Sandi looks forward/done

Tag line: Looking forward is a lifesaver

The darkest part of living with arthritis is depression.
When you feel so lousy that you can't reach for the pills designed to help you feel better, you know depression has set in.
The thoughts that you try so hard to stuff into a tiny corner of your brain burst out like fake snakes from a can of peanuts.
"I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired."
"What if I never feel better?"
"All my friends are so tired of hearing me complain."
"I don't know why I even care."
It's about this time my strength of will kicks in. I force myself to sit up in bed, get my pills, take whatever meds that are due, and plan something.
I have discovered looking forward to something, anything, can keep those dangerous thoughts at bay, and yes, even make you feel better.
Your event doesn't have to be some dream trip or shopping spree. It can be as simple as knowing "Downton Abbey" is coming on PBS in a few days, or a radio station doing a program of music you like.
It just has to be something that keeps your interested in sticking around.
Me? Right now I'm looking forward to seeing Jimmy Buffett  in concert May 4 in Dallas. We have our tickets and a hotel room for the night.
I'm watching travel sites for a deal on a rental car and trying to discover a Parrothead group here that is having a tailgate party in the parking lot.
I've seen Mrs. Buffett's Baby Boy twice, but my husband hasn't, so I'm also excited to watch him see all the weirdness a Buffett concert brings with it.
Yes, that's a pretty big one, but sometimes it's knowing that a magazine I like is due in the mail, or a free movie screening is in two days, or I have a new book to read, that's enough.
I've gotten pedicures, made lunch dates with old friends, gone through a box of stuff left over from our last move.
Keeping your brain occupied does wonders for lightening your mood, and we all need coping mechanisms of any kind come in handy.
Sometimes every trick I have fails. Then I know it's time to call my doctor and tell her I'm depressed. If it's really bad, when I start thinking how nice it would be not to deal with any of this anymore, I call my therapist.
Yes, I have a therapist. I've had one since the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995 and she has saved my life. There are times and situations when only a professional can show you the light in all the darkness, and there is nothing wrong with having a tune up from time to time.
Right now, this blog is working as one of mine. I mean, May 4 is still a while away.
The trick with this is making sure you're in the best health you can be to enjoy your treat.
It's a fine line, but one that's essential to follow to feel as happy as possible with this complicated disease.

Six degrees of Sandi Davis/done

Sandi's adventures provide great stories

My husband and I just celebrated our wedding anniversary. The card I gave him describeds me very well.

A couple is watching TV and the woman is talking telling her husband some kind of trivia about the actor. The man is thinking, "I want my own TV."

I have had run-ins with celebrities my whole life, but when I worked as an entertainment writer I met so many celebrities that if IMDB didn't exist, I'd be lost.

For 15 years, about every other weekend I was somewhere watching a movie or three set to come out in the next month or so and interviewing the cast and crew. That way, my newspaper would have a story about the stars and a review from their own critic on opening day. 

It's a good system.

I did the junket for "The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement" in 2004. I was excited to get to interview Julie Andrews and Anne Hathaway (who won an Oscar Feb. 24), so much so I forgot all about some guy named Chris Pine.

I saw 2009's "Star Trek" in 2009 with no recognition. It stayed that way until I saw "Princess Diaries 2" on TV. My jaw dropped. I had interviewed the new James T. Kirk five years before. 

One day in 1995, I met NBC's weatherman Willard Scott, my governor, one of my senators, a state congressman who played football at my alma mater and Jesse Jackson Sr. Yes, all of them in one day.

By the way, if you ask Willard Scott if he's a meteorologist, he answers, "No, I'm a Baptist."

At the junket for the movie "Evita," I had a one-on-one interview with Antonio Banderas about his role in the movie. I heard his publicist telling him who he was speaking with next, and I walked into the room.

He sang "Oklahoma!" to me, full voice. The whole song.

I stood there, trying not to drool, and listened.

He kept motioning me to sit down, and I kept shaking my head, "No."

When he finished the song, I told him that was our state's song and I had to stand. He told me he knew every word to every song in the musical. We had a nice chat, and he gave me an autograph.

Yes, that's nice, but Antonio Banderas sang "Oklahoma!" for me.

And yes, I interviewed Madonna too.

Remember the movie "Twister"? It was partially filmed in Oklahoma and I went on the set visit and saw an old friend, actor Bill Paxton.

He's from Fort Worth and is one of the nicest guys. During the junket, he and I joked about the tornado drills we endured in elementary school, to the disbelief of the writers not from Tornado Alley.

I was dressed in jeans and a shirt that day.

A week or so later Paxton and company were in Oklahoma City for the world premiere of "Twister" and we ran into each other again. This time I was in a full-length gown, hair done, wearing makeup. We wound up at the after party doing vodka shots from the ice sculpture. There are photos, somewhere.

A week later I was back on Los Angeles doing the junket for the secret-agent spoof, "Spy Hard." I had just finished a one-on-one with Leslie Nielsen and had some free time so I decided to visit the hotel's hot tub. I was wearing a my bathing suit, a hotel robe and flip-flops, my hair pulled on on top of my head. I was waiting at the elevator.

The doors opened and Bill Paxton stood there with his publicist. We locked eyes and started laughing. 

"Are you stalking me?," I asked.

"Yes," he said. 

The other people on the elevator couldn't understand why we stood there hugging and laughing.

You can't make this stuff up.

The point is this. My carry-on luggage literally rattled from all the medicine I had to take with me. I was using a cane. My memory was (and still is) like Swiss cheese, but I had fun.

And now that's all that's behind me, I can recall these things that happened to me, and annoy my husband with them while he's watching TV.