GIMMMEEEEE PRESENTS!

I love Christmas. This is the first year in a decade where I have been able to buy gifts for my family--it was SO fun! I did all my shopping on Saturday, having just been pounded with six inches of snow. I left the car at home and walked to all the shops in my neighborhood, and I gotta tell ya, that was definitely the way to go. The commercial district is accident prone on a normal day, and this kind of weather just brings out the worst in people behind the wheel. Winter storm drivers consist of three types: the overly cautious who cause backups and piss people off, the SUV drivers who want to prove to everyone that their vehicle can handle the snow so they drive more recklessly than usual, and then the rest of us defensive drivers with our eyes wide open trying to avoid accidents!

I enjoyed walking around bundled up like a dork with my messenger bag slung on my back, a chai latte in my right hand and a huge roll of wrapping paper in my left tromping through the snow and slipping in the icy road. I like winter when it's not chap-your-ass-cold, a little brisk air is nice.

When I got home I started wrapping--what a mess. My packages always look like they were wrapped by a blindfolded six year old. Well, maybe not that bad, but I sure wish I knew how to do it right. I guess it all ends up in the trash bin at the end of the day anyway. I'm hoping my gifts aren't as lame as my wrap jobs--I wouldn't want those to end up in the trash at the end of the day too!

I'm at work right now, and I am SO bored. Nobody's calling because they're all out Christmas-ing, I don't even know why we're open after the market closes at noon. All the calls we're getting are from the poor saps stuck in the office transfering money between accounts because their clients don't know how to get on the damn computer and do it themselves. When will they learn you gotta teach a man to fish? But then I suppose we'd be out of a job.

Speaking of poor saps stuck at work, I hope the grocery store is open by the time I get home, I still gotta cook something for tomorrow. Damn, I'm boring. I'm boring myself!

Stop! Theif!

I can't make Hubby quit stealing my laundry quarters! AAAARRRGGGG! Every payday for the last three months I've been the one getting rolls of quarters to wash, I'll buy tow, three, FOUR rolls at at time and tell him, "THESE are yours, these are MINE. You have enough, so leave mine alone." But every damn time he runs out, he uses mine!

And he only runs out because he won't put his clothes away and they sit in a basket and after three days he doesn't remember which basket is clean or dirty and starts throwing everything together. About 50% of each load he washes is shit that is already clean. What a waste!

So this week I got wise... or so I thought... he was out of quarters, I had half a roll left. I put them on the buffet away from everything, and I said, "Babe!" I said, "Look here, these are mine, I need them don't take them," and he said, "Oh, ok, those are yours, fine I won't use em."

Then the next day I put together a load and... WTF... "WHERE ARE MY QUARTERS THAT I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH!" "They're here... here..." as he's scrounging all over the house for quarters left from his many coin deposits that he ferrets around the place. Great, got 'em back, washed a load, had some to spare, and told him just HOW much it bothers me when MY stuff goes missing that he has no business taking.

Last night I left work and thought as I was walking, mmmm, I should go to the bank for quarters... No, wait! I have a couple loads-worth left at home. Got home, NO LAUNDRY MONEY. HE STRUCK AGAIN!!!!!!!!! He took the same goddamn quarters a second time, AFTER I told him that it really pisses me off! WTF IS WRONG WITH THE MAN'S HEAD! I'm sitting at work wearing dirty pants, and poorly-fitting undies that are trying to migrate across my left butt cheek into my crevice. Thus, I am DISPLEASED to say the least!

We had a text fight about it while I rode to work and he was trying to make it out like I was just crabby and shouldn't take it out on him-- bull shit! I am crabby because I don't have anything I wanted to wear clean! AND MY PANTIES ARE INVADING MY PRIVACY!

I am going to HIDE my next roll of quarters, let his funky ass wear dirty clothes to work! Compulsive laundry money stealer!!!!!!

Listening In

When I was 20, my boyfriend's band mate Crane had this paid-under-the-table freelance psuedo-social work gig. Some wealthy couple had a son with a low IQ, Autism and Asbergers, and they wanted him to be properly socialized. His self esteem was suffering and was starting to get into trouble.

Crane was paid to cart this kid Sam around with him in his Geo a couple days a week during his normal off-work activities. He came to band practice, out to eat, to the bank, the grocery store, wherever. Why these richie parents charged a dread-head guitar playing opium smoker with the safekeeping of their only child I'll never know, but it sure says a lot about our public school system's programs.

Anyway, a few years later I started seeing him around, riding my same busses. He was socialized alright--just like Crane, he hit on everything that moved and prattled on forever about nothing and everything. I decided to avoid eye contact whenever I noticed him coming my way. Well lately, he's been on the bus I take to work (still avoiding eye contact by the way). I just so happened to forget my earphones, and Sam just happened to squeeze into the seat between me and someone else, and also happened to be chattering away with some middle-aged office-type lady.

But it wasn't so bad eavesdropping and finding out a little bit of what he's been doing all this time. He graduated from high school and went to tech school, but the cooking program proved to be too much. He's got a job, he's got a girlfriend, and the girlfriend's got a job. His parents retired early and sail around the world. They take him on vacation sometimes. He said that he's starting to get more sensitive as he gets older and cries at movies now, and he's reading a book called "Heart Song" that makes him cry too.

I hadn't ever wondered about it on my own, but it's nice to know things are working out for him.

Pet Peeves

I generally don't like to have too many peeves as pets, but this time of year they seem to be running rampant.

For instance, I live in Minnesota...where it's freezing cold...and it snows. Every other citizen drives a 4wd SUV. Yet when the snow starts coming down, everyone freaks out. Like yesterday, it snowed maybe three to four inches and all of downtown was brought to a screeching halt. When I got to my bus stop there were like 250 people piled up on the sidewalk and huddled in building entryways, and not one single bus came for 45 minutes (normally there is one every single minute during rush hour), and traffic was almost stopped. Then, slowly, a few busses started coming down the road, but they were so packed full they couldn't fit anymore people and just drove on past. And MY BUS?? It was TWO HOURS late. Are you KIDDING me??!!!

Jesus H Cripes. I get it that weather causes delays, but two hours? Come on, that's just poor city planning. Is it too much to ask for bus only lanes that will just shoot straight through the DT zone? Yes, of course it is because that would interfere with ability of selfish single car drivers to get through town in first gear polluting the shit out of the environment. Assholes! I am still overcome with the urge to go on a sub-zero car-egging spree. The lesson won't be apparent, but I will smile inside as I see them driving around with frozen egg that'll be there till fucking spring.

My other pet peeves are mass-commuter related. It's about consideration, y'all!
Weird lady in pink stirrup panst: If you are crammed up against someone, resist the urge to squirm and fidget--that's just nasty! I don't want to know if you have panty-crickets and a rash, SIT STILL.

Mr. Busdriver: I realize your job is low-status and frustrating, but you've got a cake route driving us downtown commuters. No drunks, no bums, no armed teenage riff-raff. So how about being nice to riders? I know you think you ARE being nice, but your condescension is thinly veiled. Yes, probably every rider on this bitch makes a better living than you, but you don't have to be an ass and tell everyone "Good job! Good Job!" as they swipe their cards across the touch-and-go.

Tall fat creepy guy who looks like a kiddie-porn fiend: For the love of God buy some clothes that fit across your protruding belly. Everyone can see that furry shit hanging out from under your jacket whose zipper is straining FAR beyond what it was designed to handle. I'm surprised you haven't gottent frostbit there yet.

Mr. Busy-guy: Keep it down over there! The less I know about your personal life the happier I am. This bus ride only lasts 15 minutes, ya think that call could WAIT? Not one of our lives has been made better knowing what your new girlfriend and her pals wants to do for her birthday.

Mouse-y blond chick: Are you aware that you have not altered your wardrobe in about FIFTEEN years? Which is probably about how long ago you graduated high school... Even I--queen of underdressing for work--know that you cannot wear cotton MC Hammer pants to work. ESPECIALLY if you're going to TUCK THE HEMS INTO YOUR WHITE SPORT SOCKS. With sneakers. Topped with a black suede jacket five sizes too big with football player shoulder pads and a tapered hem. The dinky leather backpack purse is a nice venture forward, but unfortunately it will only get you so far, 1997 to be exact. That Cost Cutters bob haircut is ALMOST art-house chic, with no layers and severe bangs... Mmmm, no.

Middle-class white lady: Get your goddamn tote bag OUT of my face, it smells like mildew.

THIS IS WHY PEOPLE KEEP DRIVING TO WORK DOWNTOWN AND MAKING MY BUS TWO HOURS LATE!

Stop The Presses!

Hubby and I actually worked on our apartment this weekend! No way? Way! I think we're about half way to completion, which is very exciting, and I'm not feeling quite so overwhelmed. I think we could have gotten further if we hadn't gotten sidetracked putting up the Christmas tree--I've never had my own tree before so I was super excited. Hubby got it last year on super clearance for like $7, I shit you not. Marked down from $60. It has lights already strung in it and looks pretty nice. We dug out the box of miscellaneous Xmas junk to see what I'd been stashing away for the last ten years and hung it on the tree. Then we ran out to Walgreens for some glass baubles and a couple cute ornaments--a snowman with dangly legs and santa on a Hog. Then I raided my craft box for some ribbon and glittery poinsettias. Now I have a ton of glitter in my hair that I can't get out. Yay for Crimiss!!

Annui

I woke up this morning from dreaming about gnarly vampires, and being screwed "in the back of a Volkswagen" (per the cult flick Mall Rats). Wearing black and white Chuck Taylors no less. Literally interpreted, someone or something is draining my energy and I'm taking it in the ass. I don't know what the Chucks had to do with any of it. But they were spanking new, so there's gotta be some up-side here...

I'm depressed and all I want to do is shop. I buy things that would give me something to do at home so I won't go out and shop--like a strip of moulding for the bathroom along with a saw, miter tool, and adhesive--but I can't seem to finish anything I start so I just keep shopping. Just to give you an idea, we've been living in this apartment since August, and I still have almost nothing on the walls, the bookshelves are empty, and the place is about half furnished.

So I guess I'm depressed. So I went to a nearby bakery for some breakfast (at one in the afternoon), and wouldn't you know it, I ran into a couple I used to be friends with. I was genuinely friendly because I like them, but I was getting a really heavy fuck-off-and-die-bitch vibe from the female half so I excused myself.... Real nice. Just what I needed, a little evil-eyed rejection to start my day.

It's amazing how long people can hold a grudge. This is something I'm not so good at.

*Sigh* I think I'm going to drive to the mall and buy something.

Hallucinating Geriatric

Gram's able to talk again, but this good news is tempered by the fact that she's talking nonstop about stuff that has never happened. She keeps telling stories about what she did during the day, like that she went to Walgreens with her sister and there was a bar in there so they sat down. Some of the things she's saying are so funny I can't help but laugh even though I know this is not funny at all.

For instance, according to Gram, while she and her sister were at the bar in Walgreens, a guy came and sat down next to her. He made her SO mad, and she just let him have it. She blew up at him because he was laughing at her. He had slipped her a $20 bill, so she said, "I'm not a WHORE." Holy foul language Gram! My mom and I looked agape at each other and laughed in spite of ourselves.

It's been a long two and a half weeks, and I'm sure there's plenty more drama coming down the pike. Like I told my mom, at least we'll hear some funny stories along the way.

As of Sunday, post-surgery recovery wasn't going so well for Gram. She was miserable and convinced she's going to die there in the hospital so she wouldn't comply with any of their efforts. She was refusing to get up out of the bed, refusing to eat, and refusing visitors. I don't get it, why does she think she's going to die NOW after having eliminated her risk of dying by removing her aneurism?? Jesus Grama, get you bony ass out of bed, eat your food, do what they say and you can go home.

I read a book last year where the main character's grandma decided when husband died that she had nothing to live for and stopped getting out of bed, fully expecting to die. But all that happened was she layed around for twenty-some years being depressed and bored. I don't want to see my grandma depressed and bored, but she's stubborn, and she's convinced that all this effort is for nothing. Argh. She told me she doesn't feel like she's got any dignity anymore, and nothing is working right.

Then things got so much worse. It seems that Gram knew something we didn't. On Monday afternoon she had a stroke. A bad one. When all the scans finally came back and were analyzed, we were told it was probably a clot that caused it, and that it damaged her frontal lobe, something at the back of the brain, and something at the top, too. If that weren't bad enough, she started becoming really agitated and having seizures so they knocked her out with Ativan. This is just awful. My whole family is a wreck.

What's weird is that Monday morning my mom was down at the hospital visiting and Gram was really happy, euphoric actually. So my mom was really encouraged, but then right after she left, my Gram had her stroke. Later mom remembers that Gram was also kind of confused, she thought it was nine at night instead of nine in the morning, although they keep those ICU rooms so dark and gloomy and no one can maintain any set sleep schedule in a hospital, so I'd get confused too. She also told mom she thought she might be hallucinating--she thought she was peeling layers of paper with her hands, but when she looked down she was just playing with her blanket. Mom though it was a little weird, but not serious.

Yesterday was a really scary day, and I hope she starts to get better. She has at least stopped having seizures, and is finally waking up, but doesn't seem to know anyone. The doctors have no prognosis, no course of action, they're just waiting for the swelling in her brain to go down before they can evaluate anything at all. So now we have to do some more waiting.

Gettin' Better!

Gram's on the mend. They gave her an oil change, cleaned her carbourator, and replaced a fuel line, and she's almost ready to get back on the road.

Actually, it's amazing how quick she bounced back. She went into the hospital 87 pounds with a blood oxygen level of 60 (most people are no longer alive at that point), collapsed lung, congestive heart failure, and they quickly discovered an aeortic aneurism down near her groin along with a growth in her lung. She was so sick at first that they couldn't fix any of the things that were wrong because of all the other things that were wrong!

My poor mom was absolutely terrified that Gram wouldn't leave the hospital alive, her condition was so poor. Everyone was scared. Last Thursday there were a bunch of people in the room hovering and talking to Gram in a baby voice, like, "Do you want some waaaterr??" Aw jeez. This kinda pissed me off because I knew Gram was tougher than that. And they had her drugged to high heaven on something that was supposed to be mild, but instead she was konked out completely, twitching, moaning and blowing spit bubbles. That's fuckin' disturbing and I never want to see that again.

I got to spend some time alone with her when she was finally coming out of it so I was teasing her about what to watch on TV. She noticed they put in a new TV and I told her she finally got some cable and asked what she like to watch. "Oh, I like to watch TNT, USA, and Spike" (she's a total crime drama junkie). I said, "Hey Gram! You think they have the dirty movie channel on here?" To which she predictably replied, "Ohhhh, sheez," and tossed her hand at me. I know she hates Dr. Who, so I told her it was on and she said, "Oh ish!" I turned it to TNT for her and Forrest Gump was on, but she said, "I have seen that movie about FIFTY times." Then i gave up and just turned on the History channel. Then I made sure she ate dinner before my cousin and I left.

By the next day she was so much better everyone was amazed. They'd been pumping her full of saline, dextrose, and antibiotics, and she got well enough that the docs could perform some more tests. They extracted liquid from her lung and tested it. There were no free floating cancer cells, signifying that if it is cancer, it's not fast spreading. Then she got well enough to have her aneurism removed. I was really scared about her being under general anesthesia so long, but Gram was way more scared than I was, of course. She asked my mom to take care of some insurance paperwork, and took confession for the first time in nearly 30 years. But she's super tough and made it through fine.

She might even be able to go home really soon, which is all she can think about right now. She just wants to go back to her senior high rise and take care of her mom. That's right. Great Grama is 98 and still tickin'. When the occupational therapist came in one day I was there, Gram was talking to her mom, and said, "Ma, I gotta go, there's someone here now... ok... i'll call you in a little bit." The OT had this quizzical look about her, like my Grammy was maybe off her nut. "I don't mean to be nosy, but who were you talking to?" "Oh I was talking to my mother," and I piped in with , "Yep, Great Grama is 98!" because the OT was kind of looking like are-you-SURE-about-that?

My family doesn't have much in the way of luck or opportunities, but we sure do have some longevity! We just sometimes have to "rock on completely with some brand new components."

QUIT NOW!!!

I have had a cruddy day. First thing this morning I got a bad news call from mom saying that grandma is in the hospital and she's got everything under the sun wrong with her. She's been smoking a pack a day her whole life and she hates the doctor, so of course she's in bad shape: growths on her lungs, one of which has partially collapsed, congestive heart failure, an aneurism in an artery somewhere, she's malnourished and 86 pounds, low blood pressure, and she's on a nebulizer. Obviously my day was no where near as bad as Gram's, but I'm worried about her and my mom since she's the only person taking responsibility for Gram's care.

Right after I found out I started yelling at Hubby because he smokes a LOT. I was just really pissed off that this can repeat itself again and again in my life: my hubby, my mom, my sister, my brother. They're all standing in line to get buried with black whithered lungs and yellow fingernails. It's foolish to take it personally, but I still can't help but be mad at hubby because he's going to leave me all alone for the last 20 years of my life and buried in medical bills. It's just not fucking fair.

My weekend sucked so bad I am actually relieved to be at work this morning. WTF! Seriously.

Hubby and I spent the whole weekend dealing with Apple technology horror. We each got an iPhone last week, so we decided to get wi-fi for the apartment so that we could do all our updates and sync the phones and have a good internet connection. Thus began major fiasco #1....

We called Comcast Saturday morning and they said we could save a hundred bucks and have internet the same day if we picked up the kit and installed it ourselves. We drove out to the nearest cable office and...oh. my. god... I had a major flashback of waiting all day in the county welfare office with my mom as a kid. Just a waiting room filled to capacity with the dregs of humanity, with listless, sallow-faced, semi-human punching bags staffing the counter. I'm just glad it didn't SMELL like the welfare office, I think I would have just aborted the mission.

We got our stuff home and Hubby started setting up and encountered a problem, nothing would work. So Hubby called Comcast again, and the phone rep said we were missing most of our kit. Real nice. And by now the local office was closed so we had to drive 20 miles to some god-foresaken sprawling neo-suburb to get to an office that was still open at four on Saturday. Luckily, though, we were the only clients there so we were in and out in five minutes--even with the rep checking all the equipment for us. So home again home again jiggedy-jog to finish setting up the wi-fi.

Thus began major fiasco #2....

Hubby was on the phone with his brother in Portland, OR for nearly two hours trying to get the cable to connect with the laptop and trying to update software. LOOOOONNNGG (tedious/boring) story short, Hubby got the computer to connect with internet, but couldn't set up security for some reason. Then, since we hadn't updated any software in like a year, when he tried to install the most recent update, the hard drive wigged out completely and all we could get was some black administrator login screen. We were pretty sure we killed the fuckin' thing. And I was ready to kill Hubby for taking his frustration out on me all day long, so we just called it quits and went to bed.

New day, new fiasco....

After FIVE HOURS in the apple store, we went home with a mended computer, a stern warning that the machine will likely fail entirely soon, and an external hard drive to back up all our stuff. We nearly went home with a new computer and $1500 more in debt to his parents. I wish I could tell you this is the end of the story, but of course it's not. We were up entirely too late Sunday night backing up the total contents of the laptop--estimated at 49 minutes but actually ran for over three hours. Once that was finished, we updated iTunes and the operating system.

We perched our selves in front of the laptop and eagerly plugged our shiny new iPhones into the iBook...and...NADA. Fuck this!! I stayed up till midnight on Sunday for nothing!! I gave up and went to bed. Alone. Hubby was like a dog with a bone, he wasn't ready to give it up. That foolish man stayed up past TWO in the morning futzing and reinstalling until he got the two gadgets to work together. Jeez. But it was kind of fun to get up in the morning and put music into my phone for the bus ride to work.

Unfortunately, that was the best part of my day yesterday. Right after breakfast, I realized that more of my broken tooth had broken off and I was feeling a slight ache. Shit! My fifteen minute break turned into twenty-five trying to find the number for the dentist and calling in to make an appointment. The must have been some sort of planetary alignment occurring because they were able to get me in same day AND I was able to get out of work AND my buses connected on the way home. But then the planets continued along their path because when I stopped at the drugstore for ibuprofen on the way to the dentist, I noticed that both rear tires were nearly flat! I knew I was cutting it close, but I stopped to put some air in. I put in as little as I could get away with and hopped in the car. At this point I was making good time, but once I got back on the road, I was so nervous that I went the wrong direction and ended up struggling to find my way out of the airport passenger drop-off! I called to let them know what happened so they didn't think I wasn't going to show up, and in the end I was ten minutes late.

They were SO nice there! I'm totally going back even though I am completely dentaphobic (is that even a real term??). I have had such bad experiences with dentists my whole life, so this was a real treat--aside from the blinding pain of the drill before I was fully numbed up, but when I yelped, he stopped and gave me more Novocaine and waited another ten minutes. WoW! I have had dentists in the past who have told me, "I gave you enough Novocaine, you shouldn't be able to feel that," accusing me of LYING about being in pain. This guy was smart enough to figure out that I've got really sensitive teeth, and if I can still feel the cold air from the hose I wasn't numb enough. So he kept testing with that instead of the drill.

I layed around for the rest of the day waiting to get the feeling back in my face. The shot of Novocaine to the back of my jaw made my whole tongue numb and I kept sticking it out to make sure I didn't swallow it. The told me not to eat till the feeling came back so I wouldn't bite it, but I had some applesauce anyway to get the terrible taste out of my mouth. I finally got my face back at like 7:00.

Please God let the rest of the week be easy.

I never get sick of Fridays!

I love having weekends off, I'm still getting used to it from so many years of getting the shaft at poopy retail jobs. I can't wait until Christmas and New Year's--because I will have BOTH of those days off. PAID. Man, I just don't know how people can survive their whole life in retail. Sixteen years was enough for me.

So happy Friday to all you cube-farming motherfuckers out there! Here's to sleeping in on Saturdays and watching TV all day Sunday!

Heeyyyyy!

I thing I'm falling in love with Google. They have a site for creating documents! The office programs on our iBook have been kaputski for like a year and a half ever since I loaded some Apple fonts into it (I told you I am super LOW-tech, and I ain't kiddin'), so I was pleased as punch to see that I can formulate docs online and save them. AND I can publish them directly to my blog. Sweeeet!

It's Hubby's BIRTHDAY!

His papa helped him get an iPhone. And THEN then he helped Hubby get one for me!

Holy crap, I got an iPhone! I am so LOW-tech, it's totally weird to own this gadget. Last night I stayed up too late playing with the settings and watching YouTube and other nonsense.

road bloggin

Hubby got an iPhone so since he is driving I decided to try my hand at blogging at 65mph in the carpool lane. This is frickin cool!

My Neighbor Across the Cube Wall

He is SO NASTY! He just coughs all day long straight into the phone--into peoples' ears! Ugh! Can I move to another cube?

I Got a Man

And he's rediculous. 

Every time I get engrossed in something, a movie or tv show or anything, he starts up this pain in the ass routine. 

First he'll test my interest level to see if I'll give in and let him change the channel to something he wants to watch. If this fails he'll start sulking around the apartment, go outside, come back in, go outside again. Then he sarts in with the whining, "I'm BORED..." "Well then watch this with me." Maybe he'll sit down, but he'll flip open his phone and get on the internet, and despite the fact I've already said nine times "I'M WATCHING THIS," he'll go, "Hey babe, check this out, if we switch to this phone company we can get two phones and yak yak yak..." Or, "Babe, listen to this: some political fund-raiser jumped bail meow meow..." OMG SHUT IT! I'm watching something!

So then I get "Fine," and he goes back outside. But only for two minutes. "Babe, turn on the weather channel, there's lighning." "Big deal, it's going to rain, I don't WANT to watch the weather channel, I'm watching this movie." "C'mon! I wanna see what the weather's doing!" "If you want to know what the weather's doing, then go stand in the fuckin' yard." Out he goes again. Five minutes later, here is, standing dripping wet in the middle of the living room with his arms held out to each side, "Babe, look I'm soaked. Last time I went outside I called the rain god a pussy, and now lookit, I'm all wet! Come on, get up and come outside with me, it's pouring..."

Seriously. I got to watch about 50% of my movie. He's lucky I've seen it already.

My man is not just rediculous when I'm trying to pay attention to something other than him, he's like this full time. EVERY DAY he asks me where his keys are, where his hat is, where his wallet went, have I seen his cigarrettes. Christ, he handles these items a hundred and fifty times each day, and he can't even manage to put them all together in the same place, much less find ONE place to drop all these things. Then again, this is a man who will stand IN FRONT OF A CLOCK and ask me WHAT TIME IT IS!

He'll also ask me questions and not listen to my answer. He asks me the same questions over and over, and he gets mad when I refuse to answer for the third, fourth, or fifth time. I tell him to rewind the tape in his brain, the answer's in there already, just look.

Did I mention he is ADD? OMG, if you only knew... He is and endless source of entertainment to be sure!

OCD About My Feet

From the time I was two, I have been extremely particular about what shoes I will or will not wear. If they were uncomfortable in any way, they came right off! If my shoes were tied and I felt different tightness between the two, or if they were too tight or too loose, I would have a fit until it was fixed. I demanded to be shown how to tie them, and when I couldn't figure it out, I would just tie 800 square knots. My mom would get SO pissed at me for wrecking shoelaces! I was never so relieved when I finally mastered tying the bow. Then I would double and triple tie them to ensure that they wouldn't loosen up throughout the day.

I never grew out of it. I am still a complete spaz. I will tie my shoes, walk two steps, adjust, repeat for as long as it takes to make it right. I hate shoe shopping for this reason, so I usually wear slip-ons so I don't have to embarrass myself in every shoe store in the mall.

I threw out my favorite pair of flip-flops because they're so ugly and not very good support (but better than some because they were from the men's department and had a nice molded footbed). For years I've always worn Birkenstocks, but ever since last summer i realized that if I want to be more outdoors-ey I need something I can wear in the water. Begin sandal odessey...

This is really boring, so feel free to skim.

I bought some expensive-ass Merrills on my honeymoon, but after wearing them for several days I noticed that the little ridge that's supposed to sit just behind the toes was actually under the ball of my foot. Ugh. I was out like 65 bucks. Then I searched and searched and finally settled for some Columbias on clearance for 15 and they got me through the rest of the summer. This year I continued the search and bought some Chacos. Great footbed, but when my feet sweat, I slide right out the front of the sandal, unless the straps are REALLY tight so I just took them back after giving them a good wash. Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same thing--I was not about to be out 90 dollars. A few weeks later I tried again, this time with Teva. They felt okaaayyy, but if my feet got sweaty, I slide around in them and can't get a grip. Conversely, when my feet are dry, the little tentacle pattern of the foot bed suctions my foot to the shoe which is super uncomfortable. Grrr, another fuckin 80 dollars I'll never get back. I tried SO hard to love them, I really did, but dammit, I just don't! Back to the drawing board. Meanwhile, all summer I've been wearing those 15 dollar sandals and they're still real comfy--that is, once they stopped wearing the skin off my toe knuckles. Despite this, I decided to try again with a new pair of them in black.. So far I still really like them, I just have to put up with the worn off skin...

But now fall is coming soon and I will be out searching for some nice loafers for work which will be several more hours shopping and returning. It really pisses me off sometimes. I get so aggravated when I see women at work walking around in their four-inch heels like it's nothing. Or if my friends show me their cute new shoes--that I will never be able to wear... Why couldn't I have been born a man? Seems to me like that would solve it.

Falling Down USA

I've got some kind of fuckin' blogger-buildup. I miss writing. Ever since I passed through phase two of my training, I'm on some new phone queues that keep my phone ringing off the hook till market close, then I'm trying to catch up on stupid quizzes, following up on special cases, and emailing.

And lately between calls I've been reading a lot of news articles about the 35W brigde collapse. The news is saturated with articles about the survivors, samaritans, first responders, and the missing. Life in Minneapolis has been really fucked up. People are freaked out over the catastrophe and it's made most people really tense going over any bridge (and there are dozens of them--what with a river separating two major cities). Add to that the extra traffic jams and fuller busses, and you get an entire metro area full of people on the brink. It's really terrifying.

If there is an upside, it's that this incident received national attention and writers are beginning to make links between our bridge and other infrastructure deterioration around the country. It's shameful that people have to be injured and killed before anything gets done, but I'm glad that public outrage is strong enough to put the heat on our public officials. For years they've stood at the pulpit and religiously preached No New Taxes, while getting their dicks sucked in the back of the rectory by 92 year old Pohlad in exchange for building him a shiny new half-billion dollar stadium, while our roads, bridges, schools, libraries, and sewers crumble apart.

Officials announced within hours of the collapse that there was no evidence of terrorism, and this was supposed to somehow lend us relief. Call me jaded, but I'd be more comforted if it WAS intentionally sabotaged, but no, it just fell the fuck down all on its own. Who needs to be afraid of fucking religious nationalist nutjobs coming into the country to blow shit up when the shit is just falling apart on its own. I mean, if their goal is to destroy our infrastructures so that we can't function, what better way to deter terrorism than to let everything rot so there's nothing left for them to wreck?

Cut off the nose to spite the face--great domestic policy, BUSH.*

Is it election time YET?




*May Bush be reincarnated as a single mother with HIV, with Tim Pawlenty as the baby's daddy and Cheney as the welfare case worker.

Que' Paso?

The move went smoother than anticipated. We got moved in on our originally scheduled weekend, our truck rental was not in any way hexed, we even had a little bit of help loading and unloading.

The apartment is awesome!!! Well, the awesome parts are awesome, but the cruddy parts really suck. I love the layout, the paint job is nice, and the floors are well worn and warped (I know that doesn't sound great, but I love how old they are). The yellowed, single-sheet linoleum floor in the bathroom is super nasty and curling up from the floor along the edges. The heat registers are scuffed, dented, falling off, and rusty. I had to spend HOURS and hours scrubbing mold out of the fridge, scraping crusty sticky goo off the stove and cupboards. We have blinds that are about 20 years old and aluminum for fuck's sake. But the built-in BUFFET! I am in heaven! I have a SUNROOM! Granted, it faces north, so I can't buy any full-sun plants, but I do not care.

I am the happiest motherfucker I know, it's sick. Every day I stop at Jamba Juice for a smoothie after work to unwind from my long day of being barked at by wealthy bastards who don't know jack shit about their own damn job. Hubby and I go for walks and window shop. This is the life!

I can't wait until we finish putting it all together, it's tiring. We still have so much work to do!

Estranged From Blogspace...

On July 26th I made an attempt to blog and discovered...I've been BLOCKED! 
 
Here is what I had to say on 07/26:

Whoever monitors my computer activity has deemed my blog site as personal networking, a-la MySpace--complete garbage! What the hell!  Now I can't post during the week, which totally sucks ass.  And this weekend is completely booked, what with moving house and all.
 
I've been trying to reach my new landlady to give her our money and get the keys but she's been very skittish and I couldn't get a straight answer.  We were getting pretty nervous about whether we would be able to get moved in this weekend since we have a truck lined up and we took time off work (Hubby two days, me two hours--what a ripoff! 

Moving Sucks

I hate it that now that I’m a grown up, weekends just mean more work! Ugh.

This weekend we have to get our tiny hovel into ship-shape for prospective tenant viewing—even though no one is going to want to rent the place seeing it so jammed full of our stuff. Every nook and cranny is filled to capacity. We’re not pack rats, we simply have only three dinky closets and hardly any cupboards. If our landlord shows the place to anyone remotely claustrophobic, they will run screaming out the front door. The place is just not appropriate for double occupancy, you know? Every day when Hubby and I are home together we are continuously squeezing around each other like we’re sharing an airplane toilet.

I’m excited as hell to move, but damn it all, it’s so much work! Last time we moved it was a fucking disaster so we have to RE-pack so much of our shit that was packed poorly then. We have boxes stuffed with random papers, newspapers, even some garbage! Hubby was working a lot of overtime and I couldn’t get enough done on my own—the place was a mess and I was trying to clean as I packed but I was getting behind instead of ahead. Then we had read the lease agreement wrong: it stated that we needed to be out by noon on the day BEFORE the last day of the lease, and this bit I caught late in the day on the day we were supposed to have been out!

Well, we weren’t anywhere near finished, and I didn’t have any help so we were still there the next day. The caretaker showed up at ten a.m. to check us out, but we were only halfway done because we just had a pickup truck and no helpers. I called my friend and begged her to help us, so she begrudgingly came over and helped us clean, but complained the whole time—within earshot of the caretaker who ended up using it against us. Meanwhile the caretaker and the woman from the apartment next door (who was taking our apartment and was told she could move in early) decided to “help” us by chucking our shit, unpacked, out into the hall or down to the street. THIS is how we ended up with boxes full of junk.

Plus those assholes charged us two days of rent, and even though we cleaned, because my friend was bitching about the messiness, we were charged for TEN HOURS of cleaning by the new tenant! Are you kidding me?? Our damage deposit was already being withheld because we couldn’t afford the last month’s rent, so we were assessed a bill. When we paid it off, we celebrated and shouted, “Bye-bye Bebe you bitch!” several times. She was the building owner who lived in a four million dollar mansion just outside Boston, MA with her rich international business management husband and did absolutely NO upkeep in the buildings she owned. In fact, the caretakers only received a $300 dollar monthly discount on their rent, and that $300 was to go to monthly maintenance—for a 25 unit building! Anything extra came out of the caretaker’s pocket. We couldn’t afford the place so we paid in installments every payday, but we weren’t paying any other bills, using Hubby’s credit cards for necessities and getting food from Hubby’s parents.

From this shithole building we moved in with my ex-stepdad/friend of the family for the summer—and thank goodness for him! But during this time all our crap was in storage and we just dragged it with us to this place. Now it’s in the dark, dank, cobwebby basement. Who wants to spend a beautiful weekend in a cruddy basement storage locker?? I know you didn’t just tell me to bring it upstairs and sort through it in the living room! I just TOLD you there’s not even enough room for two people, much less for two people, stacks of boxes, and an organizational sorting project!! Man, I’m just going to take it out into the yard. I mean, the papers are going to just be recycled, and we need to sort out our books and stick the donations right into the van… I can get all my shit done and get a tan too!

Man, I gotta Go!

I think New Year’s resolutions expire sometime in March, but I’m still trying to stick to mine. I decided that instead of joining a health club (which give me anxiety attacks) or some such other major undertaking, I decided it was more appropriate to take baby steps. I am chronically dehydrated, so I have been making an effort to drink more water. It’s SO BORING! It’s like torture.

The recommended daily amount of water a person needs is eight glasses, or 64 fl. oz. I’m pretty sure that if I drink that much I’m going to drown. Yesterday I maxed out at four cups and I had to get up three times during the night to pee. Today my guts feel completely waterlogged after drinking two cups and one coffee so far today. I feel like a damn buoy. MUST. KEEP. DRINKING WATER….GOOD FOR ME… aaack.

Live and Let Leave

I’m getting pretty restless in my apartment. Like I’ve described before, it’s a really old house hacked into four tiny units. When we moved in last September, our landlord gave us his speech about keeping the peace in this quiet building, and gave us a very stern warning followed up with a threat about his policy on drug use on his property (imagine him giving this talk to US—can you believe it?!). Now here we are several months later, crazy Lindsay from Apt 1 has moved out, and our landlord has allowed some punk-ass little thug to move in. The landlord is friends with this thug’s parents and he was promised that little Justin won’t be a problem. Well, he is a BIG problem.

The landlord instructed us to be vigilant informants, but the other two tenants are both away for the summer so if we make any complaints, it’ll be obvious where they came from. I have no doubt that if this kid is reprimanded or evicted that our car would end up trashed or our apartment broken into because this is the kind of kid that is living in our house.

His apartment is about 320 square feet just like ours is, but he manages to cram three other people in there with him and they flop there all day, even when he’s not home. They just sit in there fishbowl-ing the living room all day long. When he first moved in, we came outside as Justin and his girlfriend were getting high on the front walkway so we left in the other direction. When we came back they were still at it, so we let them know that this is not ok under any circumstances, and that they could get evicted if the landlord even suspects drug use. He apparently didn’t get the same tough warning that we did—I guess Mr. Tough Landlord only feels safe preaching to the choir. So now Justin and his friends smoke it INside, and recently Hubby’s bicycle tires were found mysteriously flattened after the bike was in the basement overnight.

Besides being a total dirtbag, he’s loud. I am beginning to doubt whether this little shit even SAW the lease agreement, much less signed it. His parents must have taken care of the whole thing. How else does a person get in an apartment without knowing that they have to shut the fuck up at ten o’clock? Last night I woke up because he was blasting his stereo with full bass AT TWO THIRTY IN THE MORNING! What the fuck is wrong with this kid??

We decided not to tell our landlord any of this because it’s simply not fair to make US solely responsible for keeping HIS friends’ kid in line, and leaving us vulnerable as the only possible source for complaints. We’re just going to let him sort it out with his law school tenants this fall. If they move out and leave him hanging with three empty units and one dumbass, too bad for him. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson about not practicing what he preaches!

Notorious Riot

Believe it or not, my life is kind of small. I'm not widely traveled, and for as many times as I've moved in my life (25 times, actually), I've always lived in the same area, give or take 2 miles. My home city is pretty big, but it somehow maintains a small-town feel. I've never been particularly "popular" in the 90210 sense of the word, but any day I step foot out of my house, I run into someone I know. I don't mean most of the time, this is a phenomenon that you can set your watch by. In fact, it has amazed and annoyed many a boyfriend. One in particular used to always say, "Gee, let's see if we can guess how many people you know we'll run into TODAY..." But never mind, he was a dick.

My relative notoriety sprung out of my life in a Catholic grade school where I inspired in others an irrepressible loathing and disgust. I was "big-boned" and my momma was on welfare and I had to drink powdered milk from the food shelf. I wasn't the only reject in my grade, but despite this, I was never out of their scope for more than a couple of hours at a time. My grade school years coincided with the apex of yuppy-ism and the "me generation," brat pack movies, Purple Rain, Max Headroom, and Reagan's trickle-down economic policy. I was the only kid in class not fully outfitted in Bennetton or Guess on no-uniform days. I didn't have Keds. I didn't have an expensive spiral perm. I certainly didn't have any real diamonds or pearls that my daddy gave me for Christmas. Shit, I didn't even have a daddy!

What I did have was a mom who was only sixteen years older than me, pretty hip, and kind of a partier. My theory about why my mom stopped going to conferences is that her appearance twisted the nuns' fire and brimstone panties up in a bunch. I digress. After a couple years, I adjusted to being the center of negative attention and I realized that no matter WHAT I do, I'm going to get spit on or hit, so I just started doing whatever the fuck I wanted.

I wore different earrings in each ear, I cut my hair super short and just let it grow back out all shaggy and tough-looking, like a primordial mullet. I starting riding a neon green BMX. My favorite shirt to wear on weekends was my late grandpa's Air Force mechanic's uniform. I paired it with a string of lavender "pop beads" and jelly shoes. I began blowing off major assignments and talking back to the nuns. Once I was sent to the principal's office and my mom was called because I wore one of her t-shirts to school on a free dress day. But I think the lesson was more for my mom: the shirt said, "My two best friends are Charlie and Jack Daniels" with a huge bottle of whiskey and a guitar on it.

By the end of sixth grade I was kinda starting to be notorious for being a little off my nut--oh, and for being a great artist because I could draw way better then all those rich Catholic bitches, and I could blend pastels like a motherfucker. And what's more, I kinda liked it. When seventh grade rolled around I had received a letter from the Catholic school asking me not to return because my mom didn't pay the tuition, so I went to public school.

I blossomed! Well, after I recovered from mononucleosis...

I talked to anyone and everyone and no one flinched or sneered. Turns out I was fairly normal all along. My shyness and insecurity went straight out the window, but I may have tossed the baby out with the bath water. I discovered HEAVY METAL! Iron Maiden, Ratt, Metallica, Megadeth, Guns 'N' fuckin' Roses!

Now I was known for my huge hair, tight jeans, and black eye makeup. Rumor had it that I was both a slut AND a vampire! If the Catholic school dicks could see me now! What's funny here is that I actually opened up the phone book and called some of them and asked them out. I made them VERY uncomfortable, and I loved it! I laughed my ass off. The scent of others' discomfort became addictive (something I still relish), and I became known as a bully. Who ME? Oh yes, the glaring, the threatening, the posturing while standing behind my 300 pound best gal friend, snickering like only a mean girl can--even better than those snotty lawyers' daughters.

But, alas, senior year was the end of an era. I looked around one day and realized I was one of the only people left in my huge high school still teasing their hair into metal vixen eternity, and I also learned from many verbal confrontations that the rap girls were WAY tougher than me. I suddenly felt really conspicuous.

I faded into post-high-school hippy stoner obscurity and dated a drummer.

Actually, I tired of this phase quickly so I got a job and moved the fuck out of my mom's house at 19. I enrolled in community college and got a pretty cool job in a trendy neighborhood. I started partying with art school kids and musicians, so I was always making the scene. I made about a zillion acquaintances, half of whom I totally alienated when I broke up with the drummer. Then I was only half as cool as I had been; I had badly misjudged how cool this drummer was.

I said to myself, "Damnit! I will be COOL AGAIN!!!" So I kept up on making the scene, except now I was arriving alone and leaving drunk with a new friend in tow--never the same friend twice, though. So, yeah, I was building a reputation for being pathetic and loose.

I nipped that in the bud at twenty-four and started an intense schedule of AA meetings--ninety in ninety days (the poor man's outpatient treatment). I also got a job at a natural foods store. If you want to meet a crapload of awesomely hip creative humanitarians, get a job cashiering or stocking dry goods at the organic store. Anyway, I was in conversation with about 200 people every day, and many of these conversations were continued during run-ins at local coffee shops, the Laundromat, the grocery store, the library, the mall, restaurants, restrooms.

Every date I went on was interrupted at least once. I didn't mind at all because this showed whatever jackass I was out with that people LOVE me, they think I'm awesome, they care how I'm doing and who I'm out with. It showed these guys that I'm not just some lonely pushover chubby chick with big ta-tas.

While I've grown out of a lot of phases, I never really caught on to becoming more refined because I still relish the thought of doing and saying and wearing whatever the fuck I want. I love that anyone who engages me in conversation is going to get the real me, I just put myself right out there. I look around at all the polished professionals downtown, and I can't imagine all the work that goes into grooming, outfitting, and maintenance, not to mention the self-editing and mindless grinning. I'll probably never be the president of anything, but you can bet your ass I'll have a great time!

City Girl Gets Out of Town

This weekend I packed up and left town with my friend Jenn and some of her man’s people. We camped and canoed in Wisconsin on the Namekagon River. I haven’t tried to canoe since I was a Brownie Scout and back then it was a traumatic experience because we kept tipping over. Hubby’s been trying to get me out canoeing for, oh, FOUR years but I was scared to go. Silly me…

There were a couple of challenges, of course. The first and most formidable was TANYA. I was going to change her name, but I couldn't think of a clever nickname, so whatever, she made me crazy. It was nonstop yammering and interrupting to change the subject while others were trying to have a conversation, and she got completely hammered on her Ice House beer and smoked cigarettes all night. If I had to pick one word to describe her it would probably be TIRESOME.

I had never met her before so I tried to dismiss her general rude self-centeredness, but the conversations she was trying to force onto people were just stupidly controversial without any sophisticated nuance—like abortion and assisted suicide, and her opinions bordered on fascist eugenics. When she wasn’t trying to play devil’s advocate and pissing people off, she was just plain inappropriate—like when she announced that we were going to play Truth or Dare and tried calling people out on what kinky places they’ve had sex, gross! We all stood frozen looking wide-eyed at each other and no one answered. I thwarted her efforts by taking a different angle on the “dirty secrets” she wanted people to tell and changed the subject to poop stories. She happily obliged in telling everyone one of her poop stories in gory detail, but I think everyone was just relieved to be out of the Truth or Dare hot seat.

This woman was incapable of not talking. Seriously, no listening skills and the attention span of a gnat. She wouldn’t even shut it when we actually shushed her to try and hear the pack of coyotes that were howling and yapping down the river, but she just kept talking! “Do you think those are coyotes or wolves? Maybe they’re just dogs… I don’t think there’s anything to worry about though…cluck-cluck… bok-bok…” Gawd! I could hardly hear them!

The next day, though, all of this was gratefully set aside once we got packed up and set out for the canoe rental place. While he was getting us signed in, Jenn’s husband was double checking our route and got feedback from the clerk that the route he’d planned was only 2 ½ to 3 hours long, so he changed the route to the 3 ½ to 4 hour trip. We were not informed that the river was low until we were in transit, and this came from the bus driver.

It was somewhere around ninety degrees and clear as a bell, so we all slathered ourselves in sunscreen with an spf 30 and piled into the canoes. The river we paddled down was a protected area and was absolutely beautiful! We learned from the campground volunteers that this river was home to some dragonflies that can’t be found anywhere else in the world. I couldn’t tell you which ones, but I saw plenty of all different sizes and colors—and they were getting BUSY! They were just flying around stuck together crashing into everything. The whole route we were also in the company of great blue herons, bald eagles, trout galore, and even one beaver and a muskrat.

The second challenge came along when we stopped for a rest after four hours and we didn’t realize something was very wrong until the guys looked at the map. We had only covered eight of our thirteen miles! The river was SO low that we kept bottoming out in ankle-deep water every ten minutes and having to get out and drag the canoes to deeper water. This made our trip twice as long.

Then when someone discovered that one of the rental oars was missing in action, we were pretty much ready to give up. Jenn’s hubby and brother-in-law considered hitchhiking on the road to get back to the rental place, but decided that there was no guarantee that it would result in us getting back to the cars and on the road any sooner than just finishing the course.

Since there was one paddle missing, I volunteered to be a duffer since I was getting some heat exhaustion and feeling woozy. So we started out on the last stretch of this treacherous puddle-deep river, and lo-and-behold several yards down river the damned rental oar was seen floating near the bank. Someone paddled over to grab it, but I just kept on duffing. I wasn’t about to paddle yet.

I thought of Tanya over there paddling away in her canoe all hung over and dehydrated on no sleep and burned to a crisp, and I almost felt bad about sitting there in the middle of my canoe doing nothing. But then I realized that she’s a grown woman and if she hasn’t noticed that she’s in bad shape, there’s not much I can do. So I duffed some more.

But only for a while because as a result of the new seating arrangement, Jenn’s man was paddling alone in the small canoe, but he got tuckered out after an hour or so. When he asked if I felt good enough to paddle, I was, so it was Jenn to the rescue for her hubby and I got back in the driver seat and paddled my ass off until we reached our landing. Whew!

Despite last weekend’s challenges, I will absolutely be doing this activity again! I had a great time even though it wiped me out—you should have seen me Monday, what a disaster! Tanya or no Tanya, I’m totally there.

We Got It

I feel like a kid at Christmas! I couldn't sleep last night I'm so damn excited!

Snakes Part II, Cue the Ants

We're moving. The pests are never ending and I don't want to be here if some roaches decide to move in. The snakes are back, and now we also have big black ants all over. We've been finding more little moths here and there so we kill them on sight, but since we don't know where their new secret hideout is, we can't completely get rid of them.

We looked at a nice apartment in the heart of our favorite neighborhood, two steps from everything. It's BIG--two bedrooms plus a front sunroom--so Hubby and I won't be within five feet of each other at all times. We turned in our applications and now we're just waiting to hear back. This is my least favorite part.

Invasion

Sneak Preview

BAGS!

I am SO naughty. I bought myself a new bag from Timbuk2. I chose the build-your-own option and made it orange/steel/steel with a steel logo. It looks so cool. I can’t wait for it to show up. Hubby’s going to be crabby because I chew his ass for doing stuff like this all the time.

We’re both addicted to bags. We have bags--messenger bags--all over the house in different sizes, styles, and colors for various functions. I’m actually buying this one to replace one that’s about ten years old that I’ve been “borrowing” from Hubby for the past three years. At one time I did have one this size myself, but we sold it because after a while the charm of orange and silver ballistic nylon wore off for me, and it just sat in the bottom of the closet.

The small size red and black ballistic nylon bag I’ve been using is too small and it doesn’t hold up as well, it looks sort of dirty and frayed. But the medium sized cordura bag that I stole from Hubby doesn’t show its wear as much—it’s just that there is danish icing and cat puke caked on the bottom, then Hubby tried to scribble out the yellow logo with a black marker so now it’s this dirty pea green, and it’s missing its reflectors and side strap.

We have three Chrome bags which are über sturdy and ergonomic, but the bag actually hugs your upper back —which is great on a bike, but it’s HOT as hell. We swore off Timbuk2 because they have leak potential in the rain from the gap between the flap and the bag, but I love that I can choose whether to carry the bag in the middle of my back or at my hip. The quality is lower, but sometimes less is more, y’know?

Other Things Going On in My Life:

One of my little sisters has been in the hospital for a surgery evaluation for her seizures all weekend
Today is another little sister’s birthday
A different little sister bought a condo in Chi Town
I’m anxiously awaiting my six-month review and possible pay raise
My cold sore finally went away, but it left an awful scar
Now I have an itchy rash
I painted a picture that I dreamed about, and worked some more on a previous painting
I’m getting pretty good at framing my own canvasses
I’m not getting any better at cleaning my apartment—I have heaps of laundry crowding up the bedroom that need to be either washed or put away, and all the surfaces in the bathroom are crusted over with hairspray. At least I did most of the dishes.
Hubby’s friend’s wife had a nine pound baby
Paris is back in jail: nanny-nanny-boo-boo (I don’t even know why I care)
Hubby started his new job today
I’ve been skipping my Wednesday meetings to watch Ghost Hunters with Hubby—we’re obsessed

Heartstopper

I’ve heard it said (about a hundred million times) that “We’re only as sick as our secrets.” Well my dirty little secret is that I am hooked on celebrity gossip! As a Women’s Studies major I kept an eye on popular culture for cues about how “woman” as an idea gets translated to youth for the sake of deconstruction papers, but now I watch E! news and True Hollywood Stories compulsively. I read Google News’ entertainment section to catch up with Paris and Lindsay and Britney. But I HATE them! Why do I care? Why is it interesting?

It’s actually not interesting so much as it is sensational and mesmerizing. The flashing lights and bright colors are hypnotic, it just captivates my brain like a moth to a bare bulb, or a toddler to Sesame Street. I walk around knowing all this garbage about people and events I am a million miles away from, things that have no direct bearing on my life.

Instead of riding my bike or going for a walk, I watch the damn TV. I think this habit developed when I was depressed and isolated. Now when I’m sitting on my ass for ten hours straight, I think to myself, “What the fuck are you doing? Get UP and do something!” But I just sit there living vicariously through MTV programming like My Sweet 16 or Rob & Big.

I am 45 minutes away from my vacation from work and I feel doomed to repeat this nonsensical cycle of watching TV, laying around until it gets dark, and then feeling like shit until I go to sleep, only to get up and sloth around all day again. NO! I will not relax myself to death this week!

I hope that putting out this public exclamation will keep me accountable for channeling my energy creatively and constructively. I WILL bike. I WILL walk. I WILL NOT turn on the TV. I WILL go to meetings. I WILL go to the damn grocery store and get some damn healthy food and not cave into Mr. Stringbean’s myocardially infarctious menu suggestions!

Fat Lip

Hiding Out

Does anyone have a brown paper bag I can put over my head??

I have the nastiest cold sore I think I’ve ever had in my life. I’m sure my face could qualify for entry into the Mütter museum. My lip swelled up to FOUR TIMES it’s regular size! My landlord came by for the rent and I had to answer the door with this huge fat lip and he kept looking at it. He was probably trying to see if I’d been knocked around in a fight. Sadly, no, I just have herpes. Thank goodness I’m not a hooker or I’d be out of work for two weeks.

Ugh, this is so nasty. I feel like people are looking at me and thinking I’m some dirty ho, but I actually got it from drinking off my mom’s soda as a kid. I think I’ve been getting these since I was ten. A number of years ago I had a sore nearly as bad as the one I have now, and the blisters went so far off my lip I now also get them inside my nose. Those are actually preferable because NO ONE CAN SEE THEM.

I am so damn demoralized right now. Can I take calls from UNDER my desk today??

The good news is that I have to work only today, and then I have the rest of the week off to hide in my teeny apartment and clean. I initially had some lofty plans to drive all over and shop and picnic by myself, but we’re broke already and we just got paid Friday. It runs out so fast!

Crassworld Disclaimer

CRASS
–adjective, -er, -est.
1. without refinement, delicacy, or sensitivity; gross; obtuse; stupid: crass commercialism; a crass misrepresentation of the facts.
2. Archaic. thick; coarse.
adj. crass•er, crass•est
So crude and unrefined as to be lacking in discrimination and sensibility.
[Origin: 1535–45; (< MF) < L crassus thick, dense, fat, heavy ]
(swiped from dictionary.com)

FROM THE BILL OF RIGHTS
Amendment I
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or ABRIDGING the FREEDOM of SPEECH, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

WARNING:
Contains adult content, crude language, and insults. Reader discretion advised for the thin of skin!

Str8 iLLin'

I’ve been down with a nasty cold since Saturday… at 3:30 in the afternoon, to be exact. It hit me like a truck. Today is the first day I finally feel a little better, but I sound like hell and I don’t look so hot, either. In addition to the sore throat, stuffy head and cough, I’ve also been plagued with a wisdom tooth trying to move in and join the party. So the swollen sore throat combined with the swollen sore gums, and my jaw hurts. Basically, I feel like I swallowed a wad of steel wool, my airways are packed with glue, someone is standing on my chest and repeatedly kicking me in the face.

Then, you want to know what I did to make it worse? Tuesday morning I woke up for like the fifth time because I couldn’t breathe, and my jaw hurt so much I couldn’t stand it. I went to the freezer and wrapped an ice pack in a towel and took it to bed. The ice pack gave me enough relief to fall back asleep, but when I woke up I had developed the first stages of frostbite! My cheek was covered in puffy red blotches—what a dumbass! I called the nurse line after like 8 hours with no improvement and they told me not to put ANYthing on it, so I applied some aloe gel. It actually helped; the redness and puffiness nearly disappeared so I don’t have to go to work looking like a leper.

The RNs I’ve spoken with on these 24 hour nurse lines don’t seem to know jack shit. I ask fairly simple questions and I can never get a straight answer. How they manage to be practicing nurses without knowing any symptoms for any conditions is totally beyond my comprehension! The always have to look shit up, be it fainting, concussion, menstrual pains/abnormal bleeding, frostbite, colds, you name it! Every time I call I spend several minutes listening to “Ummm, let me look that up…uh, I think it’s this, I’m not sure…Um” and then they tell me to see the doctor. Well then what is their job, if it’s not troubleshooting health problems??

Enough about them, I’ve already given them too much of my time.

WTF!!!

A new family moved into our 4plex yesterday—a family of SNAKES!! Jesus Christ! We saw three within an hour and I was ready to pack my shit and move out last night. I kept waking up to check and make sure there weren’t any snakes in the bed. I had to pee but I didn’t want to walk across the floor and step on one and get bit! Granted they’re just garden snakes and not poisonous, but they’ll still bite.

I was ok with the slap-nut apartment when it was just pressed-board window sills, two by four door frames, and loose/crooked electrical outlets. Even the ants and moths that come from everywhere I could live with—but I draw the fucking line at snakes! That’s it, I’m done!

Oh my god, I don’t even want to pack! I’m afraid to dig through the closets, under my dresser, the basement storage—UGH! SNAKES!!

The first one I saw was in the basement, which surprised me, but it wasn’t too alarming since you always find critters in the basement. This one had gotten himself stuck in the sticky mouse trap tray and was scheduled to die a slow and boring death so I had Hubby take him outside. Hopefully no other creatures will get glued trying to eat him… The second one was UPSTAIRS in the front hall about to slither under our apartment door! It took off in a flash and now resides under the hallway carpet. Then number three was right outside the door on the front steps and slithered away too.

My skin is still crawling, I’m all itchy and weirded out.

The first thing Hubby said was, “You want to move into my parents’ basement?” Without thinking I said, “Yes!” So he called them right up, but now I’m like, no way dude. I’m not about to move into my in-laws. Last summer we lived with my mom’s ex-husband out of financial desperation, and I quickly realized that we have way too much stuff to be confined to one room in someone’s house. Plus the fact that Hubby’s mom likes to be a little more helpful than what I can handle and it stresses me out sometimes.

I just want to magically come up with some extra money and get a new apartment.

I think I’m going to look for a weekend job since I never get magic money.

Trip To the Zoo

Hubby and I went to the zoo on Saturday on a whim and it was SO fun. We walked for three hours looking at all the animals. Boy howdy--do they STINK!! MAN! When we first got there I couldn't think of anything else and I kept saying it over and over, laughing like a moron, "Oh my god it smells so BAD."

My two faves were the Japanese snow monkeys and the aquariums. Primates are just so amazing and the fish were hilarious.

We saw little tiny baby monkeys and they were tearing around like crazy and pissing off the old crabby monkeys who were just trying to eat some ants. One old guy monkey got pissed and started screeching at the baby, so then mama ran over and gave him hell.

Later we saw a shark about 6 or 8 feet long with teeth for miles swimming around and slowly opening and closing his mouth. It seemed like all of a sudden he started swimming straight toward this lady sitting with her back to the glass, and much to Hubby's dismay I loudly proclaimed, "Look Hubby, he's going to eat the soccer mom!"

When's Lunch?

Ha! Silly Bitchiz...

How funny is it that Paris Hilton thinks so highly of herself as to believe that getting her off her 45 day sentence would actually be a priority for the governor while southern California is burning to the fuckin' ground!

Another Weird Dream

I took a nap yesterday after work and I had a dream that there was a HUGE grizzly bear charging my house and I was watching from across the street. It was terrifying because the bear was the size of a minivan and just mad with rage. Here's what I found for dreams about bears:

"To dream that you are being pursued or attacked by a bear, denotes aggression, overwhelming obstacles and competition."

What does it mean that I wasn't home?? Good lord I think I need a head shrinker.

Don't Hold Your Breath!

Petty Stooge Idiot

I need to start taking an earlier bus in the morning. My current bus driver is an antagonistic jerk-ass.

Nearly every day he does something to piss me off, but it’s so petty I can’t call the bus company about it because they’ll tell me to piss up a rope. Every morning we all stand waiting at the bus stop sign at the beginning of the block, and even though the stop is at the beginning of the block, he just blows right past everyone and stops near the end of the block. Granted it’s only like 200 feet, but then everyone has to rush to the door so he won’t drive away without us. All along the route to the freeway he drives right past people waiting at bus stops who have to frantically flag him down, and then he slams on the breaks and people have to go running after him.

It was just this morning that I realized that it wasn’t just me being irritable at the crack of dawn. He nearly missed a stop (again) where a lone commuter was standing at the sign for the bus stop with his brief case in hand at the end of a residential street. When the bus came to a quick halt, the commuter boarded, and the bus driver had the nerve to say, “Man, you need to make an effort.” To which the ticked-off rider replied, “I did, I walked four blocks to get to the stop.”

Since when do commuters need to do some secret dance to get a bus to stop other than standing at the goddam bus stop?? And when did bus drivers start trying to instigate argument with downtown commuters?! Usually it’s the other way around: drunks, bums, and rowdy teens picking fights with drivers and other passengers, so I can’t imagine what kind of nightmare it would be to ride the bus through cracktown at 11pm with this idiot behind the wheel—no wonder he’s on the commuter route.

Someone needs to tell this a-hole that he’s wasting his energy trying to “train” his passengers to respond in any particular way to his approaching bus. He needs to just drive the damn bus and stop at every corner that is populated by motionless humans. He also needs to hear from his supervisor that most of the downtown-bound commuters ride the bus because their employers flip most, or all, of the bill for the outrageous monthly express fare, which has resulted in the highest ridership in twenty years. He should be made aware that if he keeps up the crappy attitude and his little power plays ridership will fall, freeway congestion will increase, and he could be laid off.

Bleh!

Pacaderm-o-philia

My weekend sucked and I’m fried.

I hardly slept last night and I woke up dreaming that I had a pet elephant. WHAT is going on in my head? I feel overwhelmed in general, and I’m trying to get a handle on my life, which is spinning out of control. Let’s consult a dream dictionary and see what pacaderms represent…

“They are associated with terms like wisdom, memory and the power of persistence. Overall is a very positive dream that will bring you dignity and distinction.”

Ha! Right… Next!

“Seeing an elephant in your dream is great luck, signifying that you are laying a solid groundwork for wealth and success. You will have power, strength and prosperity. If you feed an elephant in your dream, you will elevate yourself in your community through your kindness. To dream of riding on the elephant signifies good news from afar, but to dream that you fell off while riding it suggests enemies are looking to harm you.”

Well, ok then, maybe I’m doing something right. Then again, I think at one point the elephant jumped off the roof. Sabotaging my potential?? I have been known to do such things…



(http://www.cybersalt.org)

Spare Me!!

Shame on you Britney.

She’s spent all of about 28 days out of the spotlight and she’s already set up deals for a tell-all interview and book deal. Did she not get the memo that “rehab” does not equal “cure” or even “recovery”? Sometimes sobering up slows people down enough to become reflective, if only for a little while, which is what I’d hoped for for PsychoBrit, but no…

She’s just full-bore mania straight out of the gate. Before too long we’re going to be seeing her beave on the covers of all the tabloids again, and then she’ll be arrested for drunk driving with a kid in her lap. I’m putting my money down on these things occurring before she’s through with her Susan Powter phase.

Under normal circumstances, I could give less that a rat’s ass about Hollyweird bimbos and pop princesses, but whenever one goes totally over the cuckoo’s nest and lands in treatment my ears perk up a little. Recently in the U.S. there has been an emergent culture of REHAB. If you ever watch VH1 “where-are-they-now” shows, you know what I’m talking about. Seems like every hard rock legend has gone through treatment and retired into obscurity to live some semblance of normal family life—outside the occasional resuscitation tour, that is.

And if you think those VH1 programs get stale after a few hours, try living in the heart of the land of 10,000 treatment centers with slogans swirling around the heads of newcomers trying to make their lives work without the assistance of beer, booze, or designer chemistry. Forgive my obvious disdain and read it as resentment from a drunk who couldn’t afford treatment (and who’s family practically held an intervention to talk her out of AA), and I’m going through a dry-drunk phase to boot.

So, in conclusion, it is my observation that Britney has joined the ranks of the over-privileged multitude of on-again-off-again twentysomething alcoholic/drug addicts who can’t find anything more creative and productive to do with themselves once they quit the shit than act like total fuckin’ lunatics and burden us with the intimate details of their sordid lives.

Dragging Ass

It’s heartburn and headache day. A combination of PMS, caffeine withdrawal, and a brown-sugary oatmeal breakfast. I hope string cheese and coffee rectify the situation, otherwise I’ll have to resort to Zantac and Advil. I’m fuckin’ crabby. Next week I scheduled myself a four-day weekend, and let me tell you, I need it!!! I haven’t had a paid holiday since 2001, and then I still got daily phone calls like, “Where do we keep…?” “How do you order...?” So it’s going to be nice to just chill out and not have the phone ring. Right now I am enjoying holding a position of no authority.

String cheese seems to be working…

*Sigh* I can’t wait until the day is over so I can go out and do something in the fresh air and not be sitting here staring at my hideous beige fabric covered cubicle listening to a myriad of voices lilting up and down from the surrounding cubes. The guy next to me is really good with people, but he talks like an auctioneer on speed at the State Fair. And there’s a woman two rows over who giggles like a girl being felt up for the first time at the eighth grade dance, and it goes on all day every day. I wish I was exaggerating. Sometimes I want to strangle her. At least I like my cube mate, she’s super sweet. And tiny—she’s about 90 pounds even at six months preggers. She’s always flashing her ridiculous pregnant pants at me, it’s hilarious.

Whoops, late from break!

Runaway

I decided to steal a day for myself alone today. I had a really rough night last night due to some drunken relative drama. I have an emotional hangover today. Last night there was all kinds of yelling and freaking out, and I wish I could tell you I took the high road, but I got caught up in it. My poor Hubby was utterly traumatized, it was coming at him from all directions. As I sped away toward home on my bike there were squads racing down the street--were those for us?? My stomach was in knots all night and when I woke up they were still there. So I said to myself, "fuck all this bullshit I just need a day alone." And I called in to work.

As I was getting ready to go out and screw off all day I got an apology call, which made it a little better. I held my ground on my decision to not come around anymore if there's going to be drinking. Unfortunately there is a family birthday party coming up this weekend and I've been promised a sober cohort. We'll see I guess...

I hate alcohol. I never see it do any good for anyone. It changes people's personalities and makes them grandiose unto themselves, it causes outbursts of magnified hurt feelings, it makes people stupid and cruel. Quitting drinking was the best thing I ever did for myself, but my family resents me for it (last night I was actually accused of being PERSECUTING!). When I find that I need to excuse or exclude myself from an evening, or try to plan something that isn't a kegger or BYOB they think I'm a snot. And heaven forbid I should remind my husband more than once that he's promised to keep it together for the night! "Oh Crass, just leave him alone, he's having fun. Get off his back." Yeah? And if he gets fired for showing up to work drunk are you going to pay his fuckin' rent? I didn't think so, now shut the fuck up.

See what I mean? I take the bait every time.

I really needed today to just run away from home. I feel guilty for calling in sick, but it's my first time in the 5 months I've been there so I think they'll be ok. After I dropped Hubby off at work I cleaned out the car, packed up the computer and drove out to a small college town a ways down the highway. I haven't decided if I'm going to tell Hubby where I took the car today.

I spent a considerable amount of time down here during my juvenile years and I kinda missed the place. It's more crowded and busy than I remember, but mostly it's the same. I'm going to pack it up and take a walk around in a little bit here, check out the antique stores and boutiques I never went to as a carousing teenager. Maybe I'll see a familiar face... Ah, I doubt it.

I'm baaaack....

This weekend I grew a wild hair up my ass.

Even though I love my job I had the overwhelming urge to flip the bird at The Man…so I got a tattoo. Of a bird. (Nice pun, eh?) On my forearm. And I LOVE IT.

In fact, I am super excited about it! My brother did this rad line drawing of this little round bird with just the tail colored in. It’s exactly what I’ve been looking for—I’m not a butterfly, neo-tribal, or Sailor Sid kind of girl.

I feel like I’m back to being me again. I’ve been striving to look more professional and polished for the last year since I quit the mall and started looking for a professional job. I have some nice clothes now and regular earrings (that I wear only one pair at a time), but I sorta felt like I lost track of myself.

Another think I did to reclaim myself was to get my bike out of the basement and on the road. I love my bike. It’s an On-One “Il Pompino” frame single speed with miscellaneous components that I had built special just for me. I have a sticker on the chainstay that says, “your bike sucks.” I rode all around the neighborhood this weekend. I didn’t ride at all last year. I didn’t use it for transportation since worked in uptown and then downtown, both of which are dangerously congested, but in my free time I just never rode it. Not sure what my problem was.

Easter Weekend

I'm wiped. I want nothing more at this moment than to climb into bed and go to sleep. Yeah, I know, it's only seven o'clock.

Friday kicked off a long weekend. My hubby sadly did not pass his NASD test, so that night he had himself a pity party. He got good and loaded and kept hanging on me, grabbing me, hugging me, swinging me around. I have a very low threshold for being man-handled and I had a minor freak out, which didn't help his ego. I know he was just being needy and affectionate, but when you fill him full of beer, he's just not as gentle as he normally is.

I turned out the lights and called it a night at one, but I couldn't get him to come to bed. Four thirty in the morning he comes stumbling in asking, "Is there a reason why I've been sleeping in the living room?" Um, you wouldn't get off the love seat?

Saturday morning he's hung the fuck over and I have to drive through the city to a baby shower across the street from his parents' while he's giving me commands from the passenger street. For instance, "remember when you take a left turn, the oncoming traffic has the right-of-way." No shit. He forgets that I'd been driving for ten years before I met him.

After the baby shower we visited with the in-laws, and then returned home where Hubby speedily consumed more beer.

Sunday morning, we had Easter brunch with with my family (where Boloney Sandwich snuck some champagne into his previously virgin mamosa), took an afternoon nap, then had Easter dinner with Hubby's family. I just want to go home now. And I swear if my man cracks open even one more beer tonight he'll be sleeping in the mini van.

Is God Mocking Me?

Yesterday Boloney Sandwich and I helped my brother and sister-in-law move into their new place. It is absolutely gorgeous! Man am I jealous and bummed out. Why can't WE have a place like that? Jeez.

Anyway, they rented a tiny little house built in the same year and in the same neighborhood as ours. Theirs is one bedroom, just one floor with a nice open layout. You walk into the living room and it flows right into their kitchen, which lets out into the back yard through a set of french doors. On the right is another set of french doors into a small den/office which is where the entry to the bath is. Their bedroom is at the very front of the house tucked neatly away. Each room is painted a different bold color with bright white trim and the floors are new. The kitchen has gorgeous cabinetry, granite countertops, new appliances, and a dishwasher.

Where do I get in line??

When In Doubt, Do Nothing

I've given up on finding a nice apartment we can afford. Nothing I've seen is as good as what we already have in our tiny little gnome hovel of a place. The house we live in was built in 1880 as a modest single family dwelling, and in recent years was hacked into four tiny apartments. Most everything is jimmy-rigged together. We have doorframes that are actually just painted 2x4s nailed to the wall, and some of our windowsills are fashioned out of painted particle board. One of the living room walls is painted over fiberboard paneling, and the living room ceiling is an artificial drop ceiling like you find in office buildings.


BUT at least the living room is painted a cozy shade of tan with white trim around the windows, which are spanking new. In our kitchen, the few cabinets we have are nice looking, our appliances are relatively fresh, and the linoleum in the kitchen is new and clean. We have blue-gray walls in the bedroom at the back of the house facing a shady wooded area, and the bathroom has hot and cold running out of the same tap. Did I mention the rent is super cheap?

So even though the place is sort of slapped together, it was slapped together by a guy who cares for the property really well and chose fixtures and appliances he would want to use himself, and painted colors he could live with, so it's much better than all that yuck in those thirty year old cereal box units we've toured.

BEIGE Epidemic Out of Control in Wealthy Suburbs' Rental Communities! Tenants' Unexpressed Rage Leads to Clinical Depression, Expert Says.

Hubby and I have been tossing around the idea of moving out into the suburbs, so today we spent a few hours looking at apartments. Now I feel like I need another shower. What is with apartments that update their grounds, tile and decorate their foyers, paint the office walls nice colors, but change nothing else?

The apartments we looked at were '70s constuction so I was expecting the sheetrock box look, but what I wasn't expecting were the hideous colors of the apartments. All of them the same: BEIGE walls, BEIGE carpet, BEIGE linoleum, BEIGE cabinets, BEIGE countertops, BEIGE ceiling, BEIGE stove, BEIGE refrigerator, BEIGE shower!!! It's that color that no matter how much you clean it, it still looks sticky and dingy. It's the color you get when you start out white and then somebody smokes a pack a day in a confined area for ten years. Putrid, disgusting, nasy, barf. P.S. they don't allow residents to paint. I guess I won't be giving any of THOSE properties one third of my income every month.

Are those my only two choices? Shitty apartments in nice neighborhoods or cute apartments in shitty areas? The apartment renting for $925 per month was just as outdated and scummy looking as the apartment for $750. But they both outweighed the the apartment renting at $789 in a filthy building that accepts section 8 vouchers located in another ideal neighborhood. I don't mean to sound like a snotty bitch, but I grew up in section 8 buildings all my life and I've worked my ass off so that I never have to again. It's a terrible feeling to know you're safer standing in the middle of the highway than in your own hallway.

But now it's all wrecked anyway because we stopped at Hubby's parents to visit and tell them about the window motor that burned out on the way out there today. In trying to fix the quarter inch gap at the top of the window, Hubby, his dad, and I made it worse so now it only rolls up half way. It's going to cost around $500 on top of the $600 we already owe for leasing the car, so it's a good thing we didn't find an apartment we like.

Every Pink Cloud Has a Gray Lining

Ok, I thought of something to piss and moan about. BS is being a lazy selfish SOB again. Seriously? I asked him last week to clean the bathroom floor after I did the tub, toilet and sink. We're talking barely four square feet of tile and a rug--and he can't pull it together!! What the fuck is that about? Every day he walks in the front door and sinks his bony ass into the arm chair and plays with his phone with one hand and the other is down the front of his pants! I come in the door and pick up, do some dishes, make dinner and I don't get to sit down till like 7:30. By 9:30 I'm falling asleep in front of the tube, and Hubby's all like, "let's do it..." Fool, I have done ENOUGH work today, and the LAST thing I need is to exert ANY more energy toward pleasing YOU!!! Then he sits there looking all injured--because, yes, I do actually say these things out loud to him.

HOWEVER, this is merely the grey lining to my pink cloud. Though I am but a lowly trainee in a vast call center, I am already getting compliments on my service from many field reps who call in for transactions! In fact, a nice woman from New York asked to speak to my supervisor to pass on a compliment which resulted in a small recognition bonus. Our company subscribes to BRAVO! so when we get bravos, the points add up and we can "purchase" select merchandise on their website, which rocks. My job rocks.

I'm one of those weirdos that like doing customer service. The most fun job I had was cashiering at Whole Foods (though only after I tried running the bakery and was a miserable failure and decided to go back to school and back to cashiering). Other cashiers would notice my level of service and think I knew the person. Nope, I just like talking to strangers.

So, aside from Hubby's compulsive pocket-pool-playing and refusing to leave it alone long enough to scrub the floor, this week was pretty good.

Goody Two Shoes

Oh my gosh, I don't have anything to bitch about. All I have is good news right now. Well... I could bitch about the fact that the VA totally swiped our federal return that we were desperately waiting for, but it went to pay down a bill so it's not like we blew it at the casino or shot it up our arms.

But really, things are great. It took me a couple months, but I'm finally excited about my job. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but as it turns out, the other shoe was just as nice. The company I work for is a recent spin-off and I won't bore you with the details, but everyone in the building (and probably all the other buildings) is really energetic so it's contagious. Even my uber-cynic Hubby is pumped! That in itself is amazing. Plus I've shed a total of 18 pounds as of this morning--yay me! How many husbands can say that as soon as they got married their wives grew their hair all the way down their back and started losing weight??? I remind him of how lucky he is continually.

At home, we're bitching a lot less and spend more time thinking about the future, what to save for, and how to do it. I feel like we're a team more so than ever. I'm amazed that we got through all the shit-caked garbage life threw at us for the last few years, so now that things are going even a little bit right for us I feel like the sun finally came out. It makes me want to cry. And it's not like we got jobs as apprentice millionaires--in fact, we're not even thousandaires because our bank accounts are empty at the moment--but finally the phone isn't ringing off the hook from bill collectors, our rent gets paid every month, we have an auto to get around in, and life has REAL POTENTIAL.

Like I've said before, money changes everything. Even just a little bit of it.