parenting is very serious business and I am glad that  Weiss has chosen to be an active participant in her child’s life.  There is far too little of this in the world.

However, in my opinion, and this is just my opinion, I wouldn’t have turned the events leading up to the need for putting her child on diet and the subsequent weight loss journey into a public news story.  That may have not been her intent, but that’s what it became.  Weiss’s daughter did lose enough weight to put her in the “normal” category, and  she now has the information to make informed decisions about what she eats.  This is great.

As a child who was put on diet after diet, I still remember the shame at being the one kid who had to eat different.

Neither of my parents publicized my plight in a national magazine.   I still wince at the memory of being served fruit cocktail because the day care worker (you can be sure this was a fully qualified person in the early 1970’s)  thought it was healthier than the chocolate pudding that the other kids were getting.

That  may be the reason that I kind of like the taste of canned pudding.

And that’s the truth.

And I’ll thank you not to talk to my bear that way!

Published April 22, 2012 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

My good pal Steve honestly, one hundred percent , believed that we are indeed in the end times.  Or as he put it, “It’s Chinatown, Jake.”

While I kid about the hope that the Mayans were right because all of my credit cards expire next year, and I often remark  that I hope I have enough notice on the actual world’s ending to get to a cheesecake and a bottle of Grey Goose Orange, I don’t really know how I feel about it.

Dolphins in Peru are a beach (sorry I couldn’t help make the terrible pun.)

There is a heat wave swooping across a the Southwest and the Northeast is about to be monsooned upon again.

The Catholic Church is still doing their “Bitches ain’t shit routine.” (That is my paraphrasing, please don’t think that is a direct quote, but how cool would it be if it was?”)

It does seem that the earth is trying to eject the human race like a bad cow heart.

But the thing that makes me think this may indeed be it is the fact that everyone is racing around like a bunch of freaks.  I am surprised that I am not among them.  I think it may be because I am usually pretty stoned on allergy medication.

I think that maybe the allergy thing is the universe’s way to keep me from choking the world’s bitches. I have been so stoned on the meds that my response time is pretty slow.

A few years ago, I was buying supplies (supplies!) for a lesson plan on multi-sensory external stimulii.  Why yes, I AM very smart.  One of the things in the grab bag was a Ty Beanie Baby that was all black and has the words “The End” festooned on his chest.

Steve and I, having no point of reference, thought this must be the commemorative Armageddon bear.

He and the bear were enjoying a nosh when one of his (Steve’s) negative friends began to boom about the ridculousness of his belief.

Steve let loose with a spout of vitriol in defense of himself that ended with a rousing,

“And I’ll thank you not to talk to my bear that way!”