Tag Archives: new haven

Things that are faster than getting a damn (third) rheumatologist

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I got a letter this afternoon from Yale Rheumatology with my appointment information. This should be a cause for celebration, but the date of the appointment? Is in April. April 18th, to be exact — nearly five months from now.

Fine. I didn’t want to drive all the way to New Haven, anyway. :roll:

Right before I called my insurance company to get a list of rheumatologists at Yale, my mom found another rheumatologist in my city. At the time, I was fed up with every doctor in this city, so I took the envelope she’d written the information on, thanked her, and put it aside where it sat… until now. I tried calling my doctor’s office to get a referral for this guy, but their line is busy. So, in the meantime, I thought I’d make a list of things that are faster than getting in to see a rheumatologist when you’re on the medical merry-go-round.

  • The Facebook help center (poor Jess!)
  • Pregnancy — elephant pregnancy
  • Zombies on meth
  • Breakthrough bleeding on Lo-Seasonique
  • Canadian customs (Blaine knows what I’m talkin’ about!)
  • Falling asleep the night before really awesome plans, like going to your favorite vacation place
  • Getting a screaming toddler to calm down

Can you think of other things that are faster?

New York Comic Con 2010

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On Saturday, October 9th, I got up at the crack of dawn and drove to the New Haven train station with Mike and his brother — my future brother-in-law! — Rob. If you know me, you know that I suck at mornings and regularly battle 5am and other such early times. But that Saturday was different, because it didn’t matter that I had the energy level of a dead microwave; we were going to New York City for New York Comic Con!

Growing up, I wasn’t into comics — at all. I knew what they were, and I knew who Batman, Superman, and Spiderman were, but that was about it. I watched the (better than today’s) Batman cartoon on occasional Saturday mornings, and watched Batman Beyond religiously. The only comics I ever read before meeting Mike were Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, Squee, and Lenore. I thought JTHM/JTSM was hysterical, and drew pictures of Nny while staring at the art throughout my sophomore year of high school. The Crow is my favorite movie, but I’d never read the graphic novel.

Then I met Mike, and slowly he taught me all that I had missed. Now I have a nearly full box of comics and a collection of my favorite comic book character action figures.

My main mission at NYCC was to meet James Marsters (Buffy) and Bruce Campbell (Evil Dead). When we got to the Javits Center, Rob went to a DC talent search panel, and Mike and I headed to Autograph Alley. I didn’t see Bruce Campbell’s line, but the line for James Marster wasn’t too bad. Unfortunately, he was running late, and when the lady waiting in front of us told me the prices for an autograph and photo, Mike misunderstood her and dragged me away; he thought that you had to pay to meet him, but just meeting James and shaking his hand was free. We went to Artist Alley and found Ben Templesmith, author and illustrator of one of my favorites, Wormwood. Ben was cool as hell in person, and pretty damn classy. He wore a neat pinstriped suit and he was really polite and down to Earth. We chatted with him for a few while Mike got Wormwood: Birds, Blood & Beer signed, then took a picture with him.

Mike and me with Ben Templesmith at NYCC 2010

Mike and me with Ben Templesmith at NYCC 2010

We wandered around a little more, searching for artists and writers that we knew. There were a few there that we knew we’d never get to meet, what with the lines, so we just kind of walked around and stopped to see whomever we liked and got things signed if we had any of their work with us. (Unfortunately for me, none of the artists or writers that worked on the comics I read — except for Ben Templesmith — were there.) We stopped by to talk to Ivan Reis, and Mike had him sign Blackest Night, then it was time to meet Rob. We met up with Mike’s friend Caleb and his friend, and then met Rob at the Cartoon Network section.

We all split up again (though I can’t remember why), and Mike and I ended up in the Javits food court. The lines for the four restaurants there were insane, and then there was another line you had to get into after you got your food so you could pay. With low blood sugar and no rational thought processes, I decided there was no way in hell I was waiting in line twice, so we wandered around a little more.

We met up with Rob again and left Javits to go find a nearby restaurant. We found a McDonald’s, said screw it, and went inside… which was packed with tons of people from NYCC, and regular people who probably had no idea about the convention and just wanted to eat. We had to wait a few minutes to order and get our food, but it was nothing compared to how long we would have waited had we settled for one of the (only) four choices at Javits. Luckily, the McD’s had two floors, so we were able to sit down and relax for a few. Once we were all full and refueled, we headed back to the Javits Center and split again so that Rob could meet one of his favorite writers or artists, and Mike and I set out to find a few more writers and artists.

On the way back to Artist Alley, we noticed that James Marsters was there, and that the line was really short. I double checked with the employee managing the line and she confirmed that I could just shake his hand and talk to him for a few without getting anything autographed, so I jumped into line and waited to meet the guy I had known as Spike for years. (I did not know, however, that he’s written a one-shot for one of the Spike comics. I’m totally going to have to get my hands on it, now.)

I have to admit that I was pretty nervous. I mean, I had no idea what I was going to say to him. I didn’t want to gush or giggle, but I also wanted to chat with him for a few. I just didn’t know about what. I waited patiently behind a few people who were getting things signed, and then there was only one more person in front of me. She was young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, and had a small poster of James as Spike. James’s assistant told him that her name was Catie, and started to spell it, but James wrote a “K” before his assistant could stop him. He literally head-desked, which was comical, and then apologized profusely.

“I’ve really fucked this up,” he said. Catie just giggled. His assistant told him to turn the “K” into the “IE” of “Catie” by adding a “-” to the K, but when James did it, he said it looked stupid. He moved to another spot on the poster and wrote her name correctly, his assistant remarking to Catie that now it would be worth more because of the mistake. She just giggled some more, thanked him, and then it was my turn.

“Hey, how are you?” I asked, shaking his hand.

“Good,” he said. “Fucking things up.”

“It’s been a long day,” I said.

He nodded. “So how are you?”

“Good,” I said. “So what have you been up to lately?”

He said he is currently on four shows, and that odds are if I turn on the TV, I’ll see him somewhere.

“Holy shit,” I said. There were people behind me, and I felt incredibly awkward, so I shook his hand again and said it was nice to meet him.

“It was nice meeting you, too,” he said. We exchanged “take care”s, and then I walked back to Mike.

I do wish that I’d gotten the opportunity to take a photo with him, but they were only doing photo ops, at certain times each day, and for $60. Since I only had about that much on me, and had missed that morning’s photo op, I decided to not go with the $45 autograph and just take the opportunity to meet him so that I could buy something else if I wanted to.

We met Greg Capullo, who was so down to Earth that we went back and chatted with him and his wife a second time.

Mike with Greg Capullo at NYCC 2010

Mike with Greg Capullo at NYCC 2010

Oddly, Greg’s table had no line. We asked him what was up with that and he said that everyone was waiting in the line for Robert Kirkman — where Robbie was. Somehow, Robbie still managed to get his The Walking Dead stuff signed, even though the line had about a bajillion people in it.

When we met up with Robbie again, Mike said that he wanted to give me a chance to do something I wanted to do, since I’d basically been tailing them all day. So, I began a search for a Firefly/Serenity tee.

My Firefly/Serenity Jayne tee!

My Firefly/Serenity Jayne tee!

I found several Serenity tees in a huge booth. I had a hard time choosing, but finally decided on the Jayne tee. I also got a postcard with the vendor’s website from one of the guys, because they apparently have thousands of tee shirts on their site, and way more Firefly/Serenity shirts.

The three of us looked around the other vendor exhibits, and I found a Classic Nite Owl for pretty cheap. My Watchmen action figure collection is now almost complete.

We were all exhausted at that point, and Mike and I were in so much pain we were limping around, so the three of us decided to leave. Mike thought we’d be able to take a taxi back to Grand Central, and even though I hated the idea of walking all the way back, I laughed at him. “It’s a Saturday night in New York!” I said. “The odds of getting a taxi…” But I stood there with him and tried to hail one anyway.

Sure enough, we couldn’t get one. We walked — well, okay, Robbie walked while Mike and I limped — back to Grand Central. When we finally got there, we had missed the next train by literally a minute, and had a whole hour until the next train. Mike wanted New York cheesecake, so we asked someone if there was a cheesecake place nearby, and she told us that the best one was Junior’s Cheesecake, and that there was one right in Grand Central. We found it pretty easily. I hadn’t been to Grand Central in a long time, and didn’t remember it looking so much like a… mall. Mike asked if I wanted a slice, too, and I said no. Little did I know that I should have gotten my own slice! We sat down and he gave me a bite to try. The lady who told us Junior’s is the best wasn’t lying. I kept swiping Mike’s fork every time he put it down so that I could steal another bite.

We passed the time hanging out, going outside for cigarettes, and wishing we were home.

Finally, it was time to catch our train. We got on and every seat was taken. There were already people standing, so we literally had to pack ourselves in. Mike and I ended up getting split from Robbie, because there were that many people. There was no way we were waiting for the next one, though, so we found a place to stand. “It’ll thin out at the next stop,” I said, shifting back and forth on my aching legs. The train kept hitting bumps, because clearly someone hated us that night, and with nothing to hold onto, Mike and I kept almost falling over.

Unfortunately, it didn’t “thin out” until about an hour later, a couple of stops from ours.

Finally we got back to New Haven and drove home. The second I got home, I could barely walk, but it was so, so worth it.

Moving on up

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I’m fucking exhausted. My legs are sore and feel like rubbery cheese. My brain is about as hard as a puddle of winter slush.

It’s totally worth it, because my first week of class so far has been awesome!

My math teacher actually makes sense, I don’t get lost anymore, and I fare pretty well against the crazy New Havenian drivers.

The food service people are still icy, though.

I hate New Haven

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I had my first class at the “big girl school” last night. I decided to leave early so I’d have plenty of time to get gas, get there, park, get my parking pass, buy the other book I needed, get some dinner, and then find my class. I felt a little nervous but mostly exhilarated at going somewhere new and meeting new people. A new semester always gets me going, but a new semester at a new school for a new degree? I was really pumped.

I made it to campus without any real problems, aside from The Deathtrap — aka Lisa Mazda — refusing to go faster than 40 mph. (I got passed an awful lot and people kept riding my ass. I wanted to slam on the brakes a few times, but I was afraid the car wouldn’t get going again.) When I got to the first parking lot, I stopped and asked the parking lot monitor or security guard or whatever where I could park so I could walk to the campus police building and get a parking pass. He spit out directions at me a couple of times, even though I had no idea where I was going and I thought I could just park in the lot right there.

I tried to follow this guy’s directions, but I’m not familiar with the area at all. It was the first time I’d driven up there alone and the third time I’d been on campus, period. I’ve driven to the city once before for a concert but that was relatively easy to find. Needless to say, I ended up at some random magnet school, surrounded by one-way streets and evil, unfriendly New Havenians. I pulled into the school’s parking lot and tried not to cry, then called Nikki. She told me to try and come back the way I came and to meet her in the parking lot. Naturally, all of the streets shifted and I ended up on a one-way street to hell.

I called her as I was driving and told her I was lost, again. With my eyes bugging out of my head, I looked around for some sort of landmark so she could come get me. Finally, I found a Shell station next to a Popeyes. She told me she and her dad were on their way, and then I was alone.

I knew that inside of that Shell station would be a guy standing at the counter looking bored, but behind him would be a wall full of cigarettes. All I wanted was one of those cigarettes, but I didn’t dare leave my car. I didn’t want the mean New Havenians to see me cry. So I called my mom and cried to her.

“I’m lost,” I wailed.

“You have to calm down,” she said.

Five minutes later, I turned to my right and a street sign magically appeared. “Oh, fuck. I’m on Whalley Ave*. All I have to do is take a right out of here. Fuck.”

*Whalley Ave is the street that leads to campus. Yeah, I know.

“See? You usually just have to calm down and then you can figure out where you are,” my mom said.

I thought about how much money I had on me. I could just buy a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and everything would be all better. Fuck this quitting smoking bullshit.

Nervously, my head swiveled around and around looking for Nikki. When you’re lost, ten minutes feels like a damn hour. Finally, when I thought I would either go insane or have to break down and buy a pack of smokes, I saw Nikki — my hero — walking to The Deathtrap. I let my mom go and opened the door so Nikki could hear me (the window doesn’t like going up once it’s down).

“I hate New Haven. It sucks. And yes, I’m aware that I sound like a two-year-old,” I said, tears spilling down my cheeks. I couldn’t even control myself at that point.

“Aww, it’s okay,” she said. I bashed New Haven a little more and then someone at the pump behind me beeped.

I thought about telling them to learn how to back out of a space, but Nikki told me to just pull up alongside her dad’s van. I closed my mouth and moved so the dumb New Havenian could get out. Nikki and I followed her dad back to the sprawling, disgustingly huge campus that is SCSU, and then I was on my own again. I parked and set out to find the campus police building, campus map discreetly in hand and my kickass Alice in Wonderland tote on my shoulder. It only took a few minutes, and then I went back to my car and put the sticker on it.

My next stop was the student center. I could do this. Nothing was going to get in my way.

Except suddenly the campus seemed a lot bigger than I remembered. And it was getting dark. The buildings seemed bigger and the map didn’t make any damn sense. It was freaking cold and my stubborn ass was too proud to ask for help. I wandered around, trying not to look like I was lost. I’m enjoying the campus scenery, I thought to myself. The cold stung my face and my legs. I couldn’t remember why I hadn’t brought along an extra coat and a thicker pair of gloves (and possibly a moving space heater). It got darker and darker and I started to think I was never going to find the building when I saw it.

From outside I could see the campus Dunkin Donuts. I practically ran inside and bought myself a coffee and breakfast sandwich. (The girls working were sort of rude but sort of nice. I guess New Havenians are just weird like that. She was super polite but ignored me and slowly wrote something down while I waited for her to finish taking my order.) I shoved the sandwich down my throat (it didn’t taste as good as it does here in Waterbury), and then set out for the bookstore.

Everywhere I went, people stared at me. I was seriously starting to wonder whether I had a sign on my head. Maybe my nose had fallen off from the cold. I browsed the bookstore — which is a Barnes and Noble disguised as SCSU Bookstore — and found my book. I paid and went back upstairs. This time I went to the student center cafeteria. I sat down, opened up a letter from one of my pen pals, and ignored everything around me. I wrote back to her and it still wasn’t time for my class. I began to think that coming this early had been a bad, bad idea.

I decided to go find my class. The room was listed as B303, and I had no idea what B meant. I went across the way and into the building my class is in — I didn’t get lost this time but it was still really cold! — and found my class relatively quickly. It still wasn’t time, so I sat on the floor in the hallway with a bunch of other students and endured more stares. (Maybe my sign read, NOOB HERE?)

Of course, I had to use the bathroom so I wandered back downstairs and tried to find a restroom. I must have walked by it three times before I asked someone where it was, and she told me it was around the corner. I also left my coffee in the stall and didn’t realize it until I was already halfway back to my classroom.

The class went well, though. I like my professor so far. She’s four months pregnant and told us she can’t guarantee that she won’t burp or fart or burst into tears. We’re going to be studying and writing about the five senses to work on our writing. It seems interesting and I liked my first homework assignment so we shall see.

Of course, once the class was over it was time to leave. I had to find my car — which was a little easier this time — and when I finally got back to it the first thing I did was call Mike. “You’re going to keep me awake,” I told him. (It was almost nine.)

I took a left out of the parking lot and then a left at the light; even though Nikki had told me to take a right, right didn’t look right. After about ten minutes I started to get the nagging feeling that I was lost. “I think I went the wrong way,” I said to the speakerphone Mike. Another five minutes passed. “Fuck, I’m lost. I gotta let you go. I’m gonna call my dad.”

Dad — my other hero — used his GPS and got me out of the crazy New Havenian network of one-way streets and back onto 69. By the time I crossed my city line, I probably would have kissed the ground if I didn’t want to have an A Christmas Story moment and have the cops pull my frozen lips off the pavement.

Anyway, I’m exhausted and achy and exhausted, so I’m going to bed. I’m not looking forward to driving up there tomorrow, and I’m not too sure about going to the “big girl school.” I’m pretty freaking determined, though.