Little Bits of Pixie Dust

New Guy

2009-01-15T11:40:00.000-08:00

My husband has given his heart to someone else... and his name is Randy.

Randy is the new guy at A*'s workplace. At first, I heard that Randy was "kind of weird." But also, nice. And then I started hearing more and more about Randy. Randy listens to some of the same music that A* does! Randy is very religious but doesn't shove it down your throat so A* can ask him biblical questions he's always wanted to know the answers to! Randy has a girlfriend and asks A* for advice! Randy is working really hard and learning all kinds of new things from, you guessed it, A*. All in all, Randy JUST ROCKS!!

The other day, the Randy story was how A* stuck up for him when he was unfairly reprimanded at work. I asked A* if he loved Randy, and he said, "Well, I kind of feel like he's my little brother or something." That was so cute and sweet, I couldn't make fun of him (much) for it.

Everywhere A* goes, he makes friends. At McDonald's, he is friendly with the girl that works the counter, and he especially likes the special boy who works the fry grill. At Subway, he has recieved many free subs and cookies from the workers there. At the gas station, they know his name and already have his purchases laid out for him. And everyday, I get to hear about all of these people, and what they said, and the free things that they gave A*, and really way more than I want to know about anyone that I have never met.

Now he has taken Randy under his wing, and I wonder if Randy knows just how much of our after work conversation revolves around him. Or how much A* seems to enjoy his company. Or really, just how lucky he is that A* has decided that he is a worthy cause, and will stick up for him like a little brother. I hope that he realizes this, because being loved by my husband is a pretty special thing.

I should know.

Q & A

2009-01-11T08:41:00.001-08:00

After the whole job debacle, in a fit of motivation, I fired off a couple of resumes without really expecting anything back. But then someone got back to me that very day, and asked me to come in for an interview. This job would be full time, which means that I would have to leave the Peanut all day. It got me thinking...

When the Peanut was first born, and I was in the deepest depths of PPD and couldn't see any light at the end of the tunnel, I told myself desperately that I would soon get a job again. In the real world, where I could talk to adults and wouldn't have to worry about being with this brand new baby that I had no idea what to do with. I actually looked forward to it, because it would mean more than eight hours a day out of the house. And, if I'm being completely honest, away from the baby. I was so anxious and strung out about everything, going to work for eight hours seemed like it would be a break.

But the depression eventually lifted, and I got a little bit better at the baby stuff. I had work as a home health aide, so I was still bringing in some money, but we didn't have to pay anyone to watch the Peanut, as he could come with me. Still, I do enjoy feeling like I'm contributing, and I was going off of my previous feelings. I thought it might be nice to have a reason to put on something other than sweats and talk about things other than poop or teeth that may or may not even be there.

When I got the email requesting that I come in for an interview, my eyes welled up before I was even done reading. All of a sudden, I had to seriously think about this, and what I kept coming back to was that someone else would be playing with the Peanut all day. Getting those huge gummy smiles while drool runs down his chin. Hearing those giggles. Granted, yes, also hearing some screaming and dealing with a pissed off kid sometimes. But soon he will be sitting up, and then crawling, and then WALKING, and what if I miss it? What if I miss hearing that little voice say its first word, when I've been putting in the babble time for months?

My fingers hovered above the keyboard, my stomach churning. What did I really want? The Peanut squeals in delight from his bouncy seat, and I think that I know the answer.

100

2009-01-07T15:15:00.000-08:00

I had a new job, for about five seconds. Actually, I was training for a new job for about a month, and then started it for five seconds.

My mom saw an ad in her town's paper for this job, and thought it would be something that I would really do well and enjoy. Also, it was work from home, so I wouldn't have to get a baby-sitter for the Peanut. It sounded perfect. I sent them my resume and they called and scheduled me for an interview. The interview was at the lady's house, and she and her assistant were dressed in jeans and t-shirts. The assistant was whispering asides to the other woman the whole time, like "Don't forget to tell her about this." and "Do you need me to move my car?" I don't know why these things were secret, but whatever. A brief discription of the job, and I was hired. I wasn't even really interviewed. The Boss Lady told me that I had been their first choice and that they were so glad when I called them back. I was flattered and really looking forward to the new job.

The first tinge of something was when I told my BFF that I had gotten a new job, she asked me what it was, turned out she knew of a girl that had worked for the same lady and she thought something had gone wrong. BFF checked with her, and it turned out this girl had worked for the exact same lady and had been delayed in getting paid for months and months, until her husband finally called Boss Lady and said they would have to take legal action if his wife wasn't paid. THEN Boss Lady said to this girl when she finally gave her the check THAT SHE WORKED FOR, Boss Lady said, "I hope you know that I had to borrow money from my mom to give you this." Hmmmm.

But I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt, mostly because this seemed like a dream job to me and I really wanted it to work out. First, there was the driving. I wasn't working from home because I was driving around the whole state all day. Picking things up, dropping papers off. The locations that I had to go to were at least 45 minutes away. I had to drag the Peanut out, only to turn around and put him back in the car. One of them was in a really bad part of town.

I was training this whole time, and finally I got my first real work. I sat down to do it... and an hour later I was done. For weeks I had been training, and this is what I got? I figured it out, and I had made $16. For what was supposedly a whole week's work.

The following day, I emailed Boss Lady to ask her what I had to do the next day. Of course, I knew it would be driving somewhere. I sent the email at around 6:30 in the morning. At around 8, I checked again. And 8:30. And 9:00. You get the picture. Until I had to leave for my other job at 10, I kept checking and there was no response. So I figured there was nothing to do, and went on ahead with my day. At around 12:30, I checked again, and there was a reply. It said I needed to go and pick something up by 10:30 that day. The email was sent at 10:46. Wha?

The final straw was when A* learned of yet another former employee that wasn't paid. I wrote her another email and told her that it just wasn't working out. I know, it was cowardly to write an email, but I am so not good with confrontation of any kind. Seriously. I actually threw up this morning because I was so stressed out about all of this.

Now I'm relieved, sort of, but really just disappointed. I wanted this to work out. It was something that I actually enjoyed doing. I was glad to have two jobs to be helping out my family.

I guess if it looks too good to be true, it must be too good to be true. (Except my husband. )

*********** In case you're interested, this is my 100th post. 100 posts, two or three moves, two or three cars, one marriage, lots of crying, lots of Zoloft, one baby, some more crying, and the whole time, no one really cared. Yay me!***************************************************

Sexual Healing

2009-01-01T13:30:00.000-08:00

The first man I remember feeling something for was Davey Jones from the Monkees. It was way past their time, but reruns of the show were on Nickelodeon everyday when I got home from school, and I fell in love with Davey. My parents found vintage posters for me and I pasted them around my room. I had vague fantasies of the two of us getting married and walking on the beach, while the song "Daydream Believer" played in the background. I was probably around first or second grade, so my imagination didn't go much past this. Then one night, my parents told me excitedly that they had tickets for a Monkees reunion tour and they were taking me! I would get to see Davey Jones in person! I was absolutely overwhelmed with this news, and quite honestly felt like I couldn't take it. I didn't understand some of the feelings I was having, and I panicked. I made up some lame excuse about not wanting to go to a concert yet and fled to my room, where I gazed at my posters through a veil of tears and hugged my Cabbage Patch tightly. I never went to the concert.

In the sixth grade, I discovered the meaning of the words "crush", though at the time I would have told you it was absolute true love. I was totally obsessed with a boy named Doug, and spent countless hours in my room listening to Boyz II Men songs and writing his name over and over in my diary. I wanted to kiss him in the worst way, and I felt my knees go weak when I was close enough to get a whiff of his scent; lots of cheap cologne and that slightly sweaty boy smell. This was the first time I ever thought about actually kissing someone, and how it might feel, and how I really, really liked the way he smiled. The day Doug moved across North America, he told me that he had always had a crush on me, hugged me breathlessly, and walked out of my life forever.

A couple years passed in a blur of different boys, different lip gloss, first kiss, stomach dropping, knee shaking, uncertainty. Then Chris came into my life. Chris was my first long term, "serious" boyfriend. Chris and I made out a lot, and then one night we were in my basement. I was wearing a gray ribbed knit shirt and jeans, he was wearing a hoodie. He sat on my dad's workbench, and I sat on his lap. His hand uncertainly crept up my shirt, and I giggled in an embarrassingly high pitched way. I was sure that any minute I would hear the door at the top of the stairs open and hear my mom's footsteps coming down the stairs, just in time to see her daughter turn into a hooker. Or something. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I stuck them down the front of his pants. My face burning, I touched it. Ah! I touched it! I didn't know what to do with it, so I just laughed again.

Surprisingly, Chris and I stayed together after this encounter, and worked our way up the sexual ladder. Until we broke up, and I started dating someone else. R- was gorgeous and had the ability to reduce me to a puddle of helplessness with one look from his huge brown eyes. I had never been attracted to someone like this before, and I loved the way it felt when his fingers roamed over my skin and I grabbed his curls. We did everything but together, and then had a messy breakup.

College was, well, college. More boys, lots of beer, keg parties, naked boys running down our hallway at night, roommates giggling at the sound of a bed creaking overhead. I met Tim smack in the middle of my partying, and felt he was the One. In Cancun, on Spring Break, we consummated our relationship, and I kissed my virginity good-bye. I was twenty years old, and I was a little tipsy. I didn't see what all the fuss was about.

Tim obviously cheated on me, because he wasn't the One, and in between Cancun and breaking up I tried to avoid sex at all costs. I just liked doing everything else better. Tim didn't give me any complaints. I thought that it was completely overrated.

A* came into my life about a year after Tim broke my heart and I was ready for a change. For once, I just let myself go and embarrassingly soon after we started dating I discovered EXACTLY what all the fuss about sex was. I don't know if it was because A* took the time to please me, or seemed to genuinely care about how I felt, or just true love (I know, gag) but I was hooked.

However, I had some very funny ideas about sex and how a woman shouldn't really want it that much and shouldn't be too loud or shouldn't want to try different things, I don't know where it came from but I did, so I would never initiate anything with A*. We had a really good sex life.

Most times when people have a child, they lose their sex drive. I was the complete opposite. As soon as I shot that kid out, I wanted to go at it. I waited about two weeks after birth until I told A* I thought it would be okay to try. We did, and it was great. More than great.

Now we enjoy an extremely healthy sex life, and I was having a great time last night as we rang in the New Year, until we heard a distinctive grunt from over the baby monitor and time stopped. We held our breath and listened, hoping against hope that silence would reign again. It didn't. We smiled grimly at each other, pulled our clothes back on, and went and got our son.

Our first minutes of 2009 were spent giving kisses and tickling, but not of each other. Things have changed so much over the year, and that's just fine with me. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Happy New Year.

X-Mas Wrap Up

2008-12-26T15:10:00.000-08:00

I found my Christmas spirit sometime in between the time we dressed the Peanut in his reindeer footie pajamas and my second glass of wine.
My grandfather gave my dad a ring, and he explained that one of the stones was from the Great Depression. My grandpa's brother was dying, and he took the diamond to the doctor. He told him that he would pay him back for his services as soon as he could, but just in case the doctor could hold the diamond for collateral. He did save the brother, and they did get the diamond back. Another stone was my great-great grandmother's engagement ring. My dad thought this was the coolest thing ever (we all kind of did) and the story kept getting more heart wrenching the more Scotch my dad consumed.
The best gift that I gave out this year was for A*, and it was only $5.99. It really is the thought that counts.
The Peanut was thoroughly disgusted with all the fuss and noise, and though he received more gifts than anyone, he did NOT deck the halls.
My cousin, who had never met the Peanut before, examined him coolly and said, "He's short, kinda."
I got to watch my nephew open his X-Box 360, and I have never heard a louder scream or seen someone race around a room as fast as that little boy. His joy was so big he couldn't contain it.
My mom gave the Peanut some books that were my favorites when I was a child, and the Peanut and I listened as she read them to us. I realized I am never too old to be read to by my mom.
Members of my extended family threatened to spend next Christmas at the following places... New York, a cruise, a ditch by the side of the road... but I know that they will all be back next year, bitching about the same things. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I hope everyone had a very Merry Holiday, and spent time laughing with those who are the most important to you.

It's Only One Day!

2008-12-23T06:18:00.000-08:00

I have lost my Christmas spirit, somewhere amid the tangle of family obligations and low finances and misunderstandings. It seems like everyone has an agenda for us, when really all I want to do is spend a nice day with my son and family. It is the Peanut's first Christmas, and I wanted it to be really special. I mean, I know he is only an infant and he will never remember this, but I will, and I want to look back on his first year with joy, not irritation.

I just want to know when the magic left Christmas. When did it become who is giving what present and who's family dinner you go to first? When did we lose the whole point, which is that Christmas is that time of year when people are nice to each other, they smile in the store, they wave you on ahead in traffic. I think it should be about families, and togetherness, and the way the house smells after cooking a big feast.

I'm just bitter. I'm having some problems with one side of the family, and I have to make a really hard decision as to whether or not I will participate in this charade of happiness for one more year. Especially when I said last year that I would not do it again. I have just gone back and forth with this, and I don't know what the right thing to do is.

Today my mom and I are taking the Peanut to visit Santa and have his picture taken, and maybe when he is done I might crawl up onto the big man's lap myself and whisper in his ear what I want for Christmas this year.

Peace.

Pink Elephant

2008-12-19T14:35:00.001-08:00

My husband and I are in the middle of ignoring the large pink elephant sitting right in front of us. We are not supposed to talk about Something, so all I think about is Something. I keep thinking of really funny, yet inappropriate, jokes about Something, and have literally had to bite my lips so as not to let them get out. A* is Very Sensitive about Something, and I can't keep my fucking mouth shut.

When I'm not supposed to talk about Something, I am thinking about it constantly. I want to FIX Something. I want to TALK ABOUT Something. How can Something be worked out if we are not talking and examining it in the smallest detail and talking some more and maybe worrying a little.... how can Something get better if I am forbidden to speak of it.

I don't want to hurt my husband's feelings. More than anything in the world. That is why I have to take out my frustrations here. A while ago, I made a tiny comment about Something, and A* looked at me like I had broken his heart. It broke my heart to have him look at me that way, and I have felt horrible and the worst wife ever since.

So we sit and don't look at the hugest pink elephant I've ever seen, even when it takes a giant shit on the floor and tries to eat the Peanut.

Or Something.

Bits

2008-12-17T15:31:00.000-08:00

- My best friend had a baby boy on Monday night. He was 7.5 and 21 1/2 inches long, with a full head of curly black hair. He looks exactly like his dad. The Peanut and this new baby will be best friends too, because their mommies already decided that they have to be. Is it wrong that I am a little bit self satisfied because she is just beginning her journey of no sleeping and not knowing what the hell she is doing? Nah, misery loves company. Welcome, baby Matthew!

- I discovered a new song that I absolutely love, so I was very excited to download some more stuff onto my MP3 player. I put another four or five songs on it, and was so disappointed to realize that besides the original song, I don't really like any more of their songs. I was so pissed, because I thought that I had unearthed a new person for me to play obsessively over and over in my headphones.

- I take care of a ninety one year old woman, Miss Anna, in the mornings. The other day we were watching one of those dumb court shows and there were some lesbians on. Miss Anna was eating her breakfast when she turned to me and asked, "How do women have sex with each other, anyway?" How do you answer this question to someone who was born in 1917? I muttered, "Toys," and continued to wipe off the table. "Toys," she repeated to herself, and I just know she was picturing some train set or Lincoln Logs and trying to figure out just what the lesbians would do with them.

- Our bathtub drain is clogged, and there is a foot of dirty water laying in the tub. Last night I had to take a shower with my ankles buried in freezing cold filmy water. A* seems strangely unbothered by this, and has been halfheartedly plunging and pouring Draino in the drain. I wonder when he will actually do something. I also wonder why I don't just call the landlord myself and have her send for a plumber. Oh yeah, because I'm lazy.

Picture Perfect

2008-12-13T10:29:00.000-08:00

Well, I finally joined the legions of other mothers before me, those exhausted and hollow-eyed people that are blindly carrying around a bag of clothes and a hairbrush... I took the Peanut to get his pictures professionally taken.

Let me tell you, this was a bigger deal than his actual birth. I had to make no less than THREE trips back and forth to the photo place. It was hot, there were kids screaming, the Peanut fell into an exhausted sleep on my shoulder... it was like another dimension.

The first time we went, a V!E!R!Y! cheerful man took us back into a hot, hot room filled with fabrics and bedraggled toys and bright lights. He instructed me to undress the Peanut and place him in a basket, with a blue ribbon covering his bits. I tried not to think of how many other kids had placed their bare bottom where I was now resting my son. The Peanut tried to eat the ribbon. He squinted in surprise at the pop of the camera. He had absolutely no interest in any of the dumb toys the cheerful employee tried to wave in front of his face. He let his picture be taken a few more times, and then fell asleep in the basket. Done for the day.

We were told that we didn't have to make an appointment for the next time, since we were just continuing the session. Of course, when we got there, with the Peanut decked out in his finest Christmas sweater, there were four million people, who actually HAD appointments, and they all were taken back before us. After three hours in his hot and uncomfortable sweater, smack in the middle of nap time, the Peanut screamed bloody murder when we finally set him down on a mock sled to take some pictures. He did not appreciate the squeaky toy that they were waving at him, he was having none of sitting by himself, and just wanted his mom to take him away from all of these insane people and bright lights. Needless to say, there were no pictures taken on this trip.

I dragged us back for the final time, putting the Peanut back into a sweater that was now a little worse for the wear. We lost a shoe in the parking lot, and I barked at the man who was now just irritatingly happy, "Just take the pictures, I don't care if he has a shoe on or not!" We got a couple of pictures of the Peanut looking highly pissed off about all of the proceedings, and then I got to pick through the wreckage and decide what to spend ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FUCKING DOLLARS on to complete my picture experience.

I don't have the pictures back yet, and I don't even care if they look good. I will be displaying those suckers until he has children of his own.

Six month pictures, anyone?

Grown Up Things

2008-12-08T15:27:00.001-08:00

Gazing at my son, I realize something horrible. I'm supposed to be a grown-up now, responsible for a whole other human life. An adult! And most of the time, that is quite the opposite of what I am.

I always turn the music up as loud as it can go, and sing at the top of my lungs, and sometimes use objects to be my pretend microphones. I dance around like a maniac. I stand on furniture to really belt it out.

I am drawn to all things glittery or shiny or sparkly. If I could wear a tiara everyday without getting strange looks, I would. I half-way believe that I was either a fairy or a princess in some past life. I paint my nails with pink glitter polish and coat my mouth with bubble gum flavored lip gloss.

Tinkerbelle is my bitch. I wanted to watch the new movie, and invited a two year old over so that I would have a friend. I watched the movie, she played with the cats. She was not impressed.

I sometimes want to just keep driving and driving and see where I end up. Or just pick up and move to a different city, where no one knows me and I could totally reinvent myself.

When I am sick or upset, I still want my mommy.

I eat a diet that consists of fast food, boxed dinners, and ready-made brownies. And I'm not apologizing for it- that shit is good!

I watch all the animated Christmas movies every year, and the original Frosty is my favorite. I love Christmas, and I really love presents. I like to receive better than give most of the time. I almost still believe in Santa.

I laugh loudly and without consideration for others around me. I often snort and hit people when I laugh. Farting still makes me giggle. People falling cracks me up. I like to eat candy and I like to roast marshmallows and I like to put on costumes and I like to play make over with my friends and I still go down the doll aisle in the toy store and I still sleep with a Cabbage Patch doll and I don't like to be in the dark alone.

Actually, after reading this over, I'm glad I'm not a grown-up. One of the coolest things about having a kid is that you get to do all this stuff all over again and see it through new eyes.

"Forget them… forget them all. Come away to Never Never Land.
Come with me, we’ll never…never have to worry about grown-up things again."
-Peter Pan

Girl

2008-12-07T17:40:00.000-08:00

I thought she was beautiful, in a fragile, waifish kind of way. She wore a green hooded sweatshirt and had bleached blond hair. I met her in the psychiatric ward.

When I was in high school I fell into a deep depression and after therapy and medication and no relief, and my mother sleeping on my bedroom floor in case I got up at night, I was sent to the local Children's hospital, seventh floor. The crazies. I was terrified.

She was already a patient when I got there. At my first group, I noticed her, and she gave me a small grin. A breath I didn't know I had been holding came shooting out... someone that looked normal, not the drooling zombie I had pictured being in the psych ward.

We made ridiculous clay sculptures in Art Therapy, and weaved each other friendship bracelets. We giggled and drew inspirational posters to hang on our walls, as instructed by someone. She told me about her boyfriend and how much she wanted a cigarette. She seemed glamorous to me, someone who had experienced things that I couldn't even imagine. I watched her apply meticulous make-up every morning, smoothing her fingers across her cheeks. Piece by piece, her story came out in group, and she only grew more mysterious to me.

I got sent home on Partial, meaning that I got to go home overnight but had to spend all day at the hospital. She asked me to bring her some blush and a pen. We were only allowed to write with pencils, with soft lead tips that couldn't puncture. I agreed to bring the contraband, thinking nothing of it. I gave her the pen the next day, and she broke it apart and scraped the sharp ends over her wrists.

It was taken away from her and she had to spend the afternoon in the Quiet Room. I was shocked at this betrayal of our friendship and also at my naivety. I had forgotten for a while that we were in a mental hospital.

Eventually we both got "better" and were sent home. I lost touch with her as soon as we left, but I hung up the signs she had made me, wore her friendship bracelet till it broke, and thought of her often.

A couple years later, I saw her at a local pizza place. She looked skinny, but well. I watched her laugh and toss her head back, noticed the flush on her cheeks. I never said anything to her, not sure if she would want to be reminded of a difficult time. But I was so glad to see her, to see that she had made it.

I still think of her often, and hope that she is still out there somewhere smoothing liquid foundation like a magical paintbrush over her fevered face, and safe.

Helpful Hints

2008-12-04T12:13:00.000-08:00

Here are some things that they don't tell you about being a mom. Yes, you will love your child more than life itself, and yes you will be doing the most rewarding job of your entire life, but there are some things that you should know first.

1.) If you are trying to watch the Britney Spears documentary on TiVo, your child will start to cry and scream. If you are trying to watch ANYTHING except Dora and the Wonderpets, your child will cry and scream. You can try and distract him, and put him in his bouncy seat, but he will have no part of that. You will never find out why Britney shaved her head.

2.) Even if you do manage to get him to sit in his bouncy seat or swing for an extended period of time (that means more than three seconds), you will feel guilty that you are not playing with him or stimulating him. Everyone will tell you how you need to stimulate your baby, so every moment that you are not spending with him dangling age appropriate toys that he has no interest in in front of his face, you will feel a crushing sense of guilt. Pretty much everything you do from now on will be filled with guilt, get used to it.

3.) The best present that your significant other can give you is a block of uninterrupted time, which you will use to shower. Or nap, if you are me. But remember, refer to number 2, because you will feel guilty about this.

4.) If you want the baby to nap, say so that you and your mate may try and make another one (what??), the baby will never ever nap. If you don't want him to nap, because it is a half hour till his bedtime and you want him to sleep tonight, he will be harder to wake up than your grandpa after a big dinner.

5.) No matter where you are going, tack on another fifteen minutes at least, because your child will poop right before you leave.

6.) This job is sometimes really, really boring! It is really hard to spend all day trying to entertain someone who doesn't even know how to use his hands yet. You will crave adult interaction, and will be reduced to yelling back at Judge Judy on TV, because at least she isn't pulling your hair or pooping her pants.

7.) You may never wear regular clothes again. Your new uniform will consist of sweatpants, a ponytail, and flip flops... if you have to leave the house. Inside, you will be in your pajamas. Maybe a robe.

8.) You will not get to shower everyday, and you don't even care. Soon you won't even notice the scent of spoiled formula wafting from your pores. You are too busy yelling at the TV and feeling guilty.

9.) You will never eat a full meal again. You will simply graze on whatever is left if your child sees it fit to let you have five minutes to scarf your food down. If you do get a meal, it will be cold.

10.) It is the very best job you will ever have in your life, and someday you will look on these early days with fondness. And guilt.

Gushing

2008-12-02T10:26:00.002-08:00

Yesterday I sent my first fan email and I was such a dork. I gushed and went on and on and even linked to my blog just in case she wanted to really experience my nerdiness. As soon as I hit the send button my insecurities came flying out, and I thought it was a dumb idea but then if I wrote a book I would want people to let me know that they liked it... Anyways, she wrote me back! Stefanie wrote me such a nice reply and even commented on my blog.

Thanks, Stefanie, for not judging me on my dorkiness. And if you haven't read "Sippy Cups are Not for Chardonnay" yet, close this window and go get it. It's hilarious! And honest! And Stefanie is really nice!

Torturing my Son

2008-12-01T12:29:00.001-08:00

All right, it's time for me to come clean, and really I would never admit this to anyone but hey, who out there is really reading this anyway? The first step is admitting you have a problem...

The other day I was playing with the Peanut on the floor and we were listening to some music, as we are known to do. (We really kick it here, we really do.) I always sing along and he never objected before. Well, a song came on that has a great crescendo in the middle and I got all geared up and belted out the lyrics at the top of my lungs... and the Peanut started screaming like I had jabbed him with a red hot poker. He was totally terrified of my singing voice.

I guess all of my American Idol dreams are now slowly going down the toilet. And I was ready to be all famous and runner up and then go on Celebrity Rehab, just like that chick that's on there right now. But if my own son can't stand the sound, how can I expect the rest of America to torture themselves?

He's getting a lullaby before he goes to bed, damn it, and I don't care who calls CSB on me.

Mush

2008-11-29T13:39:00.000-08:00

The sight of the back of my baby's head, with its swirls of hair and his ears just visible, makes my heart melt and I never knew I could love something this much.

Things that Make Me Feel Guilty, Volume I

2008-11-28T17:28:00.000-08:00

Is it wrong...

that on some days, I cannot WAIT for the time that the Peanut goes to bed?
that sometimes, I just wish I could take a nap and be uninterrupted?
that I miss the time that my husband and I used to have together?
that I really would have a tantrum if we didn't have cable?
that I probably wouldn't be able to make it through the days if we didn't have cable?
that I made brownies for Thanksgiving and let people believe that I made them from scratch, when I really didn't?
that I'm two glasses in to a bottle of white zinfandel and I am feeling pretty good?
that sometimes I let the Peanut watch TV, even though he is only four months old?
that I just ate some brownies directly out of the pan with my fingers?

Bits

2008-11-25T16:40:00.000-08:00

Yay, we went to the doctor yesterday and he said that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the Peanuts eyes. Interesting Fact: he said that at least twenty percent of the population has one pupil larger than the other. Other interesting fact... the doctor was wearing high heeled cowboy boots. Leather, with a fancy design. With dress pants. My MIL was with me and she was standing behind him gesturing to the shoes (boots) and laughing. Also, the doctor was kind of a dick. I mean, you are a pediatrician... pediatric opthamologist. So that means that you should be used to working with kids. And I know he's only four months old but you could talk to him, couldn't you? He just bustled all into the room and started barking orders... "Hold him straight on your lap. Hold his head still. Put your hand right there and hold him still."

Also, I hate when they ask you if this is your first kid. Like I am just one of those hysterical mothers who runs her kid to the doctor everyday because I am a first time mom and worry too much. No, I honestly had a concern about my son so I'm going to look into it. I don't think that is a first time mom thing, I think it is an anything mom thing, because something is wrong with my kid! Oh, and they kept telling me that he wasn't really four months old, because he was premature. So next August will we say, nope sorry, you're really only eleven months old so no birthday party for you! I think as soon as he was out of my body he was out, and that's how old he is.

So I'm really looking forward to tonight. After we put the baby to bed we are going to have a nice steak dinner and some wine. I guess that's what it comes down to when you are parents... we don't go out on the night before Thanksgiving "the biggest bar night of the year", instead we stay in and will probably be in bed by 11. At the latest. Oh well, it will still be nice to have some QT with my husband.

And then tomorrow- the great drive of the holidays. We have to go to my aunt's house first and then come back to my MIL's. And the Peanut will be passed around and around and he'll be so irritated by the time we get home. But I plan on giving him just a tiny bite of mashed potatoes. So he'll feel some holiday spirit.

Dark Days

2008-11-23T09:30:00.000-08:00

I hadn't talked about this yet, because I didn't know the words to express how I feel, but I was struck by the bravery of CP as she opened up about her problems. I have also poured over the archives over at Heather's, and found it such a comfort that at least someone else knew how I felt. And I want to be completely honest, no matter how painful, because I think a lot of women are scared to admit how they really feel.

I'm talking about post-partum depression. And it totally kicked my ass when I had the Peanut. I was scared of it, of course. I was already diagnosed with major depressive disorder, so I knew there was a good chance of getting it. But I think a little part of my mind didn't really believe it was as bad as all that. I may have even scoffed, I've been through worse times, I can make it. I didn't want to be another one of "those" women. After all, I was thrilled to be having a baby, couldn't wait till he was born. I stayed on my medication, but chose to drop the dosage significantly due to my pregnancy. And I felt okay. I mean, I was sick everyday, so I would have been depressed no matter what. I wasn't unable to get out of bed, and I was still showering, so I figured I was doing okay.

Two days after I gave birth, I sat up in my hospital bed sobbing hysterically with a breast pump attached to each breast. I was trying SO HARD to breastfeed, and it just wasn't working. A* gently turned the pump off and told me that it was okay, just let it go. I did, but that night as we were walking the Peanut down to the nursery I couldn't hold the tears back anymore and cried all the way down the hallway. I felt like a horrible mother, and that I had let my son down. But A* and I chalked it up to the baby blues and figured that it would go away soon.

It didn't. We got home with the baby and I felt so helpless, so overwhelmed. He would cry and my stomach would just twist into knots of anxiety, and I would feel like there was nothing I could do. At night, I wasn't able to sleep even when he was, because I was so nervous that I couldn't turn it off. I would listen and listen, dreading the moment when I would hear a sound from the basinet. I sat in the rocking chair with my beautiful baby and christened his head with tears. I don't even want to admit to some of the thoughts that went through my head... that I didn't want him, that I had made the biggest mistake of my life, that this would never get better, that he and I would both be better off if I wasn't around. That last one was the one I kept coming back to. I figured that he would have the memory of me, and he would imagine that I would have been a good mom, so that would be better than the sobbing mass of nothing that was really there for him. But even this seemed to take too much energy. I went days without showering. I sobbed into A*'s arms every night when he got home from work, and he didn't know what to do. Gradually he took over everything, diapers and feedings and bottle washings and laundry and just everything. I sat and cried.

Finally I crept out of my hole long enough to realize that something had to be done. I made an appointment with my therapist, someone who I had been avoiding because I couldn't summon the energy to go to her office. I made an appointment with my doctor, to see about a medication change. And slowly, things began to get better. I started enjoying those little moments with the Peanut. I wasn't afraid to be alone anymore. I started to take back over some of the household stuff. My medication was adjusted. I had the support of a fantastic husband and wonderful family and friends. I got better.

Now it hurts to look back on those dark nights when I didn't want my baby. When I was ready to end it all. I don't want to admit how close I came to the edge. But I wanted to let other mothers out there know that there IS a light at the end of the tunnel, and if you can just ask for help something will finally work. Because my Peanut is a lot happier now that I'm a lot happier.

Hang in there.

Growing

2008-11-22T14:16:00.000-08:00

I took my son to meet some people today that I said he would never meet, and that I swore he would never be exposed to.

These people are my grandparents.

My parents have been divorced since I was two, so I never really knew them as married. I know from things that my mom has told me that she was never welcomed into the family and was always made to feel like an outsider. When I came along, for some reason they couldn't get past the fact that I was half my mom, and I wasn't treated very well either.

No, I was never abused, and I had stuff to play with and was fed and all that stuff. Sometimes my grandpa would read me a story. But I never, not once, felt comfortable there. There are pictures of all the other grandchildren displayed in frames... but not me. They never called me, never asked about me, were never interested in anything that I did. They didn't know my interests, they didn't know what grade I was in or who was my best friend. I never did anything with them that didn't involve my dad picking me up and taking me to their house.

One year for Christmas, I got a gift certificate that had the original name blacked out and mine written above it. I had to sit at the kids table until I was seventeen years old. My mom was nice enough to invite them to my graduation party, but they never came or even RSVPed. I was constantly reminded, in subtle ways, how I was somehow less of a person than they were, that my mom was raising me in the complete wrong way, and basically I just wouldn't amount to anything. When I was eighteen, it was no longer required by law that I go over there with my dad, and I finally told him that I wouldn't do it anymore. I asked him if he would want to go to a strangers house on Thanksgiving, because that is essentially what it was like.

The next time I saw my grandparents was the day that I got married. Of course I invited them because that is the "right" thing to do. They had never even met A*. They didn't go to the reception.

But my dad, oh my dad. He wants everyone to get along so badly, and he doesn't understand the way that I've felt over the years. He wants to believe more than anything that everyone likes each other and we'll all be a big happy family. I know that this will never happen. And I told myself that the Peanut would never have to feel the way that I felt, as they sat there and judged me.

My dad asked me if my grandparents could meet their great-grandchild, the first for them. I don't know how else to tell my dad that there is no point, I will never be a part of that fictional family. But it means so much to him. It means so much, and he means so much to me, that I told him I would go. I told him I would only stay for an hour at the longest, but I would go.

So we did. And I hate to admit it, but I dressed Peanut all up for the occasion, like I have something to prove to these people. And he was cute and well behaved and I was so proud of him. They took pictures that I know will never grace the walls or even the refridgerator. They made stupid small talk. They never looked me in the eye.

And I realized something, as I sat there and watched my son drool all over her shoulder. I didn't care. These people couldn't hurt me anymore. I don't care what they think about me, or my son, or my family. I get to go home with my beautiful boy to my loving husband, and they can't touch that. It was an awesome feeling, something that has been twenty-eight years in the making.

We stayed an hour, and then I took my son and we drove away. I remember the relief I used to feel, pulling out of the driveway and knowing I didn't have to go back until the next holiday. I breathed a sigh of relief, turned the music up loud, and drove home.

For the Love of Socks

2008-11-21T09:43:00.000-08:00

When I was younger, my grandma started a tradition of getting me holiday themed socks for every occasion. I had every major holiday, and then some extra with butterflies or cats on them for good measure. I wore them with pride.

Of course, as I got older theme socks weren't really the "cool" things to be wearing. I pushed them all to the corner of my drawer and forgot about them. In college, I would occasionally wear some Christmas socks in July because I hadn't done my laundry, but other than that I wouldn't be caught dead in them.

Now I am twenty-eight years old, and have a son of my own. But to Grandma, I am still her baby girl. Last night the family went out to dinner for a birthday. I sat down at my place and there was a puffy envelope sitting on my plate. It was a pair of black socks with snowmen on them, and "Let it Snow" printed in neon blue around the top. My dad actually asked me if they were for Peanut. They are ugly, and wouldn't go with anything save one of those reindeer sweaters or something.

I got up from the table and gave Grandma a kiss. She told me how she had searched for the socks and found just the right ones. I suddenly had a vivid picture of her in the store, pouring over socks and trying to find the perfect pair. All for me.

The next holiday is New Year's, and I'm sure I'll get a snazzy sparkly pair. And I will love them, because it means that my Grandma is thinking of me. If anyone asks me if I am loved, I will tell them yes...

and direct them to my sock drawer.

"Eye" See

2008-11-20T09:52:00.000-08:00

I wonder if anyone else out there worries as much as I do. I waste so much time worrying about things that may never happen, and I just don't know how to stop myself. It's like I feed off worry. And I have a very healthy appetite.

Of course, since the Peanut has been around I just worry a hundred times more. If I set him in his bouncy seat or swing, I worry that I'm not spending enough time with him. If I am playing with him, I worry that he will get too spoiled or won't be independant because I never put him down. I worry about how much he sleeps, how much he eats, if he is okay alone in his room at night, am I giving him enough baths, is he happy.... the list could go on and on. I am trying to be the elusive "perfect" mother, even though there is no such thing.

That being said, Peanut has an eye doctor appointment next Monday and I'm very worried. I wake up at night and think about it. I noticed when he was about a month old that he had one pupil that was bigger than the other. At the time, he also had an infected tear duct and the doctor told me that it was probably due to that. Well, the infection cleared up but the pupil never got smaller. And now he is at the age where he is supposed to be looking at stuff more closely, and it just seems to me that he isn't looking at anything closely. If I hold something up in front of his face, he never focuses on that object, but rather will crane his head around to try and NOT look at it. He doesn't respond to rattles being shaken in his face, or fingers wiggling. I know that he can see the light, because he is always staring in that direction. I just don't know. Sometimes it seems like he IS looking at me, but as soon as I think about it he isn't anymore.

A* tells me not to worry, and really we're going to the doctor on Monday so what can I do in the meantime? But I just can't help it, I don't know how to turn off that part of my brain. And I know, if God forbid something was wrong, we will get through it. The anticipation is almost worse than whatever the outcome may be.

I just can't stand the thought of something being wrong with my precious little boy and there is nothing I can do about it. I can keep him fed and warm and dry and clean, but my magic wand does not extend to eye issues.

I need a new magic wand.

One of Those Days

2008-11-18T14:49:00.000-08:00

I was bolted from sleep this morning at 4:30 a.m. by a screaming baby... and the day just never seemed to get better after that.

The Peanut threw up the entire contents of his morning bottle all over the front of himself and me. The puke even soaked in my underwear, and thankfully it also got on the front of the glider in his room, therefore necessitating both clothes changing AND chair scrubbing when all the reasonable people are still in bed.

The cool thing is that then I welcomed my monthly "Aunt Flo" (or whatever cutesy name you want to use so that we might forget what it actually is). Sweet.

I am a home health aide for a woman that lives in the same apartment complex as we do, so I bundled up the Peanut and we went down there for a little while, where I discovered that she had almost cut off the circulation in her wrist by wearing a rubber band overnight and then she fought me about taking her shower. That was fun, too.

The Peanut and I braved the cold once more to come home and realize surprise! I had locked the door behind me and didn't have the keys! House keys, car keys... and it was snowing and I didn't have a coat on. Thank God my MIL lives very close by, so we tromped back there and I borrowed her car to go and get some spare keys from A*.

Of course Peanut didn't want his afternoon nap, and of course I dropped a greasy slice of pizza on the floor that I had just cleaned. And then of course I was sitting on the toilet when I realized that we were out of toilet paper.

Just one of those days. What happened on your last one?

Peanut's Birth Story

2008-11-16T09:21:00.000-08:00

Of course, you knew that the obligatory birth post would have to come soon, didn't you? I mean, I couldn't just let the opportunity to talk about my miracle and my experience pass me by. So here goes, the miracle birth of my Peanut.

After about eight months of a miserable pregnancy where I threw up every single thing that I put in my mouth and had the tendancy to pass out a lot, I went to my weekly doctor's appointment and was told there was "some concern" about my blood pressure. I was sent home with a huge brown jug to collect my urine for twenty four hours, and within a couple of days the results were back from the lab and I was sitting in a hospital bed with IV's hooked to various points on my arm. My blood pressure had skyrocketed and there was protein in my urine and my potassium levels were all wacked out... we were trying to wait until I was at least 35 weeks to take the baby. Of course I was completely stressed out and worried about my baby, and in the meantime I was getting sicker and sicker. I was light headed all the time, still barfing every five seconds, and in general just feeling like I had gotten run over by a truck.

I was floating in a haze of sickness and IV medication when the results from my latest lab work came back. I remember my doctor sitting on the edge of my bed and telling me that it was time, we needed to get the baby out. I wasn't even that freaked out at that point, because I was so over being sick. I was actually grateful to see a light at the end of the tunnel. The doctor told A* and I that he was going to try and induce me first, and a c-section would be the last resort. A nurse came in and administered a dose of Cirvadil, something that was supposed to soften my cervix and start contractions. I kept getting the Cirvadil once every four hours, and though I was feeling some tiny contractions I wasn't dialating at all. After twenty four hours I was only a centimeter and a half. Some of the medication they were giving me made me ungodly hot, and I was lying there with a cool cloth on my head sweating and cursing EVERYONE I COULD THINK OF and wondering if Hell maybe would be just a tad bit cooler than I was feeling right then, and my doctor reentered the room and said the magic words... "How about we stop fooling around and go ahead and do the c-section?" Yes, yes, please!!! "How about in 45 minutes?"

We had to make a million phone calls and I had to cry a little and with all that I hardly had time at all to be nervous. A crowd of family members crowded around my hospital bed and made ridiculous small talk. I had a moment to reflect that my father, my stepfather, my mother, my mother-in-law that doesn't get along with my mother... all of them were in the same room and all of them were at least attempting to smile. Made me feel loved, for everyone to be all uncomfortable for me.

In no time at all, my mom was crying on my face and kissing me farewell, and everyone was touching my feet and calling out good wishes, and they wheeled me away to the operation room. I was concerned about A*, and where he would be, but the nurse assured me that as soon as I had my spinal he could join me in the operating room.

It was freeee--eee-zing in that stark white room, and I tried not to shake too hard as they sat me up and began to swab my back with something. I was worried that I might make them miss their mark or something, so I clenched my muscles as tightly as I could. I was thinking about not moving so much that the shot barely registered. The nurse told me that I would start feeling numb and oh! all of a sudden my left leg just collapsed over to the side and I started feeling warm again, traveling from my legs up my chest. They laid me down and started busily getting out insturments and setting up the sheet and oh God, where was A*?? They didn't forget about him... and then I started feeling nauseous. I glanced back and caught the eye of some man and told him that I was going to throw up, and he put one of those basin things on the side of my face. It is weird, throwing up when you can't feel anything below your chest. I vomitted pathetically into the pale pink basin and then had throw up all over the side of my face and couldn't summon the strength to lift my arm and wipe it away. I cried a little. And then, like a miracle, A* was by my side. He smiled lovingly at me and I looked at him and said,

"I barfed."

He nodded and stroked the hair from my forehead. I asked him to scratch my nose for me, and he did. Things are a little fuzzy here, but I do remember the smell of (sorry) burnt flesh and the sound of some of the insturments, and I remember hearing a gush and A* saying in wonderment, "That was your water!" and then I don't remember anything except hearing that tiny little cry. The cry! And I was so worried about his lungs because he was early, and that made my heart just sing to know that he had enough power to make that lusty screechy sound.

I called out weakly, "Is he okay? Is he okay?" but there was no one around to answer me. A* had abandoned me on the table as he went to marvel at his new son and there was a flurry of activity as nurses and doctors finished up their jobs. Finally he came back to my side and I could only see his eyes above the surgical mask, but they were glowing with something I had never seen in them before. His cheeks were a little wet and I could tell that he had the hugest smile ever, and he told me that we had a son, we had a son and he was perfect. He brought me a tiny bundle wrapped in white, and I folded down a corner of the blanket and gazed at this amazing little person, and for the first time in eight months I felt myself relax, because here was my son. Here was my son, and he was perfect.

Return

2008-11-15T15:00:00.000-08:00

I was looking back over this blog because I was going to delete it. I hadn't written anything in forever, I thought that no one read it anyway, and what was the point? But I wanted to see what I had wasted all my time on for those couple of years, so I decided to go over the archives. And lo and behold, I thought some of it wasn't half bad. And I thought some of it may even be good. And then I thought that a lot of it sucked, but that's okay too. I thought that it may be a shame to just delete all that came before.

Plus, I'm lazy, and I would have to reintroduce myself all over again.

So now here we are, some years later. A* and I are happily married, and have been for over a year now. If I could do it all over again, I totally would, but I would take all the money that we spent and elope to Vegas. I could have avoided a whole crapload of problems and stress and sucking money down the drain. But the important thing is that we are married, finally. And a couple months into the marriage, I took the infamous pee on the stick and saw two lines peeking back at me. I was so shocked that I literally fell down the stairs! What followed was an extrememly tough pregnancy, and also tough after he was born, but that is for the next post. What you need to know is that now there is a little Peanut in our family, and he is the most perfect little boy in the whole world. He is now about three and a half months old, and is just the greatest thing that could have ever happened to A* and I. Not to gush, but he is just so smooshy and cuddly and has the most perfect chubby cheeks to kiss and squeeze. We think he is pretty great.

A*, Peanut and I are living in a little two bedroom apartment, and A* is still at his job and I am working part time as a home health aide. So, only two major life events in my absence! I hope that you all will go back over my archives, but forgive some of the writing and some of the drivel that accidentally came out. I'm sure it won't be the last. And yes, I guess now I'll have to be one of those "Mommyblogger" people, but that's okay with me. I hope that the Internet will welcome me back with open arms.

I'm sure opening mine back to you.

Brawl

2006-08-29T12:40:00.000-07:00

I am not a fighter. Let's make that clear... in all of my years, I have never been involved in a physical fight. Now, that's not to say that at one time someone didn't tell me that they were going to beat me up, and then I told one of my tough friends who in turn told the bully if you even mess with D.... but that's another story. I am not a fighter, and today I was involved in a brawl.

I went on my break at work, just like always. As I was leaving the break area, I heard snatches of some loud talking, but I didn't think anything of it because some of the ladies around here can get a little spirited. However, the loudness began to get louder, and I realized that these women were yelling at the top of their lungs at each other. Ignoring them, I went and stood with another girl waiting for the elevator. The yellers continued down the hall. I was praying and praying that they would not get in the elevator with us, but guess what- yeah, they did. By now I am uncomfortably close to these two women who are yelling at each other about "you said this, he said that, I know this..." I was trying to look at the floor, the elevator door, anything to avoid making eye contact with these angry ladies. The elevator door closed, and we were trapped. The yelling escalated. The two other women with me who were not involved were staring at each other and making embarrassed eye movements. Suddenly, there is a commotion at the back of the elevator, and the women (Angry Woman 1 and Angry Woman 2) were in each other's faces. AW1 drew her fist back to pop AW2... and something went wrong in the delivery, because instead of landing a punch square in AW2's face, it landed on the corner of my shoulder.

Yeah, that's right... she hit me!! I was an innocent bystander, but I was the one getting beat! Some of AW1 and AW2's friends were holding them back, and it was at this point that I moved over to the other side of the elevator. I don't know what I expected to happen over in that corner, since I had already been a causulty, but I wasn't thinking clearly. I was still trying to pretend that I wasn't seeing any of this. The elevator finally stopped at our floor, and I ran out of there as fast as I could. I heard a supervisor gasp, "Are those our employees?" as I sprinted past, and I assume that the supervisor broke up the fight.

Of course, then I had to tell the story half a million times, and someone that was in there with me told HR that I had gotten hit, so then I had to tell the story again to the HR person, and then I had to tell it some more when word got out that I was a witness. I don't know what, if anything, will happen to AW1 or AW2, but let's just say that I am steering clear of either of them for at least a couple of weeks.

I am not a fighter.

Jumble

2006-08-25T10:56:00.000-07:00

After the last entries total depressed feel, I figured I would give you something a little more cheerful to read. Besides, I didn't put a title on the last one and it shows up weirdly with the first sentence, so I had to put something else up there. So I present to you, the past two weeks, in a not very original form.

* A*'s birthday, despite my not having a present for him and feeling extremely guilty about that, actually turned out to be really fun. The first celebration took place at his sister's house, and A*, his sister, his mom and I sat around and drank lots and lots of boxed wine and beer, played some cards, and then at around midnight, with all that alcohol coursing around in our system, we decided that we needed to go dancing. And dancing we did, till we closed the bar. It was great. Highlights of the evening were A*'s mom shouting out, "Jose!" at regular intervals because she was drinking margaritas, A* running into a car dealer in the bathroom, and me sitting in a large puddle when I went outside the bar to get some air.
* What was not so nice was when I woke up the next morning with my head pounding and threw up all that boxed wine. Not recommened.
* A*'s second birthday celebration was at my parent's house. My dad cooked him a nice fat steak on the grill (his favorite) and we all sat around the table and talked wedding plans. Not so nice was when my dad yelled that it was "Bullshit!" that I voiced maybe wanting my brother to walk me down the aisle. So nice when my dad went on to say that he knows in his heart who my dad is, so if the bio dad wants to walk me too, that's okay.
* The car, oh the car! I love it. It is so nice going out in the morning for work and not having to say prayers, kiss the engine, hit anything with a hammer... it just starts. Nice.
* A* made a trip to the emergency room when his face swelled up to twice it's size and his tooth hurt him so badly that he almost passed out. I watched in fascination as a huge needle loaded with lydocaine went into his gums. Wal-Green's all night pharmacy so that we could get some Vicodin was great.
* A* finally made it to the dentist, and it turns out that two of his three remaining wisdom teeth need to come out, but as of right now the infection in his mouth is too bad for them to do it, so they killed the nerve and he will have to go back in two weeks. With $265 because his company does not provide dental insurance.
* Still got that weight on my chest, but am trying as hard as I can not to let it bother me like it was. Made me feel better when I heard that a friend and her husband, whom I thought were doing great, got their electric shut off, as horrible as that sounds. I just felt better knowing that we are not the only ones struggling.

There, now we're all caught up. On tap for this weekend... a drive by of a wedding that my BFF was a part of, but is now not a part of, and some sick part of her wants to see things, a trip to the grocery store, and a thourough cleaning of the apartment. Some things in the fridge have probably already sprouted their own legs and are walking around torturing the cats right now.

2006-08-17T12:48:00.000-07:00

Well... we got a car, finally. And now that I have signed my life away for three years, I walk around with a constant knot in my stomach because I'm worried about making the payments. I have never had a car payment before, I have always just bought my cars outright. Perhaps that is why I have only ever owned shitty cars and they break down all the time. Anyway, this has just been a really bad month for us. It seems like the whole world decided to look down at us and just vomit on our heads. Finances are, in a word, horrible. I am worried and stressed all the time. I am forever "figuring" something in my head, going over and over my mental list of bills and paychecks. A* and I don't talk about anything anymore except "What are we going to do?" I feel really badly for him, because he has this old fashioned notion that The Man should take care of the woman, and he feels bad that he is not living up to his job. I, of course, tell him that we do not live in the 1800's anymore and it is perfectly acceptable to live off your wife... if only I had something we could live off of. Anyway, he feels that he isn't doing his duty as my fiance.
A lot of days, I feel like staying in bed, pulling the covers over my head, and staying there for a loooong period of time. That way no one can find me and tell me any more bad news. We are definitely at the bottom of the barrel, and I am trying desperately to claw my way back up to the top. A* has been working overtime, I have been working overtime, we haven't bought anything for ourselves in so long (except a car, which was really a necessity). A*'s birthday is this weekend, and I don't think we even have the money for me to get him a card. A card! That makes ME feel like the world's shittiest girlfriend. And he's been working so hard, I really wanted to do something special for him...
*Sigh*

Well, that's it. I just wanted to let you all know why I haven't been around in a while. Been trying to get my head on straight, swallow that knot in my stomach, and press on. Because really, there is no other choice.

Beep

2006-07-31T13:07:00.000-07:00

All things have come to a screeching halt over here at Little Bits, because our car broke down. You just don't realize how much you need a car and how important it is until you don't have one. Keep in mind that I live in the Northeast, where public transportation is only something that you can rely on if you carry a firearm in your purse. Most people around here don't use it, and even if I wanted to there is no bus line that comes to my city anyway, and the next city over where I could conceivably catch a bus is too far to walk. So... I have had to rely on the kindness of friends and family this past week as A* and I continue the Great Car Search of 2006.

A* and I share a car, and most of the time this is no problem. He doesn't have a (legal) driver's license, so most of the time I'm driving anyway. But when you only have one car, and one breaks, then you are up the creek. So we have been frantically trying to find a car that both fits into our almost nonexistent budget and that someone will let me have, because my credit is very, very bad. We went to a couple of dealerships over the weekend, and with the amount of money that I would have to put down just to begin making payments... well, I could just buy myself a new car with that downpayment. We also didn't want to have to involve a co-signer, because of the whole Responsible Adults thing and the fact that we are getting married so would just like to do things on our own. After a lot of discussion, some tears, and one email where I said to "just forget it", my dad agreed to co-sign for us, but like I said, this was not without some serious lecturing and promise making, and truthfully I would just rather not involve him, especially since he made such a big deal. Not that I'm really blaming him... after all, I don't have the greatest track record, but for God's sake you make a mistake when you're 18 and screw up your credit, then conveniently forget all about it until you are 25 and want to buy a car... anyway, I'm not 18 anymore and I do pay my bills.

But we finally stumbled onto an independent car lot and the man there said he would be willing to work with us. Tonight we are going back up there to test drive the two cars that we could possibly have. The payments are a lot higher than I wanted them to be, but seeing as no one else will even take us to look at the lot, I'm guessing this is one of the only choices.

So keep your fingers crossed that things work out, and that I don't have to ride to work anymore with my Stalker. She's loving it, but I am not. In fact, I may have to poke someone's eyes out if I have to ride one more week and listen to her complain about everything under the sun. Just keep your fingers crossed, for the good of my sanity, please?

Happy happy Blog-iversary

2006-07-25T12:48:00.000-07:00

So I just realized that this month is the year anniversary of my blog! And to celebrate, I would like to share with you my very first mean spirited comment...

God You are anonying. How can he stand you? You act like a spolied brat. Grrr, i can't even stand people like you and reading this make me puke. People like you that ruin surprises and wants to be the 'man' in the house SUCKS.

That was in reference to my "Bad Habit" entry a couple days ago. Now, let's think... first of all, it was posted by "anonymous" which I think is just the lowest. If you are going to take the time to come to my blog and then insult me, at least have the balls to say who you are. I have seen this on other blogs, and I find that the dumbest comments are the ones from so-called "anonymous". Interesting. Second, let's count the mistakes, shall we? "Anonying" (1) "spolied" (2) No comma after God , you are annoying. (3) "people like you that ruin surprises and wants to be the 'man' in the house sucks"(4) How about "people like you that ruin surprises and WANT to be the 'man' in the house SUCK"

But hey, I really feel a part of this blogging atmosphere now, truly. I mean, you haven't really made it until someone tells you you are anonying. Ha! So thanks, anonymous, for helping me celebrate my anniversary. You've made me proud.

Be prepared... you may need a barf bag for this one

2006-07-21T11:09:00.000-07:00

Yaaaaaaayyyyyyy!!!! Guess what, guess what... I am officially engaged!! Can you believe it, because I can't. This may be a long post, and like I said, it is very very sweet, so don't say I didn't warn you. Here goes...

I went to my parent's house on Saturday afternoon, because they were on their way to vacation and I wanted to say good-bye. I also wanted to put on my pitiful face for them so that perhaps they may buy me a present there, because I really really wanted to go but A* decided we couldn't afford it. So I came home afterwards, and there were suitcases strewn about our apartment. "Am I moving out?" I asked A*, thinking he was kicking me out or something. "No," he said, "we're going somewhere. Get in the car." I protested... I couldn't go anywhere, I didn't have any time off at work, I hadn't packed anything, what about the cats, etc. etc. A* assured me that everything was taken care of. Against my will, I got into the car. Since I was driving, A* had to tell me where we were going... and we were going to the beach! With my family! To the place that I love more than anywhere! And it was a surprise! Turns out that A* had already called my boss and arranged for me to have a whole week off. He had called my friend and asked her to come and look in at the cats. He had packed every single thing that I owned, so that I couldn't yell at him when we got there. ("What do you mean you didn't bring my yellow shirt that I haven't worn in six years... I need that!") He had even printed out directions to the beach. It was great.

So we got to the beach and it was wonderful. We camp there, and set up a tent on my parent's campsite. We spent a joyful couple of days tooling around town and splashing around in the ocean. Then Wednesday night, we decided to go for a walk on the beach at night. We took a blanket and sat down on the cool sand. It was beautiful... the waves were crashing and the moon was reflecting just right on the water. No one else was out, and it seemed like we had the whole world to ourselves. We talked for a minute, and I noticed that A* was a little fidgety, but I just thought he was cold. Then he turned to me and said, "You know, we've been together for three years, two months, and ten days." I thought for a minute, then insisted that this was not right. I started counting months and days, and was going around in a big circle, when A* put out his hand. "Stop," he said, "I KNOW it's right." I quieted. "I would rather be here, with you, than anywhere else in the world. I love you so much. You know, we were like two ships out there on the sea... all alone until we ran into each other, and now we're a team. I have never been happier than I have these past three years, and I can't wait to start the next chapter of our lives together. That's why," he reached into his pocket, " myfullnamehereincludingthemiddleone will you marry me?" He placed a gorgeous ring on my finger. I think I may have yelled out YES before he even got the whole sentence out of my mouth. I hugged and hugged him, all the while holding out my hand over his back so that I could watch the ring sparkle in the moonlight. When we pulled away, A* was wiping under his eyes.
"Are you crying?" I shrieked, in my new, LOUD AND EXCITED engaged voice.
"I didn't know I would be so emotional!" he said with a sheepish grin. It was quite possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen. I, however, did not cry at that time, because I was too busy jumping for joy and examining my finger. A day later, sitting at the beach and thinking, it hit me, and I bawled. "I'm so happy!" I blurted out, and A* smiled at me and put his arm around me.

All in all, I really couldn't have asked for a better, more romantic proposal. I can't believe that he pulled the whole thing off... read my last entry about me being the surprise ruiner, and you'll see what I mean. This is something he's been working on forever. I can't get over the fact that someone would go to all this trouble just for me. I am so glad, and so lucky, that I get to spend the rest of my life with this man.

I love you, A*.

Bad Habit

2006-07-05T11:59:00.000-07:00

I have a bad habit. Occasionally I ruin surprises. Occasionally I may make A* want to pull out his hair due to my enthusiastic surprise ruin-ness. I think I did it again.

Okay, back when A* and I first moved in together, I told him that I wanted a cat. I told him over and over again how I needed a cat, had to have a cat. A* doesn't even LIKE cats, but I chose to overlook this. One day at work, a girl told me that she had two kittens at home, and she was only able to keep one. I was over at her house as soon as my shift was over, and as soon as I saw that little bundle of black and white fur I was in love, and took my kitty home that very day. I was upset when A* wasn't overjoyed with excitement at the new member of our family. Finally I got it out of him... it was about a month till Christmas, and A* was planning on buying me a kitten and giving it to me on Christmas morning. He even had a plan to put a red ribbon around its neck and lay it on the pillow beside me, so that was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes that morning. Oops.

On my birthday, I told A* what I wanted. Except, I also told my mom, dad, grandma, aunts, assorted cousins and friends. Needless to say, I got what I wanted, but not from A*. Again, with the surprise ruining. He had already planned to buy me what I wanted, but since we celebrated with my family first, he got the short end of the stick.

Last week, there was an incident of a check. A* made up a huge long story about how this was a bonus check from his boss, but his boss couldn't put it in his paycheck because no one was supposed to know about the bonus, and he couldn't cash it for some reason, and it said "Loan" on the check but really it was a bonus... I really don't know, at this point I had stopped listening. But then I started thinking (always dangerous) and this story really didn't make sense. There were so many holes in it and I just couldn't get it. I asked him again, and bless his heart he gave me the same 45 minute story. But something still wasn't right. I nagged and nagged him, picking apart the story and examining it from every angle. Finally, A* exploded.

"Okay!" he yelled. "Okay, it wasn't really a bonus. I got that money on a personal check so that you wouldn't know about it. I was using it for a surprise, something to do with my proposal to you, but since you have to KNOW EVERYTHING THAT IS GOING ON you figured it out. There. I lied."

I felt in equal parts elated and depressed. On the one hand, A* is actually thinking and planning a proposal to me... we don't just have the ring for looks!! On the other, I had ruined things again. So I did what any girl would do... I cried.

A* ended up feeling bad for making me cry, and was quick to insist that I didn't "ruin" anything, just made it a little less surprising. I babbled that I was sorry, I never meant to spoil anything... and A* patted my hand and said,
"Just try and let me do things sometimes, okay? Just let me be the guy once in a while."

I think I can handle that.

Bad Day

2006-06-20T16:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, life sucks, and this is one of those times. I am sitting here, at 8:00 at night, at A*'s work. "Why?" the more curious of you may ask. Because he is fixing the car. "But D," someone in the back says, "weren't you just there the other day while A* fixed the car?" And to this I would have to answer Yes, yes I was. And now someone is surely going to tell me to stop writing in this stupid conversation thing, and I will.

The Story of the Car(s). See, we had one car. And that was fine, and we loved the car. On Saturday it started making a very unpleasant grinding noise. A* told me it was the brakes, and he could fix them, because he is really good with that car stuff. Sunday morning he went out to fix the brakes, and there was a problem. Now, I don't know anything about cars, so I'll spare you the detals. I know it had something to do with a bolt being stripped, and he couldn't get the calipers (??) off, so he couldn't fix the brakes.

But! There was a solution. We couldn't afford to get that car fixed right away, but we were already planning on buying another car, and the girl that we were getting it from was nice enough to let us make payments. So see, no problem there. We would just give her the first payment, and that would be the end of that. A car that worked. Perfect.

So A* put oil in the new car, and drove down to my work to pick me up. And I was very excited to see the new car, only because it was running and I like a car that can actually go. A* graciously allowed me to take the drivers seat, so I could experience the new car. It was very nice. Until I noticed the smoke that was billowing out from under the hood. Then I REALLY didn't like it when a little buzzer came on and a red light that said "Engine Overheating" came on. I pulled over to the side, and A* yelled "Fuck" a couple times and tried to look under the hood. He couldn't figure out what the problem was, but he did see the huge puddle of something that had leaked out of the car.

About twenty minutes later, the tow truck came. And the girl that sold us the car, because she felt really badly that we had only driven it for about ten minutes and we were already by the side of the road. The car was towed back to A*'s work, so that he could use some of the tools there.

And that is where we stand right now. Exactly 8:00. I have not been to my house since about 6:45 this morning. I have not eaten dinner. I have not taken a shower. I have not even taken off the outfit that I wore to work, even though I haven't liked the shirt I am wearing since the moment I stepped out of the house. And poor A* is on his back in some sand, trying desperately to fix whatever is leaking in the "new" car. So I feel like I can't even bitch, because he is out there working his ass off. But I wanna go home!! I wanna bitch, because this is just not fair!! How can a person have not one, but two, cars that they cannot drive. All in the same week? Actually, all in about three days. God. Sometimes you just want to get in bed, pull the covers up to your chin, and never get out.

Fathers

2006-06-16T11:20:00.000-07:00

First of all, I want to say that I had written a whole long entry, and then *poof* the power went out and everything disappeared. So this is the second try, and it may not be as good as the first... but hey, you didn't get to read the first anyway, so it really doesn't matter!

So I have been mulling this problem over and over in my head. I know that soon (please please God, let it be soon) A* may just take the plunge and actually propose to me, and then I will have a wedding. And that presents a problem. I have two men in my life that I consider to be my dad... one that is actually, biologically my dad, and the other that is in spirit and in heart my dad.

My stepdad, I'll call him K, where should I even start. The first time I met him, he crouched right down on the floor where I was coloring and presented me with a stuffed bear. He very seriously asked me if he could take my mom out, and me, being five and in awe of someone actually asking ME permission to do anything, said yes. About a year later, my mom and K got married. I was the flower girl in their wedding, and when the minister was saying the final blessing she included my name in it, and talked about our new family. But that first year was tough. I was angry that some guy had come into MY house and was taking up the spot on the couch next to MY mom, and K was trying to figure out the boundries of our relationship. K was a trooper, though, and kept trying. The first time I remember feeling really close to him was when we joined a father/daughter group together, and we went on our first overnight camping trip. I never liked to leave my mom, but in the middle of the night while I was giggling with the other girls and our dads roasted marshmellows for us, I realized I wasn't homesick at all, and that was because my dad was there. It was a good feeling.

K was there to hold my hair back when I threw up, applied countless Band-Aids to countless skinned knees, watched me and my friends perform backyard plays, taught me to ride my bike. He held me as I sobbed over my first broken heart, and he was the first man ever to bring me flowers. He never missed a swim meet, a choir concert, or a parent/teacher conference. In retrospect, now that I'm older, how amazing is it that this man, who had never even had a child, stepped into his role as a father so completely and without any complaints. In conversations, I am never, ever his "step"daughter, only his daughter.

And my real dad? Well, as I've said in previous posts, he wasn't always the greatest, and he wasn't always there. K stepped into his role with no question. But as I grew older, my bio dad and I began to repair our relationship, and it grew into a real friendship. Now, I see my dad at least once a week, and we talk via email and phone all the time. He has done a lot for A* and I, especially when we were just starting out together. But does this replace all of the lost time? Does this make him an equal player in walking me down the aisle?

I just don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. In my heart, I think that K is the one that should be walking me. I know that he will have some cute things to say as he gives me away, and he really will be giving me away because I was always his "little munchkin." But how do you look the man that created you in the eye and say that he just didn't do a good enough job, so he's been substituted? I just don't know what the right thing to do here is. Any suggestions?

$$$$$$$$

2006-06-12T12:26:00.000-07:00

Hello Internet! I haven't written in a while, perhaps because A* and I are trying to save money, therefore we have no lives. A* has something up his sleeve that he won't reveal, but I think that it has something to do with our engagement. We have the ring, and every day I put it on my finger and waltz around the house with a huge grin on my face in my pajamas, with my hand extended to admire, but A* wants to propose. So he has some big plan in mind, and I'm sure that this has something to do with his insane desire to save our every penny, but until I know why I am not happy. I am not good with saving.

When I was a little girl, I had an obsession with dolls. Not dolls that you play with, and drag around by the arm and love so much they are missing a head of hair. No, the dolls I loved were expensive porcelain ones, that you set on a shelf and admire but don't play with. I don't know where it came from, but all of a sudden I had to have these dolls. But these being collectors items, they were very expensive... Especially to a five or six year old girl. No matter to me. I would see a doll that I wanted, and I would save and save, sometimes for years, in order to buy it. I stuck all of my birthday money, allowance, anything, into my underwear drawer, and at any given time I could have hundreds of dollars in there. I also had a very large collection of porcelain dolls.

Cut to when I moved out on my own and actually had to start spending money on things such as bills. For some reason, once I had an actual job and the means to have money, I could never hold on to it. My saving abilities went out the window. I wanted a new purse and I needed it NOW, not a year from now. Plus, the gas company doesn't really appreciate the value of a good saver, and always insists that it has its money every month. Go figure.

So in this frantic burst of saving that A* has put upon us, I am not doing too well. He is a black or white type of person. If he says we are broke, we are BROKE. If I say we're broke, that just means that we can only go out to eat once on a weekend, not counting breakfast, and we can maybe go and pick a little something up at Target. So I knew that he SAID we weren't going to be able to do anything on the weekend, but when I got out of bed on Sunday morning and found out that no, we really are not going to breakfast, and this was after I was unable to meet my friend for drinks the night before and everyone that we KNOW had called to invite us to a local festival that we couldn't go to, I was a little upset. A* doesn't get how I just didn't hear him when he explained that we couldn't do anything this weekend, and I don't get how he can deprive me of even breakfast (out... he didn't starve me, I just didn't get to have a nice omelet that was served to me). He says that it will be worth it in the end, but I have my doubts.

It better not be a porcelain doll.

Lazyass

2006-06-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

I was sitting here wracking (is that the way you spell it? should I know that?) my brain trying to think of something worthwhile to write about today. Sometimes I feel like writing, but truthfully? A* and I lead pretty boring lives. The most exciting thing that happened yesterday was that there was an "Office" marathon on. Woo hoo, we are so wild! Is anyone out there still not watching this show, by the way? It rocks, and we are totally addicted. Only a select few things can make A* actually spew Coke out of his mouth because they are just that funny. (not me, I can find something funny anywhere) So you should all be watching The Office.

I have a confession to make, Internet. I am lazy. Really lazy. My favorite past time is sleeping. A close second is sitting on my ass watching TV. I could make a career out of nothingness, as long as there was some ice cream in the near proximity. But alas, all this sitting and time suckage leads to a slight weight issue. As of right now, I am very unhappy with the way things are going in this department. My new boobs look so cute, and the rest of me is letting them down. So I decided to start working out.

A while ago, my dad gave me his old excercise bike. With the determination that I am famous for, I vowed to ride it everyday until I was skinny. This lasted about a week. See, I have trouble with long term goals. If I don't lose twenty pounds in the first week, then I'm just like, "Screw this," and I stop. The couch calls my name. But this time, I am PROMISING to myself that I will actually do it. I have ridden the bike for two days now. I have not lost any weight. I want to quit. But~ I won't. Because of these cute little boobs that just don't go as well with my frame anymore. For all the cute outfits that I want to buy. To have more energy and maybe not WANT to sit on the couch all day everyday. (yeah right) I am determined. My legs and ass burn. I am working out, damn it.

And I hate it.

Too Much Information

2006-05-26T12:30:00.000-07:00

Well, you all thought that the boob talk was over, didn't you? It's not, because my boobs, though smaller and more manageable than they were before, just refuse to cooperate. Remember how a couple of posts ago I said that one of them was leaking a mix of blood and icky stuff? I finally had to go back to the doctor again yesterday, because they just would not stop. I have ruined five or six shirts, and I am tired of weaing a maxi pad in my bra. ( By the way, if you ever do have some problems with boob leakage, may I say that a pad works really well, and also nursing pads are helpful.) So I went to the doctor. He felt me up and told me that there is a build up of fluid in one of my ducts, and also a fluid pocket on the side of the boob. Then, just to torture me a little, he squeezed and squeezed my (hurting, painful, swollen, did I say PAINFUL) poor boob and told me that I would have to do the same at home. My legs were literally kicking at the chair as he crushed my boob between his fingers. It hurt so bad. So bad, in fact, that A* had to take me out to my favorite place for lunch afterwards. I mean, it was the only thing that could have made me feel better at that point. So now I have to sit at home and let my boobs drain indefinitely. I am SUCH a party animal. Do you want to come over and watch me drain? I bet that is your idea of a great Friday night! I'll probably even watch TLC's What Not to Wear... sure you can stand the excitement?

Okay, I know I'm hopelessly behind the times, but A* and I just got a membership to Sam's Club last night. Oh my god, I heart Sam's Club. I can't believe I have been missing out on all the retail goodness up until yesterday! How could I have survived? We managed to buy flowers, two pillows, and a gigantic package of chicken breasts... all at the same place!! The possibilities are endless. I'm such a dork, but I can't wait to go back again. Our visit was cut short because we had to be somewhere, and I feel like I really missed important stuff. Who knows the deals that I could be getting? And the sizes of the products boggle my mind. I was wandering around the aisles in awe, when I spotted Tide in a huge container that was on sale. A* really likes laundry, so I figured he would be excited. I shrieked for him to come and look at the ginormous Tide, and went to pick it up. That fucker must have weighed a million pounds. How does one do laundry with something that is too big to even pick up? I guess you could put it up on a shelf and just pour the detergent in a cup, but how would you even lift the Tide onto a shelf? I literally could not pick this thing up. A* gently steered me away from the giant Tide, telling me that I would most certainly drop the mammoth container on myself, and then I wouldn't even be able to use it. "But," I told him as we left the aisle, "we would have enough detergent to get lots of blood stains out!"

Hope everyone has a great holiday weekend! Have fun!! If you see a girl with a grossly unproportioned chest that is leaking all over her, come and say hi. I might offer to take you to Sam's Club.

2006-05-19T12:46:00.000-07:00

Okay, someone up there is listening to me. Remember yesterday, when I wrote about how A* and I are broke and wah and wahhhh? So I went to get the mail this morning, carrying my homemade lunch because we DON'T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY FOR ME TO BUY LUNCH, and there, like a gift sent from Heaven, was my disability check from when I was out for my surgery. It couldn't have come at a better time, truly. I have knocked on wood so much today that my knuckles are swollen and bloody, but guess who is going out to dinner tonight? Yay!

Oh, and by the way? When I got home from work, there was a carton of ice cream in the freezer for me. I love A*.

Little Bits

2006-05-18T12:37:00.000-07:00

So, haven't been around in a while. That is because BIG, I tell ya, BIG things have been happening. So of course it makes sense that I wouldn't blog about them, because I just like to bore people about nothing instead of telling stuff that actually might be of interest. Yeah. But let me start with the not so big things, then I'll work my way up.

First~ following my surgery, we have been a little tight on money. By a little tight, I mean that when I got home yesterday A* had dumped out our two respective piggy banks and was counting out change. We came up with $13.50 in pennies. Tomorrow I will get a paycheck, but only for one week as opposed to the two week one I usually get. So we have been working hard to keep ourselves above water, and of course this causes some tension. Could it be because we can't afford to go anywhere, so we are forced to sit in our apartment and stare at each other? But there is light at the end of the tunnel, so I'm trying to keep a positive attitude and not mind too much that there hasn't been a carton of ice cream in the freezer for a whole week. A WEEK, people. But I'm not minding, see?

Second~ Recovery was going well, until yesterday when the front of my shirt suddenly bloomed blood. I called the doctor, who told me to come in right away. Of course, this caused A* to freak out, because he is like that, and he insisted that I pick him up at work first. We went to the doctor, who basically told us that we were being dumb. No, that's not really what he said. What he really said is that there is a build up of old fluid that is just now coming to the surface. What he meant, though, was God when are these people going to stop bothering me. So we went home, where I took off my sweatshirt and noticed another huge stain of blood. I felt too dumb to call the doctor back, though, so I put some Bacetracin on it and covered my chest with gauze, and so far so good. The funniest part of all of this is that A* took it upon himself to be my own personal doctor and needed to examine my incisions. First he laid on my lap and used a lighter to try and see. When I flinched because that flame was just a little too close to my skin, he got the brilliant idea to use a flashlight. So I sat on the couch trying to watch Dr. Phil and A* put on his miner helmet and went in with his flashlight. He examined every square inch of me, and pronounced me okay. Thank you Dr. A*.

Third~ Another reason we are broke? Is because we bought an ENGAGEMENT RING a couple weekends ago. It was such a good deal, we couldn't pass it up. I have been wearing it around the house with my pajama's on, but A* has some big surprise proposal plan that he refuses to give up, so I have to wait until the actual proposal to wear it. However, I couldn't keep my big mouth shut and everyone pretty much knows anyway. Which forced A* to talk to my dad on Sunday, because my mom can't keep a secret and she threatened to tell him before we did. How cute is that, though? A* took my dad outside and told him that he would like to have his permission to have my hand in marriage. As this was taking place, my mom, brother, aunt and I were trying to spy and hear what they were saying, but my brother leaned on the windowsill too hard and it crashed down with a huge BANG. Sleuths, we are not. Fortunately, my dad was very happy to give his permission. Not that I wouldn't have married A* without it, it was just a nice formal thing to do. My dad loves old fashioned stuff like that. So I have been prancing around "almost engaged" and telling everyone... including, now, the entire internet. Hi! I'm almost engaged! I have waited 3 long years for this ring, so it is a huge big deal. And gorgeous. And a diamond. Woo!

So that is what has been going on, in a nut shell. I am already having some issues with my mother about my (fictional, so far) wedding, but that will have to wait for another post. See, I told you, big things!

Post Op 9 Days

2006-05-03T11:10:00.000-07:00

I know that you have all been waiting for the big surgery post... I know it, even though no one but me ever reads this! Well, I haven't really been able to get out of the house for the last week, so today was the first chance that I had to tell you all about it. So without further adu, here it is....

A* and I were shot from sleep at 7:30 am the morning of the surgery by the phone ringing. It was the hospital, saying that my doctor had a cancellation and would there be any way for me to come in earlier? I was actually very happy with this news, because that gave me less time to sit and think about what was going to happen. I called my mom and asked her to come over earlier and in a half hour she was there to pick us up. A* held my hand the whole way to the hospital, and whenever I would think "Ah, I'm doing it!" and squeeze his hand painfully, he would just squeeze back.

We arrived at the Same Day Surgery Center, where a cheerful security guard ussured us in. He asked who was the patient, ,and for a stupid minute I didn't realize that hey, that's me! He told my mom that in order to get in the building, she had to have a "heat sensor" read her palm and to wave it over this picture thing. My mom waved and waved her hands, until she noticed the man beside himself with glee. Turns out she is just gullible, and there was no need to be doing this. It lightened the mood considerably, though. I signed in at the front desk, and my family was given a pager that would go off when I was finished. My mom, grandma, A* and I sat in the waiting room for about five seconds before I had to go to the bathroom... again. My stomach is not the best when it comes to stressful situations. They finally came and took me back, assuring everyone that they could come back and see me before the surgery would take place. I went to a room and a nurse came and asked me all sorts of questions, and then hooked me up to an IV. I told her that I had taken some Tums earlier that morning, and she put some Pepsid in my IV to try and make my stomach calm down. Ha! Then I met the anesthiologist, who in turn made me take a pregnancy test "because of my age." Since I have been in menopause for the last six months, I wasn't shocked to learn that I was not pregnant.

They let my family come back, and we all made stupid small talk around my hospital bed. I was so nervous, I don't even remember what was said or what was really going on. By this point, maybe they had given me something in the IV to relax me, too, I don't know. That could be why things are fuzzy. My doctor came down and reassured my family once again, and gently told them that they needed to leave. My mom was hurriedly issuing last minute instructions about "her baby"~ "You know, the anesthia makes her really sick. The last time she had surgery..." and so on and so on. I heard her calling out a medication that I was allergic to (and was already stated on the bright orange hospital bracelet I was wearing) as the doors shut. A* smoothed my hair back from my forehead and told me that he knew I would do great, that he was proud of me, and that he loved me. I held onto his hand for a long moment, contimplating chickening out. But he smiled at me, and I was able to let him go.

The doctor asked me to stand up so that he could make some markings on my breasts. I was wearing the standard hospital gown, with nothing what so ever on underneath it. He drew some purple lines on my chest, keeping up a running commentary to both me and the plastic surgery resident that was with him. He asked me to put my hands on my hips to get under my arms, and to my horror the entire gown fell down to the ground and I was standing stark naked minus hospital slippers in front of two strange men. To their credit, though, neither said anything and my doctor simply reached down and pulled the gown back up. I was embarassed, even though in minutes both of these men would be holding my breast tissue in their hands. Go figure.

After the markings, things started moving fast. A nurse came to wheel my bed up to the surgery area. On the elevator, some people got in and I wanted to yell at them, "I'm getting my boobs chopped off!!" but I restrained myself. It didn't even seem real. Once we got into the room, I had to get onto another bed and stretch both of my arms out to either side. Everyone in the operating room had their masks on, so I couldn't really tell what anyone looked like, but a nurse with very nice blue eyes covered me with a warm blanket and told me they would take good care of me. A man bent over me and told me that they were going to start adding medication to my IV, and soon I wouldn't feel anything. The nice nurse told me to imagine myself in a place that was "far from here." The room began to spin lazily, and I was out.

I woke up in the recovery room gagging. A nurse hurried over and gave me a basin, but seeing as I hadn't eaten anything for the past twelve hours there was nothing to come out. My throat was on fire because of the breathing tube, and I hurt all over. I tried to see the new boobs, but I couldn't get a good look at them, plus the room was still a little fuzzy. I retched on and off and drifted in and out of sleep. On one of the times I woke up, the nurse was putting something in the IV to help with the nausea. I asked her if my family could come and see me, and she winked and said she would see what she could do. The next time I opened my eyes, my mom was holding my hand. She said that A* was calling a few people and would be back in a minute. I smiled, and heaved again. I know that she was thinking, "I TOLD them that she got sick." A* came back then, and just seeing him made me feel much calmer. He whispered to me again how proud he was, and I gave him a drug enduced grin. Then I threw up again.

They had to give me three more shots of medication to try and combat the nausea. By this point, I was SO over the whole thing and wanted nothing more than to go home to my bed. They made me get up to go pee (I threw up again) and then they said I was okay to go home. I sat shakily in a wheelchair while my mom pulled the car around. I don't really remember the ride home, but when I had to walk up the steps to my apartment it was agony. Every movement felt like it was ripping my breasts off my body. I threw up again, twice. I was finally, blissfully in my own bed. I shut my eyes and didn't wake up for the next thirteen hours.

This is a pretty long post, so I'll give you the rest next time. Meanwhile, I am trying to get used to being six lbs less a woman!

5 Days and Counting

2006-04-18T12:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Boobs:

Remember when we first met? I was in the sixth grade, and I wasn't conciously aware of your presence until my mom pointed out that you needed to be restrained. I didn't know what to do with you, you silly things. All of a sudden I had extra stuff on my tomboyish chest? I took you, along with my mom, to the store and began the lifelong process of finding the "right" bra. I'm still involved in this search. You guys skipped right over the training bras and straight to the big girl sizes, just like the overachievers that you are.

I remember standing in the dressing room, tears streaming down my face, as my mom pulled and tugged at you to fit you into that contraption some like to call a bra. I hated it! I hated having this thing digging into my shoulders, my back, sweat collecting in little pools in the middle. I wanted to squish you, to make you go back where you came from. No one else that I knew had to wear a bra, no one else had to endure the stares as the sixth grade boys started realizing that, hey, this girl has something on that we can snap! and we can sometimes see it through her T-shirt! and everything to do with you was so funny to them. Not to me, though. I would come downstairs on school mornings, and my mom would make me march right back up to my room and put a bra on. No matter how I tried to hide the fact that I wasn't wearing one, you guys always made your presence known. Thanks for that one.

As I got older, and some of the other girls got some, I began to feel a little bit better about you. The day I had to get a size C bra was a day for celebration! Now you were big enough to really grab attention, coming into your own so to speak. Everyone was envious of you, no one else had the size and girth that you did. I was proud. I strutted around with you as far out as you could go. I wore shirts just to show you off.

But here is where you kind of screwed up. See, you just kept growing. We bypassed everyone else, and every year I had to get another size up. Suddenly, you weren't so fun anymore. You were like a weight pulling me down with each step. I didn't like the stares anymore, because that is all that people saw. You. I'm up here too, you know! How about sharing some of that spotlight? I had entire conversations where eyes never lifted above you. I know that you loved the attention, but sometimes I had a pretty smile on my face and I wished they could see that too.

And still you were growing! Activities that I used to take for granted were becoming harder and harder. I developed deep grooves in my shoulders where I had to hold you up. You flopped around painfully anytime I tried to run or jump or dance. I know you liked the activity, but my back didn't. My back and you don't get along very well at all. In fact, my back and my shoulders have formed a hate club dedicated to you. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you that, but there it is. Maybe you should have thought about that earlier.

And now, you are just a curse. And guess what... in five days we will be saying our final good-byes. I won't shed any tears, but you might. I think I've given you a nice home for the past twelve or so years, kept you clean and nice smelling, made sure you were warm at night, and gave you a little action once in a while, just because I know you must get bored just hanging around all day. But the time has come to say farewell. It's been a (painful, embarassing, inconvienient) great ride. Thanks for all the memories.

Sincerely,
D.

Chickensh*t

2006-04-13T12:08:00.000-07:00

Okay, I realize that the last four or five posts I've written have been all about my boobs. In fact, maybe I should change the name of this site to "The Great Boob Caper of 2006" or "Where's my Boob?" But seriously, this is like all that I think about. Even if I wake up in the middle of the night, I'll roll over and think... "In a couple more days I won't be able to sleep on my stomach for a while," or something like that. But today I thought of something. There is just NO WAY that I can chicken out now. Not now that I have told everyone in the free world that I am getting the surgery done. I have told friends, family, co-workers, the internet... I would be such a dork if I let all these people down. People are COUNTING on me to tell them all about my boobs. Or lack of, I guess. So I'm stuck, and there is no way out. I didn't say this before, but I did go and have a consultation once before, when I was about eighteen. I saw the doctor, the insurance company approved it, and everything was good. But when the doctor's office called me to schedule the date of surgery, I gave them a vauge, "Can I call you back?" and then I never did. Because I chickened out. I thought of someone cutting at me, at a very sensitive part of me, and I never called again. Until six years later, when the problem has only gotten worse, but now I have better insurance. Sigh. I should have just kept my big fat mouth shut.

In other news... my apartment is like a burning inferno in Hell. I swear, it is so hot in there I can't stand it. We are on the second floor, and A* thinks that the people below us still have on their heat, even though it has been in the 70's the last couple of days. I don't know what it is, all I know is that it was over 80 in there last night, and that was with a fan in the window and both windows wide open. I laid on the couch in a T-shirt and panted, and yelled at A* to "do something!" because I was going to melt. I hate sitting in a puddle of my own sweat, especially when the most taxing thing I did all night was change the channel when it was time for America's Next Top Model. A* had to make a trip out for some ice cream to ease my suffering. It helped, but just a little. I may (will) need more tonight.

And speaking of ANTM... does anyone else hate Jade as much as I do? That girl needs a serious attitude adjustment. I was so upset when she won the challange. I think she has an interesting look, but I just can't stand anything that comes out of her mouth!! Let me know if anyone shares this opinion... or am I the only one who will admit to this guilty pleasure?

Anatomy

2006-04-10T12:21:00.000-07:00

I love the internet, I really really do. It helps me pass the time when I am bored, it tells me useful tidbits of information, and most importantly it keeps me up to date on all of my important blogger friends and what they are doing. But sometimes, the internet can give you too much. There are certain times when you should avoid the "helpful" internet. I found this out the hard way, when I was surfing around looking for people that had had a breast reduction. As the surgery date looms, I get more and more nervous, so I thought that perhaps a positive experience would make me feel better. Wrong! I found a personal journal that was one woman's journey through the surgery process, from thinking of having it done all the way to about two or three months post op. I'm not going to give her name or the site, but let me just tell you that I read it thouroughly and very nearly called the doctor and told him to cancel the whole thing. This woman had nothing but bad experiences. She didn't get down to the size she wanted. Her nipples were oddly shaped. She had way more pain than she had expected. She described, in detail, the patterns of yellow and green bruises that bloomed all the way under her arms. I know that I shouldn't have, but I kept reading. I didn't finish it, because I started to get a little teary eyed, but I read enough.

I was already nervous, but the nervousness was tinged with gleeful excitement for this procedure that I have wanted to have since the first time I saw someone making the "huge boob" international hand gesture and pointing at me. Now I just feel like maybe it ISN'T the right decison, maybe I am being too hasty and I should think about it more. As if ten + years wasn't enough! Not to mention, if I hear one more well intentioned person say to me "I WISH I had those boobs, why the heck would you get rid of them? Can you save some for me (har har har)?" I want to tell those people to go down to the grocery store and purchase a couple good sized watermelons. They should weigh over ten pounds each. Now strap these watermelons to your chest, in a garment that won't cover the entire melon, but will have bulbous bits of the fruit overflowing from the thing. Walk around all day with this weight on your chest... no, walk around a couple days, just to get the full effect, and then come back and tell me that you don't know why I'm getting this done.

I know I'm just getting scared, and not being reasonable. I know this, and I know that one woman's story shouldn't be this big of a deal to me. But I keep thinking... what if I am that woman?? What if the EXACT same things happen to me that happened to her??

What if I wake up and I have a nipple on my forehead??

Color me Green

2006-03-31T12:22:00.000-08:00

I'm depressed. Money problems are threatening to overwhelm us, and I kind of feel like it is all my fault. A* and I were trying to figure out the budget for the week, and we had it pretty much worked out, when all of a sudden I realized that it is the beginning of the month, and therefore I will need to buy all of my prescriptions. So then we had to add in the Zoloft and the birth control for the endometriosis. Then I thought about how I will have two weeks off of work this month for my surgery, and A* will have to take at least a couple days off immediately following the surgery to take care of me. Sigh.

The whole problem started last month, when we foolishly borrowed a cash advance to pay an unexpected bill. DO NOT EVER GET ONE OF THESE!! Because we made it through that couple of weeks, but then Hey! you have to pay this back, in addition to all of your regular bills. So then you have to get another advance in order to pay the bills that you couldn't pay before. And it is a huge neverending circle of monitary despair, that you just keep getting sucked back into. Someone very, very smart (me) voiced her disapproval of this plan, but then was forced into by necessity. I knew this would happen!!

I just hate living from pay check to pay check, all the damn time. When will we have actual savings? When will we be able to go out to dinner without "planning" for it in the budget? When can I just assume that we will go to our customary breakfast on the weekend, instead of being let down because we had to spend a million dollars at the laundrymat instead? I feel like A* and I work our asses off and have nothing to show for it. Then we get in the mindset of hey, I worked hard for this money and I am going to do something fun! and we do and then realize that while that dinner out may have been fun, now we don't have enough money for the electric bill, and we were really stupid assholes for spending that money when we didn't have it.

I am just very frustrated with the whole situation. Now I have to sit and stare at A* all weekend, because we can't go out and do anything. As he emphasized on the phone WE CAN DO NOTHING. Mmmm, sounds fun.

Sorry this was so depressing, but that is what is going on right now. It can't all be sunshine and rainbows here at Little Bits...

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

2006-03-17T09:12:00.000-08:00

I have two things to tell you all. Well, maybe two and a half, because I think one of them needs to be told with a little back story. But anyway, let's get the good thing out of the way first....

I AM HAVING MY BREAST REDUCTION SURGERY ON APRIL 24!!!!!!!!!

Woo hoo!! I am so excited. The nurse called me yesterday at work and told me the good news, that the insurance company had approved me and that I was all set. I have wanted this for so long, I don't even know what to do with myself. I had hot flash after hot flash as I made exhillerated calls to A*, my mom, my grandma, and everyone else I could think of. Then I got in trouble for making personal phone calls at work, but I was too excited to even care. I can't wait!!

Okay, now the next thing has to do with my dad. Let me just tell you a little bit about him and our relationship, though, before I start.

My parents got divorced when I was two. In a way, I think this worked out better for me because I don't remember them ever being together, so I never had any kind of problems with them being apart. Plus, I wasn't one of those kids that tried to get their parents back together, either, because the only life I knew had Daddy in one house and Mommy in the other. For a long time, I thought this was how all people lived, and by the time I knew that wasn't true I was just used to it.

My dad had visitation with me on Saturday. Now, I have to say that he always showed up, and always spent the day with me. However, that was the ONLY time I saw or heard from him. The rest of the week, it was like he didn't have a child at all. If I had some kind of function in the middle of the week, he wouldn't be there. I would never even think to just call him out of the blue to tell him something exciting that had happened during the day... we just didn't do that. And yeah, I could have called him, but I kind of think that I was the kid and he was the adult, so it was more up to him. He didn't come to choir concerts, swim meets, award ceremonies... Saturday. was. it.

When I was about seven, both my mom and dad got remarried. My mom married a wonderful man, who I feel is my dad too. He taught me how to ride a bike, took care of me when I was sick, and never missed a choir concert. He refers to me as his daughter, and I refer to him as my dad. I love him very, very much. My dad married a witch of a woman, who didn't like me from the very start because I was a product of my mother. And I guess in some ways I was a threat. I don't know what kind of woman would be jealous of a seven year old, but she was. The Saturday visits stopped, because I was miserable at their house. We worked out a new plan, and my dad and I met once a week for dinner together... minus his wife. This went on for years, and it was fine. Just the same way as the weekend visits had been.... Wednesday nights only.

Then, right around the time I was about a junior in high school, my dad remembered that he had a daughter. He came to one of my swim meets. He came to the Prom Grand March. Sometimes, he would even call me just to see how my day went. I don't know what happened, but I thought it was nice. As I got older, we just got closer. Now, I still try to see him at least once a week, but we also email each other a lot and call. I feel like now we are actually really good friends. He told me he was proud of me for the first time just a couple of years ago, and it felt so good. I count myself lucky to have two dads, not just one.

That being said, I was so hurt and angry at my dad the other night. I don't know if I am making a big deal out of nothing or not, but all I can say is that it really hurt my feelings. So, we're out for one of our customary Wednesday dinners. Everything is fine, we're chatting, and I tell him that I finally got approved for the breast reduction. He was excited for me, and I told him a little bit about it, but not too much, because, as he said, "I am your dad, and this is a little weird to be talking about with my daughter. Keep the details to a minimum, please." I can understand that, so I just told him the basics. He told me he was pleased that I could do this.

Then he added, "And after you get that done, you can start working out!" Okay, yeah, I can. I agreed with him, and explained that right now any kind of running or even walking fast or jumping around causes me pain. He nodded, and then said, "Because you know, I was looking at your senior picture the other day, and you were so pretty! You could get back there really easy." I must have had a foul look on my face, because he was quick to add, "Not that you're not pretty now! But man, in that picture you just looked so good, and you really could get back to that."

So now my father has told me how ugly and fat I am... now. But I "used" to be pretty. I didn't say anything, because it isn't worth it. But I felt really offended! What is wrong with the way I look now? Does a couple (or a lot) of weight have that much bearing on it? If it does, should it? So now I feel pressured to get the surgery and right away to whittle myself down to that elusive "high school picture" look. I was kind of hoping to just enjoy the new small perky boob look for a while, before I started working out like a maniac. Am I less successful because I gained weight? Am I not as good of a person? I don't think so. But that is how those comments made me feel. Do you think I'm overreacting to this?

Oh, and just an aside to that... when I got home I told A* the story, and OBVIOUSLY he was supposed to say, "No way, you are so beautiful and way better looking than you were in high school." But what he really said? Was, "Well, everyone looks better in high school." Ha! My self esteem is just up to the roof now.

Men.

Blah

2006-03-13T11:32:00.000-08:00

This morning, as I was walking into work, the sky decided to vomit the entire contents of its stomach directly on top of my head. It was raining, hailing, the wind was blowing... my umbrella twisted its cute little pink self all the way around trying to protect me from the elements, but it was no use. By the time I made it to my desk, the back of my pants were soaked, and you could ring water out of my socks. My coat, which is hanging up as we speak, is still damp. It was not a very good way to start a (monday!) morning. And the kicker is, the weather didn't start to get out of control until the very second that I stepped out from under the protective covering that leads out of the parking garage. I'm totally serious... the sky waited until I was vulnerable, and then let me have it. And when the heck does it hail and lightning in February? In Ohio? Is someone up there playing a cruel trick on me?

In other news... well, there isn't really any other news. A* and I had a pretty quiet weekend. The most exciting thing that we did was laundry. Ha! We are such party animals. Get this~ A*'s nephew had his sixth birthday party on Friday night, and by the time we got off work, cleaned up, and bought his presents, it was about 8. A* called his sister and told her that it was just too late for us to come over, we would come and see him and give him his presents another day. Just too late! It was freaking eight o'clock, people, and the six year olds were still going strong. We are old.

Perhaps I will have something more exciting to talk about some other time, but right now I have to go drink some fiber subliments and eat some prunes... my hips are killing me.

Hello Toes!

2006-03-10T09:09:00.000-08:00

Once, in my college days, I let a boy come up to my room. You know how things go in college, we had just been to a keg party and the drinks were flowing, and soon enough I was taking off my shirt... or he was taking it off, it doesn't matter to the story. Anyway, I turned around and this was his reaction.

He yelled out, "Those are the biggest goddamn tits I've ever seen!!" Now, I'm not sure if I was supposed to be flattered by these words, or turned on, but I was neither. Instead, I was mortified and very uncomfortable. The shirt went back on, the tits were put away, and he never saw them again.

But soon, this won't be a problem for me anymore. (Not that I am in the habit of bringing boys into my room and taking off my shirt... I don't think A* would take too kindly to that) It won't be a problem because... drum roll please........

I got approved for my breast reduction!!!!!! I called my insurance company yesterday, and for once I had a very nice and helpful woman get on the line, and she told me that they just approved it yesterday and they will be sending the paper work over to my doctor, who in turn will call me to set up a surgery time. I called at work, and when I hung up the phone everyone that was around me was leaning out of their chairs. I think my huge grin gave it away, and then they all burst into applause and hugs. It was great. I cannot wait.

I have been wanting this for so long, I won't even know what to do with myself when I don't have to want it anymore. I have been thinking of all the things I'll be able to do better... painting my toenails, running, dancing, bra shopping, buying clothes, cutting my toenails... the list could go on and on. No one would understand this unless they too, are cursed with ginormous breasts. Some girls, when I tell them I am having surgery, gasp and ask me, "Why in the world would you want to do that? Could you save some for me?" and I want to tell them, "YOU try carrying around two twelve pound watermelons on your chest all day and then tell me that you want these things." I think they would change their minds.

I'm nervous, of course. I mean, they ARE cutting out part of my body. And I know this is weird, but for the longest time my entire identity has been of the "girl with the big boobs". People who don't even know my first name will nod in recognition if someone says, "You know, that girl with the huge boobs." I feel like I will somehow be a different person, and then I think what will be my defining characteristic then? But on the other hand, I don't WANT that to be my indentity. I want to be the "girl with a nice smile" or something. I'm sure it will take some adjustments (no pun intended) but ultimately I will be a lot happier.

I haven't seen my toes in fifteen years. It will be nice to get reacquainted.

Memorial

2006-03-09T08:05:00.000-08:00

My grandmother passed away late Saturday night, March 4 at around 11:00 pm. My uncle was holding her in his arms, and he told her that it was okay to go, everything is fine, we'll all be okay, and finally she let herself go. Yesterday we had a memorial service for her, in which my breathtakingly handsome twelve year old brother delivered a eulogy that anyone would have been honored to have read about themselves. I was so proud of him I didn't know what to do. He got his first suit (on the phone, when he told me that my mom and he were picking it out, he said, "And D, I look good.") and so eloquently stepped up in front of a church full of people, unfolded his dirty looking notebook paper, and proceeded to tell us all about Grandma better than any of us could express. There was not a dry eye in the church.
But instead of telling about her death, I would like to tell a little about the person that she was while she was living. And living she did, she never stopped. A fighter till the very end.
The first memory I have of her is with a head half full of curlers, reining over her family on the sun porch. Being an Italian family, nothing was ever said, it was yelled over everyone else who was screaming at the top of their lungs. And Grandma could yell with the best of them... if she didn't, she would never be heard! She was very clearly the queen of her kingdom, and she was never happier than when the entire family was gathered around the dinner table. She loved to cook for her family; she got very upset if anyone tried to come into the kitchen while she was cooking. She didn't mind having help with the clean up, though!
Grandma was dedicated to her family. She raised four men to adulthood, and nurtured countless grandchildren. She loved her grandchildren, especially the youngest ones. No one could do wrong at Grandma's house; if you were a child, you could pretty much get away with anything. There was a special section in the closet just for me, back when I was the only kid, that was filled with crayons and coloring books and games for me to play. I could get into that closet whenever I felt like it and play with whatever I wanted in there.
Grandma and Grandpa live on a small lake, and I used to go and catch turtles there in the summer. Grandma always provided me with a box to put my newest treasure in, and sometimes would even help me make a wonderful sign for the pet's box. Of course, then my parents would make me let the turtle go before we went home, but we did have some fun as we created it.
Grandma was a very faithful person, devoted to her church and priest. I never saw her without a cross around her neck, a cross that she gave my cousin this Christmas. She took a lot of comfort in her beliefts, and made it a point to involve her Christianity in every aspect of her life. It was how she raised her kids, and how she continued to help raise her grandkids.
Grandma was a dynamic, dedicated family woman, who loved music and loved to laugh. She was a big Neil Diamond fan (we won't hold it against you, Grandma) and played the guitar throughout her life. One of my favorite pictures of her hangs in my parent's dining room. In it, she is probably about twelve. Her hair is done in two braids, in a Heidi-esque style, and she is wearing a jumper with flowers embroided on it. She is holding her guitar in her lap, and she wears a grin that threatens to split her face in two.

This is how I want to remember my grandma.

2006-02-28T11:32:00.000-08:00

My grandmother is in the hospital and they are saying that she might not make it out again. She has kidney failure and congestive heart failure. Yesterday they moved her up to the hospice floor of the hospital, and they are only giving her "comfort care" now, meaning that they are only giving her pain medication to make her comfortable. They aren't doing dialysis anymore, and she is off all of the antibiotics. On Sunday she ate Burger King for the first time in six years (a Whopper with onions) and while she munched happily I couldn't help thinking that the only reason she was allowed to partake in the BK goodness is that there is no more hope.

She is very confused and doesn't really know what is going on. Sunday was her 78th birthday, and the whole family went to see her. While we were there, she yelled at my dad for spraying bugs and she told the doctor that she was bleeding orange drink. My mom offered to brush her hair, and she curled up like a little kitten and just smiled with pleasure as my mom combed her fingers through her hair. This is what she used to do when I was sick, so I know how good it felt to her. My uncle called in the middle of this and grandma took the phone and said, "I can't talk now, I'm at the beauty parlor getting my hair done." Then she scrunched back down in the bed and motioned for my mom to continue.

It is really hard to watch your dad lose his mother. I can't even imagine how that must feel. I don't know what to say or how to say it, and I just don't know what to do. I hate seeing him like that, my dad is always joking around and laughing, and now he just has a half smile on his face all the time, while tears gather in his eyes. I feel so helpless when I look at him; I just don't know what to do to make the pain go away for him.

One of the hardest moments, though, was when my grandpa, who is a robust Italian man, said softly, "You just don't know how lonely it can get in that house until you're there all alone." I saw tears beginning to collect in the corners of his strong blue eyes, and I had to look away.

Basically everyone is just waiting. My other uncle is on his way here from Florida right now, and the family has been sleeping at the hospital in shifts, so that she doesn't have to die alone. This is very important to all of us now, including me... we don't want her to be alone. She gets more and more confused as the days go by, and sometimes she doesn't recognize us, but I know that she knows we're there. She's hanging on, but it won't be much longer.

The last memory I have of the grandma that I love is of Christmas this past year, as she sat in the living room and watched her family crowd in around her. She loved to have the house full, and enjoyed nothing more than cooking for an army. She drew great pleasure from all of her grandchildren, especially the little ones. Her and my grandfather eloped when they were only nineteen years old, and haven't left each others sides since.

Before we left the hospital the other day, she called out plaintively, "I just wonder when I'm ever going to be able to go home!" My grandpa patted her hand and whispered, "Soon enough, mama, soon enough."

Lying

2006-02-23T12:52:00.000-08:00

Just for the record, I am one of the world's worst liars. My face turns bright red, my eyebrows go up into my hairline, and I can't look people in the eye when I attempt to lie. This really foiled my efforts as a teenager, because my mom ALWAYS knew if I was lying. The other thing that is a dead give away is the fact that I can't just say something simple, I have to make up an elaborate story to go along with the lie. In the end, this just makes whatever I am saying more UNbelievable, because I end up saying ridiculous stuff for way longer than the lie entails.

Today I decided that I wanted to rearrange my desk at work. I have two monitors and then a bunch of desk crap. Well, the real reason I wanted to move things around is because both monitors faced the aisle and I was getting in trouble for being on the internet. (hello, reading blogs) So I wanted to move one monitor so it was facing the other direction. I did all this work, spent half the afternoon under my desk trying to rearrange cords and moving things just so. All I really had to say about this move, if anything, was that I didn't feel like I had enough room so I changed things around. Simple, right?

Instead, I concocted this whole story about the placement of monitors and writing room on my desk and where the phone is, etc etc. WAY more than what needed to be said. Now I have everything all rearranged and I DON'T LIKE IT!! But taking into account all the fuss that I made, I feel like I can't put things back. Now I just feel stupid.

And my desk looks stupid and I have to turn my neck to an uncomfortable angle to look at the other monitor. AAAHHH!!

Being an Adult Sucks

2006-02-21T11:39:00.000-08:00

This weekend A* and I were going to spend a nice, romantic weekend after Valentine's Day together. We were going to go out to dinner at our favorite (pricey) restaraunt and possibly even go and stay at a hotel. Instead? We did our laundry, and that was about the highlight of the entire weekend. We collectively decided that we were going to be responsible adults for once, and instead of putting money directly into our mouths by going out to eat, we paid all of our bills. In theory, this sounds great and like we are just on the road to financial independance. In reality, it just made me realize that we will never have enough money to do all that we want to do, there is no end in sight, AND to top it off I didn't get a fancy meal. So that sucked, and I found myself wishing for the days when bills were non existent to me and if I wanted a good meal I just went and opened the refridgerator because hey! this woman I called mom always made sure that it was stocked. *sigh*. Those were the days.

The one thing that was a success, though, and for it I am extremely grateful, was that A* and I had some good lovin'!! For once the stars aligned or my shot hid from us or whatever reason, and everything went back to our old rhythms and it was just great. I was so happy, because I was fearing that I was broken and that A* would have to leave me and go find someone to satisfy him. Now I only have one month left of injections and we go from there.

During my break, I attempted to call the insurance company once again and find out if they are going to help me out. In the meantime, my boobs are just growing and growing and I feel like they are ready to take over the world. Though the insurance company had on soothing classical music, I was anything but soothed. Give me my surgery, already!! I have been waiting for a l-ooooo-ng six weeks and my patience, not huge in the first place, is wearing thin. I need a new bra, and I don't want to buy it because I'm hoping the next time I go to buy one I will be able to buy a cute one that wouldn't be able to fit a small village somewhere. I will keep you posted.

Tomorrow, remind me and I'll tell you about my new stalker. But right now, I better get back to work if I want to keep my job. Hmm... no wait, I do, I need the insurance!! Anyway, stalker. More later.

Not Exciting

2006-02-15T06:36:00.000-08:00

Yesterday A* and I celebrated the holiday of love by fighting about money. We don't usually fight about anything else, but money always gets us. We just never have enough! So I ended up crying at my desk at work and he ended up punching a wall at work, and we just loved each other all up. He redeemed himself, though, when he gave me a beautiful card and some chocolates. (I mean, what CAN'T be solved by chocolate, really). We are fine now.

In other news, I called the insurance company on Monday and they still don't know if my boob surgery has been approved. I kind of put a lot of stuff on hold for this, and am getting just a touch impatient. I don't want to start school, or get a new job, or anything because I am waiting to hear and I can't swich insurances in the middle of the process. I know that your fingers are getting a little cramped, but if you could keep them crossed just a tiny bit longer....

The sex problem? Not so much solved. We tried on Saturday, and were successful... to a point. I didn't really enjoy it as much as I could have and I was kind of sore after. Does anyone out there know anything about Depo-Lupron and sexual side effects? I would really appreciate any kind of advice.

Cars are becoming a problem for me. Last week while getting out of my friend's car I slammed the door on the bottom part of my leg and gouged out a chunk of skin. The bruise is still there. Yesterday while trying to adjust the visor I slammed my elbow onto the door, and it started bleeding and now whenever I set my arm on the desk a pain shoots up my arm.

Now that we have gotten Valentine's Day, fights, boobs, sex and cars out of the way, there really isn't anything else to write about, is there? I guess we'll try another day for something more interesting.

Joys of Womanhood

2006-02-06T11:33:00.000-08:00

As some of you know, I have been taking the Depo-Lupron shot for treatment of my endometriosis. So far, things have been going well... my cramps have lessened by a lot, I don't have the heavy periods that I was having, generally everything has just been making me feel better than I had been. The only thing to note was the hot flashes that I have been getting. Depo "tricks" your body into thinking it is experiencing menopause, so the catch 22 is that you also get the side effects from menopause. Anyway, I was very pleased with how things are going, and I only have one injection left before I see my doctor to reevaluate my situation.

Until this month.

One of the side effects of the shot is "increased vaginal dryness and decreased sex drive." Now, A* and I have never been maniacs, but we do enjoy a pretty healthy sex life. But on Saturday night, we tried and failed, for one of the first times ever. I didn't even want to do it in the first place, but seeing as how I haven't wanted to do it in the last month and I felt really bad for A*, I wanted to give it a whirl. And for a while, things were okay. My head was actually thinking, "Yeah, I could go for this." And then, all of a sudden, everything stopped. Not A*, he was still plugging away, but everything for me stopped. Dried up, out of the mood, frustrated, stopped. It started to hurt, and A* could tell by my face that I wasn't having any fun.

I kind of knew it was coming. As I said, I haven't wanted to do anything for the past month, not even a twinge. But I thought once I got into it, things would turn around. They didn't.

Of course, I started crying. It is so frustrating when you WANT to do something so badly, but your body just won't let you. A* stroked my forehead and told me over and over that it didn't matter, but what he didn't understand is that it mattered to ME. I feel like I am not preforming my duties or something. And not to mention the fact that I REALLY WANTED SOME!!! I miss it! I felt like such a failure. Not to mention that we had misplaced the lube, so there was really no way out. Even if we could find it, I was already crying so the moment was ruined anyway.

I can't even tell you exactly what made me so upset. I think it was frustration, first and foremost. Since I started having sex, my body just does what it is supposed to and there is nothing to it. And even if I don't necessarily want to do it at first, once I start I'm lovin' it. So this- betrayal of sorts, from my own body, feels like the worst kind of broken loyalty. Why do you foresake me, oh body of mine?

I keep telling myself this is for a REASON, if I don't do this now then the chance of having a baby when I want to is a lot less, but try telling that to your raging hormonal boyfriend. It is him I feel the worst about, in this whole situation. Of course I worry that if he's not getting it at home, then he will get it somewhere else, even though the rational part of my brain knows that this isn't true in the slightest. In fact, he has been almost saintlike in his acceptance of all this. I told him in the beginning there was a chance of this happening, and showed him the list of side effects that may happen, and he was still supportive and all for me doing it. And I only have a month left, but then again that crazy part of me comes out and thinks, "what if I am broken forever". Ridiculous, I know.

See that sweaty one over there, the one who is bitching and refusing to give it up to her boyfriend? Yeah, that's me. Hi.

Stuff

2006-02-01T11:37:00.000-08:00

I am still slowly recovering from my friend break up. I try not to think about it too much, because then I will just end up getting upset again and I don't want to do that. I haven't heard from her, nor tried to get in touch. That's it.

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We just got out of a meeting at work where they told us that there is going to be a lot of moving around and I don't want to move!! I sit by the greatest lady ever to be born, and she makes me laugh everyday and is just so sweet and nice and I love her, and I don't know what reason I will have to come to work if it is not to see and talk to her. I am very bummed about this.

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A*'s work is right by the sewage treatment plant, and in the morning when I drop him off there is always the fresh scent of shit in the air. He says you get used to it, but I don't know about that. Anyways, they got a new guy the other day and he asked someone what the smell was. Another man that A* works with overheard and said, "Oh, that? That's just A*, he always smells like shit." A* grinned, nodded at the new guy, and said, "Yeah, that's true. And you know why? Because I AM the shit."
I must have laughed for forty five minutes when he told me that. Which is one of the reasons that I love him so much, because he can make me laugh so hard that my stomach hurts.

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Still have not heard back from the doctor regarding the boob surgery. Still waiting, and not very patiently.

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Do you ever have those days when the thought of doing anything, even the simplest little things in the world, makes you just want to collapse and you feel like you JUST CAN'T DO IT no matter what? I have had two days like that in a row, including today. I have to go to the doctor's office after work for my Lupron shot, and just thinking about it is making me want to throw up. I feel like I can't muster up the energy for the extra drive there.

2006-01-25T09:22:00.000-08:00

I have been putting off writing this post for a while, mostly because I have been too numb and hurt to try and put anything into words. I have spent the last couple days in the bathroom, sobbing so hard that in the morning my eyes look like I was the winner in a heavyweight fight match. But this blog has always been somewhat healing for me, so I thought I would give it a try.

*Deep breath*

My best friend and I broke up the other night. If you have read my archives, you will know that I have talked of her before. ("finding jules" is the title, I think, if you wanna go look). Anyway, in a nut shell a lot of shit went down, she made some very immature and poor choices, and basically cut me out of her life. I know that she has spiraled down into some kind of major depression (believe me, I know the signs) and is just making insane acusations towards me. I tried for months to reach her, to get in touch with her someway, because I wanted desperately to be there for her in an obviously difficult time. But to no avail. I called, left messages, sent a card to her parent's house, and there was no response from her. So I kind of had to get on with my life. I mean, I made every effort that I could think of, and I didn't know what to do. The last card that I sent her gave her the number of my new phone, and that was the last I heard from her. Oh, and by the way, her phone had been shut off at this time, so I didn't have ANY way of getting a hold of her.

Then the other night, out of the blue, the phone rings. I didn't know the number, so I had A* answer the phone (I have a phobia of unknown numbers). He talked for a minute, with a confused look on his face, and hung up the phone.
"That was Brian," he told me. Brian is the friend's (let's call her J to avoid any confusion) boyfriend. "He wanted to know where those paintings were."
Okay, stop for a minute. J is an artist, and a while ago she gave me a painting for our apartment. There was also a large, wall sized painting that she gave me. This painting I found in her parent's garage, and when I asked her about it she said that they were going to throw it away anyways, and they would be very happy for us to take it off their hands, so I did. We still had the smaller painting, but the larger one was part of the stuff that got taken when we moved the last time. A* explained all of this to Brian. Not two minutes later, the phone rang again. I knew it was J, and I needed to psych myself up, so I told him to tell her that I was in the shower and I would call her back.

But as I sat for a couple minutes, I steeled up all my nerves and called her back. I do not like confrontation, so I was a little scared. I called her back.

As soon as she picked up the phone and I said "Hey", I was immediately assaulted with all kinds of yelling and screaming. I couldn't even hear all that she was saying, because she was yelling too loudly. I managed to pick up- ..."you know how important those paintings were to me, how could you do this to me, I am so hurt..." and things of this nature. I calmly explained that I did in fact have one of the "all important paintings" that she had given away as gifts, and told her again what had happened with the other one. I told her that I too, had lost a lot of stuff that meant a lot to me. She continued to scream. She wanted her paintings NOW.

By this time I was getting mad. How dare she call me up after a whole year and demand something back. Obviously she could have gotten in touch with me before, because she had called me. I told her that A* and I were in our pajamas and about to go to bed, so no, she couldn't come and get her paintings right then. I told her that I would call her when I got off work the next day, and she said she wanted them NOW and did she have to call the police to get them back? I said, "Yeah, call the police and tell them I won't give you back a gift that you gave me, go ahead." She must have realized how dumb this was, because then she said for me to put the painting out on the porch. Now, if this was something "priceless" to her, why would she want it hanging out on the porch, where anyone could take it? She just kept screaming, and finally I had had enough. I told her to "shut up, just shut the fuck up or you're not getting anything!" Then I yelled at A* to "take the f----ing picture off the wall and put it on the porch. Or better yet, throw it in the yard." But that is immature, so he just put it outside.

I tried to talk about our friendship, about what had happened to us. She was unwilling to accept any kind of responsibility for anything. I asked her why she hadn't gotten in touch with me; I should have stopped by her house. I asked her why she didn't respond to the card I had sent her; I should have sent it to HER house, not her parent's, and the fact that I did just was horrible and showed how I didn't care about her. She kept saying, "I needed you, and you weren't there." I tried to be there, tried so hard. I wanted to support her, wanted to give her a shoulder to cry on, but how the heck are you supposed to do that when someone very directly told you she didn't want to talk about it, didn't need anyone's help. I kept asking her what I was supposed to have done, but she really didn't have an answer. She asked me if I understood why she was so upset, and I very honestly told her that I didn't, I didn't know anything that had gone on with her in the last year because she chose not to involve me, and I didn't even know her anymore. I don't. She is not the same person that I have been best friend's with for all of these years. I felt like I was talking to a stranger.

So basically, it all came down to it was all my fault, and I am just about the most awful person in the entire universe. I asked her where do we go from here, do we just throw ten years of friendship down the drain? And she said, "Well, you don't think you did anything wrong..." and I said, "I am willing to admit that some of the things could have been done differently. YOU are the one that can't admit anything." Then she said, "I guess that's it, then."

Then of course, I have to be a hurt baby and start saying things that don't even make any sense, because I was SO hurt that I didn't know what to do. I think I said something intelligent like, "You just be happy thinking you didn't do anything wrong, then..." and then she hung up the phone.

I threw the phone across the room, apologized to A* for throwing the phone across the room, put my hands over my eyes and sat there and just shook. I don't remember a time when I was ever that upset in my life. I wasn't even crying, just kind of making these deep heaving sounds from deep in my chest. My teeth were chattering, I was just so upset and hurt and so many emotions were running around inside of me. I didn't even know what to do with myself.

So I called my mom. And while she always makes me feel better, nothing can take away the pain of losing your best friend, your soul sister, your whole world for ten years of your life. My mom was almost as upset as me, because J has always been a big part of our entire family. Birthdays, holidays, vacations... she was always there. And now she won't be, and I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.

Scheduling

2006-01-18T11:35:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been noticing something disarming about myself... I seem to need a set time for every single thing that I do, no matter what. Now, this is a little weird to me, because normally, I am one of the most disorganized people that you will ever meet. Seriously. At this very minute clothes are being vomited out of my closet, because I can't be bothered to put them away. My desk is almost unrecognizable as any kind of furniture, it is so covered with papers and crap. But for some reason, my brain has to schedule.

Every morning when we are driving to work, I make A* list all of the things that we have to do that night. For example, he has to say, "I'll get home from work, I'll take a shower, we'll have dinner, we'll watch TV, we'll go to bed." And if for some reason we differ from the schedule, well, this just makes me very aggitated. On the weekends it is worse, because then I have a whole day to plan out. It has to be "Wake up, watch TV, go to breakfast, go to the store, come home, etc..." for the entire weekend. I know this is anal and I don't know why I have to do it. Why can't I just live a carefree existence, where each block of time is not accounted for?

In the same vein as this, I feel that there are certain times to do certain things. This fits into the schedule, if it is worked out correctly. I don't think anyone should eat dinner before 5. 5 is the magic number for dinner in my head. I can remember my mom trying to eat dinner at, say, 4:45 because we had to be somewhere, and me throwing a fit because IT IS NOT FIVE!! However, you shouldn't be eating past 7, either. Therefore, there is a slim window of alloted dinner time. The problem that I have been running into lately is that A* is not adhering to the schedule. I have been eating dinner at least at 7:30, sometimes 8. And this is just not acceptable. It really bothers me, but when I say something, he gets mad.

Recent conversation:
ME: "Um, are you going to get in the shower soon?"
HIM: "Why?"
ME: "Well, it is 6:30 and we haven't even eaten yet..."
HIM: "For God's sake, D, do we have to do everything by a schedule??!!! Just let me shower in peace, woman!"

So you see, A* doesn't really get the whole schedule thing. In fact, I myself don't really get the schedule thing. It would make more sense if I was just an anal type of person, but I'm not. I don't know where this comes from, or why.

But so help me God, if I am not done with my dinner tonight by 7, well, there will just be some problems.

Tiny Vests are not very Flattering

2006-01-13T11:40:00.000-08:00

Well, sorry it has been awhile... wait, who am I apologizing to? The reader that I hope to get someday? The invisible one that I pretend hangs onto my every word? Oh, did I sound bitter? Anyway... I have been sick with the flu for the past two days. I have never spent as much time in the bathroom as I have yesterday and the day before. Things were shooting out both ends and I felt like complete shit. BUT

Before I started shitting uncontrollably, I went to the doctor~ the boob doctor. It went all right, but I really don't know anything yet. They took me into this little room, and a nurse asked me questions such as what size I was hoping to be (a C) and some of the problems that I have been experiencing. Then I had to put on this tiny vest thing and a robe. The doctor came in, along with a nurse and I think a medical student. I had already been there before, but chickened out the last time, so he didn't do the whole speal that he would have. I kind of wish he would have been more thorough, because A* hasn't ever been there before and I know he had questions, but they did load us up with pamphlets, so he has been doing some reading. The doctor made me take off the tiny vest and stand in front of him, with my two ginormous girls right in his face. He felt my shoulders and neck, noting that I had "dents" in my shoulders where my bra sits. He asked me what all my symptoms were, and I told him the back and shoulder pain, rashes on my breasts, headaches, etc. He nodded, then flipped my boob up, grabbing it with one hand while he felt under it with the other. He told the nurse to "note the discoloration under the breast", which I didn't even know existed but I guess is because something is always rubbing that area. He told me that he would send everything in to my insurance company, and that we would have to wait 4 to 6 weeks to hear an answer. My heart dropped a little when I heard this... that is a long time to wait, and now that I have my mind made up I just want it over with. Then I had to go across the hall in my vest, and they gave me a robe, and I had to stand up on this little stage thing and do half quarter turns while a woman shot pictures of my breasts. Let me tell you, this was not the most comfortable situation that I have ever been in. AND I know that all of these pictures will be going to my insurance company, so a lot more people than I want are going to be viewing my girls. I went back to the room, where A* was waiting patiently after watching another man feel up his girlfriend, and the nurse brought in a book filled with pictures of before and after breast reductions. This was cool, because I tried to pick out women that looked about my size and then I could kind of picture what it would look like. She asked if we had any questions, and I did. I had heard that losing nipple sensitivity could be a possible side effect, and I don't want this to happen. My sex life would not be the same. So I asked her about this, and the nurse said while it is rare, it COULD potentially happen. But A* reminded me that they have to say all of the possible outcomes to cover their asses, and that it probably won't happen. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Armed with pamphlets and information, we left with the promise that someone from the office will call me as soon as they hear from the insurance company.

We walked to the elevators, and I burst into tears. I don't even really know why... I think it was just something that I have been thinking about and wanting to do for so long, and now that things are actually happening it is just kind of overwhelming. I don't really know how to explain it. Overwhelmed is the best I can do, and then of course I thought maybe I shouldn't get it done, and maybe the side effects aren't worth it, and maybe this, and maybe that, when A* stopped me and said simply, "I'm not letting you out of this one. You will be so much happier and it will feel so much better. And no matter what happens, even if you have no nipples and one of your boobs is attached to your left foot, I will be there and still love you."

Awww.

So now we wait. I am keeping my fingers crossed for 4-6 weeks, and I think you should too!

Swamp of Penis

2006-01-08T10:53:00.000-08:00

Last night A* and I were watching the Neverending Story, which is by far one of the classics from my childhood. Well, you know that one part where the kid is in that swamp, and his horse dies and it is horribly sad? I was telling A* that this was a serious part of the movie, be quiet and pay attention because we were "in the Swamp of Sadness". A* chortled to himself and then, just like the boy that he is, said "I wish we were in the Swamp of Penis and you were drowning in it," and then laughed for forty more minutes.

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In boob news, A* has spent a large part of the weekend reassuring me that he didn't fall in love with me because of my ginormous boobs, nor is he going to fall out of love with me once I don't have them anymore. I believe him, I really do, but I know how guys feel about boobs, and I can't help picturing his friends being like, "dude, why is she getting that done? Are you crazy, she has the biggest boobs ever!" and A* will be embarressed and not wanting to go into back pain, and will resent me for even doing this in the first place. Not that I am chickening out... I'm not. Appointment still set for two days from now. And most of me is really really excited to get this process underway, but like I said before, my whole identity has been these things and it is hard getting a part of yourself cut off, no matter how cumbersome. I'll let you know what happens with the doctor as soon as I go.

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I had an extremely traumatic experience yesterday. As you know, I have been on a two day high about my breasts, and how they are going to go away. I decided to carry this happiness into a new purse buying excursion, and very happily purchased a smashing new faux snake skin Liz Claiborne at TJ Maxx for only $15.99. So I was in a great mood, when A* and I stopped at Borders. As I was walking in, my (former) best friend was walking out. I have written previously about her (see "Finding Jules"), but long story short we haven't talked for almost a year due to her need to lock herself up in her apartment and smoke weed until she passes out. I don't mind weed, but I do mind rotting away in a rank space that never sees the light of day. Because I didn't want to hang out there, and she wouldn't leave, she pretty much stopped talking to me. In the meantime, A* and I got a new phone number and moved, so a couple of months ago I sent her a card to tell her our new number and address. Her phone had been turned off because she spent the bill money on drugs, so there was no way I could contact her. Anyways, I was walking in when I saw her boyfriend. I still didn't expect to see her, so I just said Hi to him and kept walking. My heart literally dropped to my knees when I saw her. In that split second, I thought about what to do. Do I pretend that we haven't not talked in a year? Do I pretend like we just lost touch? Did we just lose touch? I decided to play it cool, but still show that I was excited to see her.
"Hey!" I yelled out. "Oh my gosh, I haven't seen you in such a long time! What's up?"
She had a very sour look on her face, and just answered, "Nothing."
I bravely forged ahead. "So what have you been doing?" I asked, keeping an insane grin platered on my face. I don't do well in these types of situations.
"Nothing."
"Well-" I faltered "-um... did you get my card? I sent you a card, because we got a new phone and I didn't know how to get a hold of you, so..."
"It's not like you don't know where I live, D." she said, her arms crossed.
I couldn't believe it. After all the effort that I had made, she was going to try and blame the non communication on me? I could feel tears beginning to form, and I begged them not to fall. I did NOT want her to see me cry.
"It's not like you don't know where I live, either, right?" I shot back. Meanwhile, streams of people are coming out of the store and walking in between us, which is not the greatest place to have this kind of discussion.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I'm not doing this."
"Doing what? Do you want my new number?" I was still hoping that maybe we could talk about this, somewhere that was not a Borders vestibule.
She just kept shaking her head. I thought maybe she couldn't hear me.
"Do you want my new number?" I asked again, louder. I realize I was starting to sound desperate here, but I couldn't help it. I mean, this was my best friend, and after all this time she was finally standing in front of me! I couldn't let her go without a fight.
She said, "I'm not doing this," again and turned to walk out the door.
"So you don't want my new number?" I cried out one more pathetic time, and watched her back as she retreated out the door. She left.
I have to give myself credit here. I kept it together as I walked into Borders, even though A*'s comforting hand on my back almost made me burst into tears. I bit my lip as I searched for a copy of Glamour, to see the article on Heather (www.dooce.com). I tipped my head back and let the tears wash back into my eyeballs as I searched for a calander. But finally, as we were standing in line, I very calmly asked A* for the car keys and phone. I walked with my dignity out of the store, got in the car, and burst into hysterical tears. I dialed my mom's number frantically, and when she answered I poured out the whole story, in between my gut wrenching sobs. I felt like my heart was breaking. It was like the worst break up you can imagine, but with your best friend.
I just couldn't believe she could look me in the face and just walk away. This was the girl that knew every deepest darkest secret I held, the girl who went on family vacations and got Christmas presents from my parents, the girl who spent the night every Saturday night in high school, who was with me all three times I took my driving test, who used to decorate my locker before swim meets, the girl that I knew all of her secrets, her history, her loves and hates and everything in between. We used to plan on buying two identical houses side by side, and we would have children at the same time and they would be best friends. It is so extremely sad to me. I could be mad that she dissed me, could be humiliated that she made me look like a loser begging for friendship in front of her boyfriend and mine, but mostly I just feel this incredible sadness. I feel like a part of myself is missing.

More on my Boobs

2006-01-06T11:45:00.000-08:00

Hardest step completed? Check. I actually picked up the phone and made an appointment to see a plastic surgeon for a consultation. I'm nervous, but my excitement far outweighs it.

You see, my entire life I have been known as "The Girl with the Big Boobs" or "The Girl with the Huge Tits". This is not, contrary to popular belief, how I want to be viewed. I would rather people say "The Girl Who is Nice" or "The Girl with the Pleasant Smile". Not part of my anatomy. Boys oogled me starting in the sixth grade. I started right off in the regular bra department, skipping training bras altogether. Ha! My boobs didn't need trained, they were growing just fine on their own. I can remember staring at myself in the dressing room mirror, wearing my first bra, and sobbing. I hated that thing, that constricted and dug into me. I hated the fact that most of my friends only wore a bra because they wanted to, not because they had to. And they just kept growing.

In high school, I was just starting to date this guy when I came across him and his friend in the hallway. The friend was gesturing with his hands, making large hill signs. I heard him ask "Have you climbed the mountains yet?" To my shock and humiliation, they were talking about my breasts.

Every dress that I tried on pulled tight (or not at all) across the chest. I eventually couldn't even wear a dress anymore, I had to resort to seperates. If I bought something big enough to wear in the top, then it was hugely big in the bottom. And strapless bras? Forget it. My prom dress was strapless, and I had to wear a bra that was a size too small and be on boob patrol all night. I spent the dance obcessively checking to make sure neither one of the girls was making an appearance.

Bras just don't fit. Boobs spill out on the sides and top of the bra everytime. I have to wear a washrag under it so that it doesn't dig into my skin and cause a rash (which has happened before, and yes I had to go to the doctor and explain to him that my boobs were giving me a rash). I have dents and bumps and knots all in my shoulders and back, and I get headaches a lot from the strain on my neck and shoulders.

But I called. the. doctor. Even through all of these problems, I kind of felt like maybe big boobs were my identity, that messing with them would make me invisable. I think that's why I had such a hard time making that call. Plus, I mean it is surgery, and no one likes that. But god, to be able to run (run!) down the street without giving myself a black eye? That's priceless. I can't tell you the last time that I actually ran. (and not just because an ex-boyfriend once told me I looked like a retarded bird when I did.)

I'll keep you updated, of course. My appointment is this Tuesday, January 10. Keep your fingers crossed! Oh, and before you even ask, the excess boobage has already been promised to half the women that I know, so I don't know if there will be enough to go around. There could be, because there is a lot, but don't get your hopes up.

Bitch Fest 2006

2006-01-04T09:07:00.000-08:00

I am not satisfied with my life. Nothing seems to be going the way that it is supposed to go. Not even this blog. I started it with anticipation of fame, millions of dedicated readers racing to their computers every morning to see what I have been up to. But what really happened was that no one even knows that "Little Bits" exists, and I am basically writing to keep myself company. I was scrolling down today and saw that little button that says "Delete Blog" and I'll tell you, I almost did. I thought, who would care anyway, no one reads it. And that would be the truth, but I would hate to see all that work go down the drain. No, I'll keep plugging away, talking to no one.

But this seems to be a metaphor for the rest of my life. A couple weeks ago, I posted about how my friend was going back to school, and I was so jealous, blah blah. Well, the feelings are still there. I still want to go back to school, to actually DO something with myself. I don't want to be stuck here in front of a computer monitor for the rest of my life, secretly clicking on blogs to read because I JUST CAN'T LOOK ENTER ANYTHING ELSE INTO THE COMPUTER. Anyways, it's not just work. Or just school. It is these things, coupled with others. A* has been in a rotten mood for the past couple of days, and that is bringing me down. I thought I only had to go through one more round of Depo shots, but I really have four more to do. Belle (the cat) has been sticking her ass up in the air and moaning, so it looks like she needs fixed. Our house is a mess, still littered with Christmas things. Our bank account is overdrawn. Our car has a heater that doesn't work. I am fat.

I know the fat thing doesn't really go with anything else, but I am feeling really discouraged about my body and the way things are looking. I used to be a swimmer (not a good one, but still) and so I could eat like a horse and never gain any weight. Well, guess what. That ended about seven years ago and still I chow down like I am going to run a 5K race the next day. The only races I run are those that involve getting to the bathroom before A*. Diet and excercise, blah, I know! But I just can't seem to get myself off the couch. I sit in a stupor, chocolate ice cream covered spoon hanging out of my mouth.

All right Internet, I am going to share a secret with you. I have huge boobs. I mean gigantic. I am currently busting out of the size 38 DDD bra that I am wearing. I can't buy clothes that fit me, because if it fits in the bottom it will definitely not fit on top. I can't wear button up shirts because the buttons gap unattractively and give the world a view of my skin that I would rather not share. My back and shoulders hurt EVERY DAY~ there is never a time when I am not in pain. It is just getting worse. I am considering gettting a breast reduction, seriously considering it. I have looked at websites and most women are only out of commission for two weeks. I want to do this before I have a family or other things that I need to look after. In turn, this would also help with the whole fatness thing, because then I may be able to walk without giving myself a black eye. If I start running, there are gigantic earthquakes in the near vacinity. The sheer weight of my breasts could crush A*, if we aren't careful. We once lost a cat under there and didn't find him for three days. My breasts are dangerous.

So you got that? Job, school, weight and breasts. All of these things are conspiring to make me question what the hell I'm doing and where the hell I'm going. I don't know what the solution is yet, either. Obviously I can't fix everything in one swoop, I do not live in a sitcom. But I think if I could just prioritize and actually follow through with something, I could get on the right track. I do a lot of bitching, but not a lot of action. And maybe that is where I need to start. Get off my ass and start doing something~ anything!

I don't know what I will do, but you can be sure that I will just keep posting my little heart out for all of those non readers out there. You know who you are. Wait, you don't exist. I'm just talking to myself, and maybe my first step should be to check into an institution for people that talk to themselves all day. If one exists. Which it probably doesn't, the way things are going for me lately.

Highlights of the Holidays, the Good, Bad and Ugly

2005-12-27T11:30:00.000-08:00

** Waking up to see A*'s grinning face above mine and realizing that this is the third Christmas I get to spend with the love of my life, this wonderful man who has made my life so great, and thinking that I have the whole rest of our lives to celebrate countless Christmas'.

** Watching the cats tear into their catnip toy presents like they were four year old kids who couldn't wait and then throwing them all over the room in joyful exhuberation.

** Seeing my grandma, who probably won't make it through another Christmas, laugh with my five year old cousin as he wound her oxygen tube around and around himself.

** When my other six year old cousin asked my mom very loudly at the table if Santa goes potty.

** Watching my cousin open up a present from my grandma, and then when my grandma said "Do you know what that is?" and my cousin registers that it is the cross that we have never seen grandma without, and then her face crumples and she has to excuse herself to the bathroom because she doesn't want her kids to see her cry. Then when she back out, her son asked, "Didn't you like your present, Mom?"

** Upon entering A*'s sister's house, his nephew runs up to him in his Fantastic Four pajama's and yells, "Here's your present Uncle A*~ it's basketball tickets!" before we had even taken off our coats.

** Hearing about how A*'s nephew was outside before the sun came up so that he could ride his new bike.

** Watching A*'s sister and her ex-husband being civil to each other and even sitting down at the table together, all for the sake of their son.

** Seeing my twelve year old brother blush and grin the hugest smile ever when he opened his "Sport's Illustrated Swim Suit" calander.

** A*'s face as he opened a present that was meant for me, but was addressed to him. He started to pull the pink sweater out of the box, and I saw him trying to rearrange his facial features into something that suggested that he really really loved the pink sweater, and then seeing the relief when my mom laughed and told him that it really belonged to me.

** A*'s total excitement when he ripped the paper off our new Home Theater System, something that he has been wanting for years, and then the sweet way he apologized to me because he "knew that I didn't really care all that much about it, but it was our big present."

** Seeing A* and my dad drink Scotch together and make plans to play video games.

** Having my whole family under one roof, including my cousin who recently completed boot camp.

** My other cousin, who is 18, and who I didn't even think remembered my name half the time, got my name in the gift exchange and got me the most perfect present anyone could ever have chosen, and then seeing the genuine pleasure on his face when he saw how much I loved it.

** A*, after downing more than one glass of Scotch, getting all touchy feely and hugging and kissing me in my mother's kitchen.

** Driving home from my parent's, after a day with my family and thinking how lucky we are and how happy I am, bursting into tears and telling A* "I'm just so overwhelmed, I don't know what to do!"

** 11:30 pm Christmas night, watching A* climb around behind the TV in his boxer shorts and slippers, hooking up the new Home Theater System.

** Being jolted from sleep when the system was finally hooked up because A* had to try it out and he put on an action movie so that he could "see how this baby runs", and speakers were right by my ear and I nearly fell right off the couch with the loudness.

** Falling asleep in A*'s arms, content and full of holiday good cheer.

The Obligatory Holiday Post

2005-12-25T15:10:00.000-08:00

I sit here at my parent's house typing. There is a glass of red wine next to me, in a really cute wine glass that A* and I got for my parent's. A fire is roaring in the fireplace, my family is here, and I am happy. I have "the feeling", you know that one, where, just for a split second, things are right in the world. I feel very lucky and loved right now, and to me that is what Christmas is all about.

A* and I were up like little kids at about 6:30 this morning, and we ripped into our presents. We both did really well this year as far as the gift giving goes. We also got the babies some presents, too... new catnip toys and some wet food to eat. They found them right away under the tree... A* had wrapped them and put them in the corner, and as soon as we got up they made a beeline for them and carried the wrapped packages around in their mouths until we helped them open them. Buster also found the wonders of boxes, and spent the rest of the morning jumping in and out of empty ones.

Then we went to A*'s sister's house and had a mimosa (or three) and watched his nephew bounce around the room on an excitement high. He was still wearing his Fantastic Four PJ's. Man, I love that little guy.

Now we are at my parent's and I can smell the ham cooking. My family is talking loudly in the kitchen, the TV is blasting with a football game, and there is a radio playing somewhere too. It is loud and crazy and fun and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I hope that everyone is having as good of a Christmas as I am. Much joy and wonder to you and yours this season and for the rest of the year. Now go and pour yourself a nice glass of wine and enjoy the day.

Wrapping Garland around Your Head Makes it Itch

2005-12-20T11:30:00.000-08:00

So my entire office is in a frenzy of cubicle decorating. I actually STAYED OVER last night to do my part in the joymaking process. Tomorrow, we will all be judged on who's area looks the best. Some people are getting violently competitive... one co-worker told me that we have to "kick some major ass." I am into the decorating, sure, who couldn't use a little more Christmas cheer, but geez, people, it is a cubicle. Get a grip!

In other news, I have been strangely bitchy and irritable lately. For the past three days, in fact. Poor A* has had to put up with it. Yesterday as soon as he planted his little butt in the seat I started yelling at him because he hadn't gotten out of work fast enough. In my defense, he KNOWS that I am coming at five, so why would you wait until 5:03 to start doing the things you need in order to leave? But, it really isn't his fault entirely. I don't know why I have been such a downer lately, but I'm hoping that is goes away soon.

I think that I am becoming unsatisfied with my life. I know that the whole friend going back to college thing has a lot to do with it. It just made me start thinking about how much I want to be able to go to school and have a career that actually means something to me. I don't even know what this career would be, but I know that it's out there and waiting for me. I have some ideas, but nothing definite. I don't really know what to do about this problem, though. I have to think some more on it, I guess. But really? When I think about it, all I think about is how jealous I am of all the other people that got to go, and then I get mad at them because I just KNOW they didn't appreciate it as much as I would, and it turns into a whole problem.

I still have not finished my Christmas shopping. I am tempted to call the whole thing off. Except I would still want to have my presents, because presents are the best things in the world... unless it is something gross that you don't like, but that is another story. Anyways, the whole family is done but I still have to get A* his stuff. The only time that I will be able to do this is on Christmas Eve Day, when only men will be out, panicking because they didn't get their wife or girlfriend as good of present as their friend did. <----- I think that is an inappropriate use of the English language, but I didn't know how else to word it. And THEN I have to wrap all of these presents. I'm giving everything away in trash bags this year, I think.

I am the Christmas princess~ see my garland crown??

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting stressed

2005-12-15T11:31:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I love Christmas as much as the next person. Maybe even more. I mean, I believed in Santa until I was like twelve, and cried the entire Christmas that I finally admitted it to myself. But I cannot stand all the running around, who is going to be where, why aren't you staying at our house for desert, crazy relatives wanting you to be in thirty six places all at once.

My mom just called and said that A* and I need to tell her if we are going to my stepdad's parent's house for Christmas Eve. First of all, they are weird about "outsiders". This is the first year that A* has been invited, even though we have lived together for three. Unless you are married to a member of the family, are a child of a member of the family, or an actual member of the family, you are excluded. The last two Christmas' I told them that I would not be attending Christmas Eve, because I thought it was shitty that they didn't invite A*. Now, this year they are extending an invitation, but I can't help thinking~ is it just because I made a big fuss? Is he really welcome? He hasn't even met most of these people. However, my grandma is really really sick, and this could very possibly be her last Christmas. So I would feel like a real asshole if I didn't go. A* will not want to go, I already know. I think he still feels the sting of being a non-family member. I guess I will just go for a little while to make an appearence, but I don't know if A* will be with me.

Then on the actual Christmas day, we have to go to my mom's house and A*'s sister's house. We have to coordinate with A*'s nephew's schedule, because he has to go to his dad's. We have to coordinate with my aunt's schedule, because she has to go to my uncle's parent's. I hate all the coordination and fussing about schedules. Is it just me or was Christmas supposed to be a joyous time? If we don't force down two huge dinners, then we will be accused of liking one household's food over the others. If we decline desert, the pie makers will become huffy. If we have to leave right after present opening, we are rude. This is a no win situation. And the thing is? A* and I will be spending the majority of this holiday in the car, frantically trying to compete with all the others that are speeding to their fourth meal of the day.

The day after Christmas, you would think could be a relaxing day that you DON'T have to spend in the car, but you would be wrong. Because that is the day that we have to go to my father's house, to celebrate with the woman he married, otherwise known as that bitch that I hate. We will pretend to be able to stand each other for a couple of hours and force ourselves to eat yet again, even though we are still stuffed from the day before. My dad and his wife keep the thermostat at like 55, so we will also be freezing. We will open presents that no one really wants, because I think that bitch I hate buys ugly stuff for us on purpose, just so that we have to brave the store and take it back. My dad has already given me money to purchase both her AND him presents, because he doesn't think that I am responsible enough to remember. Well, I would remember him, but I may convieniently forget about her. Then the next day, we go back to work.

I don't remember Christmas being this much work when I was a child.

Jealous

2005-12-13T11:31:00.000-08:00

My best friend told me yesterday that she is quitting her job and going back to school to become a nurse. Of course, I'm very happy for her and am thrilled that she is able to do this... but I am SO jealous of her.

I went to college right after high school... in the neighborhood that I grew up in, that is just what everyone did. I graduated when I was seventeen because I had started school early. So there I was, fresh out of high school and just seventeen years old, and expected to make these mature and adult decisions. I moved into my first apartment with four other girls and threw myself into the whole college lifestyle- in other words, I did absolutely no work, partied all night and slept through class the next day, drank myself into a stupor... all those usual things. I was too young, I know now, to be set free like that. I had lived a pretty sheltered life, and to all of a sudden be thrown into this freedom was just too much for me to take. After two semesters, I was put on academic probation. I had always done well in school, and I think I just convinced myself that I could pull myself back up again. However, I couldn't be bothered to stop the late night beer pong or the sleeping till noon thing. One more semester, and I was out. Kicked out of school. It was probably the "worst" thing that I had ever done. I was a model kid, never did anything wrong and always made my parents proud... now I had to tell them that their precious baby had gotten kicked out of college! I was mortified and depressed.

Surprisingly, my parent's didn't immediately push me out of the family all together. They told me to take this as a time to get my life together, figure out what I wanted to do and how to do it. The first thing I did was get a full time job, as a copy girl at a law firm. I worked everyday, and now I had to excuse myself at 10 to go to bed since I had to be up and at work the next morning. I had to pay my own bills, because when I was kicked out of school my parent's told me that the free ride was over... I had blown that chance. I had to learn to take care of myself. And I honestly think that this period of time did a lot of good for me. I learned that you have to rely on yourself, and you have to be responsible in order to survive. Looking back now, I should have taken this year BEFORE I went to college and learned these things before a lot of money was wasted, but I didn't. The most important thing I learned was that I desperately wanted to go back to school. I most certainly did NOT want to be a copy girl for the rest of my life.

I went back. I saved up some hard earned money and I went back to school. And this time around, I don't know if it was the fact that I was paying for it myself or just that I had learned my lesson the first time, I did really well. My GPA never went below a 3.5. I did things such as study, and time manage. I was good; I was on the right track and I was going to finish school!

Then something horrible happened to me, and I fell apart. I couldn't get up in the morning, couldn't face getting out of bed. I had terrible insomnia and couldn't go to sleep sometimes until the sun was coming up. I couldn't face all the people in class, couldn't do homework, couldn't do much of anything but lay in bed. I had to drop out of school. I swore to myself that I would be back someday, though.

Things got better. I went to counseling and started working on some things. I met A*. Then A* and I decided to move in together. All of a sudden, I really had to be a grown-up. We both had to work full time just to keep our heads above water. School wasn't even an issue... there was no money, that was it. I put the dream back on the shelf for a little while longer. A* and I got new jobs, got a new apartment, and still it sat there.

Now we are doing okay. We have a beautiful apartment and are (usually) able to pay all of our bills. I'm proud of how far we have come. But I feel like it is time for me now. I want to go back to school. I don't want to be stuck in a cubicle for the rest of my life, in a job where I make not that much money and don't get that much satisfaction from. I know that I have gifts that I could be using, if only I had that elusive degree. And I want it more than anyone.

So when my friend told me that she was going back to school, a little part of my heart broke, because it just brings into focus how I am NOT going back, or even close. Yeah, I know there are options, and loans, and stuff like that. I know it. But I also know that there are never enough loans, and that I would still have to work full time and I don't think I would do well with that. I guess that dream has to go back up on its shelf for just a little bit longer. I hope that it doesn't get all dusty up there while I'm getting my life in order. I want to go back so badly I can just taste it. I know that A* would do anything that he could to help me, and I'm not done with this. I am going to keep thinking, and planning, and even if I am ninety by the time I make it back to the classroom, by God I will be sitting there with my walker propped up beside me.

What's that saying? About working hard for things and not appreciating them until they are gone? Yeah, I am on familiar terms with those kinds of sayings. But I can only learn from my mistakes and move on from them.

Even if I do kind of have this gleam of the green eyed monster in my eyes right now.

My Very Own Christmas Miracle

2005-12-09T11:40:00.000-08:00

Am feeling all warm and fuzzy inside today, thanks to the best surprise ever that I got last night. I don't know if you have read or not, but on one of my previous posts I told you all about how all of my Christmas decorations had been thrown away in the process of our move. I was very upset about it... I tend to be very sentimental about things, and in the decorations were some very cherished ornaments and stuff that had been passed on to me. So I was totally sad. Well, my mom said that she thought my grandma had a Christmas tree that A* and I could have, so that was at least one thing. I was just not looking forward to having to go out and buy an ass load of other stuff, like ornaments and lights and tree topper and household decorations, especially right around the holidays when money is a little tight. My mom said that she would stop over sometime last night to drop off the tree, and I told her that she could stop by anytime, that we would just be hanging out.

Around 6:30 there is a knock at the door. I opened it and there stood my entire family, plus a couple old family friends for good measure. I'm talking mom, dad, brother, 3 aunts, grandma, and the friends. They had brought the tree, ornaments, lights, candles, wreaths, decorations... everything you can think of. And food! They had each made one of my favorite dishes and brought it over, because as my mom said as she was sailing in the door... "We're having a tree trimming party!"

We had eleven people crammed into our tiny little apartment, and I loved every minute of it. We snacked and drank (my mom made me my own pitcher of Bloody Mary's and my dad had brought A* a 12 pack) and then everyone helped us assemble the tree, put the lights on it, and all the ornaments.

I have never felt so warm and loved in my entire life. Everyone that I love most in this world was there, and they were all so generous and giving. I mean, not to be sappy but this is what people are talking about when they say "The meaning of Christmas". I don't know how I will ever be able to let them know just how much this meant to me. I get a little teary eyed just thinking about it! Right now I feel like one of the luckiest people in the world because I have the gift of my family.

In Which I Reveal My Nerdiness To You

2005-12-06T13:40:00.000-08:00

Well, I think that I have finally recovered enough to blog about my weekend. *Sigh*, the thing that stands out the most from it is that I am no longer the woman that I once was in college, and that I just can't drink like I'm eighteen anymore. This really puts a damper on things for me, because I used to be the champ. I could put everyone to bed and STILL wake up the next morning without a hangover. I really miss those days...

So A* and I went to a wedding this Saturday. It was for one of my co-workers. I went and got a brand new outfit, and A* even got himself a spiffy new tie. We looked, I don't mind saying, completely awesome, and even coordinated with each other. I was pleased. We made it to the service on time, with even time to spare, which is a very rare occurence with us. The church was beautiful, with a huge Christmas tree all lit up in the front and twinkly lights. Perfect for a winter wedding. Well, I was sat next to the date of another co-worker. As soon as I sat down, she introduced me to him, and he immediately started touching me. You know, he was one of those people that have to put a casual arm over your shoulders, or place his hand on my leg while I talked. I wasn't a big fan of this big mustached man touching me, not to mention that we were whispering and he kept breathing not so nice breath right in my face. I scooted closer to A* and eventually he left me alone.

Wedding ceremony proceeded with no catastrophes. The bride looked wonderful, and her smile lit up the entire church. I squeezed A*'s hand throughout, looking forward to the day when we are standing up there.

At the reception, things start to get a little fuzzy. Dinner didn't start till six, and we got there about 4:30, so in the time between dinner and then, I took full advantage of the bar. I decided to stick with one drink, so I narrowed it down to some White Zin. I love me some White Zin. By the time the buffet was opened, the bar tender had begun to place a glass of wine on the bar everytime A* or I approached. So by this time I was feeling pretty good. I had a nice little buzz going, was not making any kind of fool of myself, and was enjoying the party. However, the food on the buffet was not very appetizing. So now I have an empty stomach, and that bar tender just kept on pouring the wine.

Next thing I remember clearly is being involved in a train. You know these things, every wedding has them. Where everyone lines up and dances around the hall, while the "C'mon ride the train" song plays? So I was in the train, and apparently having a pretty good time, because A* told me that everytime we passed the table he was sitting at, I punched my fist up into the air and yelled "Woo hoo!!" As the train song died down, another song came on, and I stayed on the dance floor and got down. Somewhere in this time period, Touchy-Feely from earlier appeared and began to try to dance with me. He kept grabbing my hands and trying to spin me around. I think I said, "Ew," to him and staggered off to find A*.

Don't really remember all that much else. The rest are details that A* has supplied. I guess I had a couple more glasses of wine, and A* decided it was time to go home before I did something stupid in front of all these people that I work with. He half carried me to the car, and a friendly security guy advised him to "give her two asprin before you put her to bed." Now things start getting out of hand. We are driving home when the urge hits me. I am going to puke, and I mean NOW. I told A*, and he screeched the car over to the side of the road. There I vomitted all over the curb. Apparently we also disturbed a homeless man's sleep, because A* said that as I was leaning out of the door and heaving, the man got up from his bed of blankets and stood by A*. His comment? "Man, she is fucked up."

We got home after stopping three more times so that I could throw up. According to A*, he told me to leave the window down and I refused. I guess that explains how the puke got all over the door and window. He says that I projectile vomitted onto the glass. Oops. A* carried me up the stairs and deposited me in the bathroom, where I threw up even more. A* asked me if I felt like I could go to bed, and I told him no, so the sweetheart went and got my pillow and a blanket and made a bed for me on the floor of the bathroom. I camped out there for a couple of hours, as the cats sniffed me and wondered what I was doing on the floor when I wasn't playing with them, and then I woke up and realized that my bed would be WAY more comfortable than the floor. As I staggered into the bedroom, I happened to glance at the clock.

It was 11:00.

And this is why my drinking days are over. I can no longer handle two and a half bottles of wine, and I am passed out before 11.

I am a nerd.

Girl Crushes

2005-12-01T09:09:00.000-08:00

A* has long been saying that I am a quasi-lesbian, only held back by him and my need for a penis. He may be right, because I have lots of crushes on girls. Here are some of my top ones for your viewing pleasure.

Amy Lee of Evanescence- I tried to put a picture in here, but alas, my technology deficiency wins again. Anyway, if you don't know who she or the band are, go to their website (www.evanescence.com) Now, anyone that can rock that hard and look like a dark angel is wonderful in my book. I think she is the most beautiful woman in the world. I love her because she doesn't look like everyone else, and she doesn't care. She doesn't try to fit into the mold of anything or anyone, plus she sings like nobody's business. I would steal her in a second. Definitely my number one crush.

Rachel Ray- Weird one, huh? I love this chick. She has her own show called 30 Minute Meals on the Food Network, and I watch it religiously. Rachel can have a healthy and delicious meal on the table in less than thirty minutes, and what more can you ask for from a mate? Plus, she has really great hair and sparkly eyes when she smiles. I just think she is really cute and personable. But the clothing choices? Three quarter length sleeves every single show? Not so much.

Angelina Jolie- Based on looks alone, because the girl can be a little weird. But god, have you ever seen a picture of her when she doesn't look absolutely beautiful? Even when she's sluffing around Africa or wherever she goes all the time, she still manages to look gorgeous. Those lips could do so many things, so many many good things. Plus I really like her voice, with that kind of fake accent to make her seem posh or something.

This girl Jen that I work with- Jen is so cute, with her streaky blonde hair and little figure. I have been loving her from afar ever since she started here, but then one day she came over and gave me a phone book to put under my computer monitor and I was hooked. She has dimples and a great smile. Right now she is expecting her first child, and even pregnant she looks cute and innocent. She didn't get fat anywhere, just has that little belly that sticks out from her ultra-cute maternity clothes. My favorite is a little white T-shirt that says "Baby" in sparkly letters. On anyone else this would make me want to throw up, because it is so cutesy, but it goes with her personality.

There ya go, all of my hopeless crushes. Really I love Amy Lee the best, and if she ever asked me to run away with her I would be the first one on the bus. I wanted to get a giant poster of her to hang in our bedroom, but A* said it would be weird when we were having sex... he thinks that I may be looking at her instead of concentrating on him. He's maybe a little bit right.

Thanksgiving Post

2005-11-29T04:46:00.000-08:00

Funniest thing that happened at Thanksgiving this year....

A* and I went to his sister's house for dinner. When we first got there, I took off my coat and gave it to A* to hang up in the closet. As I was standing there with my coat, waiting for him to take it, I noticed A*'s five year old nephew staring at me. As soon as A* went to the closet, Nephew slides up to him and says in a whisper, "Does she always tell you what to do?" A* laughed and said, I'm sure, something about yes, I do always tell him what to do. Nephew says, "Yeah, D seems pretty bossy. I would do something about that if I were you."

Five years old!!!

Halloween for Perverts

2005-11-21T12:30:00.000-08:00

I was reading another blog the other day and it made me think of a situation from my childhood and hey, where is the best place to air all your dirty laundry? Why, the internet, of course, where no one or a million people could read it. There is a painful, fuzzy memory in my past that I have only shared with a few people. Mostly this is because I can't remember every single detail, and sometimes I have questioned if it really happened. Following a conversation with my mother, I am sure that it really did happen, and with the clarity of validation I am ready to share the incident with The Internet.

I was always really into Halloween. I won the costume contest every single year at the neighborhood Halloween party at the high school. I put a lot of thought and imagination into my costumes... I never wanted anyone to be the same thing as me. A very important part of my Halloween tradition was going to "FS" every year (* name has been changed to protect the innocent *). FS was a store dedicated to costumes and was, to my child's eyes, the greatest place on Earth. No matter what crazy idea I came up with for a costume, FS was able to make it happen.

I don't really remember the exact age I was at the time of this story. I would guess around six or seven. My mom and I were making the annual pilgrimage to FS to pick out my costume, and I was jumping out of my skin with excitement. I had a vauge idea in my head that I wanted to be a mime, but didn't really know how I was going to go about achieving it. I knew that the friendly people at FS would know just what to do.

Our helper for the afternoon was a younger man, probably in his early twenties, with glasses and light red hair. He was eager to help us, and started spouting off mime ideas left and right. He started going up and down aisles, grabbing props and masks. I followed him gleefully, thinking of the shiny silver dollar I would win as first prize in the costume contest. My mom was more sedate, stopping to examine things more closely. Soon we left her in one aisle and went down another. We were standing in front of a wall of masks, and the man was earnestly explaining something to me. I remember that I took a step closer to the wall, looking at what he was talking about. So now I was in front of him, and he was behind me. Without even a break in his endless stream of conversation, the man put both hands in his pockets, and then, with his fist still in his pocket, he took that fateful step towards me. Now he was really close, but I was still looking at masks and didn't think anything of it. Still talking, he began to rub my backside through his pocket. I mean, his hands were still in his pockets, but he lifted them up enough to start stroking my behind. With his hands in plain view, no where near anything inappropriate to anyone that walked by, this man was fondling me. He rubbed and rubbed, while all the blood drained out of me and I stood there dumbfounded.

Thankfully, my mom chose that moment to loudly proclaim that she had found the "perfect" hat, and I ran to her. The man followed behind me, and like nothing had happened took my stuff up to the counter and rang us up. My mom paid for our purchases and we exited the store, the man calling out a cheerful good-bye as we left.

This whole time I was just thinking, "I know that was wrong, I know that was wrong," but I didn't know what to do. I thought that for some reason my mom would be mad at me for what had happened. I thought that maybe I had done something to provoke it. I thought maybe it was normal for grown men in the Halloween shop to touch their young customers behinds. Hey, I was only seven, and nothing in my sheltered little world had prepared me for this!

On the drive home, my mom sensed that something was wrong. She asked me, and at first I was reluctant to say anything, but she persisted, and eventually the whole thing poured out of me. I remember that she got very quiet, and told me that she needed to talk to my dad. She assured me that it was the right thing for me to have told her, and that I didn't do anything wrong. Just the fact that she wasn't mad at me was enough, and I was calmed. We got home and my mom pulled my dad into the kitchen with her. Before I knew it, we were all back in the car and heading up to FS again. I begged my mom to not make me go in the store, and she told me that I NEVER had to go in that store again if I didn't want to. She asked me if it was the man that was helping us, and then her and my dad were out of the car and into the store. I couldn't really see what was going on in there. I could see the tops of their heads over the shelves, but I couldn't see what they were doing. Within ten minutes, they were back in the car.

"He'll never bother anyone again," my mom reassured me, and now I know that this is because he was immediately fired after my parent's told the manager what he had done.

We never talked about the incident again.

I hope that wherever that man is, someone is rubbing his bottom while he tells them not to, and I hope that he remembers the little girl that he violated so long ago. I want him to know that a large part of my innocence was lost that night, and I never really looked at Halloween in the same way again.

Putting Things in Perspective

2005-11-17T11:37:00.000-08:00

We always think that we have the worst problems in the world, and that no one could possibly be putting up with all the shit that we are. At least, I sometimes am guilty of doing this. Today something happened that made me take a step back and think.

As you all know, A* and I recently moved into a new apartment. We had gotten all of our stuff out except my books (about 6-8 boxes) and our Christmas decorations. These we were planning on picking up this weekend and taking to my parent's house to store, since we have no room in our place. We had left these things in the basement of our old apartment until we could get over to my parent's house. Well, we are lazy asses, and instead of doing this as soon as possible, we kept putting it off. We figured that the landlord didn't even have our keys back yet, so there was no way that someone else would be moving in at least until we did that. We were wrong. Sometime over the weekend some new tenants started to move in, and they threw everything that was in the basement away. I had been saving those books since my childhood, anxious to share them with my own children someday. And some of the Christmas ornaments were very very special to me, given to me by my mom and other family members, not to mention A* and I's "First Christmas Together" ornament, which was really important to me. I sobbed and sobbed about the loss of these things. I knew I couldn't blame it on anyone but us, but it still didn't make it any easier. I was pretty devastated.

Then I got to work this morning and there was an email in my inbox from an old high school friend. She was writing to tell me something shocking. One of our mutual friends had married a military man and moved to California to live on a base there. Her and her five year old son were living there, waiting for her husband to come back from Iraq. Yesterday her husband, along with four other men, was killed in Iraq. The couple has a little child and they had just celebrated their five year wedding anniversary together.

Now my friend is twenty five and a widow. I can't even imagine the pain she is going through. I have been numb all day, sending prayers and thoughts her way. I just keep thinking of that poor little boy, who will never know his father, and her. She is in a strange state, all alone. All of her family and friends are here, in Ohio. I don't know how I would even get through something like that. I don't even know what else to say about the whole situation, it is just so tragic I don't think there are any words.

I have A*, and my family, and my health, and a warm place to sleep at night. So I don't have some old books and Christmas ornaments. What is really important in life?

It really put things into perspective for me. The things that we get all worked up about everyday don't really matter, when it all comes down to it. We should be thankful for every moment, every kiss, every exchange of laughter that we get from our significant others, and I definitely am.

Please keep my friend and her fallen soldier in your prayers.

Sorry Mom!

2005-11-16T09:07:00.000-08:00

Let me start off by saying that I love my mother more than anything in the whole world. She is an awesome wife, mother, and friend to both me and my brother and my father, and has managed to keep our family together despite many obstacles. She is someone that I admire above all others, because she was a single mom for many years and I would never have known if she hadn't told me later that sometimes she had to do people's laundry for extra money, or that one year she didn't have any money for Christmas presents and wrapped up a bunch of her old stuffed animals from my grandma's attic and given them to me from "Santa". She is one of the strongest, funniest, warm-hearted people I have ever met, and I thank my lucky stars every day that she is a part of my life.

With that said, I am going to tell you one of the moments that I regret SO much. When I was in high school, my mom and I were tight. We were more like best friends than mother and daughter... though as she always told me when I was angry at her, "I am NOT your friend, I am your MOTHER, and you will treat me with respect!" Anyways, most of the time we got along great. Well, my junior year of high school, the people that sold class rings came to our school and handed out a bunch of information about them. I wanted a class ring badly, and took all the stuff home for my mom to look at.

My mom poured over the brochures. She told me that it was a lot of money for us to spend on one thing, but she could see how much it meant to me so she was going to spring for it. But she didn't feel comfortable just writing out a check for hundreds of dollars and then handing it to her sixteen year old daughter without ever actually speaking to the people that were receiving the money. During lunchtime, the class ring people had set up a booth in the cafeteria, where students could drop off their checks or look at rings. My mom dropped the bomb...

She wanted to come up to school, at LUNCHTIME, and talk to the ring people.

I was mortified. I told her, in no uncertain terms, that it would be the end of my social life, that I would never hear the end of it... "D's mom came into to school! She was the only parent there!" At this age, I didn't even want my mom to drop me off at school, much less come in and be there at the busiest time of the day, the virtual center of high school life. I cried, begging her not to embarrass me by showing up. I told her that I would be damaged for life if she subjected me to this humiliation.

But in the middle of my heartless rant, I never stopped to think about how this would make my mom feel. The poor woman was already shelling out money for a ring that she knew very well I wouldn't wear in a year. And besides, I think she was genuinely blindsided, being that we had such a close relationship and all. She didn't understand why I would have such a problem with this. And all I could do was bawl and beg her not to be seen in public.

She didn't come to school, by the way. She gave me a check and I did the whole process by myself. I ended up with a huge ring that I wore for a little over a year, and now it sits in my jewelry box under the sink. But I never forgot the look on her face when I had that outburst. I knew that I had broken her heart, just a little.

I know that someday I will have kids, and that someday they will tell me that I have to drop them off two blocks away from school, or that I'm not allowed to come to their game because I am "so uncool". And this will be fair payback.

I think that forever I will feel just a little guilty about hurting my mom's feelings like that. I grew up a little that day, and so did she. I learned that I had the power to make my mom feel like crap, and that wasn't such a good feeling.

I'm sorry Mom!

My First Love

2005-11-08T12:48:00.000-08:00

Besides Davey Jones from the Monkees, as I watched his show faithfully in reruns on Nickelodeon every day after school. No, this was my first real crush.

His name was Doug. His mom and my mom happened to work together and be great friends, so we got to spend a lot of quality time together. Doug wasn't the most handsome boy in the sixth grade, but he had a large and inviting smile and a sense of humor that was unchallenged by any of our classmates. He wasn't afraid to look stupid, and I think that is what I loved most of all. He was the type of boy to get into our dog's cage and bark at us, just to get a laugh. We used to play all sorts of made up games, games that I was too embarrassed to play with any other friends because I felt like I was too old. Doug didn't care about stuff like that. We played a version of house where we were a young couple in college, breaking up frequently and "driving our cars" which were really Doug and his brother's bikes up and down the street. We played Doug's favorite, doctor. But don't get any dirty ideas... he had these toys called Wrestling Buddies, which are really just dolls for boys, and he would poke holes in them and pull out the stuffing with tweezers, performing surgery and wrapping up their arms in old T-shirts as casts. I was his co-doctor. We also went swimming together, watched movies, and once he even spent the whole week at our house when his parent's were out of town. ** an aside... this reminds me of my most embarrassing moment, which has to do with Doug but I will save it for another entry. **

I was hopelessly in love with Doug until the fateful day when I went to an amusement park with him, my best friend, and his best friend. All was going fine, and we were riding ride after ride, when suddenly Doug pulled me aside. He asked me if I thought that my friend would "go out" with him. I was crushed, absolutely crushed. But I held my head high, watched as Doug and my friend rode the ferris wheel together and held back my tears. They did end up going out together, for quite a while. I was loyal to my friend, though, and put my crush away. I was pretty successful, after a while.

In the eighth grade, Doug's father got transferred and they were moving to Texas. The day before they moved, Doug and his mom came over to say good-bye. Doug and I hung out in the back yard for a while, and then his mom called that it was time to leave. Doug hesitated, then said to me, "I used to have a crush on this one girl, but her mom and my mom were friends, so I never asked her out. But I really, really liked her." Being socially retarded, I asked him who the mystery girl was. He grabbed me unexpectedly, hugged me tight enough to make me gasp for breath, and whispered, "You." He ran into the house and I never saw him again.

Doug, wherever you are, I had a crush on this one boy, too.

Birthday Weekend

2005-11-07T11:29:00.000-08:00

Thursday, which was my real and honest to goodness birthday, was spent at home. A* and I decided to wait till the weekend to celebrate. The girls at work, though, decorated my desk and bought me an ice cream cake, some cute socks, and a plant. I didn't have the heart to tell them that any living thing that I touch will most likely die. A* called and said that he was going to stop and help a guy from his work pick up a cabinet before he came home. I exploded, yelling at him that it was my birthday and all I wanted to do was spend the evening with him and how dare he not come right home, blah blah blah. Turns out, as I found out later, he had planned on stopping to get me some flowers in order to surprise me. I felt so stupid. Can we say, open mouth and insert foot??
Friday I awoke long enough to puke, call off work and then was back in bed for the remainder of the day. A suspicious flu shot may have been the culprate, though the nurse who gave it to me swore that I would not get sick. It could have been the shot, or it could have been another virus, but whatever it was, I was out of comission for the day. I tried to blame my bitchy behavior from the day before on the illness, but no one bought it.
Saturday was "my" day. A* and I went to breakfast, went to the library to get me some new books (always one of my favorite activities), and then went... shopping!! I can't tell you the last time that I went shopping for myself. It was glorious. I haven't been able to find a winter coat for ages, and I finally got one. I got two new bras, which is a miracle in itself. I have rather ample breasts, and I have the hardest time finding bras that don't pinch me or have my boobs overflowing out of them or that don't leave huge dents in my shoulders. This was also the reason for not being able to find a coat... none of them would zip up over my boobs!! Sigh, but I finally found one. I also got four extremely cute pairs of underwear, fuzzy pink slippers, and Tinkerbelle pajama's. It was wonderful. Then A*, my best friend and I went out to dinner together. I have to tell you, I got the hugest cream puff I have ever seen in my life for desert. It was the size of a large dinner plate. Obviously, A* and I gave it the old college try, but even the pigs that we are couldn't finish that thing.
Sunday, a day that I should have spent doing the laundry that is right now waiting like the devil in the back of my car to go to the laundy place, my family came over to see my new apartment and then we all went out to lunch for my birthday. I heart my family. Laughter and good food ensued, and it was a great time for all. I always have a good time with my family, no matter what we do.
Now it is Monday, and that was my birthday weekend. I guess I go back to being just me now, as opposed to the Birthday Princess I was claiming to be last week.

But damn it, I am really, really good at being the Birthday Princess.

Happy Birthday~ I Hate You

2005-11-02T09:19:00.000-08:00

I have never gotten along with my stepmother. She was all right when I first met her, but in retrospect I think that she was just being nice so that she could reel my father in. Once she had him in her clutches, the gloves came off.

I was seven years old when my dad and her got married. I was very excited, because I got to get a new dress and lacy underwear and socks. And oh, I loved that dress. I felt like a fairy princess in it, and twirled and twirled until I was almost sick. But guess what? When the wedding was over, I wasn't allowed to keep the dress. She confiscated everything, right down to the lacy socks and underwear. Now, the woman has no children, so why in the heck did she need to have that dress? To hang in a closet? This was just the beginning.

I never did anything to her satisfaction. I didn't dress right, I didn't hold my silverware in the correct way, I didn't speak properly, I was too loud, I complained too much, I always wanted something, etc etc. Keep in mind that I was still only a kid. My most miserable memories are of sitting at my dad's kitchen table as she lectured me about eating what was put in front of me. I was always a picky eater, and she made weird stuff that I had never even heard of. I would sit there and stare at my plate with a huge lump in my throat, knowing that I couldn't swallow. Her dog would sit under the table and scratch at me with his claws, and if I said anything or kicked the dog off of me, I would get berated. Finally the last straw came when I called my mom in the middle of the night, sobbing hysterically because I was scared and she wouldn't let me in their room. I didn't want to stay there, just wanted the comfort of knowing that someone else was right in the next room. But she told me to get back in my own bed, and I did for a couple minutes, but I was so scared. I called my mom and she came to pick me up right away, and that was the last time I spent the night at my dad's.

As the years went on, my dad and I worked out a system where we could see each other but I wouldn't have to see her. We started going out to dinner once a week together, and that was fine with me. I got to see my dad and I didn't have to be uncomfortable. I only had to see her on holidays, and I would just try to avoid her. Once I was eighteen, I didn't have to go over to my dad's family's house anymore, so I never saw her.

The final blow to our relationship (or the shreds of it that were left) came when I was about to be a freshman in college. When I graduated high school, my dad had told me that he would split the cost of school with my stepdad and my mom. Then he said he never said that, so I understandably got angry and didn't talk to him for a couple weeks. It was the middle of week two when the phone rang, and it was her.
"Why aren't you talking to your dad?"
I told her that I didn't think this was any of her business.
"You ungrateful little brat. You get everything handed to you and you don't even appreciate it. I have no respect for you, and you are really hurting your dad's feelings."
I retorted that I didn't care in the least what she thought of me, and things went on in this vein until I hung up on her, as she was calling me a bitch. At first I was really proud of myself for standing up to her, but then my true nature (the sensitive, never say a bad word to me one) came out and I burst into tears. To make a long story short, my mom called her back and told her in no uncertain terms to never call her house and talk to her daughter that way, and finished up the conversation by saying, "You better hope I never run in to you in a back alley," to which the stepmom said "Oh, I'm scared" and my mom said, "You should be." and hung up the phone.

So ever since then I have avoided all possible contact with the stepmom. For my own mental state. But my father insists on pretending that the stepmom and I are just "different" and that we could really get along if we wanted to. Yeah right. So every year on my birthday he forces us to go out to dinner and pretend that we like each other. Last year, she didn't say anything to me the entire time, including Happy Birthday. She glanced at me once and said, "So, at home, do you, like, cook?" and A*, bless his heart, piped up and told her that I was pretty much the next Emril, even though in real life I hardly ever enter the kitchen. That was the only time she addressed me.

Tomorrow is my birthday, so tonight? The dinner. I am dreading it more than you could ever know, but out of respect for my father, I will bite my tounge and get through it. At least A* will be there, and he always keeps me entertained after these things by making fun of her and telling me how much of a bitch she is. That is why I love him so.

It's only one night, right?

DONE

2005-11-01T08:54:00.000-08:00

We are done, done done moving!! It took all weekend, it took long hours, sweat and tears, but we are there. We didn't even start packing until Friday night, stayed up into the wee hours of the morning cramming everything we own in boxes, and were up again the next morning as the sun rose to take the first load over to the new place. By the time we got back again, reinforcements had arrived in the form of two of A*'s friends from work... or, as I like to call them, angels. Anyways, seven billion trips later we had everything at least IN the new house, but it was all stacked together in a big jumble of our lives in the middle of the floor. The next day we tackled the huge pile and were finally able to sit down. After that we hung up pictures and decorations, and then I felt like we were home. Can I tell you that I absolutely LOVE this new place. It is so cozy and homey, and smells yummily like vanilla, thanks to a new Glade Plug In. I am very happy. Things went so well, eerily well. I keep expecting the bottom to drop out, because nothing ever goes this well in our lives. I know that is a negative outlook, but with the way things have gone in the past I just have to expect it.

Moving injuries? Only two, both experienced by me, of course. The first took place in the Big Pack. I was on my hands and knees, pulling things out from under the bed, when my arm gave out and I toppled forward, smacking my head on the hardwood floor. A huge bump appeared and a mammoth headache. The second injury was when A* and I were trying to manuever our bed frame out of the door. Now, keep in mind that A* insisted there was no need to take the frame apart, that it would definitely fit through the door. Well, it didn't, and he had to take the front part off. When we were squeezing through the doorway, I got caught between the frame and the door and scraped a couple layers of skin off of my back. But I was fine! I rebounded! Because we were Moving!

Next time, I promise, not another rant about moving. I just wanted to let you all know that we did it, we're in and settled, and now we can get back to the regularly scheduled programming.

PMS, Packing, and Working with Women

2005-10-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

Outside, it is cold and rainy. The leaves drip with moisture like tears, and inside, that is exactly how I feel. I am completely and totally stressed out about the upcoming move. It just all seemed to happen so fast and I didn't have time to plan for anything. Now it is Tuesday, I have nothing packed, and we are supposed to move on Saturday. We don't even have any boxes, for God's sake. We haven't switched any of the utilities to the new place. I don't even know if we can keep the babies (ie: the cats) legally in this new place. Tomorrow we go and sign the lease and get our keys. Is it wrong for me to want to just leave all of our crap at the house we live in now and start over in the new one? It is just plain laziness, I know. And right now, with nothing done, the task seems monumentous.

Also, the shot that I am on for the endometriosis? (Depo-Lupron, for those of you who are not familiar with my archives) I recently learned that though I will not have a period for six months, I do still get to experience the joys of PMS. Which I think is one of the other problems right now, the thing that is making me want to pummel every single person that walks past my desk or even breathes in my direction. The hot flashes just keep coming, too. The fan on my desk is going constantly, and I still sit there with sweat pouring off of me. Ah yes, this is what I was afraid of when I told you all that I was going to be a fat sweaty bitch. She's here, and she is really pissed off.

On the plus side, I now have two boxes. Two boxes to fit my entire life in. Just talked to A* on the phone, and he assured me that I will have to do none of the packing. I then cried to him that this wasn't fair, that it made me a horrible person to even think about letting him do all the work. Meanwhile, the part of my mind that still seems to be working rationally is telling me to be quiet, and knows very well that I will be sitting on my ass as he does all the work, and then I will probably get mad at him because it isn't done right. I just can't win today.

Finally, one of the many reasons that I hate working with almost all women. Yesterday one of the girl's brought in her wedding album. About a million people looked at it, but I am the only one that got an email saying that a rip "mysteriously" appeared in the box that the photos were in, and why didn't I just tell her that I had ripped it in the first place? First of all, I didn't rip anything. Second of all, if I did, I would definitely be woman enough to admit it, and probably even offer to pay for damages. Third, this is not the actual album that we are talking about here, oh no, we are referring to the box that the album was in. Is it really that big of a freaking deal, even if it is ripped? But I swear to you, blogging audience, that I did not intentionally or unintentionally rip any kind of box. But now? I may rip her head off.

Still wanna come over for that packing party? I am so pleasant right now.

Watch Me Do the Happy Dance...

2005-10-24T11:36:00.000-07:00

And then collapse from exhaustion. We got an apartment... A* just called me at work and told me the good news. The drawback? We need to be moved out of our old place and into the new one by the end of this weekend. Have I started packing, or even thought about packing? Of course not. So now I have to get all of my apartment packed and moved over to another one, in the middle of working full time and doing all the other stuff (mostly just sitting on my ass and watching TV) that needs to be done. God, my clothes alone could take weeks to move. A* told me that I have to get rid of some things, and that just sends me straight into a panic. I still have clothes from high school, in sizes that are smaller than my shoes, and I just keep thinking that maybe someday I might be able to fit back into them. So I hold on to them, and pray, and stuff my face. sigh. At least I will have a brand new place to be fat in!!

This weekend I went out to dinner with an old friend from high school, and it was so nice to see her. We haven't talked for at least three years, and out of the blue she emailed me and asked if I would like to get together. It was so great!! We laughed and caught up with everything, and made plans to see each other again soon. She is one of those friends that whenever we are together we cannot stop laughing. It doens't matter where we are, or what we are talking about, we both will collapse into giggles. We were in choir together, and her parent's took video's of each concert. You can watch us up there on the risers, pinching each other and snorting with laughter. I don't think that we ever sang, just caused commotion. The music teacher would seperate us everyday, but we had worked out a system of secret signals and hand gestures, so we still managed to communicate. God that girl can make me laugh. I am so glad that we are talking again.

If you have been reading, you may have known that I had sent my best friend a card after not talking to her for months. I basically told her that I missed her and wished that we could talk, and gave her my new cell phone number. She never responded. I guess that's it, then. I guess I can't do anything more than I already did, and the ball is in her court. Still miss her like crazy, though.

Anyone that wants to come over this week and help me pack, you are welcome. I might even give you some free pizza and beer, if you're lucky. I'll be the one on the couch, watching America's Next Top Model and clutching a pair of size don'teven wanttosay jeans.

Come on over!!!

Reason #4501546463 That I Love A*

2005-10-20T09:29:00.000-07:00

I am a self-diagnosed addict of reality TV, and I'm not afraid to admit it. I watch it all, from the crappiest crap to the regular crap. And since he lives there, and I am in control of the remote, A* is forced to watch all of these dumb shows with me. He pretends that he doesn't like them, but I catch him knowing names and facts. Anyways, one of my favorites is "America's Next Top Model". Love it.

Last night I went out for dinner with my dad and got home about 15 minutes past 8, which is the time that the show starts. I was a little bummed as I put my key in the door, because a lot can happen in that crucial first part of the show and I was worried that I missed something really good. When I entered the house, A* was on the couch, with America's Next Top Model on the TV.

He said, "I knew you would want to know what happened, so I watched it for you." And then he proceeded to tell me, in detail, exactly what had happened while I wasn't there. He knew names and facts, and by the time the next commercial break was over, I had my pajamas on and was all caught up.

Only love would make him watch America's Next Top Model.

She Was Meeeeeeeeean!

2005-10-19T11:31:00.000-07:00

We had finally picked out an apartment. We both agreed on it, it had everything that we wanted, it was the right price... we made the decision, yes, we are going to put a deposit on this apartment. Well, it all came crashing down last night as we attempted to fill out the application and give the people our money. For the sake of the story, I should just let you know that this is one of the biggest complexes around here, and they easily have 500 to 1000 units in there. So they aren't hurting, and we weren't trying to get a million dollar estate.
We went into the office and told the lady there that we wanted to put down a deposit. I don't know her name, because she never bothered to introduce herself. I will call her Meanie, because even if that isn't her name, it should be. Meanie led us over to a table and asked for our licenses to make copies. We obliged. Meanie came back and started going over the application, that we had already filled out, with us. At first things were fine, until she got to our copied license. A while ago, before we even met, A* was having some problems at home and went to stay with a friend for a little while. I think it was only for about 6 weeks or so. Anyway, his license still lists that address on it, because he wanted to be able to get his bills at his friend's house. A* was never on the lease, no one even knew he was staying there. So Meanie points to the address and says, "What is this address?" A* explained to her about his friend, and he wasn't on the lease, blah blah. Meanie says, "We still need to have that number." A* tells her again that he wasn't on the lease, and besides, his friend has since moved to Florida and A* doesn't even talk to him anymore. Meanie persists- she needs that number. She tells A* that he needs to go to the apartment where he used to live and get the number for her. Fine, even though they will have no idea who he is, fine. Just stop talking, Meanie. Then before she even gets to my license, I tell her that the address on my license is from college, and I also don't live there anymore. I tell her that the people that owned it were my friend's parents, so it wasn't a formal thing. "We need that number." Meanie also proceeds to tell us that "we really should get those licenses taken care of, and why haven't we taken care of it" like we are the only people in the world who have a different address on their license. At this point, I was a little sick of Meanie. I don't need another mother, I like the one that I have quite nicely, thank you.

Even through this, A* and I were still pleasant and interested in the apartment. So we plugged on. We hand her the money, which she looks at in disgust and says, "We don't take cash. We only take money orders or a credit card." Well, seeing as we had been there two days ago and asked for the application and no one had told us that cash wasn't accepted. We explained to Meanie that we only had cash.
"Well, there is a CVS down the street, but we close in 20 minutes. If you can make it back in time, that's fine, but if not, we can't hold the apartment for you."

Still trying to be polite, we ran down to CVS. I honestly don't think Meanie thought that we were coming back, and really we shouldn't have. But we did. We came back and handed her the money order. Then we found out that you have to have double that amount in order to have pets, another fact that was not mentioned previously. We handed over our money and application, and Meanie said, "Sorry to rush you, but it's almost time to close," and pretty much ushered us out the door. As we were leaving, another nicer lady called out to us to have a good night, but Meanie was too busy sharpening her claws or something, and didn't say anything.

All of this combined to make me feel like a big Loser. I felt like Meanie was looking for reasons not to rent us the apartment, though I don't know why. As we were leaving the parking lot, I began to cry... in frustration and embarrassment. I hate Meanie.

Today A* thought and thought about it, and came to the conclusion that he didn't like our treatment. After all, we were giving them money, and a lot of it. So he called the rental office and asked to speak to a leasing manager. He was told there was no such person. Now, I know that there aren't just a bunch of people down there just sitting around with no boss. I know it, and if they are telling the truth, then I want to work there. A* told the person on the phone that he didn't appreciate being told what to do, ie: licenses, and also didn't like all of these hidden rules that were coming out when no one told us before about them. The lady on the phone said that the agents were instructed to be "helpful". A* told her that this wasn't helpful, only made us feel like shit. He also explained (again) about him staying with his friend and how he wasn't on the lease and even if they called the landlord he wouldn't know about A* anyway, and how A*'s friend had skipped out on the lease so even if the landlord knew who he was, he still wouldn't get a good recommendation. The lady told him that "sorry, but we have to call everywhere that you have lived in the past five years" and about his friend "yes, you probably would get rejected" even though A* didn't do anything wrong. At this point, A* got more than a little frustrated and f-bombs began to fly. He hung up before he said anything else.

We are going to pick up our money today. We will not be living in this apartment, even if they offered it to us for free.
The hunt is back on.

Weekend Wrap-Up

2005-10-17T12:38:00.000-07:00

I'm sure that really no one wants to hear about my weekend, but hey, I want to tell you! So I'm going to, because that is what you get to do when you are the Keeper of the Blog.
So Friday night we-- hmm, memory block, it is escaping me as to what we did on Friday. I know that it involved something with food... oh, yes. We went to A*'s idea of Heaven on Earth, which is a huge buffet that both of us can get for under twenty dollars. To A*, this constitutes the greatest deal in the world. He can eat to his heart's content and it doesn't cost him that much, either. Me, not so much. The bargins of buffets are often lost on me, as I only eat about fifteen foods in the world and so therefore the large array of food is irrelevant to me. I get the same thing everywhere. But A* was happy, and went home with a big grin plastered on his face and a large protruding stomach, so it was worth it.
Saturday we went and looked at apartments all day. And guess what... we finally found one that we like!! We are going to put money down on it tomorrow! Thanks, in no small part, to my father. We don't have enough money to put down until Friday, and my dad graciously agreed to loan us the money until I get paid. Yay, I heart my daddy. He calls himself the "Bank of Dad", which is queer but in a cute, dad-like way. The apartment (trying to restrain myself from calling it "ours" so as not to jinx, but it is hard) is beautiful, looks out into the woods and has lots of windows and a large bedroom with a cool diamond shaped huge window in it. I love love love it. Please keep your fingers crossed that it doesn't slip through our fingers.
Then we went to one of the dumbest haunted houses ever. A*'s sister's boyfriend won 4 tickets to this place, and all I can say is Thank God it was free because I would have been really pissed if I had actually paid money for this. Just as an example, one of the haunted "area's" was called The Haunted Woods or something equally creative, and we didn't even realize until we were done that we had been walking through the attraction the whole time. I don't know if it was the street running directly beside the "woods", or the lack of things jumping out at you, but whatever it was, haunted was not it.
Sunday was a marathon day of Laundry. We hadn't done any in two weeks, so there were baskets and baskets piled all over the house. A glutton for punishment, I also decided that we needed to wash blankets and comforters as well. I spent the majority of the day guarding dryers at the LaundryMat, and fiercely growling at anyone that dared to even look in my direction. I was going to get my laundry done, dammit! Don't stand in my way! When we got home, I was pleased (ha ha) to discover that A* had pulled out every single load from the dryer when they were not thouroughly dried. This made me very frustrated and I had to take a little break in the bathroom. Lucky (for him) we do have a working dryer, just not a working washing machine, so by the time I was calmed down A* was already throwing damp loads into the dryer. Saved.
Oh, and by the way, A* told me that he did NOT want us to get excited about the apartment yet, because he says that we can't get excited over things until they are actually happening. I have a hard time with this, getting excited the second something is even mentioned, even just in conversation. (don't you remember six months ago when you said that we might go there? well, i've been waiting and have been so excited for six months, so now you have to take me) Anyways, I have been trying to keep it together. However, as I stumbled out of bed this morning, I heard A* talking, and at first I thought he was talking to me, but really he was telling the cats all about their "new home", ie: the apartment I am not supposed to be excited about. I caught the tail end of him describing a staircase and how they can chase each other up and down all day. Not excited, my ass.

Randomly Random

2005-10-13T12:46:00.000-07:00

First, let me start by saying that I am very unhappy with my clothing choice for today. I was running extremely late this morning, mostly because I was sitting up in bed with my head propped in my hands alternating between sleep and trying to figure out an excuse as to why I couldn't go to work. Alas, I couldn't think of one, so I eventually had to get out of bed. Also, Belle was biting my toes, so I was getting a little annoyed. Then I went in the bathroom and sat on the toilet for an unimaginable amount of time, staring at the wall, still trying to think why I couldn't go to work. I still couldn't think of a good one, so I eventually got up and brushed my teeth. Well, by this time it was WAY past the time that I was supposed to be leaving the house. So I had to grab the first thing that I saw to wear that went with my navy blue pants, which I had already decided on wearing. I ended up with a strangely enormous shirt. I don't know why I even have this shirt, seeing as it makes me look pregnant. It hangs unattractively down in a clump, over the top of my pants. It is ugly, and I look like a white whale in it.

Secondly, A* and I are still looking for an apartment. This weekend we have to go and look at more places, because we decided to lower our expectations a little and came down in our price, so now we have a whole new rash of places. I just want to be done, moved and in a new apartment, preferably one that has the heat paid.

Third, we gave Belle a flea bath last night. She was not very happy about this. In fact, she flattened her ears down, widened her eyes, and began hissing and yowling in a very Pet Cemetary-like way. She bit A* in the hand and scratched him, then with a mighty cry she lurched towards me and swiped a couple places on my hand. I tried to keep her in tub, seeing as she was still covered in flea shampoo, but she flung out her deadly paw and put a puncture wound into my finger. We let her out of the tub and rubbed her vigourously with a towel, trying to get all the soap off of her. It was a traumatic experience for all involved.

Fourth, I am going out for a Girl's Night with my friend tonight, and the only thing that could make it better would be if I was allowed to go to the restaraunt in my pajamas. As it is, we will order a lot of food and make giant pigs out of ourselves, and gossip about anyone that has ever crossed our path. Fun and laughter will be had.

But first, I have to go home and change out of this god-awful shirt. What was I thinking??

Katrina Hits Home

2005-10-12T08:52:00.000-07:00

With all of the horrible things going on in the world lately, sometimes it is hard to place yourself in someone else's shoes and realize that each tragedy contains living, breathing, laughing and crying people. This may seem stupid, but it was driven home to A* and I yesterday after a trip to the gas station.
A* is totally addicted to that cheap, 99 cent juice that they sell at the gas station. You know the one, that comes in the gallon jug and is basically sugar water? Well anyways, the kind that he drinks is called Artic Splash, and we have to buy a gallon every day. It is all that he drinks at home. So the past week or two he has noticed that whenever he goes in the gas station they are out of juice. He has had to resort to buying other means of liquid refreshments. Yesterday, seeing that once again there was no Artic Splash on the shelf, he asked the service man if the company went out of business or something. The man replied that no, they didn't go out of business but that A* probably wouldn't be seeing his beloved juice for a long time. Why? Because the company is based in Louisiana.
A* came out to the car and started complaining about the lack of juice. He told me the reason, and before we pulled out of the parking lot both of us stopped, looked at each other, and he stopped talking.
"You know, we really are lucky," I said softly.
A* placed his hand on mine, and nodded. We sat in silence for a moment, the traffic rushing past us and the rain reflecting in the street lights. We thought of those people in Louisiana, who once had a job at the Artic Splash plant and now probably have nothing. We thought of all the other people who are without a home, or clothes, or family members, and realized that getting upset about juice is not worth the effort. We are so lucky, and it took this little incident to make the situation into something human, something that we could grasp. We held hands, and drove off into the night to our warm little apartment, and we are so lucky.

Bathroom Rules for an Office Setting

2005-10-11T11:38:00.000-07:00

1.) Try to remember that you are not the only one in there. Any kind of grunting, sighing, and general personal noises are not things that the person in the neighboring stall wants to hear.

2.) If you run out of toilet paper, be courteous. Perhaps put a sign on the door, perhaps just simply replace the toilet paper. Be kind to your co-workers, they don't want to have to exit the bathroom with their pants around their ankles because you used the last square of paper.

3.) I find it better to try and hold your farting/pooping until the bathroom is completely vacated. This saves embaressment, not only for the person who is sitting next to you, trying to pretend that they don't hear you, but also for yourself. You don't want to be known as the person whom shouldn't be followed into the bathroom.

4.) Don't talk to people while they are using the facilities. This is a private time. No one wants to hear about your work woes, or what your kid did this morning, while they are trying to concentrate.

5.) WASH YOUR HANDS!!! I really shouldn't have to include this, but alas, there are still people out there who don't follow this simple, sanitizing step.

6.) If other people are standing there, waiting for you to move so that they may wash their hands, don't stand in front of the mirror for four hours fixing your make-up, brushing your hair, or taking a shower. Some people have work to do.

7.) A little spray never hurt anyone.

8.) A courtesy flush is always appreciated. This masks your bodily sounds and also rids the room of the smell for a second. This can also alert other's that you are pooping in there, so they may want to vacate the premises.

9.) If you must fart loudly, try and cover it up with a cough or rustling of paper. No one wants to hear the air escaping from your ass.

10.) If all else fails, hold it till you get home. If you insist on being gross, performing disgusting acts, and fouling up the restroom for all other patrons, perhaps it would be a better idea for you to do the "potty dance" for a while and wait until you are in the comfort of your own bathroom.

A* Finds an Apartment

2005-10-05T09:11:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to give y'all a little update on the moving process. As I have written previously, A* and I are looking to get out of the ghetto and are searching for a new place to live. This past weekend we drove around for hours, until I stuck to the seat with sweat and exhaustion, viewing every single property that was in the paper over the weekend. We made an extensive list, complete with phone numbers and prices and important stuff like that. We vowed not to go about finding a place like we did last time, where we threw our stuff down at the very first apartment that we looked at and didn't take the time to think about what we really wanted. We promised each other that we would be picky, and not jump on the first thing we saw.
Then we went and saw a townhouse yesterday, the first one that we have actually been inside, and A* is ready to move tomorrow. All of the things that we had agreed on went flying out the window as soon as A* saw new carpet, a basement, and central air. He is planning to send in the application this weekend. Sigh.

One Drunken Night....

2005-10-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I feel old and I feel the need to relive my younger, drunker days. If I am thinking about being drunk, I have to think about Kelli. Kelli was my drinking friend for a couple of years. She showed up right after I found out that my fiance was cheating on me, and was there for me the whole time I tried to drown my sorrows in alchohol. Kelli could always be counted on to go out, no matter what day or time it was. We were known to drink a bottle of wine with breakfast. Boy, that girl knew how to have fun.
One night we were out downtown, drinking... what? My mind cannot wrap around this detail, but whatever it was it must have been good, because I drank a lot of it. I'm thinking maybe a fishbowl? Anyways, when we exited the bar it was late, and we were having a hard time walking. At first, we couldn't find the car. This fact did not upset us, though, just the opposite. It seemed hysterically funny and something that made us sit down on the curb, clutching each other and screeching with laughter. While we were down there, I noticed that we were sitting directly in front of my car, which just made me break out into more peals of laughter. I nudged Kelli and showed her the car, and we helped each other to get up off the curb. Well, the damn car door was SO hard to open. I mean, really, who thinks of these things like locks and handles and such? How can one be expected to open a door with all of these strange contraptions on it?
FINALLY we figured out how to actually get in the car, and also determined how to turn the car on.
**** just as an aside... I DO NOT CONDONE DRINKING AND DRIVING! These days I always get a cab or a designated driver. So don't judge me, I was young! I'm just remembering!! ****
I started off down the street, Kelli slumped unattractively in the passanger seat. I soon realize, however, that I can't see. I mean, literally, the road was swimming in front of my eyes, and I know that I was swerving like a maniac. My fear had been turned off by the enormous amounts of alchohol, so I didn't view this fact as a problem. Rather, it was one more thing that made me crack up with laughter. The following is, to the best of my recollection, the conversation that we had...
SELF: Dude (dude comes out unexpectedly under the influence) I cannot see!
KELLI: Open your eyes.
SELF: No, I'm serious. I CAN'T SEE!
KELLI, after rooting around in her purse for several minutes: Here, try these.
She was holding out her glasses to me. Now, just for the record, I did not wear glasses at the time, did not have any problems that required prescriptive eyewear. Kelli, on the other hand, had a very strong prescription.
KELLI con't, holding out her glasses: These always work for me.
Of course, this seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. I put on her glasses, and joyfully told Kelli that they DID work. In fact, I told Kelli with amazement that they were MAGIC GLASSES! My friend had her very own pair of magic glasses.
These glasses helped me to drive to our friend's house, where Kelli, the vegetarian, inhaled a pepparoni and salami sandwich slumped against the counter.

Magic glasses... who would've thought? They may have saved my life.

Glory Days

2005-10-01T10:04:00.000-07:00

Last night A* and I went to grab some dinner with friends. We were sitting at the table talking, and the topic turned to my friend J- and I's stint on the high school swim team. We were giggling, having a great time and talking about the "Statman", when A* said that someone probably fell into the water while waiting for me to finish swimming my race. WTF?? I didn't think that was called for. I told him that was mean and made him brave the long line at the cash register to make up for it. But let me just give you a little background, and you tell me if you think that was an appropriate comment to make.
I started swimming when I was in the fifth grade. I had asthma pretty bad, and the doctor had mentioned to my mom that something like swimming would really help build up my lung capacity. My former swimming teacher had told me that I would really love being on a swim team, too. So my mom did some research and we found the swim team at our local YMCA.
The first night of swim practice, I was a chubby kid wearing her mom's leotard because I refused to go and buy a bathing suit. My insecurities and bathing suit fears started early. Why I thought that a navy blue leotard was somehow better than facing myself in the dressing room, I'll never know. Anyway, I entered the pool area and was shocked to see what looked like a thousand kids, all geared up with goggles and swim caps, talking and laughing with each other. Not one of them was wearing a leotard. I obviously didn't have a swim cap or goggles either.
The coach asked me to jump in and swim a length of the pool so that he could see where to go with me. I did, and was immediately assaulted with chlorine and stinging in my goggle-less eyes. With my leotard bunching up under my arms, I barely made it down the other end. I was gasping for air and pushing the hair out of my face, and the coach suddenly whistled piercingly.
"We have a new team member!" he said to the gathering of kids on the pool deck. "Let's all say hi and make her feel welcome!"
"Hi D!" everyone chorused dutifully.
And what did I do? Did I make some funny comment that immediately made everyone want to be friends with me? Did I do a swan dive to make everyone laugh? No. I was unprepared for all of this attention, so I did what anyone would do. (or just me?) I took a deep breath, smiled, and disappeared under the surface of the water without saying a word. Real cool, huh? That was the start of my swimming career.
Eventually, of course, I got myself a bathing suit. I had a million swim caps and a million and one pairs of goggles. I was able to swim more than one length of the pool, and despite my disasterous introduction I actually made some friends. But I never actually got any good at swimming as a sport. I was always in the slowest lane, always finished last place in every event, and never got to be on the "A" relay. For those of you who aren't familiar with swimspeak, the "A" relay is a relay composed of the fastest swimmers. I was on the "B" or even "C" relay. I'm sure if there was a "Z" relay I would have been on that one.
High school came, and swimming was just such a big part of my life anyway that I joined the high school team. I was most definitely the worst one on this team. I was actually in a lane with mentally retarded people. No, really, I was. It's okay to laugh. I never finished in anything but last place. I wasn't even on the relays, except if they needed someone to join the retarded one.
But I loved it. I loved taking the bus to practice every day after school, sitting with my friends and eating snacks and listening to our walkmans. I loved getting changed in the locker room with everyone laughing and throwing things and being loud. I loved the pasta parties before big meets, the co-ed slumber parties, having built in friends. There was always someone that wanted to hang out, to go to the mall or the movies. Some of the best times of my life happened because of the swim team. The smell of chlorine can still make me nostaligic.
I swam my whole high school career. Yeah, I never got first place... or second... or third... but that wasn't what mattered! I was a part of something.
So back to A*'s comment... yeah, you may have fell into the pool waiting for me to finish the race, but you wouldn't find anyone in that pool that loved being there more than me, and you also wouldn't find some one with enough character (I like to put it that way, instead of "stupidity") to get up on those starting blocks time after time, KNOWING that I would lose but still trying for just that one moment of glory.
I may have been slow, and I may have been last, but these... these were my glory days.

Fat Sweaty Bitch

2005-09-30T12:38:00.000-07:00

I have written previously (I think, who reads those archives anyway... YOU BETTER, READER!!!) about my battles with endometriosis. If I haven't written and am just being insane, well, that's nothing new. In case you don't know, endometriosis is:

Endometriosis occurs when endometrial tissue, the tissue that lines the uterus and is shed during menstruation, grows outside of the uterus—on the ovaries, fallopian tubes, ligaments supporting the uterus, and other areas in the pelvic cavity. Endometriosis can also appear in a woman's bladder, bowel, vagina, or other places in her body.
Like the lining of the uterus, these areas of endometrial tissue respond to the hormones of the menstrual cycle—they build up tissue each month, then break down and bleed during menstruation. But unlike the uterus lining, when these endometrial implants (also called growths or lesions) outside the uterus bleed, they can irritate a woman's body.
www.endofacts.com

So, when I was about fifteen years old my mother took me to the "girly doctor" and after trying me on several different kinds of birth control (this before I even knew what sex was) I got a laporoscopy, an investigative surgery where the doctor searches for any spots of endometriosis growth and if they find some then they burn off the legions. I saw a picture of my uterus, the doctor pointed out the spots that he had lasered, and I thought that was it. Yeah, he told me that there was a good chance of reoccurance, but I was sixteen years old, I couldn't plan what I was wearing the next day, let alone think about disease.
At first the surgery worked great, and for years I was able to enjoy a normal period with normal pain. But as time went on, the symptoms began to come back, and in the last year or two they have become almost unbearable. I am already in danger of losing my job due to the absences caused on the days that I physically can't get out of bed. Since this happens every month, my employers haven't been too happy about it. I literally cannot even see straight as waves and waves of excruciating pain wash over me. And I'm not being a whiny girl, complaining about cramps. I would WELCOME regular cramps, I would hug and love regular cramps. This is Pain, with a capital P.
So anyway, the next course of action starts today. I am going to the doctor to have a shot administered to me. The shot is called LuproDepron, and I get a shot once a month for six months. This is supposed to stop new legions from growing and also, since I won't have a period for six months, give me a break. It is also supposed to "calm down" the spots of endo that I already have.
Drawback? Your body is tricked into thinking that it is going into menopause, and with that comes all the symptoms, including hot flashes, mood swings, and night sweats. Oh, also decreased sex drive, which just THRILLED A* to no end. As you know, I'm not the most stable person to begin with, so this kind of freaks me out. I am really worried that I am going to turn into a fat sweaty bitch. And A* will leave me, and I will live in a box, and I will be unhappy for the rest of my life. Dramatic anyone?
I am so worried about the attack of the fat sweaty bitch. Watch out, she may be coming to a town near you.

Finding Jules

2005-09-29T12:41:00.000-07:00

Well, I did it. Those of you who have read my previous blogs will remember the entry "D Misses her Best Friend". If you didn't, then go back in my archives and read it already! Anyway, I have not been in contact with my best friend in about four to five months. I don't really know why. I wasn't agreeing with some of the choices that she was making, so maybe she sensed this and moved herself away, I don't know. Or maybe it was something as simple as time passed and we just didn't know how to make the first move. I honestly don't know. But today I took matters into my own hands and mailed her a card. Anyone who knows me knows that cards are a very important part of my life. I love nothing better than to find someone a card perfect for whatever occasion, and then I will write on the entire inside of the card and onto the back. Whenever A* opens a card, he scans the long writing and says "Oh God, do I have to read this whole thing?" (He does have to read the whole thing, if you were wondering) So I got this gorgeous card with a beautiful picture of a butterfly on the outside and was blank on the inside and wrote a short novel. I wrote about our friendship, how much it and she mean to me, how much I miss her, all of the things that I have been saving up to tell her because she is the only one who would understand. I am hoping so much that she will open this card, read it and be touched, and make the effort to get back in touch with me. The last time I talked to her she didn't have a phone, hence mailing the card. But I included our new phone number so that she can call me whenever she is ready. I hope against all hope that she will. I don't know what I will do if she just out and out rejects me, because that is what I feel no response would be. It would definitely crush me. She really has been there for every milestone, every important thing in my life starting from the age of fifteen. I can't imagine having a wedding without her being the maid of honor. I can't imagine the birth of my first child without her in the room with me. I can't imagine the rest of my life without her in it.
She means the world to me, and I miss her more than I could express here. She has been my guardian angel more times than I can mention, and on more than one occasion she has literally saved my life.
Keep hoping for me, and I will keep you posted. I want to find my best friend more than anything. I really miss her.

Ch-ch-ch-changes!!!

2005-09-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

The newest news from D and A*~ we're moving. This is a big decision for us, coming from having an iffy income and seeing as our apartment right now is dirt cheap. But we both have steady jobs now, have been bringing in consistent money, and we decided that it was time. We miss carpet (we have all hardwood floors, which actually I like, but not everywhere) and we miss dishwashers and we miss things not falling apart on us. In the entire two and a half years that I have lived there, I have not seen the landlord once. Not even once!! And we have called numerous times to ask him to come out and fix the furnace, which only blows heat into 2 rooms, and the leak on the back porch and the tile in the kitchen that doesn't reach all the way to the ends of the room. We never get a response, and nothing ever gets done.
So we are looking for a house to rent. We have decided our price range and are actively looking. Yesterday we drove around for a couple hours searching for good deals... we didn't find any. We also saw a house that was nice, but not for the price that they were asking. I'm nervous and excited about this new venture. We know that we will be spending more on rent than we ever have before, and that is what worries me the most. I have stomach pains just thinking of it.
But to think, a home of our own! (kind of... it will be rented) No one will ever walk across the ceiling in the middle of the night, drop an entire bathtub or kitchen sink or small car on the ground, making it seem like the whole house will crash down around us. No one will be watching us as we leave the apartment, ready to pounce and ask if we can give them a ride to the store. No one will come downstairs at 9:30 at night when A* is watching a basketball game and yell at him to turn it down. No one will be wandering around the street in the middle of the night, searching for crack or money, whichever comes first. We will not awaken to find broken beer bottles smashed in the front yard. We will not have to be careful pulling into the driveway because someone may have dropped something sharp that could puncture the tires. We will not have to live in the ghetto, anymore. We will have privacy, and freedom, and that I can't wait for.
So keep your fingers crossed for us, that we will stumble upon our dream rental and be able to move sooner rather than later.

I Hate Everyone

2005-09-22T12:37:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days when I just hate everyone. I think everyone sucks and they are all getting on my nerves. I am sitting at my desk listening to the inane conversations of stupid people. Do you ever have those days? I feel like everyone has some kind of vendetta against me... perhaps that is why no one is talking to me, because I am glowering at people over my computer monitor.
Tonight I am having a girl's night at one of my best friend's houses. We are going to wear our pajamas, stuff our faces with pizza, and gossip to our hearts content. Maybe that will blast me out of my funk. A* has been driving me crazy lately, just doing little irritating things over and over. An example~ Every single freaking day we stop at the gas station for gas and put $5 in the tank. Now, we all know gas prices have been through the roof lately, and really, how long is $5 going to last when you only have one car, two people have to go to work, and we are not people who just sit in the house anyway. So I brought up the stupidity of this, telling A* that it would make much more sense if we put more in the tank at the beginning of the week, therefore not requiring us to stop every single day. I just don't like the gas station that much. A* got defensive, said that he liked putting in $5, and the conversation was closed. This morning, when we went to the gas station he put in *gasp* ten whole dollars!! I was so proud of him. I made a point to tell him this, and he says to me, "Well, I still think that its better to just put in the five dollars. I think that we have a slow gas leak, and so if I put in more than that it just leaks back out." Now, that makes total sense to me! Why wouldn't this be information that was shared the very first time that the issue was raised? Then I would have understood the logic behind it and never would have started bitching in the first place. Why, oh why? That is why I need a Girl's Night.

I continue to be retarded and computer illiterate, and cannot figure out how to link to other people's blogs. I know, I know, some of you have tried to help me with this, but again, I am just too dumb. But I read some really great ones and had it not been for these wonderful, funny, and insighful people I wouldn't have even started this blog. So I want to give you the sites for their blogs. Here they are, in random order.

tinycoconut.blogspot.com
saintvodkaofthemartini.blogspot.com
oviedochickens.blogspot.com

The End of the Fleas and the Start of Emotional Breakdowns

2005-09-20T11:49:00.000-07:00

Just in case anyone was concerned, I wanted to give a little update on the flea problem at our house. We gave the babies a flea bath last night (picture two cats, both looking like little drowned rats, trying to claw their way out of the bathtub yowling like we were yanking their tails off) and to our delight we saw millions of tiny anarchists floating in the tub when we were done. However, A* went out on the back porch to get something, came back in, and had another colony of the little fuckers on his sock. Using our superb deductive reasoning skills, we decided that the outbreak of fleas was coming from the back porch, and A* sealed up the door with masking tape, vowing not to even open the door until frost has killed everything. We felt like the worst parents in the world, because every night we had been putting the cats onto the porch to try and protect them, thinking that the fleas lived inside, when really we were just sending them out to the lions den night after night. Ah well, at least we have a clean house now.
In the meantime, I have been without my medication for over a week now, and the effects are starting to be noticeable. I take Zoloft, and since I have not had it my emotional breakdowns have gotten progressively worse. Poor A*. Yesterday I yelled at him for wanting to have hot dogs for dinner, this outburst closely on the heels of the previous one for only putting $5 in the gas tank. Most of the breakdowns start with extreme yelling and frustration, followed by a quick downslide into crying. The side of my brain that is not insane knows that I am being unreasonable, and tries to talk me out of it, but the larger part of my brain that is crying out for some Zoloft ignores it and keeps on screaming. Meanwhile, any tiny little thing that goes wrong... or not even wrong, just not the way I expected it to go... makes me fly off the handle. I called my doctor and he has some samples waiting for me to pick up as soon as I leave work. I am like a recovering addict, all I can think of is those little yellow happy pills. For A*'s sake, I am going to pick them up in about an hour. I called him at work to relay the news, and he was ecstatic.
However, the next time he pisses me off, what am I going to blame it on? I'm sure that I'll find something.

I have Fleas!!!

2005-09-19T12:49:00.000-07:00

Or, to be more accurate, the two cats have fleas. Now, this makes me feel just a tad icky and gross. I know in my realistic mind that it has nothing to do with my ability as a housecleaner, or that I am an unfit pet mother because I let this infestation take place. But my heart, which more often than not takes a lot of presidence over my realistic mind, tells me that this problem is all my fault, that had I cleaned just a little bit better in the corners that my babies might not be suffering. It is bad, folks. Yesterday A* and I cleaned the house, scrubbed from top to bottom. Then while we are at work today there are three bug bombs going off in the house, and then we are going to give both cats a flea bath. Hopefully... * she crosses her fingers * this will take care of the problem. The other day I was scratching Belle, the little princess, under her chin and a million fleas crawled all over her face. Of course, I had an emotional breakdown and cried for A* to do something. He rushed out to the store to buy some flea spray, but giving that this morning he sat down on the toilet and had six fleas crawling on his sock, I don't think that the spray did its job.
I feel dirty. I feel like I am trashy. I feel like this is a direct reflection on me, that my house has always been disgusting and the only things that even want to inhabit it are fleas. Am I being unreasonable? Yes, probably. But you try sitting on your couch while things hop into your lap... and I'm not talking about a cat. The poor babies are just itching like crazy. Buster leaps into the air at intervals, trying to get away from the little buggers. It is so sad and pitiful.
Please, don't think that I am dirty. Don't think that I live in a nasty trailer park with cockroaches. These are the only bugs that I have even seen at my house, I swear. Oh, minus the giant beetle/cricket that you can read about in my archives. But that was just random, I swear. You can come over and feel free to sit down... nothing is going to come crawling on to you except perhaps a cat.
Well... you can come over after tonight. After the bomb. After the terrorist attack on fleas. I am pulling out all the stops on this one. Take no prisoners.
I'll let you know how it turns out.

Random Thoughts on my Fake Wedding

2005-09-15T12:47:00.000-07:00

A* and I have a wedding to attend this weekend. I am looking forward to it for the following reasons...
1. Free drinks (open bar baby!)
2. Free food
3. I get to dress up
4. A* has to dress up too.
And I must admit, we do clean up pretty nice.

All of this wedding talk has led me to think of mine. Well, my ficticious wedding, since I have never been married and it doesn't look like I will be in the near future. A* is dragging his feet. Actually, that isn't fair, because I know that he just can't afford an engagement ring. But just for fun, let me tell you about my fairy tale wedding.

First of all, the dress. The most important item of any wedding. My dress will be a Cindarella dress, the most poufy, sparkly, obnoxious dress ever made. I will literally knock people over with all the crinoline under my skirt. I could hide small children under there. I will wear a tiara, with a veil attached to it. I will instruct my father's (I have a stepdad and a dad, and both of them will walk me down the aisle) that they have to be neat about lifting up the veil. I don't want it to look all weird and bunched up in the back.

The reception will, of course, have many many alchoholic beverages, available to all free of charge. I will have a DJ that is ready to party all night long. Screw these weddings where the thing ends at 11. For God's sakes, at 11 people are just feeling their buzz. This is when the fun really starts. This is when you get to laugh at all your friends as they make fools of themselves dancing like idiots. How can you give that up? No, our party will last far into the night.

These are the most important details to me. The dress, the alchohol, and the dancing/partying. Everything else is just icing on the (huge, chocolate with butter cream, flower adorned) cake. Flowers? Ah, something simple and beautiful. Decorations? Something classy and simple. I'm not a high society girl, my family is more comfortable around the kitchen table than a gormet restaraunt. I can just imagine them, all in their finery, drunk and loud and wonderful.

My wedding will rock. Now I just need to find someone to marry me. A*, get on the ball!!

H E L P !!!!!

2005-09-09T06:54:00.000-07:00

Could someone please help a poor, inexperienced blogger out? I need to know 2 things...

1) How do I put other people's blogs on mine, so that people can click on it from my site? I would like to give some people credit.

2) How do I comment on someone else's blog?

Thank you so much!!

The Story of A* and I, Part II

2005-09-09T06:41:00.000-07:00

Please see yesterday's entry to familiarize yourself with the first part of the story. I am going to continue where I left off...
So, after A* tried unsecessfully to molest me on the recliner, we decided that it was time to leave B- and my friend alone. They were not basking in the light of a new attraction, and were trying to keep their eyes open while the two of us wrestled together. I told A* that I wanted some ice cream. At this point, he didn't realize my total addiction to the stuff, and just thought that it was a good idea. We picked a Steak and Shake restaraunt that was close by our friend's apartment, because it was open 24 hours and it was already about 1 am, and because they have killer milkshakes. We got into my car and started off. As we are driving down the road, I am just talking to A*, oblivious to everything else, when he suddenly interrupts me and says, "Uh, D, my door isn't closed." Well, I didn't think that he was an idiot before, but maybe I was mistaken. "So close it!" I said. He showed me how he could slam the car door as hard as he could, and it would still not close. So now we are driving down the street, in the middle of the night, and A* is hanging on for dear life so that he won't fall out onto the road. He had to roll down the window, stick his arm out, and hold the door shut manually with his hand so that he didn't become road kill. I was highly embaressed.
A* told me that I should just stop at a gas station and he could probably fix the problem. So I did, and he couldn't. We ended up having to go to a 24 hour grocery store and buy a roll of duct tape. A* put the tape all around the door frame, and then had to get in the driver's side, climb over all of the stuff I had piled in the middle of the seat, and get into his.
By this time I didn't even want to sit somewhere and eat ice cream, so we went through the drive-thru and I took A* back to his car. I was sure that he would never want to speak to me again, since I had just almost killed him. I was preparing myself for the brush off, when A* asked me if he could have my number. I gave it to him, and then he reached over the seat and gave me a kiss. It was nice. Very nice.
Then I had to get out of the car, so that he could climb over the seat again and get out.
He called me 2 days later, and we set up our first date. I remember the first message that he left for me, the first time that he called.
~~~~~~~~"What's up, D, this is A*. Um, I didn't call yesterday because I didn't want to seem
~~~~~~~~ like a loser. Call me back whenever you get a chance. My number is xxx-xxxx. I
~~~~~~~~ hope to hear from you soon. Again, my number is xxx-xxxx. Okay, bye.

Coming soon- our first date, another disaster, at least according to him. How did we ever make it this far?

The Story of A* and I

2005-09-08T12:35:00.000-07:00

I know that I spend a lot of time here talking about A*, so I thought that it might be helpful if I wrote a little bit about our meeting.
I was always the type of girl that had to have a boyfriend. I went through my whole high school career never single. I don't know why (I would probably need a therapist for that, and that is opening up a whole can of worms that I would rather let stay there), but I felt incomplete if I didn't have a guy. By the time I was in college, I realized that I had a problem. Slowly but surely, I tried to fix it. I didn't want to be "that girl" who depends on a man for her whole life. My mom and my grandmother are both extremely strong women role models in my life, and they have never waited for anyone to do anything for them... they do it themselves. I tried to model myself after them, with marginal success.
So it came to be that I was 21 and my boyfriend (soon to be fiance, he had the ring, but that is another post) decided that he was a big prick and slept with someone else. Well, it was as good a time as any for me to practice my independant woman skills. That is, after I spent a couple of months drinking myself into a stupor, crying about said prick.
I made it a year. And I actually had a lot of fun and was very proud of myself. I hung out with friends, I made my own decisions, I didn't have to answer to anyone. I had a good time. But then I realized that I wanted the companionship. I was ready to try the whole relationship thing again.
I asked my friend if her fiance had any cute friends that I could meet. She thought for a minute, and then her eyes lit up. "A*!" she told me. "He is the only one of B-'s friends that I can even stand. He is really nice and funny, and I think that you would really like him."
So we made plans. My friend and I were to meet up with her fiance and A* at a little bar. We were already there when A* and B- came in. My first thought, honestly, upon laying eyes on A* was "Wow, he is really short. I hope that I'm not taller than him."
A* sat next to me in the booth and I was at once impressed with his easygoing manner and the way that he made me feel comfortable right away. He asked me questions that let him get to know me, but were not the standard, boring questions that you would expect. He also had a great smile. And when we stood up to leave, I was relieved to notice that I was exactly the same height as him.
We went back to B- and my friend's apartment. Here is where I ran into my first problem of the night... B- and my friend sat on the couch. There were two recliners in the room, and A* plopped down on one. Now, should I sit in the other recliner, therefore seeming rude and that I wasn't interested? Should I sit in the recliner with him, therefore seeming eager and pushy? Should I sit on the floor, only seeming nerdy? Should I sit on the couch with B- and my friend, therefore making them move down and causing a big production? Why are there no instructions on this?
A* solved my dilemma by smiling that great smile of his at me and patting the spot next to him on the recliner. I frowned a little, like it was something that I wasn't 100% comfortable with it, and gingerly sat on the edge of the chair. Right away, I noticed that he smelled good. I am a sucker for smells. As the night wore on, A*'s hand crept around my back. I let it stay there. The hand wandered down to my knee, and started rubbing. I let it stay there. The hand began to travel up, and I picked it up and put it back in his lap. He never even glanced away from the TV. The sneaky hand again tried to come around the front. I picked it up again and put it in his lap. I snuck a peek at him, and saw him trying to restrain a grin. I was a little insulted. Did he think he was going to get a piece the very first night that I met him?
By the way... when asked about this incident today, A* will admit that he tried to feel me up in the recliner, and further questioning reveals that had I been willing, he would have slept with me that night too. But, he is quick to point out, he would not have called me again. He says, "Any guy will see if he can get some ass when he first meets a girl, but if she is respectable enough to say no, she can be his girlfriend." Guys are so dumb sometimes.
I will continue the saga tomorrow. I know that you will be on the edge of your seat!

When I was Young

2005-09-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

When I was young, I thought that in the fall, when the leaves changed colors, that angels had come down from heaven and colored all the trees with their crayons. I had a very clear picture in my head of cherubic angels clutching a box of Crayola's, coloring in the leaves.

When I was young, I thought that fairies and people of that nature really existed. I put out little cups filled with water for them, and put scraps of my dinner on the sidewalk in front of my house for them to drink and eat after everyone else went to bed.

When I was young, I thought that if I opened the door to my room slowly and quietly enough, I would catch all of my dolls and stuffed animals engaged in whatever activities that toys do. I thought that they would be up, talking, playing with each other. I never opened the door fast enough though.

More to come later, but before I leave.... What happened to our innocence??

What I Have Learned from August

2005-08-31T12:36:00.000-07:00

I just changed my calendar to the month of September, and I thought to myself, what better way to sum up the month than to do a little retrospect on my blog? I think that this will be a regular feature each end-of-the-month. So, here is what August has taught me...

NEVER EVER LEAVE ANYTHING OF VALUE IN YOUR CAR.
A* and I learned this the hard way, when we came out in the morning to go to work and discovered that someone had broken into our car and taken the entire collection (over 150) of our CD's. They had also somehow messed with the window, in order to get in, and it shattered into a million pieces. Some, I migh add, landed on my arm and I very nearly got sliced. The shattered window leads to the second thing that I learned.

A* CAN FIX A CAR WINDOW, JUST NOT THAT WELL
Poor A*, he tries so hard. He decided that it would be cheaper to get a window and put it in himself, rather than pay someone to do it. So he got a really good deal, and was very excited. He spent all morning putting it in, and was so cute and proud when he picked me up and could show off his handywork. However, on the way home from dinner last night, I made the mistake of rolling down the window a crack, and it got stuck that way. A* managed to get it to go back up, but he told me not to roll down the window anymore, "just to be safe". He is going to find the right size window this weekend, and try it again.

MANY, MANY COCKTAILS DO NOT MAKE A RIGHT
In fact, they make a very big wrong, as I discovered on A*'s birthday, as I was leaning over a bridge by the side of the road throwing up stuff that I ate in the third grade. You would think by this time I would know my limit, but no, I just go sailing right past it. I race past tipsy, quickly meet up with buzzed, wave a hello to drunk, and settle down into inebriated, every single time.

I WORK IN A FREAKING PRISON
I know, I know, I've said this before, but yesterday I was written up for~ A.) Talking. B.) Personal phone calls and C.) Using the Internet for non-work related things. Okay, first of all I don't sit out here talking to myself, I am obviously talking to other people, and I am the only one who ever gets in trouble. Second of all, my mom HAD to call me yesterday and tell me the latest family gossip. So what if it took up 25 minutes of my time? I was still working. Third, well, sometimes I need a break from the same exact thing over and over, and I have to distract myself with internet breaks. I mean, how else would I be able to keep up with my blogging? I think if they read some, they would understand.

WHEN MAKING A CAKE, WAIT FOR CAKE TO COOL BEFORE ICING
I am the first to admit that I am no chef. But for A*, I was willing to make an exception, and tried to make him a fantastic marble cake. First time baking a cake. No one told me that you have to wait before you frost. I took the cake out of the oven and immeditely frosted it. I don't have time to wait for things to cool. So all the icing ran down into the cake. But hey, it still tasted good.

And finally...

BY THE TIME AUGUST IS OVER, I AM READY FOR A BREAK FROM INCESSANT HEAT
I am ready for crisp, cool nights and pleasant days, when you can safetly wear jeans and a sweater and be perfectly comfortable. I know that many will not agree with me, since it means the end of summer, but I don't handle the heat very well, and I am ready for the fall.

A*'s Birthday Celebration

2005-08-23T11:57:00.000-07:00

Well, this past weekend was my A*'s 25th birthday. We partied pretty hard! Let me tell you about it...
On Friday we decided to take the day off of work because after all, who can work when it is almost their birthday, or almost their boyfriend's birthday? I took him to the Hard Rock Cafe in our city, because he has never been to one and I thought that everyone should at least experience sky high prices and ear splitting music at least once in their lifetime. We got a dish called "Twisted Mac And Cheese" and it was $11. WTF?? I can make Kraft mac and cheese for 99 cents. But, whatever. I think that he enjoyed it.
Saturday we went out with some friends. We started off at home, with A*'s sister, and drank a couple of Smirnoff's. We call this "pregaming" and the idea behind it is so that you don't spend as much money at the bar. This method doesn't usually work for us, though. So then we went to a little neighborhood bar, and commenced doing shots. I think that I had a couple of vodka and cranberries and a couple shots, but one can only guess. I know that at one point A* came up to me and my friend and asked me if I realized that I had just told her every detail of the sex that we had earlier that day. I did realize, and even if I hadn't been drinking, I would have still told her about it, because she is my best friend. Guys just don't understand this, why we need to tell all. Then we decided that we would have more fun at a little livlier bar, so we went downtown. The first bar that we hit, I got a drink, pranced onto the dance floor, and promptly fell off of it. In my defense, I probably would have fallen anyway, because it wasn't a clear drop. I mean, you couldn't see where the floor was uneven. But at this point I was feeling very little pain, so I just laughed it off and pretended that I didn't just fall on my face in front of lots of people. Then we went to another bar, where I sat on a stage and drunkenly swayed back and forth. I don't even know if I was hanging out with A*, I have no idea where he was. A large man came up behind me and started grinding into my behind, without my knowledge. A*'s sister, who is very tough and who I am very glad is on my side, went over to the big man and stuck her hand in his face. "Oh no!!" she yelled at him, and steered me away. I thought it was funny, but shortly after this happened I got the feeling. You all know that feeling. I told A* that I needed some fresh air. As soon as said fresh air hit me, I vomitted all over the side of a bridge. Then I leaned in it, and vomitted again. A* led me to a new spot, and I vomitted again. Then A*, who wasn't thinking very clearly himself, left me sitting on a curb in between two SUV's while he went to find his siter, who was our ride. He did, however, hand me his pocket knife and very seriously told me that if anyone messed with me, I should "cut them." He even opened it for me. So I am sitting on the curb, vomit on my chin and shirt, swaying back and forth, with an open knife pointing skyward. A*'s sister said that when she came outside, I had both arms bracing myself against the SUV's, and it took two people to get me to stand up. We went home, and I passed out on the couch.
The next day, I woke up with, as you can imagine, a hangover from hell. I got out of bed, threw up again, and had to immediately get into the shower because the sour smell of throw up was in my hair and I could smell it every time that I moved. Then I took 3 asprin, and then I went back to bed. When I got up the second time, I felt much better, and commenced to cooking my very first real meal. I am not a cook. I have never claimed to be. Therefore, it was to be expected that I put icing on the cake immediately after I took it out of the oven. I didn't know that you had to have decorating tips to write stuff on the cake, so A* got a big white blob on his melting icing. Oops. It still tasted great, though, and that is all that matters. A*'s family came over and all were very impressed with my domesticity. I was too. A* fell asleep on the couch at 7 that night, and that was the end of the birthday celebration.
Thank God it only comes once a year.

Attack of the Giant Cricket/Beetle

2005-08-18T12:18:00.000-07:00

Last night A* and I were sitting together on the couch watching TV, like any normal Wednesday night. I had my feet up in his lap. He grinned suddenly, and I asked him what he was smiling about.
"I think that Belle (one of our cats) just rubbed against my leg and it tickled."
Not one to ever pass up an opportunity to pet my cats and tell them how adorable they are, I leaned over and looked on the floor to see her. Much to my shock and disbelief, there was no cat down there. No, there was the biggest bug that I have ever seen in my whole life casually making its way across the carpet. I immediately screamed at the top of my lungs and pointed, and then, like a scratched CD, I started repeating "EW, EW, EW..." over and over.
I have never seen A* move that fast in my life. He leaped from the couch to a bug-free area. At this point, he didn't even know what was going on, but he knew from the look on my face that this was a matter of life or death.
"What is it?" he gasped, putting a hand over his heart.
"A bug! Right there! Get it, get it, get it, get it!!" I yelled at him. I am prisoner on the couch as of this time, because I couldn't put my feet down on the floor in case of bug attack.
A* goes in the bathroom and gets a tiny piece of toilet paper. I don't think that he realized the magnitude of the bug. I mean, this was a giant, probably man-eating bug. Toilet paper is not going to stop it. I was ready for bombs and missles, followed by an immediate evacuation of the house. But A* gets toilet paper.
THEN he stands at the edge of the couch and calls the cats. Meanwhile, the bug could be God knows where and I am still stuck on the couch. A* is talking to the cats, telling them that they should get the bug, c'mon, get the bug, it's a snack for you! Not being stupid, the cats knew better than to mess with this kind of creature. They took one look and took off for another room. In my personal opinion, A* was just trying to get someone else to do his dirty work for him. I think that he wanted them to kill the bug so that he wouldn't have to. But obviously, this plan wasn't working. Also, by this time the bug has been on the loose for way too long and I am getting very agitated.
"JUST KILL THE F***ING BUG!!!!" I screamed with all my might. And he did.

I made him take it outside to throw it away, because I was terrified that it might come back to life and try to crawl up from the bowels of the toilet or get out of the trash and come and find me. I also made him do a thourough check of our room before we went to bed. And folks, this is why I love A*. Most men would pretend that they did a thourough check, when really all they did was walk into the bedroom, scratch themselves, and come out pronouncing the room bug-free. But not my A*, who is a closet wuss when it comes to bugs. When I came into our room ready for bed after brushing my teeth, he had all the sheets off the bed and was shaking them out with all of his might. He took the pillows out of their cases and shook those out too. Then, hold your breath ladies, he put all the covers back on NEATLY and perfectly. He assured me that there were no bugs, and I believed him. That is why I love A*.