Dear Ciao Bella

After a long hiatus, I have returned to make a post.

The following is an email that I sent to Ciao Bella, makers of the famed Blackberry Cabernet sorbet.

Observe: Blackberry Cabernet in all its glory.

Dear Ciao Bella,

In my greatest hour of need, I am turning to you for guidance.

My dear father recently turned 50. In a fit of mid-life-crisis panic, he ran to the grocery store to buy his favorite comfort food, Ciao Bella's Blackberry Cabernet Sorbet.

But alas, he returned home empty handed. After combing through the neighborhood's several grocery establishments, my father discovered the horrible truth-- there was not a single remaining container of Blackberry Cabernet Sorbet.

The family united in the quest to soothe my father's grief. We checked our grocery stores over and over again, but the effort was wasted. We bought Haagen-Dazs's Blackberry Cabernet sorbet, but it couldn't replace Ciao Bella's version. We even bought other Ciao Bella flavors, but nothing could compete with the smooth, rich tartness that is Blackberry Cabernet.

All seemed lost.

But then a light appeared in the fog-- icecreamsource.com sold Blackberry Cabernet, and it could be delivered right to our door! I surprised dear Father on his birthday with five cartons of his beloved sorbet, and you could see the weight lifted from his shoulders. He was a new man!

On the fateful night of August 20th, 2013, I went back online to re-order more sorbet. But I soon discovered the horrible truth; icecreamsource.com no longer carried individual cartons of Blackberry Cabernet! I spent the next few hours braving hellfire and brimstone, searching frantically through the deep folds of the internet for the elusive goddess of sorbet. But it was useless. There was no online store that could deliver Blackberry Cabernet to Northbrook, IL.

My father is having intensive surgery on his sinuses on September 12th, 2013. Please Ciao Bella, in this terrible age of hardship, I beseech thee: tell me how to find this incredible flavor. No matter the cost, no matter the danger, I must find a way to tame the beast that is Blackberry Cabernet.

Help me, Ciao Bella. You're my only hope.

Di te incolumem custodiant,

Beth Jeanne Silverstein

****************

In other news, "di te incolumem custodiant" means "May the Gods guard your safety" in Latin. Because I know how to use Google, bitches.

Review: Anesthesia

This post is going to be a story about a time that I had anesthesia.

Once upon a time, my heart was confused and was not doing the beats the right way. Apparently even my heart doesn't have a good sense of rhythm. Maybe this is why I can't dance.

Anyway! There's this really simple procedure where they talk to your arteries in your groin (ew, gross) and laser out these extra electrical pathways in your heart that are messing up the beats and making you a bad dancer. It's really really common, and you don't even have to be asleep during the whole thing.

Since you don't have to be asleep, the anesthetic they give you isn't the kind that will necessarily knock you out. The doctor told me right before that almost everyone falls asleep, or at least lightly dozes, so I should expect to fall asleep.

Guess who doesn't react normally to anesthetic?

My anesthesiologist (or nurse anesthetist, whichever he was (the word anesthesia SUCKS)) was a guy named Dale. As he switched the IV over to the anesthetic, he told me to tell him if I felt anything and needed more or less. 90 seconds later, drugged-me took this as an invitation to tell Dale anything and everything that I had ever thought about ever.

They wheeled me into the operating room at some point. Or maybe it was just a regular room. I don't remember. Dale was sitting next to my table/bed/flat thing that I was lying on.

"Dale," I said, "the ceiling is moving."
"No," Dale said firmly, "it is not."
"But Dale, are you looking at it?"
"Yep."
"I see it moving."
"Well, it's not."
"But Dale, I'm looking right at it and it is moving!"
"I promise you, it's not moving."
I turned my head slightly to look at him. "Well your head just turned into a giant eagle, so whatever."
Dale made a sound through his beak that sounded like a chuckle.
"Kay. Talk to me when you're done being a bird."

At that moment, Dr. Kleinberg walked in (that's not his real name, I changed it to protect his privacy) (cuz you know, I'm super cool and professional and whatnot).

"Hey Dr. Kleinberg!" I shouted.
"Good morning Beth. How are you feeling?"
"I feel so amazing right now!"
"Good, good."
"How are you feeling?!" I was still shouting.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Dr. Kleinberg, I did not shave my armpits before I came here."
"That's okay."
"Also I didn't get a bikini wax."
"Okay."
I looked back at Dale. "Hey Dale, you're back!"
"Hi Beth."
"Dale, this one time I got really drunk at a Passover seder, and it was really fun."
"That's nice."
"But guess what?"
"What?"
"This is SO much better!"
"Hm.
"No really, this stuff is fantastic! Can I take some home?"
"Nope."
"Can I buy it?"
"No."
"You're such a Debbie Downer, Dale."
"Yep."
"Dale Downer! You're such a Dale Downer! Hey guys," I yelled at all the nurses and miscellaneous people wearing scrubs and lab coats, "Dale is a Dale Downer!"

At some point, they got to the part where they were actually laser-ing in my heart. I knew this because I felt it. It didn't hurt. If you can imagine what it would feel like if your heart was drinking hot chocolate or tea, that's exactly what it felt like.

"Oh my god. Dale! I feel the laser! Guys, I am AWAKE right now! I am going to remember this when I wake up!"
"Okay, okay," Dr. Kleinberg mumbled.
"Dale, is he trying to tell me to be quiet?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Okay, I will whisper," I said in my loudest whisper voice. "Dale, I think we just bonded."
"Okay."
"Are we friends now?"
"Sure."
"You're a good friend, Dale."
"Thank you."

And I NEVER SAW DALE AGAIN.

I did see Dr. Kleinberg after, where he told my parents that I am very animated when given anesthetic. I had to stay in the hospital for the rest of the day so that they could keep me in a bed that was standing up. They wouldn't let me move or eat or go to the bathroom or anything. Instead, they used the IV to give my stomach food and water and such.

And this is the most exciting part: at one point, I said that I was super thirsty, and the nurse said, "I can fix that," and she switched something on the IV and it was the WEIRDEST feeling. It felt like I was drinking water, but through my veins. My throat wasn't dry anymore, and then I had an epiphany-- this is what a tree must feel like! Because trees don't have mouths, they drink through their roots, which are kind of like veins!

Moral of the story: I know what it feels like to be a tree. I am the Tree-Whisperer and it is the greatest thing ever. The end!

Also drugs are the best thing ever.

Review: Traffic

I think everyone in the world can agree that traffic is the worst possible thing ever. It’s boring, you can’t use the time productively, and if you space out for even a second you run the risk of A) an accident, or B) being pulled over. It sucks, and it’s stupid.

When you live in Chicago and you drive from the northern suburbs to the Loop, you have to try and avoid rush hour. The phrase ‘rush hour’ is misleading because it implies that there is a single solitary hour during which there is a rush. In reality, there are several hours of “rush hour” at a time, and they often occur 4+ times a day.

Here is an example of a rush hour schedule on the highway:

7:00 AM – 11:30 AM = Rush hour 1

3:00 PM – 7:00 PM = Rush hour 2

Actually I take it back, there are only 2 rush hours per day.

BUT there can be traffic for other reasons! Sometimes there is construction, and sometimes there are accidents, and sometimes the roads are slippery. And also certain days, like Friday afternoons, can be a lot more frustrating than normal afternoons. On Friday afternoons, the lanes of the highways that go to the city are more clogged up than arteries. Specifically arteries that are clogged. Like with hamburgers and stuff. That’s a thing, I think. I’m not a cardiologist.

Actually once I did a project in 7^th grade on the circulatory system, and for my visual component I painted veins and arteries onto a naked mannequin. My dad got the mannequin for me off of eBay. He (the mannequin) got a lot of attention because I insisted that he only wear half a pair of shorts because how can you see the veins and arteries if he’s wearing shorts over them?! Duh! So he wore the back half of a pair of my dad’s old shorts glued onto his butt, and the whole front was naked. The whole thing was very exciting. I think I named the mannequin Bob, because Bob is the funniest name ever.

So yes arteries! Clogs. Cars. All of those. Traffic sucks.