The end of the hiatus!

Well, it's been a long, long while.

I've been busy with work--and also trying to do things that aren't tied to work or volunteering (and failing miserably it would seem). My defunct laptop screen hasn't helped matters, but I've had lots of awesome people willing to help me rectify that situation. I am now budgeting for my new screen and hope to be up and running at home sooner than later. (Worse case scenario I will be attached to my tv.)

But back to sharing : )

I had an experience this week that was all things, well, disturbing. And it was in the library of all places. I didn't know whether to go home and take a shower or just laugh it off.

I ended up doing both.

To set the scene (and provide you with background)--I go the library at least once a week. I read. A lot. I also enjoy books on CD in the car (yes--I know this makes me Super Nerd-Girl). I just finished listening to Sin in the Second City, which is all about hookers and madams in Chicago. I highly recommend it in audio or book form (I had both). This was the reason for my trip: I was going to return my finished items and pick up my hold (the new biography of the Bronte family-strangely enough not on Amazon in the US, but is up in the UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/Brontes-Juliet-Barker/dp/0349122423). This is not the part you should think is disturbing.

But maybe it should be?

Probably.

But I digress.

I picked up my hold from the shelf and wandered over to the Audio Book section wondering if there was anything to strike my fancy (I'm super picky; no fiction, memoirs need to be read by the author, etc.), when I was knocked into the shelf by a rather large, disheveled guy. Think this:
                                                         
Driving this:
                        

I'm thinking "You moron, did you not see me?!?" But I said "I'm sorry", because my first instinct is to always just accept it's my fault, I was in the way, blah-blah-blah (something I'm sure a therapist would have a field day with). What did Candy-Van man say?

Nothing.

He licked his lips and grunted at me.

Grunted.

At.

Me.

Then looked me up and down like Jabba the Hutt did every slave girl (green skinned with weird flesh appendages, Princess Leia, blue singing blob thing, et al.) in Return of the Jedi. I could literally feel my skin trying to come off of my bones. This dude? Was seriously creepy. His sweatpants were at least two sizes two small, his t-shirt was about ten sizes too big, and sadly, he was toting around the last Harry Potter book.

Sorry Harry.

I booked it to the other side of the aisle and put creepy dude aside (it takes all kinds, right?). But as I pulled out a book from the shelf--there he was on the other side.

And it gets better.

Cause then he audibly farted.

And it was not a sound, nor a smell, that a person could ignore.

And since my library experience was ruined for the time being, I took my Bronte book and headed to check out and get the hell outta there.

Farty McGee headed to the bean bag chairs in the kiddie section and started reading Harry Potter.

So there you have it! My male conquest of the week is Grunty-Gassy-Van-Man!

It can only go up from here people...and if not?

No. Really. It can't get any worse.

Las Drogas--

...They are the devil.

Or, if sticking with the Spanish theme--el diablo.

I've been sick.

Like--way, way sick. It's been almost three weeks. The hacking cough has stopped, but I still feel like I've been run over by a mack truck. I have the energy of a snail...wait--that's insulting to snails (Who, contrary to all appearances, are hauling ass and getting tons and tons of shit done. It's all about perspective.).
                                                        
                                              *See? They even have personalized stationary!*

Actually, I have the energy of a woman in her early 30's who has been sick for three weeks. There. That's better. And not insulting to anyone but me. (And YES--it also applies to everyone else out there that happens to fit this description. If you are a mom and fall into this category--shut your hole. I don't have your "super powers" yet. Cats don't require that kind of dedication.) This means I come home from work, flop on my bed, and fall asleep within five minutes of the bonus round on Wheel of Fortune.

Damn.

I am officially old AND sick. Damn, damn, DAMMIT!

Because I was tired of feeling like crap (I am also tired of my head being a snot factory. And not the kind that comes out of your nose...oh no, no, no, no. It's the kind that gets pumped straight from the sinuses down the back of the throat. You know, so you always feel like you're either gasping for breath, and it feels like knives are attacking your vocal cords? Or--even better--you feel like you are drowning in a sea of snot, and only when that mucus coating your throat clears will you be able to draw your next breath. I'm telling you people...it's pure awesome right now being me.), I went to the doctor. I was terrified I had pneumonia. Again. (I've had it 8 or 9 times since I was a kid. And it blows each and every time.) Thankfully, it's just a massively huge sinus infection (which explains the crazy bloody nose business that's been happening), and I'm given drugs and told for the next ten days, I should feel better--but will still have NO energy what so ever (thanks antibiotics!).

The first three days on Amoxicillin were....beyond horrid. I have never felt more nauseous in my entire life. Wait. There was that thing...okay--this was the second most nauseous I've been in my life. I really thought, since that was a side effect of the drug, that the tingling in my arms and feet, nausea, and other symptoms were just me making a big deal--and it was normal.

Don't be like me kiddies. It's NOT okay and it's NOT normal.

So, I yesterday, I received new drugs. Hooray! Goodbye wanting to puke every five seconds!

Hello scary as fuck terrifying nightmares!

(What? Didn't see that coming?)

The last thing I remember before waking up screaming (Not kidding....screaming. At the top of my lungs.) was the image of Yogi's sweet, little poly-dactyl feet like these:

                                                             

Turning into these:
        on my FACE!

So basically--I had a dream that Yogi turned into a ton of pissed off snakes that ate my face off. While the people I work with laughed and ate popcorn...like they were watching some sort of freaky reality show.

See? You would wake up screaming, too.

After I was up--I was UP. No more sleep for me after 1 am. So today? I'm in agony. I've seriously thought about skipping lunch and just sleeping on my office floor--but I don't think i would wake up until time to go home...so probably not. Rats.

Methinks it's time for Ambien. And restraints.

Cat in a.....tub?

This? This is Bernie Williams.

As many of you know--he lives in my house. He eats food I provide him, sleeps in my bed, conquers laundry baskets (you can see how successful his most recent campaign was above), and beats the living crap out of Yogi on regular basis. He is also a connoisseur of the finest catnips and left over people foods.

As of late, my adorable furball had decided there is one more thing in my house that is for him alone to use: the bathtub.

I have but one bathtub in my humble little home--and I tend to use it on a regular basis. Well. I did. Until I discovered that I will have to scrub it down any time I want to use the stupid thing.

(If you don't want to know somewhat personal information about yours truly--do not read on. No--it's not scary. I think?

That said--you've been warned.)

This is how I found out: Living alone, when I go in to the bathroom to, um, well...use the bathroom, I usually have "visitors".

Furry ones.

My boys are super intrigued as to what goes on in there. I've tried to tell them it's no different than the litter box to no avail.

(Probably because they are cats--and comparative to human children--have wee brains.)

And I don't have the heart to give them das boot. Mainly because Yogi sits on the other side of the door and whimpers like he's been kicked in the face. This is a noise that hurts my brain. Literally.

So, being followed in by Yogi is nothing new (someone loves the toilet in a way that is not normal--and I promise you that it's not me). What was new, however, was the weird slurpy sound I heard on the other side of the shower curtain. Tentatively I pulled back the curtain...only to be greeted by:

Yes. Yes--that is MY cat using my BATHTUB to take a freaking BATH! And that's not the worst part. That would be the dirty look he gave me. Well, I think it's a dirty look:

"Woman--you best be not taking peectures of me. Have you not heard of privacy?! GET OUT!"

How is it that I'm the one feeling the shame in this scenario? Does that make sense to anyone? Probably not.

And this? Is not a one time instance. This CAT is in the bathtub. Daily. Bathing. Or 'swimming'. Yes--'swimming'.  It's actually kind of cute--he dives in and flings his body around the curved part of the tub and slides around on his back. He also brings in toys. It's amusing and troubling all at the same time.(Why? Because how many cats do you know that voluntarily hang out in bathtubs? See? Weird.)

Since my boy is the next Esther Williams, I'll end this one with an image--that will hopefully wipe all of the above from your mind:

See? Now THAT'S cute!

Happy Thursday!

(And? More posts coming soon--it's just a matter of me typing up all the junk I've written in long hand!)

The Mystery of the Disappearing TP

Yup. You SO read that correctly.

And it is a mystery...not exactly like trying to figure out the Sphinx, but still....

Disappearing. Toilet. Paper??

So here is the deal, or rather, the question: How much TP do seven adults use in one day?

The answer is two of these bad boys:

 

So we aren't talking single ply super cheap nasty toilet paper (like you would find in most gas stations or employer bathrooms, actually now that I think about it...). This is cooshy two ply..with ridges! (I don't get it, but feel free to try to explain why my toilet paper needs ridges? Ruffles need ridges...paper for my bum does not.)

And you know what else is going to blow your mind? There are only TWO ladies that work in this ENTIRE building (and YES, smart ass, I am one of them). So...men are using this much? Wait. I thought boys didn't care about this stuff as much as girls do? Trust me..I've dated enough to have experienced it all...everything from stolen gas station toilet paper to Taco Bell napkins...and please--feel free to let your skin crawl here.

So. Does age have something to do with this? Older men have realized hygiene and comfort are not just things for women?

Huh.

Well...if that's true, I guess I understand why all these 20 year old girls want to date men old enough to be their fathers. There's not a chance you'll have to scrounge around under the sink looking for something, anything, to take care of business in a strange man's house (is there anything worse?) I bet once they hit 40, fellas even have extra rolls stored under their sinks.

Just like a good boy should.

Letter to myself...

Do you ever stumble across something that is sort of an epiphany of sorts? Something that makes you sit up and take notice and pay attention?

I've had one of those moments. Not anything super deep---just horrifying.

So I wrote myself a letter to read five years down the road. Why am I sharing it with you? Because I want it to stick! I'm not sharing all of it (you would die of boredom--and you aren't my therapist), just the bits and pieces I like the best. So..here you go--enjoy:


Health:

Are you going to the dentist twice a year? I know those bastards at the ADA are trying to say once a year is enough, but I cry bullshit. Clean teeth are happy teeth. Especially since you are probably still paying for dental insurance out of pocket. Unless you are married to some nice man who is willing to share his insurance with you. (If that's not a definition of true love, I don't know what is.)

Speaking of teeth--kitties need clean teeth, too. Don't be cheap. Take them to vet! Your nose will thank you for this.

And please, please tell me you are finally scooping the litter box every day? (Hey! I can dream, can't I?)

Same goes with the annual exam. I'm totally cool with you skipping out on a mammogram until 40--but downstairs? Well..it needs to be inspected every year--American Cancer Society be damned.

Relationships

Well--the most important one is with yourself...so....are you happy? (Remember--you shouldn't lie to yourself!)

If not? Do something about it. NOW.

Are you co-habitating yet? If not--whatever. I know it's a hard idea for you to wrap your head around, but if you are--be nice. Don't mock or make fun. Unless it's totally called for. Men have egos that need to be pampered. (Big effing babies.) But if you are? He better be putting away the laundry. If he doesn't do this simple task? Kick him to the curb--he's worthless. You can do better.

Okay--babies. Are there babies? If there are--well--sister how far you've come. Just remember the cardinal rule: ONE and done. There are enough unwanted, undertaken care of welfare babies out there to make having more than one child a terrfying thought. Want a bigger family? Adopt. Save a kid from a horrible situation (IE crappy parents) and make the world a little bit of a better place : )

Also--you are not your child's friend. They don't earn that privilege with you until they 1) have a high school diploma 2) pay taxes 3) pay rent, bills, buy their own food 4) have moved OUT of your house and have NO financial dependence on you what so ever. Once all these obligations have been met--then--you may begin to establish your new role in this fully functioning adult's life...but not before. It's bad news bears if you do. Look around. *Shudder* You know this is the right thing to do.

Job
A precious lesson--life is too short to be treated like crap. Work is what you love to do--so if you aren't happy where you work? Find someplace new. You spend too much time there to hang around to be miserable. Playing it safe isn't always the best thing for your health....


It does go on from here...but that's really all that's cool to share for now. I think it's relatively sound advice--don't you?

Who knows..five years from now I could be living beach side in Spain because I've won the lottery. This means I will have lots of botox, a super hot Spanish boy-toy, and people to do my laundry AND scoop the cat boxes....

I'm leaving right now to buy tickets. That just sounds too good to be true!

Roll with the Changes, yo!

No worries--I haven't run away with REO Speedwagon...

(Whoa. Who just dated herself. Did I really just reference REO Speedwagon? Crikey.)

I've been in my new job now for almost a month...and?

I LOVE it. Love my morning commute (5 mins), I adore working in an office full of men (Get your mind out of the gutter....these guys don't censor themselves, that's all I mean. Walk by an office and you may hear a veritable bouquet of profanity. People? I'm home.), there are donuts on Friday, conversations about music, literature, cars, and yard care over lunch....just a really nice place to be. I look forward to coming here everyday. I have my office mostly set up, and I'm almost fluent in the accounting system...all in all? A leaving my old life behind? A very good thing indeed.

So that's pretty much it....except I'm trying to garden cheap this year (I bought seeds! And a starter thingy! IF my bluebonnets grow? I'll share pics for sure and will be so excited I won't be able to stand it, I'm sure), revamp the house on the fly, repaint the whole shebang, get sucked back in to TV (Bones is back tonight...and? I don't care how "sqaure" he gets..it would take a whole lot of evil to make me want to break up with Don Draper), and...well. That's it in a nut shell.

Hopefully with the warming of the weather, I will find myself getting into all kinds of shenanigans...because let's be realistic..it is ME after all!

All good things must come to an end, right? Right.

So. Many of you know that I have been pounding the pavement (so to speak) for roughly six years (Let that sink in....Six. Years.) looking for a new kind of job. Going to grad school was supposed to open doors (NOT), putting in my time was supposed to lead to a promotion (again..not), etc, etc, etc.


What DID happen was a lot of hair pulling, cursing, bruised eye-balls (there's only so much job hunting a person can do online before her eyes want to fall out of their sockets), therapy, and the feeling that I was never, ever going to find anything I could do besides what I had done professionally for the past 13 years.

Boy. Was I wrong.

Thank. God.

That said, do not think for one second that I am not grateful to the company who is employing me until March 8th, 2012. I am. Very much so. They provided me with the opportunity to buy my own home, my car, take a smattering of trips and all in all, having not too bad of a life.

Leaving something you know like the back of your hand? Is scary. But it's time for me to step out of my comfort zone and embrace my future.

And that future doesn't include unpacking boxes, being mistaken for a college student (damn!), and a job that has become so monotonous, I don't have to think much anymore.

So, I'm on to learn a whole new world, meet all new people from all walks of life. I'm super excited, but extremely appreciative of the colleagues I've had for the past six years. They have made my job enjoyable, even fun sometimes. I can't say I loved coming to work everyday, but it wasn't because of who I worked with--but rather--what I was doing and how trapped I felt in my life. That, I'm truly hoping, is a feeling I won't have again for a long, long time. (Big thanks to all of you--and you know who you are).

Now. For the funny stuff.

For someone who hadn't had an interview in several years, the past seven months were a slew of meet and greets (And by slew--I mean 3. And that wasn't for lack of effort. I found over 400 cover letters on my thumb drive..that should tell you something right there.) One of the interviews was in a building downtown. It was actually my second interview for a position shockingly similar to what I currently hold, but I was flattered to have the opportunity and was stunned, at myself, when I told them "Thank you--but no thank you." They had me come in for the second interview anyway. I figured, what the hell--why not. It's good practice, right?

Yeah. It's good practice until you walk into the men's room.

But that's not the worst part.

Nope. That would be the fact that I used the men's room.

Yup. I was so out of it, I walked right in, hung my purse on the hook on the stall and took a seat. The outside door opened and I noticed a pair of loafers.

Large. Loafers.

And stupidly then thought "Gawd. That poor woman has HUGE feet. Wait? Why are her feet facing the wall. Is she peeing? How in the hell is she peeing facing the wall?!?!"

Earth to moron. You are the one peeing the wrong room, not the man using the urinal. You have no idea of the horror and mortification that hit me all at once. I was peeing. In the men's room. In a building where I had just had a job interview. I suddenly was cursing myself for not noticing the shoe choices of the men on the panel who had conducted the interview. It's a mistake I will never make again.

Or maybe I shouldn't make trying to figure the best way to sneak out of the men's room a habit? Then the shoe choices of random men won't be so important. Hmmm.

I had to wait for him to finish (And was pleasantly surprised when he washed his hands. Trust me, if women think they are alone in the bathroom--they don't. Well, I do--but I have found I am not the norm. I don't know why, but I'm very good at hiding in bathrooms.) to sneak out and run in to the ladies across the tiny hallway. I wasn't taking any chances of hand washing in the men's room. I had pressed my luck enough.

The lesson? Be sure to read the sign on the door--your kind may not be welcome inside : )

And new jobs may be scary--but it's all for the best in the end. (And they certainly aren't as scary as potentially being labeled a pervert in the workplace.)

Driving is disgusting...or is it men?

Okay...it takes a lot to gross me out. You're talking to (or reading from, more accurately) a woman who can eat dinner while watching autopsy shows. Enjoy a snack whilst watching how numerous wives/husbands/boyfriends/girlfriends have dismembered their significant others (Why is murder more okay than divorce? No..really. Tell me.)

That said.....there is one thing that can make me gag-a-maggot faster than anything. Snot/Mucus. (Spit comes in a close second due to an unfortunate incident when I was in fourth grade when a bully of a girl spit directly on to each of the lenses of my glasses. I promptly ralphed on her shoes. Payback's a bitch, huh?)

Okay, maybe it's not good for you to know my kryptonite, but there you have it. Why is this such a big deal?

I was minding my own business this morning, driving along in the gloomy mist of the morning (Oooh! Look at me being all fancy...) when I happened to take a look out my driver's side window.

And that...is when it happened.

The disgusting man in the beat down old Ford in front of me stuck his head out of his window...and.....

Hocked. A. Lugey.

No. Shit.

And it landed?

On my driver's side window.

Let that sink in. There was a big wad of another human being's SNOT on my window.

And it wouldn't come off! And I'm driving along trying not vomit as this lugey is wobbling in the wind.

God I hope it rains....I would really prefer NOT to scrape a snot wad off my car this afternoon. But hey--if it is dry, at least it won't jiggle like jello!

Okay, just even thinking about is making me want to throw up again. Blah.

Do me a favor people..don't spit out of a moving vehicle. Please?

Thank you in advance...

Sorta Squeamish

Slacker? Thy name is Rhea...

You want to get good at something? Then you should practice at it...you know--do it over and over and over again.

Well. Clearly someone doesn't plan on being a writer anytime soon. I can give plenty of excuses, but that's just what they are--excuses.

Play time is over children...I'm getting back to work.

Computer issues? Fixed. And look at the super cute new laptop case/bag/cover thingy I bought (this is the back):


Yes. I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old..I know, I know. (Kitty HATES you..bwah, hah, hah..it's an old joke that never doesn't make me laugh). And? If this doesn't get people to talk to me at Starbucks, I don't know what will. Great place to meet boys my ass....

In a mere few weeks, I will have new carpet down in my bedroom and office...which I will then re-design to actually allow me to write in it. Currently my desk is in my bedroom. And it gets used about as much as you think it would in such a poor location..it holds laundry that needs to be folded. And sad, sad socks that have lost their mates. Very, very sad. So sad that I really do think I'm going to make this thing and hang it on the door of my dryer--check it out (I found it on Pinterest...which is like crack for white girls...):

                                              

Clearly--I'm on said website, so you should totally follow me (roo13). I have very interesting things that could and should change your life. Like apple pies made from apples!
                                              

Is your mind blown yet?

It should be.

And when I get my groove back--don't blame me when your brain is shredded to bits.

Oh. Holy, Jesus. When did I become Bridget Jones??

Actually--it's been happening for quite some time. Don't believe me?

Read the book."Get the book here"

Not a reader? You can always watch the movie: "Watch this movie!!"

And you will see what a folly my life has become.

Don't believe me? Well children..I SO have a story for you.

What summed it up for me was last Thursday evening. I had a meeting of sorts to go to. I volunteer my time doing PR/Marketing for a smallish local not-for-profit. (Bridget? Works in "Publicity"..the much cuter sounding English equivalent.) So, I leave work..and it's a blizzard out. (In November? Really?) The snow follows me downtown, and I drive round the block of a fancy schmancy hotel (in which we are having said meeting) for ten minutes. Giving up, I park it in the mall and get myself across the street. The e-mail said we were to meet in the bar.

Not the lobby. The BAR.

Now. Let me just say. I am more than a tad under dressed for this place in my slip on, worn completely out work shoes (from Payless), my chocolate colored chinos and green corduroy coat (both from Target). While I have some makeup on..I am far from "made up". Oh! And my hair was in a jaunty pony tail. Mainly because I was too lazy to wash my hair that morning, but that's neither here nor there. (Washing your hair too much? Makes it dull and lifeless. It took my 31 years to figure this one out.) So..let's just say...all these ladies coming in from a convention in 4 inch heels and pencil skirts and exquisite scarves? Yes. They blew me out of the water.

I walked in to the bar and the hostess was helpful enough to point me in the direction of a couple by the window. Considering it was a man with a girl young enough to be his daughter I thought, "Probably not my group..". And no. She was not his daughter. How do I know? Because his hand was so far up her thigh that it made ME blush.

So, I go around the bar again, and there is a very handsome older man, maybe in his 50's, sitting at a large table by himself. He's in a suit that costs more than I make in a month, I'm sure. Drinking scotch, or bourbon, on the rocks. Did I mention he was nice looking? Cause he was. Very. Yowza. "Bingo" I thought to myself. Since I was looking for an academic, I figured this was my guy. I walk up to the man, and the first thing out of his mouth was "You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"

Silly me. I was flattered. Maybe he had seen me on the website or something. I sit down and start to pull my things out. He asks me what I'm drinking. I politely decline and get out my notes and notebook and pen. He looks confused. I am confused by his look of confusion. I ask him if he wasn't Mr. X, and he says no. "So you're not with the committee from the museum?"

Nope.

That's right. I just plopped myself down in front of a very attractive man, obviously a "Somebody", like I knew what in the hell I was doing in a coat from Target and in Payless shoes. And he? Was just another in my very long line of Daniel Cleavers throwing out a cheesy pick up line. And it worked. Oh. Dear. Lord. If the earth could have swallowed me whole in that moment, I would have been ecstatic.

I grab my things, apologize for idiocy and bolt from the bar to wait in the lobby.

Just wait. It gets better.

The concierge kept asking if he could "help" me. I told him I was waiting for someone. I'm pretty sure he thought I was the cheapest hooker he'd seen in a long while. A step up from streetwalker, sure, but not exactly what I would call a fantasy come to life.

I blame the cheap shoes.

So, I do what I should have done before I came to the stupid meeting. I googled the person I was meeting.

And guess who had been sitting in the lobby for the entire time?

You guessed it.

Oh. And it gets worse.

Rhea is not an expert on the topic at hand. Rhea has been brought in to "fanny about with the press releases". I know nothing about these teaching methods (I'm so NOT a teacher...and I have the utmost respect for those of you that are), nor have I read everything a certain author has written.

The guys in my meeting. Are. And Have.

I HATE feeling like the stupidest person in the room. Hate, hate, hate, hate it. But jokes were told that I didn't get. Books dissected that I hadn't read. I had the overwhelming urge to ask "Do you know....where...the toilets are??", but I bit my tongue. I was there for PR and Marketing. I left with no idea how to do either for this project. (Don't fret, it WILL come to me. But I was blindsided by all the academic brilliance and super smart author talk I had been exposed to.)

It made me kind of sad. I so very much want to be one of those super brilliant people who wows people with her smarts. Instead, I got lopsided grins of "Aww..isn't she cute? Trying so hard! It's adorable."

Sigh.

My only saving grace right now is that if I die "fat and alone", I won't be found three weeks later half eaten by wild dogs.

Nope. It will be cats.

And I better not be fat.

At least I didn't wake up in my car....

So. Got to try out the new medication last night...and I will admit--I was a little leery.


Last time I took 100mg of Imitrex, I woke up to find my car parked sideways in the driveway, windows down, my purse in the front seat, and various bags of half eaten food from fast food establishments.

I had a drug induced junk food binge which led to me sleeping for like 12 hours straight.

Scariest part? I remembered none of it. And I'm the kind of person that remembers 95% of the stupid, humiliating, horrid things I say, do, see when I'm intoxicated. It's a curse, really. No blacking out for me..oh no. Even when I've prayed for it to happen...no such luck.

So, last night I'm driving home from the boondocks of Hamilton County and I feel it start. The pulsating behind my eyes, the sudden super (it's crazy how fast this happens) sensitivity to light (which is perfect for night driving--makes it a real treat), feeling like my dinner is going to shoot up my throat any second, and finally the radiation of pain all over my skull, down my neck into my shoulders. Yup. Migraine number two of the week (maybe it's the weather??).

Off to CVS I go to pick up my pills. Nine pills. Just nine. Apparently, that's the highest number of these bad boys you can have at one time. So this explains the 10 refills on my script...cause I thought the doctor said 90 pills with all those refills. Hmm. Maybe I need my hearing checked, too. (YIKES) Paid my little fee, drove home, took my pill, grabbed a book...and waited.

After about a half an hour, I had this grody burning in my nose and an awful taste in my mouth. In fact, it's still kind of there. Like when you chew on aspirin. Nastiness that just won't go away. Still had a headache, but not as pounding (still do, actually).

At midnight, I finished my new book, turned off the light and tried to go to sleep.

And this is where it gets weird.

I had the most insane, weird, creepy dreams. Like falling constantly and seeing people falling with you. Talking to them, watching them splat to the ground (and yes--all people I know) and probably die--but I just kept on falling and falling and falling. It was unnerving just floating about waiting for my turn to squish apart on the ground.

Then the one where Yogi could talk. Oh god. I rolled over to see him sleeping next to me, he turned his head and snarled "Hey lady, back OFF! This be my spot!" (Apparently my little fur ball is an angry Jamaican). It was so real that when I woke up freaking out to see him sleeping next to me I actually got out of bed and moved to the couch for a while because I was so weary of him bitch slapping me and calling me names in my sleep.

So. Today? I'm exhausted. I slept like crap and I still have the remnants of a headache. I'm supposed to give this a month and see how I do. If it doesn't improve?

I get put on a Topamax regimen. And it? It has a side effect I can fully support: Weight Loss.

Web MD--you are the devil. And I'm an idiot.

I have found something tragically true about myself.

I have enough information to be dangerous when it comes to my own health. Very. Dangerous.

For example, I have this funny bump behind my ear. I'll be honest, it's kind of freaking me out. Here's a snippet of my inner dialogue every time I think about said bump or, heaven forbid, touch it. Which is constantly.

"Oh God! Is that a lymph node? I wish I had eyes back there! What color is it? Is this why I'm waking up to hoarf my guts out in the middle of the night?" *Panic* " Is it the nasty C word?!??!"

To make matters worse, I'm a literate adult. Who was raised by a nurse. Who was in school when I was a kid. Who tended to leave textbooks lying about. Who should have realized this was an issue because her four year old was reading almost at an adult level...and able to sound out even the nastiest of diseases. Even better? The same kid came wide eyed at her with freaky looking pictures of diseased bits of people asking "Mommy??? What IS THIS?!!!!" So--nothing was really ever censored in my house. No cute names for your bits and pieces and full disclosure in regards to communicable disease.

Which is probably why I REALLY don't like people touching me.

But back to me and my nodule of death....

I went to WebMD to see what the frack this thing IS. Let's see it could be a cyst (most likely), it could be a blocked hair follicle (behind my ear? probably not), it could be cancer, it could be nothing at all and I'm just a freak of nature that breaks out in weird flesh colored bumps.

My eye? Goes straight to cancer. As in "Oh my god. I have cancer. All the headaches and retching? Make total sense. I'm going to die."

Which is a load of total crap (except the dying part--we all bite the dust at some point). I have to rein myself in and tell myself that I don't have cancer, it's just a weird fluke thing, and it's FINE.

Besides I'm going to the doctor tomorrow anyway for new migraine drugs...and I will tell him what I found online at WebMd and the Mayo Clinic and show him my bump....

And he will laugh.

At me.

Right to my face.

And I will deserve it.

Same as it ever was.....kinda. Sorta. Maybe?

Okay--I have to start off by saying watch this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1wg1DNHbNU&feature=related

I don't know what it is about this song--but it seems appropriate for big decision moments in ones life. For example, I made one yesterday.

Big. Big time.

And it's done. I've put a date on my calendar. I have a deadline to myself--and I refuse to go back on it this time. Refuse!

It's nothing personal--just professional (NO--I am NOT going back to school. I wish! But that's what the future is for. One day, I will be a Dr. of something--trust me.) I sent out a request on Facebook yesterday, and I will repeat it here: If you know anyone who could spare 20 mins of their time to speak to me about Marketing, Advertising, Public Relations (kinda the preferred genre, but I'm not going to be picky), Project Management, etc--please let me know! Know me? Send me an e-mail? Don't know me? Leave me a comment!

So--on a more fun topic...my possessed car? Is fixed!

What was wrong with my car? Well.

Long story short?

It was messed with. The mechanic at the dealership said someone tried to get under the hood of my car--without the benefit of releasing the latch on the inside of my car. This, screwed up the alarm system, which caused the lights to flash and the horn to honk at all hours of the night. It also destroyed the mechanism that keeps the hood down. So--I'm damn lucky it didn't blow up when I was, oh, I don't know, driving on the interstate at 75 miles an hour. I could have killed someone. Or been killed. So--to the stupid, idiotic morons who not only tried to get under my hood, but messed with my tires, too in Bedford?

You will SO get what's coming to you.

Karma? She's a real bitch. And you will deserve: Every. Single. Horrible. Thing. That. Happens. To. You.

So, if it weren't for a really good friend and her amazing soon to be husband? (Thank you Colleene and Mike!!!! You are awesome!)

I would be out some serious cash money.

And you all know how much I hate to be separated from my funds.

And that? Well...I think I will turn to David Byrne again....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Smge23DCE8

Qu'est-ce que c'est??

(And do I plan on causing anyone any harm? No! Because I'm not crazy like so many people are. But I do love that song....)

Sick and the Single Girl

Being sick?

Sucks.

Being sick and living alone?

Double. Sucks.

Now--don't get me wrong. I love living in my little hovel (Right now? I wouldn't let anyone I know through the front door. I've been such a lazy buggar as of late....) solo. No roommate to eat my food, no boyfriend to make me watch Sports Center....again (and again and again and again), no husband that pretends to not know how a dishwasher functions. I mean really--am I missing out on that much?

And yes--that is a rhetorical question people.

So if you value your self esteem--don't answer it.

But..I digress.

Last night, I got home from work around 6:30 pm..and I went to bed. I had a freight train of a migraine going through my head...it hurt so bad I cried like a little girl once my head hit the pillow until I (literally) passed out from pain.

I woke up a little while later, still in agony, but my stomach was making empty noises (Probably because I threw up everything in it off the side of US 136 on my drive home. Classy, no?)

Do you know what I would have given, in that moment, for a real live human being to be living with me? I love my boys, but cats, shouldn't drive. Just ask Toonces. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQkL9LpvKl0)

Besides, Bernie Williams was too busy burrowing into my stomach and Yogi was laying on my feet to be much help for anything.

And all I wanted?

Wonton Soup.

So, I dragged my sad ass outta bed and over to the Chinese place close to my house. $3.25 later, I had a pint of wonton soup and an veggie egg roll.

I really wanted some rainbow sherbet, too--but the grocery was just too far away. (Actually, I don't think my legs would have held me up for too much longer...I got home and fell face first back into bed.)

Drank all the broth, ate half the egg roll, shot back more migraine meds and snuggled in to watch Snapped (A good one! Teenage lesbians continue to go out even though one of them marries a guy to get her family off her back--but the guy finds out about all the sneaking around--and he and the girl he married kill the second girl by cutting her throat...gruesome! Just what I needed to watch to take my mind off things...I know, I know--I'm not right.)

I woke about 3 am...and would have sold my soul for a ginger ale. But the cats, as usual, were not helpful. So, again, I dragged myself out of bed, got my drink, took more pills and prayed for unconsciousness to overtake me. No such luck..but I tried.

Maybe what I need is a live in housekeeper. This would solve two problems for me 1) My house would be so much cleaner! and 2) There would always be someone here to bring me ginger ale.

I think I have a new life goal.....better start the planning to make this happen!

Unless I find some poor sap to put up with me first.

Hmm.....

Better start saving for the maid!

It's Banned Book Week!

Ah...America.


Home of the Free. Home of the Brave.


Home of the "We know better than you so we are going to deny you your constitutional rights to read this book. Trust us--it's for your own good!"

Why do we allow others to think for us like this? You know what other countries banned books?


Nazi Germany

North Korea

Communist Block Countries

USSR/Russia


Um. Last time I checked, we were a Republic, so, yea.
Back off people who think they know everything (Yes. I'm talking to you super, super scary people who think dinosaurs and people walked the earth at the same time.)--and let me enlighten some of you with a list of my all time favorite banned books; enjoy!


1) The Great Gatsby--by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Who doesn't love a story about drunken socialites, LOTS of marital infidelity, and suicide?? This story just reaffirms money doesn't buy happiness. People have the same emotional problems no matter how much money they have in the bank.


2) To Kill a Mockingbird--by Harper Lee.

Probably, no--I'm going to say it--this IS the best American novel of the 20th century. There. I've said it. Can't take it back. If you haven't read this? Leave the country. Now. You don't deserve your citizenship.


3) Lolita--by Vladmir Nabokov.

The genius of this book is, a friend once told me, that you feel sorry for Humbert. You know--the pedophile? He likes girls of a certain age, well, because he's a pervert. And young Lolita? Lolita takes him for everything he's got. You dislike both of them equally....Nabokov is brilliant, no?


4) A Farewell to Arms--Ernest Hemingway.

Again, this was banned because there's S-E-X in it. Not blatant pornographic sex, but when you have an unmarried nurse carrying on with a patient, and then she gets pregnant? Oh the humanity! Actually--this is my favorite Hemingway..I think he captures quite poignantly the innocence he fully lost while serving as an ambulance driver in WWI (and falling in love with a nurse on the battlefields). His later work is misogynistic and not very nice towards women. It's nice to know that at one time, he had the capacity to fully love.

5)Gone with the Wind--by Margaret Mitchell.

I will admit, this is totally a guilty pleasure for me, but it also contains my alter ego (well--let's just say who I really do aspire to be in some ways)--Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler. Oh, she's a real bitch..and I love every single second she's on the page. What's she going to do next? Survival of the fittest never looked so damn good! It's also a fantastic reminder that in the good old days? People were NOT more moral, more Christian, more nice, or even had better manners. It's just human nature wanting to gloss over the ugly parts of the past and pretend that they didn't happen. Kudos to Margaret Mitchell for laying it all out there--you see Old Dixie all right--warts and all.

6) Slaughterhouse Five--by Kurt Vonnegut

Indianapolis' Native Son, a real pioneer of the later half of the 20th century. A humanist with a real soul, if you want my opinion. Who else could really make you feel the plight of Billy Pilgrim? Time traveling prisoner of war? What else can I say to you but READ THIS BOOK. You will be a better person for it. Truly.


7) Lady Chatterly's Lover--D.H. Lawrence.

This is not a "smutty book"! Well--okay. It's kind of smutty, but not in the way you're thinking (get your mind out of the gutter pervert). It's a tragic story. She loves her husband, but then he's paralyzed and becomes emotionally dead to his wife. She's young, she's fairly attractive--she's a physical being who craves the love of a man. The mind alone cannot keep a person satisfied...this is why we have bodies. It's a real warning to those of us (like me), who tend to think we don't need affection or love from another to be fully satisfied souls. Guess what? We really, truly do.

8) An American Tragedy--Theodore Dreiser

Another Indiana boy--and one of my favorite writers, period. It's the story of a street missionary who flees his parents and the uber religious life only to fall in love with the wrong girl. Well, the right girl, actually--he just happens to get another girl pregnant first. Girl number one ends up dead in a lake. Girl number two? The beautiful and rich Sondra--who happens to love Clyde as much as he loves her. His great plan to get rid of Roberta goes horribly wrong..and well. I think you know how this story ends. One of the best book to screen movies ever made, A Place in the Sun, with the ethereal Elizabeth Taylor (so young--so heartbreakingly beautiful), Montgomery Clift, and the superb Shelley Winters, is worth checking out if you come across it.

So there you have--a mere snippet of the literally hundreds of books (which, FYI are mostly young adult and kids novels--Hunger Games, Harry Potter, and Beverly Clearly books have all been banned by countless school systems) that are banned in somewhere in the United States. A little crazy, huh?

Actually--it's a lot crazy.

So read on--and enjoy!

On a serious note...

Sometimes--things just add up and wallop you one right after another.

Trouble with cash flow? Check.

Trouble with my job? Check.

Trouble finding a new job? Check.

Trouble with life in general? Check. Check. And CHECK.

Boy oh boy. What a rough last eight weeks it's been. Silly me, wandering along, thinking for once--just once--things were, to quote Bing Crosby, "Going my Way!". Job prospects, my house was somewhat in order, and a good thing that people gave me nothing but shit for--but in a good natured way.

Well..fast forward. Grrrrr. Not. Bloody. Likely.

I really do try to be a glass half full person. But, being a realist at heart, sometimes this just doesn't work. So you step back and take a look at the clusterfuck that is your life...and you see that....

The problem?

The problem is me.

ME.

Yup. And I'm going to try really hard to fix it. Right now, I'm falling back into some old, scary habits that I really need to get reined in before it gets to be too much. But, I have this need to feel in control of something in my life...

So. For the first time in many (many) years--I know I can't do this myself. I can't fix me alone. And I certainly can't ask my friends to put up with more than they already have. I sat down today and looked into seeing a professional. I sent out some inquiries so we will see how it goes.

Hopefully not like the last time--I paid a stupid amount of money to be told there was nothing wrong with me, that it was the people around me with issues, got a pat on the head and a bill on my way out.

Hmm. While I like to think that part of the above is true--it's probably not 100%.

So--I wonder if Dr. Katz is available?

                                                     

(Sadly--I'm dating myself here, aren't I?)

So. Back to the normal, silly, non-sensical angry girl stuff soon...I promise! But I felt the need to get something this big off my chest.

Guess that's a start in the right direction, huh?

Baby Games....

Okay.

A few months back, I agreed (with no hesitation, mind you) to assist with my dear, dear cousin's baby shower coming up this Saturday.

I pulled game duty. I usually like making snacks or something--but considering there may be 75 people or so there--I think games are just fine by me.

So...my first idea was a baby obsticle course. How fast can you change a diaper? Put clothes on them? Get a kid in a car seat? Get them out of the car seat? I thought it would be fantastic to see people running around like fools. But..apparently, the elderly and the overweight don't like to run.

Or, more likely, the place we are having the baby shower doesn't want any law suits brought against them for when 80 year old ladies bite it on the church carpet.

Oh well. C'est la vie. If I am ever lucky enough (no--this is not said sarcastically) reproduce? This is the kind of farce I want at my baby shower. Please--and I know there are some of you out there who love me enough to do this--make it so.

So. I went with the much safer Baby Food game (pick twelve kinds of baby food--make sure pairs of them look alike. Make people guess which is which). The hardest part of the baby food game? You try finding 12 kinds of baby food that look alike. That don't have meat in them (BARF). Guess who will be having vegetarian offspring...until they can chew their own damn meat, anyway.

So. Right now I have eight jars. I think I'm going to have to broaden my search and go to a few more stores. Maybe tonight if I buy baby food with my cat food--people won't give me that shameful "Oh..you're a single girl. With cats." stare.

My second game is going to be sort of a Baby themed Price is Right. Fun, right? A friend of mine likes this game because it reinforces just how expensive babies are "And if you are freaked out by how much one basket of crap costs? You shouldn't be having any kids!" (And yes-I'm a firm believer if you can't feed yourself--you have NO DAMN BUSINESS reproducing. It's called an IUD. Go get one. I think the state should even pay for it if you already popped one out that you can't afford...Seriously--that's really how I would like my tax dollars to work. Not. Kidding.)

So. I'm explaing the above fun time to my mom. Dear. Mother. Sigh. Please enjoy the following e-mail exchange:

Me: I think one of my games is going to be "Baby Price is Right!" So, if you want to go in on the gift basket idea, I will pick up stuff for the game--and it can be part of our presents. Sound good? That way, you don't have to worry about getting anything else. Sound good??

Mom: I have never heard of the guess the price game. How does it work? (Really?? Mom...really?)

Me: You have items---and people have to guess how much they cost. The person who ends up with the total closes to what the items actually cost, wins the prize.

Carmen likes this game because it shows how expensive babies are. So if you can't afford them--you shouldn't have them : )

Mom:  So do you put Baby items in the basket? 

Me: No..I thought I would find some crack. Maybe a hooker? Or do you think a hooker is too much? Hmm. Maybe a blow up doll, instead.  And do you think condoms would be in bad taste?

Mom: WHAT?!?!

Me: Hey--crazy lady. Of course you put baby things in a basket. Geesh.

And you guys wonder why I'm nuts.

Cat Scratch Fever!!

Oh...fuzzy butts. Is there anything better than after a long hard day coming home to be adored and fawned over by your pet?

If you answered yes to the above--clearly you have a dog.

Me? That's not how I roll. I like to be ignored...until I prove to be useful. You know--when it's time to eat. This is why I have cats.

I guess I should be grateful the boys don't have thumbs in the traditional sense. It would be like living with two tiny, yet incredibly piggy, men.

I complain about them, but they are, actually, pretty nice to have around.

Until they aren't. (I hear this is how most people feel about their spouses, so it must be perfectly normal when you cohabitate with someone to have this "I adore you...please die" dichotomy.)

Right now, sweet, sweet Bernie Williams is covered in nastiness. He's got flea scabs. (OHMYGODYESITISASGROSSASITSOUNDS!!!) I've already taken him to the vet once for this..and it was $170.00.

Let that sink in.

Let me also state--I do not have fleas in my house. Yogi does not have fleas. Bernie doesn't have fleas. It's one random bite that a little booger gets in before their Advantage can kill the bastard off.

One. Bite.

And my cat is covered in scabs. *Shudder* Which is why he's kind of gross to be around right now. And of course, he's the snuggler. If I'm on the couch, he wants to be on my lap. If I'm in bed, he wants to poke his paw in my face every now and again and then curl back up at my feet. (I'm pretty sure they both do this off and on through out the night just to make sure I'm alive. Not because they care about me, don't be fooled, but because they are counting on breakfast.)

So. Since this girl certainly does NOT have another at least 100 bucks to blow, she decided to go homeopathic.

A bath seemed like a great idea.

An oatmeal bath. You know, the kind you give kids when they have chicken pox? Or people with poison ivy? Yeah..it sounded like a great idea.

Until Bernie morphed into the Prince of Darkness himself and tried to rip my face off.

So, after several attempts (and a kitchen covered in cat fur and oatmeal bath), I gave up. I admitted defeat.

I got my ass handed to me by a twelve pound ball of fur.

If that doesn't make you feel like an asshat, I don't know what will.

Happy note?? Oh--you have to check out http://www.girlonguy.net/!! I LOVE Aisha Tyler. Now maybe you will too. I feel like I am her shorter, less pigmented twin. Check out her podcasts and you will learn little nuggets like YES!! They are working on Archer Season 3!!

It kind of makes up for last night.

Sort of.

Taking my life in YOUR hands? Yikes!

So..

Everyday I commute. Everyday, for almost five years I have driven approximately 90 miles a day Mon-Fri. This is not only financially draining, but it also has caused me to pass harsh judgments on people because of the 1) types of cars they drive and 2) the types of plates they put on their cars.

I hate being this way--but stereotypes exist for a reason. Because there is more than a bit of truth involved. I ride in a half ton, partially steel, potential death trap hurtling 70 mph down the interstate. Trust me, I want to be aware of my surroundings. And what potentially may fly off of your POS with the hazard blinkers on.

So---I have to start with:

People who drive Hummers--yeah. They ARE assholes. Go figure! And they usually have personalized plates. In Indiana, where this costs a premium, having personalized plates pretty much also guarantees that you are, in fact, an asshole. Especially when they only make sense to the person driving the car. They are like weird word games, these stupid plates. And I suck at word games. Probably why I loathe these so much.

And why are people still driving Hummers, anyway? You might as well use your cash money for fuel. No--really. Just put a big pile of it in your fireplace...and burn it. Much more cost effective. And I hear money gives off such a nice homey glow when in burns. Hmm...pretty.

(please note: you can replace Hummer with any of the following make of vehicle: Porshe, Maserati, Ferrari, vintage Mustang, Giant Dodge Diesel trucks with Hemis, and oddly enough, Infinity)

I also am weary of anyone who has parts of their car taped on (yes--you read that right. Taped. On.) who insist on getting on the interstate. I'm sorry, if you are that poor, should you really be driving? I'm sure you have friends you could ride with.

Oh wait. Parts of your car are taped on. I bet I am so very wrong about you having friends....sorry!

And if you have a pick up--please, please, please--check in the back every once and while. While I really do enjoy the occasional shit bath my car gets from your garbage flying out of the back of your truck, I really could live with out it. It's just too special of a treat for you to share with a perfect stranger. No. Really. You should hold onto that for yourself.

My next peeve...those ridiculous "Kids First" plates. Give these (mostly ladies) wide berth on the road. You see, they are far too busy talking on their cell phones, facebooking, or just otherwise ignoring the children in the back of the car who are drooling like zombies to some Disney film they've seen for the ten thousandth time. (Why have kids if you don't talk to them? Or engage them one on one? I understand sometimes these innovations come in handy--but you know what? I actually remember my parents talking to me in the car when I was a kid. And road trips--we *gasp* played games! Or I read a book--which is way better for the development of your kid's brain, anyway. Yes! Even picture books are BETTER THAN TV. And if they whine? Well...last time I checked, smacking your kid wasn't illegal. Yet. Enjoy it while it lasts.)

Oh! And those kids aren't the only people these classy ladies are ignoring. These soul-less mombots also are ignoring YOU. They don't care if you have the right away--they have to confirm their manicure, their pilates class, summer sleep away camp for the monsters in the back....something is more important that actually driving. I sometimes imagine they think they've been teleported, crossover and all, to their final destination. I've actually had to lay on my horn  (Which I now cannot do---because the fuse has been removed to save me from my neighbors murdering me at 3 am when the damn alarm goes off...again. And again. And again.) when I was almost backed into--but I was the one who had to throw it in reverse and pray there was no one behind me to keep from getting hit. She didn't look. I was right in my disgust (and right of way). She flipped me the bird and screamed the C word out of her window. And yes--her cherubs were right there in the backseat.

Next: In God We Trust plates.

You. You people. Let me tell you something...so listen up.

You believe in God? Yeah for you! Guess what?

He's not in the car with you. What does this mean? It means you should maybe use your turn signal, look before you merge, pay attention to what lane you are actually driving in, wear your seat belt, make sure your kids are in car seats, know that RED means STOP, not speed up, and learn how in the hell a four way stop works before I start packing heat under my front seat to nudge you along. You see, I'm a lot of things, but omniscient isn't one of them. Ha--probably because I'm not God. And you are so lucky that I am not. These people, hands down, are the WORST drivers on the road. I've said it before--and I'm saying it again. And I will keep saying it until I am as blue as the license plate on the back of their cars. Be aware of these people! It's like common sense gets sucked right out of their heads when they get behind the wheel of the car. And the number of them that I see flipping the bird, running people off roads, and just causing accidents in general? I'm thinking someone might want to require proof of belief before they are allowed to take the plates. They're giving you guys a bad name--for real.

And don't even get me started on some of the others...let me put it this way: want to spread a message?

Get a bumper sticker!

My favorite:



Now that's a message I can get behind!

Road Trippin' It!

So, today, I leave to drive to see my buddy Brit in Iowa.

Sadly, the only thing that keeps popping into my head is "Our State Fair is a GREAT State Fair...." (You know, from the movie State Fair? This movie? With Dana Andrews? Hey--don't make fun of me. This is actually a really good movie.
                                                 

No really! And you can buy a copy and see for yourself. Or, just go talk to someone over the age of 60. They'll set you straight about how under used Dana Andrews was....watch The Best Years of Our Lives. If you get through that and don't tear up? You have no soul. Nope. Nada. None.

But State Fair? There are worse ways to spend a crummy weekend afternoon, for sure.

I actually started out with a song from South Pacific, but it talks about Kansas--which is so not Iowa--so I had to switch gears. (But I do love SP! So much, in fact, I'm making sure I take my CD with me for my drive. I do love Mitzi Gaynor....)

So, I'm soon to be on the road..wish me luck!!

Maybe this time, I will get my traveling tales posted in a more timely manner!