So, here's the thing. Sometimes, I don't eat responsibly. This is not so much a revelation as a rhetorical statement. Obviously, I don't eat that well. I'm creeping closely toward 200 lbs, and I am not proud of this. When I graduated from high school 15 1/2 years ago, I weighed 98 lbs, which was no more responsible on the other end of the spectrum, but still.
When I'm in a hurry in the mornings, and there are no leftovers to take for lunch, I will, indeed grab a Chef Boyardee treat. My favorites are ABCs and Meatballs, any form of ravioli, and Spaghettios with meatballs. In light of what happened today, I think my psyche or the cholesterol Muses are trying to tell me that 33-year-old women shouldn't eat pasta out of a can.
I heated the mini-ravioli in one of our poor, misshapen Tupperware containers that we use for tomato-based products, as they stain ridiculously, and waited patiently. When I pulled it out, because we've heated this container to the point that the plastic has shrunk and piece on the side has chipped, I burned the middle finger on my left hand to the point that I clearly said the F-bomb conversationally loud so that anyone in earshot heard. Immediately, a blister formed, and within an hour, atmosphere-sensitive pain ensued to the point that had to beg for a band-aid and explain the ridicularity. Sigh...
On a completely unrelated note, for about two weeks, I've been having random bouts of nausea. One minute I feel great, and the next minute, suddenly...BLEGGGGHHHH. That reminds me of my ex-boyfriend who once proposed to me over the phone while he was vomiting...touching, yes, but I did not accept that offer. I took a pregnancy test yesterday, and it was negative. As I explained it to Smitty, I was 70% glad it was negative, but the other 30% has been working at my brain for a bit. We are not currently "planning" for kids, but I think my uterus is starting to yearn for a little occupant. I know that I do want to wait as much as possible until Smitty finishes his Master's, but as my mother put it earlier tonight, "You don't need to wait too long. Y'all might need to get the show on the road. How old are you anyway?" Yes, I did say "my mother."
My brief freak-out thoughts yesterday when I blackmailed Smitty into going to get pregnancy tests in exchange to my typing his paper were, as follows:
1. How can we be someone's parents? I have to quit taking Cymbalta, and allergy shots, to which he responded, "If you stop taking Cymbalta, I'll rent an apartment for one of us, but we don't need to interact."
2. I can't smoke or drink anymore. That's fine, but I wanted to plan. I wanted to be able to say that was my last drink/cigarette, and now I'm making a temple out of my body or vaginal lily pad or whatever you do for babies. My point being, that I set the goals, not some Winston Churchill-lookalike.
3. When I really started to think about it, before he left to get the test, I said, "Holy fuck." Then I said, "You see, you can't say things like 'Holy fuck' when you have kids around, or at least when they're old enough to talk; I have no business being anyone's mother."
My point of all this is that I honestly didn't know that I really wanted kids that badly until yesterday, so I'm hoping to get all of my bad habits in check with my Ides of March resolutions so that I can healthfully conceive in the fall-ish. And let me tell you, fellow readers, boy will I need help. I so want to be a good parent, but I'm not entirely sure what that means. I want to, and will, raise children that are well-behaved, but that are free to pursue whatever makes them the happiest. You hear that, antechrist Tiger Mom? What the hell is wrong with you?
" Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me. Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.
-- Shel Silverstein
Friday, January 28, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Two days in a row; how'd the Interwebs get so lucky?
I'm trying to make a concerted effort to update the blog more often. How long this endeavor will last is another matter, but let's give it a go.
I've recently confirmed, against my will, Smitty's assertion that people often "mess with me," because I give a trigger reaction, either returning the favor with a barrage of expletives or just engaging in a pointless back and forth until the other person is satisfied they've made me angry. Smitty has helpfully explained to me that this is a "Gaither" trait, because my people have to have the last word. Interesting theory...and shamefully, true.
Any argument involving any member of my family is an exercise in futility. Sometimes I view it as a war, meaning I must train, prepare, and head into battle with a logical game plan that must not be changed, or the carnage is multiplied. Logically, this works. In reality, something unexpected is said, and the game plan is destroyed. Grrr..
I'm really trying to work on, not just with family, how I react to things. I feel like it would save blood pressure spikes, being accused of having "PMS" (I simply adore that label), and a lot of unnecessary agitation. I'm not quite sure how long this transformation will take. I am, in fact, exercising restraint right now. No, really. A snarky comment was made to me by someone who has literally no idea about what they're talking and rather than respond with my first instinct, "F#$k your mother," I'm choosing to rise above it and visit my cave, a la "Fight Club."
The thing is, I think with these knee-jerk reactions, not only am I self-generating a tizzy, I'm usually arguing with people who are just not that smart, like Sarah Palin supporters. It's like being the sane person in a mental hospital. Yes, you know you're sane, but when those around you are making imaginary muffins and eating their shoelaces, does proclaiming it really matter? Not so much.
So, Zen Emily, I call you forth. I dub you my new method of dealing with things that are trivial and silly and completely inconsequential. In my head, I'm running through a meadow..only in my head, though, because in real life, I would be one giant hive if I ran through a meadow. No hives in Zenville, no dysfunction or snarkiness coming from unhealthy people. There is only sitar music and sunshine and monkey butlers.
“We can't be as good as we'd want to, so the question then becomes, how do we cope with our own badness?”
-- Nick Hornby
I've recently confirmed, against my will, Smitty's assertion that people often "mess with me," because I give a trigger reaction, either returning the favor with a barrage of expletives or just engaging in a pointless back and forth until the other person is satisfied they've made me angry. Smitty has helpfully explained to me that this is a "Gaither" trait, because my people have to have the last word. Interesting theory...and shamefully, true.
Any argument involving any member of my family is an exercise in futility. Sometimes I view it as a war, meaning I must train, prepare, and head into battle with a logical game plan that must not be changed, or the carnage is multiplied. Logically, this works. In reality, something unexpected is said, and the game plan is destroyed. Grrr..
I'm really trying to work on, not just with family, how I react to things. I feel like it would save blood pressure spikes, being accused of having "PMS" (I simply adore that label), and a lot of unnecessary agitation. I'm not quite sure how long this transformation will take. I am, in fact, exercising restraint right now. No, really. A snarky comment was made to me by someone who has literally no idea about what they're talking and rather than respond with my first instinct, "F#$k your mother," I'm choosing to rise above it and visit my cave, a la "Fight Club."
The thing is, I think with these knee-jerk reactions, not only am I self-generating a tizzy, I'm usually arguing with people who are just not that smart, like Sarah Palin supporters. It's like being the sane person in a mental hospital. Yes, you know you're sane, but when those around you are making imaginary muffins and eating their shoelaces, does proclaiming it really matter? Not so much.
So, Zen Emily, I call you forth. I dub you my new method of dealing with things that are trivial and silly and completely inconsequential. In my head, I'm running through a meadow..only in my head, though, because in real life, I would be one giant hive if I ran through a meadow. No hives in Zenville, no dysfunction or snarkiness coming from unhealthy people. There is only sitar music and sunshine and monkey butlers.
“We can't be as good as we'd want to, so the question then becomes, how do we cope with our own badness?”
-- Nick Hornby
Sunday, January 23, 2011
So, I killed a cop and got a headache..it's the Mafia way
I don't play video games that often. Yes, I will play "American Idol" all day long, but I don't really consider that to be a video game, more like karaoke with a goal. Smitty plays a lot of video games. In his defense, he only plays an hour here or there when he has free time, but he plays "more" games than I do. We get games from Gamefly, which is Netflix for games, and I think I may've played two in the year we've had the subscription.
I've been in Gamers Anonymous for about 10 years because I used to turn into a psycho when playing games. When the Playstation first came out, I can remember holing up in my dorm room when my roommate's boyfriend lent us Crash Bandicoot. I literally skipped an entire day of classes trying to beat the game, which I don't think I did, and she made me stop and go outside because it was "unhealthy" or something. I did the same thing with "Abe's Odyssey" or some game where you were this alien worker thing that had to set all your co-workers free before they got turned into Taco Bell meat or something.
I remember when we got Nintendo. I was about 11, because my sister was still living at home, and I set my alarm for 3 a.m., got my Barbie flashlight and sneaked downstairs to see what Santa brought. When I saw the Nintendo, I woke my sister up, scream-whispering "We got Nintendo; we got Nintendo!" And I really do miss Atari. I don't care what new, fancy games they come up with, nothing beats "Frogger," "Pitfall," and "Kaboom."
My point? Often I have no point, but today, I do. Smitty got a game from GameFly called "Mafia 2." Perhaps you've experienced my soliloquy on how awesome I find the Mafia. I had a brief, fleeting idea when I moved to Philly, that if the campaign job didn't work out, I would become a gumar (mobster's girlfriend), because there is actually quite the active Philly Mafia. Alas, I did not. For one thing, the campaign job did work out, and for another thing, when I actually saw alleged Mafioso, they were quite different from the Hollywood version. Imagine Tony Soprano with about 100 extra pounds and an excess of sweat and hair grease...so, I decided to get my Mafia fix only through "Casino" and all things Martin Scorcese.
I digress; I just spent 2 1/2 hours playing "Mafia 2," where you get to beat up and shoot cops, be a gun runner, fix up really sweet cars for your getaways, and whack people named Fat Freddy. Other than the fact that I can't drive on those games, and it's one of those where you have to move your point of view every time you walk, and I can't quite get that down either, it's great fun. I got to shoot an Irish gang with an Uzi in a distillery. However, Smitty can't understand why my hand-eye coordination is so bad, and kept yelling instructions at me, which only made it worse, as I kept forgetting which button did what, and finally I had played so long, the game and his instruction-barking gave me a headache.
But now I have a taste for blood lust and the underbelly of the law. That's right. Not only do we have new games to buy now (Mafia 2, and obviously the original Mafia...also, there is a Godfather game which I now must have), I sense a renewed interest in my old Italian pals. I have a book written by Donnie Brasco's children and one written by Henry Hill's children about growing up in the Witness Protection Program, we have a Sopranos cookbook and every Sopranos episode ever made on DVD, and I sense a ricotta pie or homemade meatballs coming while we watch "Goodfellas." Salute!
I've been in Gamers Anonymous for about 10 years because I used to turn into a psycho when playing games. When the Playstation first came out, I can remember holing up in my dorm room when my roommate's boyfriend lent us Crash Bandicoot. I literally skipped an entire day of classes trying to beat the game, which I don't think I did, and she made me stop and go outside because it was "unhealthy" or something. I did the same thing with "Abe's Odyssey" or some game where you were this alien worker thing that had to set all your co-workers free before they got turned into Taco Bell meat or something.
I remember when we got Nintendo. I was about 11, because my sister was still living at home, and I set my alarm for 3 a.m., got my Barbie flashlight and sneaked downstairs to see what Santa brought. When I saw the Nintendo, I woke my sister up, scream-whispering "We got Nintendo; we got Nintendo!" And I really do miss Atari. I don't care what new, fancy games they come up with, nothing beats "Frogger," "Pitfall," and "Kaboom."
My point? Often I have no point, but today, I do. Smitty got a game from GameFly called "Mafia 2." Perhaps you've experienced my soliloquy on how awesome I find the Mafia. I had a brief, fleeting idea when I moved to Philly, that if the campaign job didn't work out, I would become a gumar (mobster's girlfriend), because there is actually quite the active Philly Mafia. Alas, I did not. For one thing, the campaign job did work out, and for another thing, when I actually saw alleged Mafioso, they were quite different from the Hollywood version. Imagine Tony Soprano with about 100 extra pounds and an excess of sweat and hair grease...so, I decided to get my Mafia fix only through "Casino" and all things Martin Scorcese.
I digress; I just spent 2 1/2 hours playing "Mafia 2," where you get to beat up and shoot cops, be a gun runner, fix up really sweet cars for your getaways, and whack people named Fat Freddy. Other than the fact that I can't drive on those games, and it's one of those where you have to move your point of view every time you walk, and I can't quite get that down either, it's great fun. I got to shoot an Irish gang with an Uzi in a distillery. However, Smitty can't understand why my hand-eye coordination is so bad, and kept yelling instructions at me, which only made it worse, as I kept forgetting which button did what, and finally I had played so long, the game and his instruction-barking gave me a headache.
But now I have a taste for blood lust and the underbelly of the law. That's right. Not only do we have new games to buy now (Mafia 2, and obviously the original Mafia...also, there is a Godfather game which I now must have), I sense a renewed interest in my old Italian pals. I have a book written by Donnie Brasco's children and one written by Henry Hill's children about growing up in the Witness Protection Program, we have a Sopranos cookbook and every Sopranos episode ever made on DVD, and I sense a ricotta pie or homemade meatballs coming while we watch "Goodfellas." Salute!
Monday, January 17, 2011
My underwear is being held hostage at a UPS facility...
There are things in life that I highly anticipate: my birthday, our anniversary, 3-day weekends, that first glass of wine from a new bottle, and last, but not least, the Victoria's Secret semi-annual clearance sale. On a somewhat related note, if something is twice a year, it's "semi" annual, but "semi" is not really a finite measurement. I understand "bi-annual," but that means every two years, so why don't we have a better prefix to indicate twice a year?? Also, what's the deal with "lie" and "lay?" There are far too many conjugations of that verb set..Okay, I am done with my tangent.
How ever many times a damn year they do it, I love Victoria's Secret's clearance sale. This is largely because that is the only time of year I can afford their lingerie. I think that it is insane and part of a right-wing conspiracy that a good bra costs around $45. However, I don't actually order bras via mail due to the girls (my boobs' nickname) being so finnicky and particular. They have to be courted and wooed and measured before they'll agree to any satin or cotton companion. What I do enjoy ordering via mail is VS' 5/$25 or $7/$30 underwear. They make really good underwear and that way, I can force myself to throw out old underwear that I keep for some unknown reason. But after a nasty incident with the Salvation Army in Philly, I know not to donate underwear to charity. In my defense, it had not been worn and was a mistaken shipment involving thongs; apparently they still don't want you to donate it. Don't even get me started on thongs. If someone gives me the whole "you get used to them" speech again, I will counter it with, "Okay, then you wear glasses that aren't your prescription for a week. You'll get used to them."
I placed an order almost three weeks ago and didn't really think much about it until the snow and ice drama had ended, and I thought, "Hmm..I wonder where my order is." Turns out because Atlanta was nearly completely shut down for almost a week, and everything, be it airplane, package, or auto-tuned singer, must travel through Atlanta before it can get to anywhere else, my order is in limbo. I got an e-mail apologizing for the delay, a promise to refund my shipping costs, and a vague reassurance that my order will be here before next Christmas.
I understand; obviously, these things happen, but for some reason I got this image of my underwear surrounded by items in bigger packages threatening them. They have little knives and guns drawn, and dance fighting breaks out while they try to defend themselves and keep their quality intact before they can arrive. There's the striped pair in the corner rocking back and forth, obviously in shock, and singing "Let My People Go." But the red pair in charge of morale, is keeping spirits up and making sure hope stays alive. I'm confident they'll be here eventually. I pray for their safe arrival.
So, I cannot get the song "Islands in the Stream" out of my head. I heard it on "Saturday Night Live" the other night, and all I can hear in my head is "and we rely on each other...uh-huh..." The duet thing was huge in the 80s. For example, around Christmas, Smitty and I heard "To All the Girls I've Loved Before," with Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias. Basically, this was a ballad about how many women the two of them had slept with...EW. I love Willie Nelson as much as the next person, but when I actually thought about the lyrics of the song and in my mind's eye pictured him and Julio Iglesias with a bunch of Aqua Net-ed women from the 80s doing the naked lambada, I felt a little sick. Try to get THAT image of your head. You're welcome.
How ever many times a damn year they do it, I love Victoria's Secret's clearance sale. This is largely because that is the only time of year I can afford their lingerie. I think that it is insane and part of a right-wing conspiracy that a good bra costs around $45. However, I don't actually order bras via mail due to the girls (my boobs' nickname) being so finnicky and particular. They have to be courted and wooed and measured before they'll agree to any satin or cotton companion. What I do enjoy ordering via mail is VS' 5/$25 or $7/$30 underwear. They make really good underwear and that way, I can force myself to throw out old underwear that I keep for some unknown reason. But after a nasty incident with the Salvation Army in Philly, I know not to donate underwear to charity. In my defense, it had not been worn and was a mistaken shipment involving thongs; apparently they still don't want you to donate it. Don't even get me started on thongs. If someone gives me the whole "you get used to them" speech again, I will counter it with, "Okay, then you wear glasses that aren't your prescription for a week. You'll get used to them."
I placed an order almost three weeks ago and didn't really think much about it until the snow and ice drama had ended, and I thought, "Hmm..I wonder where my order is." Turns out because Atlanta was nearly completely shut down for almost a week, and everything, be it airplane, package, or auto-tuned singer, must travel through Atlanta before it can get to anywhere else, my order is in limbo. I got an e-mail apologizing for the delay, a promise to refund my shipping costs, and a vague reassurance that my order will be here before next Christmas.
I understand; obviously, these things happen, but for some reason I got this image of my underwear surrounded by items in bigger packages threatening them. They have little knives and guns drawn, and dance fighting breaks out while they try to defend themselves and keep their quality intact before they can arrive. There's the striped pair in the corner rocking back and forth, obviously in shock, and singing "Let My People Go." But the red pair in charge of morale, is keeping spirits up and making sure hope stays alive. I'm confident they'll be here eventually. I pray for their safe arrival.
So, I cannot get the song "Islands in the Stream" out of my head. I heard it on "Saturday Night Live" the other night, and all I can hear in my head is "and we rely on each other...uh-huh..." The duet thing was huge in the 80s. For example, around Christmas, Smitty and I heard "To All the Girls I've Loved Before," with Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias. Basically, this was a ballad about how many women the two of them had slept with...EW. I love Willie Nelson as much as the next person, but when I actually thought about the lyrics of the song and in my mind's eye pictured him and Julio Iglesias with a bunch of Aqua Net-ed women from the 80s doing the naked lambada, I felt a little sick. Try to get THAT image of your head. You're welcome.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Shatner......is.......tired.....of......the.......ice
Smitty has taken to calling me William Shatner in the last couple of years due to a verbal tic where I pause for no apparent reason while talking. I thought he was making it up until recently when my cube mate pointed out that it sounds like I've forgotten my name every time I answer the phone. Apparently, it was "discussed." So, I've picked up the mantle and run with it, as I like to think it gives me character.
I love cold weather, really, I do, but when every time I leave the house, I feel as though I'm taking my life into my hands, I'm over it. Our back stairs have remained a solid sheet of ice since Sunday night. Have we met? I'm not graceful. I fell into a hole in the yard and tore a ligament, I trip over carpet, walk into doorjambs; I don't need extra obstacles in my path.
And even if I make it safely to the car, then I have to contend with the dreaded "black ice" and the knowledge that my fellow motorists are not that bright. Everyone drove really slowly and cautiously for two days, and despite the fact that there is still ice hiding on the roadways, they have now taken to slamming on brakes, edging into my lane, and not letting me merge off the part of the highway they couldn't sand. I put on my hat with ear flaps and gave my most pitiful look to one guy until he let me merge. I'm sure he thought I had missed the short bus, but the Aveo doesn't handle ice well.
Also, I determined the number of days that Smitty and I can spend in one place together is 4. After that, we resort to a certain level of primitive/Cops-like behavior where a fight could break out over the remote control or the last piece of cake. At one point Tuesday, I envisioned myself standing over him with a club in my hand wondering how we got to that point. We dearly love each other, don't get me wrong, but we need our outside-the-house time...like, a lot.
It's funny, when you're little, snow/ice days are so much fun, and now, after the initial "huh," it gets old pretty fast. Plus, we're trapped like the guy in "Misery" anytime it ices over due to our deathtrap-like driveway, so knowing that you can't go anywhere is also kind of a bummer. I remember a time when I was younger and it iced over, my dad made the brilliant calculation to back his '77 powder blue Chevette down our monster-hill driveway. It promptly drove off the side of the driveway, which is where it stayed for about 36 hours. I remember him being extremely pissed and us laughing, which caused further pissiness. I was not allowed to mimic this feat. Smitty wouldn't even let me attempt to walk down the driveway while he checked it...(see above mention of gracefulness)
On a completely unrelated note, I've been thinking a lot about this Arizona shooting for some reason. I think initially I was just irritated that Sarah Palin would put sights on a map of opposing politicians. I'm honestly not saying the shooting was her fault, but I think that very action is a perfect example of how completely "off" politics has become. No one really wants to become moderate, no one really wants to try to see the other's point of view. It's become "let's follow the loudest one or the one that's on TV the most because that must mean they're right."
The people who opposed Obama were never going to give any of his ideas a chance, and the same will be true if/when he gets re-elected, and the same will be true of the next President. I used to be so immersed in politics, that it's all I could think and breathe, and I genuinely am so disgusted with all of it, that I consciously try to block it out now. Even when I try to have conversations with friends, some of the things that are said make me lose respect for those friends, and we're never going to agree, so I've resolved, more or less, not to talk about it. I don't even have to respond to what's being said, and I get called names, or the negative rhetoric about Obama is the first thing out of the gate. I can be in church, of all places, and the message is basically, if you're a Democrat, you couldn't possibly be saved or religious or have a relationship with God. That one really infuriates me.
My take on it is this: A. I'm not interested in arguing; actual, constructive debate is what is needed by everyone, and B. I'm smarter than you, so just stop. (partially kidding on that last part) But I will say, that I purposely restrain what I could say to avoid sinking to their level because I don't see the merit in attacking another person, strictly based on their point of view.
I love cold weather, really, I do, but when every time I leave the house, I feel as though I'm taking my life into my hands, I'm over it. Our back stairs have remained a solid sheet of ice since Sunday night. Have we met? I'm not graceful. I fell into a hole in the yard and tore a ligament, I trip over carpet, walk into doorjambs; I don't need extra obstacles in my path.
And even if I make it safely to the car, then I have to contend with the dreaded "black ice" and the knowledge that my fellow motorists are not that bright. Everyone drove really slowly and cautiously for two days, and despite the fact that there is still ice hiding on the roadways, they have now taken to slamming on brakes, edging into my lane, and not letting me merge off the part of the highway they couldn't sand. I put on my hat with ear flaps and gave my most pitiful look to one guy until he let me merge. I'm sure he thought I had missed the short bus, but the Aveo doesn't handle ice well.
Also, I determined the number of days that Smitty and I can spend in one place together is 4. After that, we resort to a certain level of primitive/Cops-like behavior where a fight could break out over the remote control or the last piece of cake. At one point Tuesday, I envisioned myself standing over him with a club in my hand wondering how we got to that point. We dearly love each other, don't get me wrong, but we need our outside-the-house time...like, a lot.
It's funny, when you're little, snow/ice days are so much fun, and now, after the initial "huh," it gets old pretty fast. Plus, we're trapped like the guy in "Misery" anytime it ices over due to our deathtrap-like driveway, so knowing that you can't go anywhere is also kind of a bummer. I remember a time when I was younger and it iced over, my dad made the brilliant calculation to back his '77 powder blue Chevette down our monster-hill driveway. It promptly drove off the side of the driveway, which is where it stayed for about 36 hours. I remember him being extremely pissed and us laughing, which caused further pissiness. I was not allowed to mimic this feat. Smitty wouldn't even let me attempt to walk down the driveway while he checked it...(see above mention of gracefulness)
On a completely unrelated note, I've been thinking a lot about this Arizona shooting for some reason. I think initially I was just irritated that Sarah Palin would put sights on a map of opposing politicians. I'm honestly not saying the shooting was her fault, but I think that very action is a perfect example of how completely "off" politics has become. No one really wants to become moderate, no one really wants to try to see the other's point of view. It's become "let's follow the loudest one or the one that's on TV the most because that must mean they're right."
The people who opposed Obama were never going to give any of his ideas a chance, and the same will be true if/when he gets re-elected, and the same will be true of the next President. I used to be so immersed in politics, that it's all I could think and breathe, and I genuinely am so disgusted with all of it, that I consciously try to block it out now. Even when I try to have conversations with friends, some of the things that are said make me lose respect for those friends, and we're never going to agree, so I've resolved, more or less, not to talk about it. I don't even have to respond to what's being said, and I get called names, or the negative rhetoric about Obama is the first thing out of the gate. I can be in church, of all places, and the message is basically, if you're a Democrat, you couldn't possibly be saved or religious or have a relationship with God. That one really infuriates me.
My take on it is this: A. I'm not interested in arguing; actual, constructive debate is what is needed by everyone, and B. I'm smarter than you, so just stop. (partially kidding on that last part) But I will say, that I purposely restrain what I could say to avoid sinking to their level because I don't see the merit in attacking another person, strictly based on their point of view.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Snowpallooza '11
I love snow; I don't care if it causes my place of business to close, I just love snow and winter weather. This is one of the main aspects of Philadelphia I loved. There was actual winter. Yes, you would freeze your ass off, but you would know, by God, that winter had come and gone. I dug my car out in Philly about 7 times in the one winter I was there, that I think was actually a mild winter. My favorite memory of that winter was walking to the bars with my friend and eventual roommate Rachel, meeting up with some folks, and watching her snowboard down the main street of Conshohocken (I cannot remember the street name) looking like a badass. Then, we hot-tubbed in the snow, which is utterly awesome. It's freezing outside, but you're in this awesome hot tub that you don't want to leave. Ahhhh.
To me, snow brings out the child-like delight in all of us. Even if we have to go to work if it snows, we love to see an actual blanket of snow. Maybe this is South-restricted. I know the first time it snowed when I lived in Philly, they projected about 6 inches. If they projected 6 inches of snow in the South, everything would be closed for 3 days. In Philly, when that was projected, I said, "Ooh, a snow day, " and was laughed at and patted on the head like a little kid. They don't close anything unless it's a freaking blizzard...hence, digging my car out on numerous occasions to go to work...booo
All day, I've been having bizarre hot flashes due to probably being off Cymbalta and then back on it, plus I have fever from something. It's sad, but I generally assume on any given day that my nose is completely stopped up and that I have a little bit of fever..That's how I roll.
I've been walking around outside periodically in Uggs and shorts so I can cool off; I hope by the time I go through menopause, they can discover a way to curb hot flashes, because I cannot deal with them. I will have to sleep in the freezer. I digress....
I tried to envision a '10 blog. It didn't quite happen. 2010 is the year my father died, and I had to learn how to exist in a universe without him, I got to spend time with some of his dearest friends, which I enjoyed so much, I learned that you can't live in denial about some people, no matter how much you're pressured, and how my family, Team Smittily, me and Smitty, is the most important thing to me in the world.
I don't make New Year's resolutions because I find them to be trite and a little bullshit-ty, but in the following year, I would like to become more healthy (this does not include deleting wine from my diet), learn how to deal with toxic situations in a more productive manner, and write, write, write. I need to get published or be somewhere that people can see that I'm Tina Fey + David Sedaris. Can you imagine if they had a surrogate child?
As snow and ice accumulate everywhere around us, I sincerely hope that we don't lose power, because I kid you not, Smitty and I will either kill each other or resort to behavior that will end up on the news. Because as romantic as lost power and such would seem, as a married couple, you can occupy like an hour of a power outage with naked shenanigans, and then you're just freezing and bored, and when the other one starts to breathe on you, you want to punch them...and pray for power and cable..
I leave you with our song, "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol:
All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see
I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
To me, snow brings out the child-like delight in all of us. Even if we have to go to work if it snows, we love to see an actual blanket of snow. Maybe this is South-restricted. I know the first time it snowed when I lived in Philly, they projected about 6 inches. If they projected 6 inches of snow in the South, everything would be closed for 3 days. In Philly, when that was projected, I said, "Ooh, a snow day, " and was laughed at and patted on the head like a little kid. They don't close anything unless it's a freaking blizzard...hence, digging my car out on numerous occasions to go to work...booo
All day, I've been having bizarre hot flashes due to probably being off Cymbalta and then back on it, plus I have fever from something. It's sad, but I generally assume on any given day that my nose is completely stopped up and that I have a little bit of fever..That's how I roll.
I've been walking around outside periodically in Uggs and shorts so I can cool off; I hope by the time I go through menopause, they can discover a way to curb hot flashes, because I cannot deal with them. I will have to sleep in the freezer. I digress....
I tried to envision a '10 blog. It didn't quite happen. 2010 is the year my father died, and I had to learn how to exist in a universe without him, I got to spend time with some of his dearest friends, which I enjoyed so much, I learned that you can't live in denial about some people, no matter how much you're pressured, and how my family, Team Smittily, me and Smitty, is the most important thing to me in the world.
I don't make New Year's resolutions because I find them to be trite and a little bullshit-ty, but in the following year, I would like to become more healthy (this does not include deleting wine from my diet), learn how to deal with toxic situations in a more productive manner, and write, write, write. I need to get published or be somewhere that people can see that I'm Tina Fey + David Sedaris. Can you imagine if they had a surrogate child?
As snow and ice accumulate everywhere around us, I sincerely hope that we don't lose power, because I kid you not, Smitty and I will either kill each other or resort to behavior that will end up on the news. Because as romantic as lost power and such would seem, as a married couple, you can occupy like an hour of a power outage with naked shenanigans, and then you're just freezing and bored, and when the other one starts to breathe on you, you want to punch them...and pray for power and cable..
I leave you with our song, "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol:
All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see
I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all
If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Friday, January 07, 2011
And the new year starts with a bang, not a whimper
I have been experiencing a case of blog block. I haven't seen a cure that wouldn't cause a 4-hour erection, and nobody wants that. The holidays brought so many emotions out of me, that I think I haven't been able to express myself without being wildly all over the place. How that's different from any other communique with me, I don't know, but I've felt unfocused.
Part of that has been due to the fact that I went about 4 days without Cymbalta. Through no fault of my own, in fact, it involved theft, I ran out of Cymbalta before my refill could be processed. Do you know what it costs without insurance? About $340. Not only is that utterly ridiculous, it made me think about unemployed people who suffer from depression that don't have insurance. Not all of those people have the luxury of sitting on their asses while someone supports them...I have to change topic slightly before I unleash some Jerry Springer on the world...I will say this and leave it at this; my dad used to say constantly that he and my mother could not have imagined creating three more different children. And in most ways, he wasn't necessarily proud of this fact.
My brother-in-law had surgery on Tuesday. They found a tumor in his throat, which they are 90% is benign, but we won't know for a few days. For a period in November, another doctor told him it was malignant, which made this surgery all the more nerve-wracking. Most of you that have known me for a while have heard me talk about Gib. It dawned on me the other day at the hospital, that essentially he's been my brother for 16 years, and I've probably known him for 21 years or so.
I remember one day when I was about 15, my friend Bebe and I and my sister and Gib were going to the Country Club or maybe we had already been, but Gib wanted to show off in front of us, so he picked my sister up over his head and squatted like he was doing that crappy exercise all coaches make you do like you're sitting in a chair with your back straight....anyway, he did this, and ripped the back of his swim trunks, like wide open...he turned red, ran away, and we all died laughing.
I'll fully admit, we did not always get along, I got on his nerves, he got on mine, but in the last 10 years or so, we've settled into a brother/sister relationship. I'm sorry to sound callous, but I consider him more of a brother than the brother I actually have. And so while at one time, I might have thought it weird that I teared up when they told us he came through the surgery fine and was being moved to a room, after the last year of loss and hurt and heartbreak and coming to terms with the fact that you can't will people to care about you and understand what you need, I'm not really surprised I was tearfully relieved. I have a strong support system that works for me, and he's a big part of it. Plus, my niece and nephew are like my siblings almost, and I don't want to see them suffer either. So, the horrible part is mostly over until we get the biopsy results, and I have faith in God that he has a plan that doesn't include my sister losing the heart of her family.
On another note, I think I understand why depression and suicide rates spike during the holidays. It's not the people who are alone, it's the rest of us, the ones with straight crazy running through the leaves of our family tree. When people say I'm a pessimist or that I'm negative, I eventually find that amusing, because if you knew what I know, that I genuinely root for things to have a positive outcome, and when they don't, I'm crushed like ice in a frozen margarita, that I am in remarkably good spirits for someone who's experienced some of the things I have. I will never understand why those who are supposed to love you the most are the ones with the greatest capability of destroying you.
I don't really make New Year's resolutions because I don't agree with setting myself up for failure and making stupid self-improvement goals that if I need to implement, I should've made in May or August or whenever, but I make these commitments to myself:
1. I will figure out how to better cope with stress and shut out the toxic personalities that stalk me
2. I will become healthier; I will NOT become a crazy exercise junkie weirdo, but I will eat better and exercise when I want to, doing what I want to, and I believe that feeling better and being healthier will naturally follow. It's not rocket science.
So, there, thank you for allowing my wildly erratic blog to start off 2011. Sometimes, I just need to write.
And from my deceased partial namesake:
"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all. "
-- Emily Dickinson
Part of that has been due to the fact that I went about 4 days without Cymbalta. Through no fault of my own, in fact, it involved theft, I ran out of Cymbalta before my refill could be processed. Do you know what it costs without insurance? About $340. Not only is that utterly ridiculous, it made me think about unemployed people who suffer from depression that don't have insurance. Not all of those people have the luxury of sitting on their asses while someone supports them...I have to change topic slightly before I unleash some Jerry Springer on the world...I will say this and leave it at this; my dad used to say constantly that he and my mother could not have imagined creating three more different children. And in most ways, he wasn't necessarily proud of this fact.
My brother-in-law had surgery on Tuesday. They found a tumor in his throat, which they are 90% is benign, but we won't know for a few days. For a period in November, another doctor told him it was malignant, which made this surgery all the more nerve-wracking. Most of you that have known me for a while have heard me talk about Gib. It dawned on me the other day at the hospital, that essentially he's been my brother for 16 years, and I've probably known him for 21 years or so.
I remember one day when I was about 15, my friend Bebe and I and my sister and Gib were going to the Country Club or maybe we had already been, but Gib wanted to show off in front of us, so he picked my sister up over his head and squatted like he was doing that crappy exercise all coaches make you do like you're sitting in a chair with your back straight....anyway, he did this, and ripped the back of his swim trunks, like wide open...he turned red, ran away, and we all died laughing.
I'll fully admit, we did not always get along, I got on his nerves, he got on mine, but in the last 10 years or so, we've settled into a brother/sister relationship. I'm sorry to sound callous, but I consider him more of a brother than the brother I actually have. And so while at one time, I might have thought it weird that I teared up when they told us he came through the surgery fine and was being moved to a room, after the last year of loss and hurt and heartbreak and coming to terms with the fact that you can't will people to care about you and understand what you need, I'm not really surprised I was tearfully relieved. I have a strong support system that works for me, and he's a big part of it. Plus, my niece and nephew are like my siblings almost, and I don't want to see them suffer either. So, the horrible part is mostly over until we get the biopsy results, and I have faith in God that he has a plan that doesn't include my sister losing the heart of her family.
On another note, I think I understand why depression and suicide rates spike during the holidays. It's not the people who are alone, it's the rest of us, the ones with straight crazy running through the leaves of our family tree. When people say I'm a pessimist or that I'm negative, I eventually find that amusing, because if you knew what I know, that I genuinely root for things to have a positive outcome, and when they don't, I'm crushed like ice in a frozen margarita, that I am in remarkably good spirits for someone who's experienced some of the things I have. I will never understand why those who are supposed to love you the most are the ones with the greatest capability of destroying you.
I don't really make New Year's resolutions because I don't agree with setting myself up for failure and making stupid self-improvement goals that if I need to implement, I should've made in May or August or whenever, but I make these commitments to myself:
1. I will figure out how to better cope with stress and shut out the toxic personalities that stalk me
2. I will become healthier; I will NOT become a crazy exercise junkie weirdo, but I will eat better and exercise when I want to, doing what I want to, and I believe that feeling better and being healthier will naturally follow. It's not rocket science.
So, there, thank you for allowing my wildly erratic blog to start off 2011. Sometimes, I just need to write.
And from my deceased partial namesake:
"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all. "
-- Emily Dickinson
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