Olia…Oh yeah!

Today I tried Olia Hair Colour by Garnier. I know it alarms you people that I dye my greys, but I don’t get that pretty silver grey most red heads get. I do get some pretty silver grey, but it’s mixed into this sort of lifeless dead tombstone grey, which comes of my natural colour being a reddish light brown.

Olia is an oil based, non-ammonia hair colour. It smells like an old Carolina Herrera perfume I liked in the 80s, rather than concentrated cat pee like an ammonia colour. It goes on gloriously. It claims to be non-drip, but that is a bald faced lie. However, being oil based, a quick wipe with a warm wet paper towel will do the trick.

It rinses out pretty much like an ammonia colour & comes off the skin very well. It doesn’t splash all over the shower walls, so if you enjoy running to your family & pretending you’ve had an accident with arterial spray, this isn’t for you. If you prefer a clean shower & not horrifying your loved ones, this is a great product!

After letting it mostly dry naturally I blew it out & was shocked by how uproariously glossy & healthy my hair looked. Whether it’s the oil based developer or the conditioner I cannot scientifically say, but I have dead ends & haven’t seen it this glossy & manageable in a good long while. It curled fantastically & still smells amazing even after a couple of hours sitting near a smoky grill in whipping wind. I will definitely be using it again.

And since a picture is worth 1000 words:

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Feb 21 2013 Workout

ALWAYS CONSULT A DOCTOR BEFORE STARTING AN EXERCISE PROGRAM. But never Dr. Nick.

I have been doing push ups, squats, & sit ups throughout the week, but as y’all know from my fibro blog, I’ve been flaring & have not been able to be consistent. I only intended to do 20 minutes today, but, well…30 minutes later, here we are:

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I did a “warm up” walking around the grocery store & The Vitamin Shoppe with a basket. The remaining minutes of weighted walking were with an 18 lb kettle bell in between each set because I wasn’t feeling joggy. As you can see, I did sets with more reps, except for my sit ups, as my failure was 20 today. That is sad. But you do what you can.

The bicep curls were done with me standing on my lightest resistance band. I figure that about equals 10 lbs, but that last set felt like 20lbs. It’ll probably take me a week to make up for fibroflare weakness.

The 2 minutes of yoga was downward dog, cat pose, & cobra for 20 breaths each. My muscles & connective tissues have been frightfully tight, so I needed it.

Hecho En Mexico

The most significant item in this dream, to me, is that I was drinking a non-gluten free beer, which is the first time I’ve consumed a gluteny item in a dream since my celiac diagnosis in 2009. Indeed, my paranoia about getting sick again is so ingrained that even when Eliza Dushku took me to a pastry buffet in one dream, I refused.

But you guys no doubt will find the rest much more interesting.

I was asked to come down to a Mexican border town to meet a prominent Mexican psychiatrist to assist in the diagnosis and treatment of a famous American. The doctor met me for the cervesa (which I did order “light”…evidently I can’t not dream I’m off my diet), but said he’d rather discuss the case in his office. We walked down the street to a beautiful old stucco building and went inside.

His office was a richly appointed typical psychiatrist’s office, with shelves of books and a couch or two covered in fine Corinthian leather. My brain is nothing if not informed by Ricardo Mantelban. He took out a file and handed it to me with great ceremony. I sat in a chair and started reading:

Subject displays profound fear of alien abduction. He states he has been taken by aliens in the past and probed anally with a long, glowing, white instrument. His obsession and paranoia over this instrument has caused him to experience great psychological discomfort when rewatching Star Wars. He presents because Star Wars viewing is an integral part of his identity, and he wishes to be free of this distress so he can return to his normal life activities.

The photo inside the file and the name on the file was Wil Wheaton. I looked up at the doctor and he looked at me with wild eyes.

“Chupacabras, Miss Adan?”

I chuckled. “Maybe Star Wars overload.”

“¿Creas en las chupacabras, Señorita?”

“No, doctor. But the patient clearly should be submitted to involuntary psychiatric incarceration & observation.”

“Then it is as I feared. This is the course of action I had decided upon, but I needed your help to get your government’s permission. I will write up the order now.”

He scrawled the order in pencil on a legal pad, which was apparently good enough for the US government. In a joint effort between American authorities and Federales, we finally cornered Wheaton on a dock at gun point & took him into protective custody, for his own good. Myself & the doctor asked the law men to please go carefully with the patient, as his fear of chupacabras was so great that any authority figures might spook him. They locked him in the back of a car & he pressed his hands against the window, screaming “No, not again!”

Then I woke up.

Do No Harm: Why Televised Rehab Isn’t

Most people have never been famous, but nearly everyone has suffered psychological discomfort, or knows someone who has. In an attempt to explain the iatrogenic effects of televised therapy, I’m going to ask you to empathize with a subset of patients most people envy: celebrities.

Inherent in all psychological trauma is the belief that nobody understands you and no one can help you. Seeking treatment is a brave step as it requires you to reach beyond traditional support systems (family, friends, church), whom you believe to have failed you, in order to share your darkest fears with a professional stranger.

The comfort and safety of confidentiality and privacy are the cornerstone of all therapeutic interactions. Whether you’re seeing your doctor for a suspicious lump, a substance abuse counselor for meth addiction, AA to overcome alcohol, or even a peer crisis counselor, your expectation of privacy and safe space are so integral to successful treatment that it is codified into pretty much every government, corporate, & non-profit regulatory structure. It is drummed into practitioners in med school and psychology classes. It is a condition of joining a 12 step program. It is sworn to uphold before certification for peer counseling. It is punishable by law when violated in the United States via HIPAA and state licensing boards.

Of course, in the United States we also have release of liability forms. You know, just in case someone who is replacing love with fame needs to up their exposure on national television.

Confidentiality is integral to seeking & sticking with successful treatment. Few people would visit the doctor if they had to announce they had rectal bleeding to the waiting room. No one wants to admit they have scary thoughts or were sexually assaulted in the public square. Even people who choose to share their stories on Oprah usually have gone through a successful course of treatment. They are well now & can consent to speaking publicly about their troubles & recovery without interfering with their health.

This changes when we ask people who are barely able to function outside of a live-in treatment facility to sign a waiver allowing cameras to follow their recovery. The “celebrities” who join such programs not only have issues with addiction to substances or feelings; they also are desperate to get back in the public eye. They are in need of work as they’re low on funds. Many would sell their soul to get back on TV. Does this sound like a healthy, fully informed decision to you?

Much of the reason these people are no longer working is their substance addiction, but while lack of jobs and money may make it difficult to obtain anything that will make them feel better, it does not decrease the drive. For the fame addict, being back on TV is part of the high. Putting them back on TV is as bad as giving them more booze, more speed, more food, more meaningless sex.

Fame is a poor substitute for stable, loving relationships. For many of these people, stable loving relationships are as alien as paparazzi & red carpets are to us. How are they to overcome all their addictions (& the issues addiction masks) if one of those addictions is being fed? How are they to learn normal human interaction if their every move, tear, & breakdown is being filmed?

It is not possible to give informed consent to camera coverage when you are not well. It is not responsible therapeutic technique to take confidentiality, privacy, & safe spaces away. Dr. Drew Pinsky (among others) either doesn’t understand this, or does & chooses to ignore it.

Either way, would you trust him to help you?

Feb 14 2013 Workout

ALWAYS CHECK WITH A DOCTOR FIRST. But not Dr. No. He charges $1,000,000.00 for everything.

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The jogging = 2 minutes warm up, then 30 seconds between every 2 strength sets as usual. If you hate to jog, do 25 jumping jacks (which hurt my plantar fascia) or 25 seal jacks or hop on your treadmill, elliptical, or recumbent bike for 30 secs. I guess you could also march in place or do the Humpty Dance.

As it’s Valentine’s Day, here’s your dance, here’s your chance (folks in committed relationships), to do the hump.

Yeah, sexy ladies!

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From Twitter, because well meaning people caught snippets & have given terrible responses, ignoring or avoiding the whole picture. And because I should be honest & explain to y’all that the fierceness you ascribe to me is not only hard-won, but you can have it, too. If I can, really, anyone can. Cos Jesus is good like that.

Anyhow:

“Lord, I need your help, bad. My friends don’t get it cos like a dumbass I’ve given them the impression that I’m fine.

In short, my father was a monster & I have tried to piece “normal” together from whatever felt like the opposite of evil.

Subsequently my “normal” is a patchwork of directives from professionals & people who seem well meaning, probably.

When I was 17 a psychiatrist told me I showed amazing resilience by still being alive. This is why y’all think I’m “inspiring”. Resilience.

Resilience = I refuse to die. It may cross my mind on an almost daily basis, but I refuse to die. God has a plan for me. Fuck if I know it.

I just keep trying to be ready for God’s plan. Sometimes that’s hard. He must want me on some Special Forces team. Well, bring it.

It’s better to be Audrey Horne than Laura Palmer. But let’s face it, Audrey Horne is not all there.”

As it turns out, I’m in a prodromal migraine phase, which explains why my resilience has failed over the past couple days. Seriously, you guys, if it wasn’t for the Lord’s loving guidance and patience, I would have been dead long ago. I pray you never know what that means or how it feels.

You can do everything through Christ who gives you strength. That is a fact. I’m living proof. Beefcake.