Just Jess

Birfday!

2012-01-19T23:52:00.002-06:00

So I'm 32 now. I guess I should feel older and wiser now. All I feel is.....drunk. That might have something to do with the fact that I've been steadily drinking generic rum mixed with generic Crystal Light for the past three hours or so.

Eh, I don't feel any different. Still cynical and pissed off and grumpy about everything, more so than usual lately. I think that may be the one change for me. I'm like the honey badger now, I just don't give a shit. You don't like me, fine. Fuck you. You want to mess with me and talk shit and all that. Fine. Fuck you.

I didn't do much for my birthday. Just hung out at home. Was gonna trek down to the MSI and look at the kickass stuff from WWII, but then the temperature started dropping. And dropping. And I was like, "Fuck it." I didn't want to be outside for longer than necessary. So I slept. Then did a major sprint to the store to get some lunch. Sushi. Yum.

Got me some stuffed pizza for dinner. Did a minor celebration with my family. Good enough. All my good friends wished me a merry birthday on Facebook. It totally brightened my day because my friends kick ass. People say that you can't have true friends online. I say that's bullshit. Most of my good friends, including MY HUSBAND, came from the internets. So yeah. Theory is crap.

So that's it. I should expound on how I'm more awesome and SMRT because I'm 32, but I don't give a fuuuuuuuuuuuck. My alcohol is more important right now.

Meh-ry Christmas And Other Musings

2011-12-22T22:53:00.003-06:00

Torturing myself with Christmas carols. Reminds me of happier times. It also makes me sadder than hell because I miss my family.

Last week was the anniversary of my grandmother's death. This would be my paternal grandmother, since both of them died in December. I did not mention it last week nor write about it because I wasn't home. I think that is a good thing. I'm thinking about it now, and all it is doing is dragging my soul down. My heart just feels heavy. I miss her. I miss my maternal grandmother.

We watched "A Christmas Story" tonight, and all I wanted to do was bawl because the Old Man reminds me so much of my grandfather and how he used to be around Christmas.

Blah. The waterworks are starting. I don't want to do this, but if I keep it bottled up, I'm going to be depressed throughout the holiday, and I really don't want to ruin it for my son or husband.

I think I'm also crying because I'm listening to religious Christmas carols, and all they're doing is reminding me of how much I lost when my faith went PFFFFFT. It's a bitch at times to think about it, especially during the holy days for my old religion. Other times I could give a fuck about it all. Ah, conflict. Why can't I be normal?

Merry fucking Christmas.

Google Earth And Depression

2011-11-30T22:03:00.002-06:00

The weirdest shit can make you depressed. It's true. I was bored and messing with Google Earth. I started looking up places in my hometown and the area surrounding it. And I just got hit with this overwhelming feeling of homesickness and depression.

I guess maybe it is the holidays coming up that is making it worse, along with some pretty sucky anniversaries. The knowledge that, once again, I will not be with my family during Christmas just makes me teary eyed. I miss them all, more than I care to admit, I guess. Yes, I have my husband and my son, and even the doggeh (who is trying to climb my leg right now.....like most pets, he senses sadness) to celebrate the holidays with, but I need my other family members. This includes all my close friends in California, because we all act like family anyways!

There is so much I'm feeling right now, and I don't know how to put it into words. My throat is sore from holding in the crying. I usually don't cry. My Paxil has made me pretty immune to certain feelings. Yet tonight, I really feel like letting loose and bawling.

I suppose I'm not making sense. I don't care. I need to write or else I'll go batshit insane.

Fuck it. I'm going to go shower now and possibly cry. Maybe tomorrow I'll resume my (supposedly) normal life.

Why I Should Lay Off The Melatonin

2011-11-18T12:55:00.003-06:00

Because I always dream about zombies when I take it!

My dream starts out with me hiding in an underground bunker with some people. The Zombie Apocalypse is on, and we're pretty much trying to keep it together. We can venture outside when we know the zombies aren't around, but if they sense us, they come forward and try to eat our brains.

The bunker is kind of small, and there is no place to shower or poop (you know, two very important things to consider when the Z.A. is going on.), which distresses me because I want to shower. Luckily, there is a restroom. Above ground. So a couple of us make a dash for it and try to get clean and use the toilet before the zombies come back. It didn't work, and we have to battle our way out. Unfortunately, there is a casualty, and the rest of us run to the steel trapdoor and start banging on it. We get back in, and then we decide to try and make a break for it. Where? To Barbados.

Somehow, we knew Barbados to be a safe place with no zombies about. How this knowledge came about, I don't know. Dreams have no logic. So we wait for it to be semi-clear of zombies, then we start hiking. Now this next part is not going to make any sense at all, unless you grew up where I grew up. So just disregard it if you don't know what the hell I'm talking about.

Anywho, we start hiking down the hill in Moss Landing (which, in real life, is just a tiny hill, but in my dream it's a fucking mountain) so we can get to the harbor and steal a boat to sail to Barbados. There are jungles and forest growth all around (in Moss Landing? Come on.), and some of our group decides to try and shortcut it across the jungle part rather than walk down the hill/mountain. We all eventually meet up again, but of course, there are casualties. A friend lost his girlfriend, and I lost my kid (this part squicked me out).

We finally reach the harbor, and instead of just taking any damned boat and leaving, we argue about which boat to use, like we're going on fucking leisure cruise or something. The decision is finally made, and we start heading out of the harbor. And then we start arguing over stealing a different, larger boat.

After a day's trip, we reach Barbados, which is totally impossible, because Moss Landing is in California, and Barbados is in the Caribbean. When we get there, we realize that we are screwed, because someone in our group was infected but didn't say anything. Before we could kill him, he infects a bunch of other people, which means more zombies. Somehow the solution comes about that if we're all infected, we'll all be normal. Which makes no sense whatsoever, but then again, this is a dream world. And then I woke up.

Now that I think about it, there are other bits of the dream that I didn't add (like the couple in the trailer hiding from the zombies), but I don't remember where they came in. And they're just fucking weird, weirder than what I just wrote. So yeah.

I think someone laced this Melatonin with crack.

Mmmmm.....Depression

2011-11-16T21:53:00.003-06:00

I don't know what the hell is wrong with me (besides the obvious). I just feel like complete shit all the time. I'm constantly stressing about money, even though I know we're covered, thanks to help from my parents. Without them, the kid wouldn't be getting a Christmas, and we wouldn't have money to go grocery shopping this weekend (and probably the latter part of next month as well).

So maybe it isn't money, per se. Maybe I'm just depressed over the fact that I can't stretch our money more. Maybe I'm just depressed because, at the age of 31, I still have to rely on Mommy and Daddy for money. Maybe it's the fact that I can't get work of any kind, which makes me feel utterly useless. Babysitting is out, because everyone has childcare already, although I've put it out there that I'm available for emergencies and whatnot. I've applied all over the neighborhood, but no go. Kinda weird, considering the holidays are coming up and people are usually hiring. Not in Hyde Park, though. I can't go any farther than the neighborhood because of my own childcare issues, so working Downtown is out.

I just need.....something. I don't know what. I feel so miserable because of all this stress. I really try to hide it, but damn. Everyone has their breaking point. I'm not sure I've reached mine yet, but it is awfully close.

I could also just be feeling the depression because December is coming up, and it's just a really shitty month in the scheme of things. God knows I only go through the motions of the holiday for the kid. Not much to celebrate nowadays with everyone gone. A month where I lost both of my grandmothers. A month that would have seen my grandfather turn 75. Sheeyit. I can do without it, thanks.

I'm not sure what the point of writing this was. Maybe I just needed to ramble on and vent some of my depression on the interwebz. Hell, I'm sure most of the people that read this know exactly how I feel.

Fuck Off

2011-11-09T22:26:00.003-06:00

Since I'm feeling pretty shitty right now, I'm just going to lay this out there. If you think you know more about my finances than I do, you're more than welcome to come and school me on it. And when you fail fucking miserably at getting blood out of a turnip, I'm going to laugh at you.

Don't ever presume that we have no money just because we blow it on stupid shit. Don't ever think you know more about us than you do. And if I ever see that fucktard asshole that made the comment about my husband never having money, I'm going to go apeshit ballistic on his ass. Guess what, asshole? We're making a graduate student stipend meant for ONE stretch out for three people. So why don't you go fuck yourself with a chainsaw? Furthermore, it's none of your fucking business. And if you feel so strongly about my husband having more money, then why don't you fight for grad students to make more money rather than act like the biggest prick in the universe about everything.

You know what? I already feel crappy about our situation because I know that a lot of our money problems were brought on by me. I don't need some ignorant dickhead that has fuck all to do with our family make comments about our finances. What? You didn't think my husband was going to tell me what was said? Yeah right. And while he may take it in stride, this feels like the biggest "FUCK YOU" directed at me and our kid, like we're bringing my husband down or something. That shit stings. It also makes me wonder what else is said about us and really really REALLY makes me wary of all of my husband's friends and coworkers.

So yeah. Sorry guys who are my husband's friends and coworkers. I like you, but I don't trust you for shit now.

I'm out.

Zombies And The Rapture

2011-11-03T08:59:00.004-05:00

On any given night, I'll have weird assed dreams. Most of the time I won't remember them until like hours later, if at all. Sometimes I'll just have the general feeling of having a weird dream, but nothing that I remember. Unless I'm taking Melatonin.

Melatonin is an over the counter drug that helps you fall asleep. Now, I could go and get a prescription sleep aid, but this is somewhat easier and works like a charm. I'm not sure if it does damage to your body (it probably does if you become dependent on it), but man, I fall asleep fast when I pop one of these pills. The drawback (or not?) is that you will have incredibly intense (and obviously weird) dreams. You will also not forget them. Which is why I'm blogging about this.

My dream starts out somewhere in the future, in Detroit of all places. I'm older, like really older. I'm in a weird type of house/trailer, talking to an unknown man. I look outside and notice strange things going on. Lights coming down from the heavens, people being lifted up and taken away. Somehow I knew it was the Rapture.

I noticed that some were being left behind. Then a light came down on me. A voice was telling me it was time to go. I didn't want to go, so I begged for a few minutes to say goodbye to people. It was granted, and I ran and hid in a dark room. I was refusing to leave, hiding from God(?), I guess. I knew that if I left this house/trailer, I would be Raptured.

Eventually, I came out of the dark room and looked down on the city. Cars abandoned everywhere, buildings on fire, fucked up roads, basically what Detroit looks like on a regular day (shut up, you know I have to mock Detroit). Then I noticed that the people who were left behind were acting strange. Funny looking. Almost like.......zombies. I went to the front of this house/trailer (which now magically turned into a hotel....dreams are never logical), and looked out on a wide street. Zombie people sitting in cars, out walking around, terrorizing what was left of normal humanity.

At this point in the dream, a bunch of other people appeared, and we decided to try and make a break for it, since the scene was getting so weird. We ventured out to find a car so we could drive somewhere, ANYWHERE, that seemed normal. I must mention that in the dream, I was asking to be Raptured now. I did not want to deal with zombies or other weird things. But I was too late and had blown my chance. So I was stuck in a post-apocalyptic hell.

We eventually found a car and tried to start it. Of course, like in a bad horror flick, it wouldn't start. The zombie hooligans were starting to close in. The weird thing is though that they weren't trying to eat our brains. They were just.....creepy. Like lost souls, I guess. The car finally started, but we couldn't really drive anywhere, because cars were in the way and there were very few normal people left to move them. So all we could do was go back to the house/trailer/hotel and wait. Then.......I woke up.

And this is why you should not become dependent on Melatonin to sleep.

Whiny Post

2011-11-01T16:17:00.003-05:00

I haven't been feeling stellar lately. You might have noticed from my past posts that I've been feeling exhausted all the time. What I haven't really mentioned is that it is getting to the point where I'm just tired from the time I get up to until I go to bed. I feel lethargic, lazy, and just so damned depressed. I have no desire to do anything. Not cooking or cleaning or even paying attention to my family. My mind is a mess. I don't sleep very well at night.

I don't know what is causing this. I don't know if it is all psychological or if something is actually wrong with my body. What I do know is that I just got fed up with it today and made an appointment to have a full on physical. Walking a couple of miles shouldn't wear me out, like it did today. I walked the dog, walked to the bank, came home, ate some breakfast, and then had to go lie down because I was wiped out. I still feel crappy, and I have a million things to do, like putting away the laundry that has been sitting here since Saturday.

I can't keep on like this. I want to be able to get up in the morning and make it through exercise without feeling like it's going to kill me. I want to be able to pay attention to my child and play with him and take him places without lapsing into a coma afterwards. I want to be able to clean my house without having to take a break every thirty minutes. Hell, I just want to be able to stay up in the morning without having to take a nap.

I just want a freakin' normal life. I know I'm never going to be the type to get up and be all bouncy about exercising and being active, but for fuck's sake, can't I have a little bit more energy?

Last Day

2011-10-31T11:41:00.003-05:00

As I said last night, this post will be coming early. I still have to go hem my kid's costume because I bought it several sizes too big, thanks to a misleading review. It fits fine in the waist and stuff, especially because I pad it out with the belly (he's going to be Mario), but the length is waaaaaaaaay too long. So I'm just going to safety pin the bottoms, because I'm too fucking lazy to do an actual hem. And I don't have the right color thread.

My side is feeling somewhat better, thanks to Ibuprofen, so maybe it was just something I pulled.

I just worked myself into a depression right now, so that's fun. I called the collection agency today to arrange payments for the hospital bills. While the people were actually very nice, I won't know until tomorrow or Friday if they'll accept what I'm offering to pay. All of the laws that my friend pulled up (thanks, Kim!) don't apply to us because we're not residents of California. However, I may be missing something, so I might speak to a lawyer friend about it if they don't accept my payments.

While I was typing the above paragraph, my friend called and made me feel better about things. So, long term depression averted.

Today concludes my NaBloWriMo participation. I'm glad it's over with, but I'm glad it also stirred up my love of writing again. I did learn that I cannot blog every day. That's just not me. But I feel that I can muster up posts here and there without it throwing me into panic mode about "ohmygodwhatshouldiwriteihavenoideas!". I also learned that I should just let the ideas come to me as needed, without forcing, because that makes my writer's block a million times worse.

So with this, I sign off my month of writing with this video. This holiday isn't complete without watching it. Happy Halloween!

Please Don't Be That Again

2011-10-30T21:41:00.005-05:00

Today I noticed that I had a pain in my lower abdomen. The right side, to be precise. I thought nothing of it for the whole day, figuring it was just PMS or maybe a cramped muscle or something. It was only after I went to lie down for a bit did I think of it: what if my lap band fell apart again?

This issue happened twice before, and it was unpleasant since I had to go in and have surgery so it could be repaired. Basically, the port line had detached and was dangling down into my pelvic area, tickling me in a not so good way and causing all kinds of discomfort. Yeah, so much fun.

I'm pretty sure I went white (whiter than I am) when the thought of a detached band line went through my head. I really, really, REALLY don't want to go back for anymore surgery. As far as I'm concerned, I am DONE. Do not want. I don't want to smell that frickin' antiseptic smell or experience the fun of barfing while I'm half-looped on anesthesia (ugh, that happened the last time).

I'm scared that that might be the problem. And I'll be more than a little pissed if it turns out that the line is the culprit. However, I'm trying to be optimistic. Maybe it's just something minor. Maybe it will disappear tomorrow (oh please oh please oh please). Maybe my body is hating on me for being so active this weekend. Maybe my intestines are staging a coup because I ate a McRib last night.

In other news (that is much more pleasant), we went to a puppy Halloween parade today. It was nice. This is the thing I love about my neighborhood: random weird celebrations. Quite a few people showed up with their doggehs, and most of them were in costume. I have to say that I laughed my fat ass off at some of the costumes. A Min-Pin dressed as a chicken. A Spaniel dressed as a squirrel. And my absolute favorite: a mutt dressed as a pimp. Ratdog wore his hot dog costume to the park, and more than a few people, in cars and on foot, stopped to get a chuckle at the tiny little dog buried under the giant hot dog on his back.

Yeah, he's so not thrilled.

So tomorrow will be my last day of blogging for a month straight. I'll probably write the post early since we'll be out getting candy for us the kid. It should be an interesting time. I only hope that I'm feeling better by tomorrow, because I don't want to see any doctors. I already have to go next Monday for a yearly girly bits exam. I sure as shit don't want any other appointments after that fun.

Randomly Boring Stuff

2011-10-29T20:57:00.002-05:00

I really don't think I'm cut out for blogging every day. Not enough ideas. Here's some random shit.

I'm freezing my ass off.
I got up way too early today.
McRib sandwiches still suck.
They cut my husband's pay by $100. Without telling us. Actually, it wasn't cut so much as it was sucked up by fucking insurance. Rates went up.
My whole body aches.
I just watched an old PBR commercial with Patrick Swayze. That was fucking awesome.
Tomorrow is a Halloween dog parade for the doggehs that live in the neighborhood. Ratdog is going as a hot dog. He hates that costume.
My child is being seven shades of annoying this weekend. Too much excitement for Halloween, I guess.
Speaking of, they're no longer allowed to dress up for Halloween nor have parties at school. What a massive crock of shit. Ooh, they got a goody bag on Thursday. THURSDAY! Big fucking deal.
I really want it to snow. Once it does, I'll be bitching for sun and warmth.
I need to freakin' shower.
I feel so bloated from that damned McRib. Liquid diet tomorrow. Ugh.
I downloaded an app on my phone that is 80s television show theme songs. I haven't gone through all of them yet, but I saw some good ones, like Airwolf and the Wonder Years.
I was thinking of this clip right now. Well, not the whole clip, just a specific bit. It starts at 6:05.

Alright, I'm out.

Super Mega Awesome Nothing Post

2011-10-28T21:29:00.004-05:00

I'm tired. Baking a chocolate cobbler for the husband because he's PMSing or some shit. Here is a random survey.

1. Who was your FIRST prom date?
Didn't go. Too fat, too shy, and I sort of didn't stick around for those years.

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love?
I don't even remember who my first love was, so no.

3. What was your FIRST job?
Babysitter. The pay was great, but the kids were the demon spawn from hell.

4. What was your FIRST car?
The shitacular Jetta.

5. Who was the FIRST person to text you today?
My husband. He forgot his keys.

6. Who is the FIRST person you thought of this morning?
Neil Patrick Harris. Don't even ask.

7. Who was your FIRST grade teacher?
Some evil hag known as Ms. Manders. Lady was a mega bitznatch.

8. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane?
August 2003, from San Jose, CA to Phoenix, AZ, to Raleigh-Durham, NC. And then back again.

9. Who was your FIRST best friend & do you still talk
Michelle Gutierrez. I lost contact with her ages and ages ago.

10. Where was your FIRST sleep over?
My friend Michelle's house.

11. Who was the first person you talked to today?
The husband.

12. Whose wedding were you in the FIRST time?
My own. :-D

13. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning?
Wondered why the fuck I was thinking about Neil Patrick Harris.

14. What was the FIRST concert you ever went to?
Oldies concert in San Jose.

15. FIRST tattoo?
None yet. Want a devil on my ankle with my son's name under it. Still too fat though.

16. FIRST piercing?
Ears at six weeks old. :-O

17. FIRST foreign country you went to?
None yet. Probably never, unless it's Canada or Mexico. I hate flying. Maybe take a cruise. Hmmmm.

18. FIRST movie you remember seeing?
Porky's. I was supposed to be watching E.T. God bless Drive-in theaters.

19. When was your FIRST detention?
Hell if I remember. I think high school. Probably for ditching.

20. Who was your FIRST roommate?
My husband, I guess.

21. If you had one wish, what would it be?
Money. Lots of money. Or maybe world domination.

Money.....I Don't Has It

2011-10-27T22:06:00.002-05:00

I was going to try and cop out and write a totally crap blog tonight, but I'm still feeling sort of punk about this all.

For the past couple of weeks, I've been worrying about money. I guess it would be more correct to say that I've been worrying about how the hell I'm going to organize the holidays and pay for stuff. Not really for us, but for the kid. I like making him happy on Christmas, because he rarely asks for stuff during the rest of the year (unless it's his birthday). He's one of the most unspoiled kids I know. I can take him walking through stores, including toy aisles, and he won't bat an eyelash. It's wonderful. But yes, I do like making his Christmas a little spectacular.

So this brings me to why I'm so worried. This may be tacky, but I'm going to divulge a little of our financial information so that you may better understand why we are broke all the time. Last year, we had a lot of problems, mainly me having to visit the doctor while I was in California. We burned up a lot of credit cards that way. Then there was the trip out there, which I do not regret at all, considering the circumstances. That killed more credit cards. Then it was just a lovely circle of robbing Peter to pay Paul. I finally gave up the ghost on that and went into debt management, because all of the interest was not helping reduce balances. So now I pay almost $350 a month to have these cards paid off with little to no interest charges. We should be done by 2016.

Then we have the other cards that do not participate in debt management that we're paying. That's another $120. You can also add the emergency veterinary credit card (yes, they do exist) that we had to get in September to take care of the doggeh. That's another $25 a month. And then there is the clusterfuck of hospital bills that I could not put on credit cards because it was too high: almost $10,000.

The hospital bills have become a major pain in the ass. In August of 2010, I arranged to pay $251 a month for four years to get them paid down with no interest. This worked while I was burning up credit cards paying for everything else. Once I was unable to do that any longer (this past summer), I knew I was up shit creek in regards to this stupid bill. So I called and explained. They didn't care. They reduced my payment to $200 a month for six months. Yeah, that's going to fucking help. So I turned them over to my debt management program, hoping they would be able to stifle these assholes. Nope. Last month, they turned me over to collections. And now we're accruing interest.

Keep in mind that I was not trying to get out of paying this bill. I've done that shit before and it didn't do my credit any favors. It also caused me to pay well over $2000 more than the original debt. So I know. I just wanted a freaking break, but the hospital couldn't (or wouldn't, is probably the case) lower the payments and give me longer to pay. So two weeks ago, I sent out letters to both the hospital and the collection agency explaining my point of view and asking if the collection agency would be willing to work out payments. They are. I'm hoping they'll take $100 a month, even though $75 of that will be eaten up in interest fees each month. Joy.

So you can couple these bills with the rent, the assessments, the utilities, and the measly $7.99 a month we pay for Netflix streaming. This leaves almost $600 left over for gas (which, thank god, we only need like once a month) and food. And I'm sure you all know how much food costs nowadays. Yeah. Not pretty. Then there is the random stuff, like field trips, school pictures, car registration, clothing, and yes, sometimes outings. I should know better and just forego them, but I kind of want my child to have SOME fun now and then.

So right now, I'm at the end of my rope and quite resentful about having to pay all these bills. It's probably an immature way to react, but I really do just want to lie on the floor and kick and scream.

I also know that other people have it WAY harder than us and we're lucky as fuck to have an assured roof over our heads and insurance on the car, plus free medical care for me and the boy. It could be a lot worse, I know.

Still, you just have to complain sometimes, or else you wind up freaking the fuck out later on.

Another Survey From Facebook...

2011-10-26T21:50:00.004-05:00

...cause I really don't feel like writing anything substantial tonight. Just a small bout of depression that's putting me in a funk. I'll get over it.

1. Do you like Blue cheese?

Oh god, yes.

2. Have you ever been drunk?

That's like asking if the ocean is wet.

3. Do you own a gun?

Me+Firearms+Tendency to be a psycho hosebeast = NO.

4. What flavor of Kool Aid was your favorite?

Purple!

5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?

Not really, although my upcoming pap smear is a bit bizarre, since I'm being sent to some clinic in the ghetto.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?

Tasty pig snouts compacted to fit on a bun with mustard, sauerkraut, onions, and relish.

7. Favorite Christmas movie?

"A Christmas Story". Duh. Classic.

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?

Chocolate milk, although that might change if I can find the Almond Joy coffee creamer. And it's not too expensive.

9. Can you do push ups?

Probably. Don't want to, though.

10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?

The stuff given to me by my grandparents. I'll even give a shout out to my father-in-law for fixing my grandpa's watch.

11. Favorite hobby?

Drinking.

12. Do you have A.D.D.?

Probably. Or I just don't care about what is going on around me and I tune it out.

13. What's your favorite shoe?

My super mega awesome Zebracorn heels.

14. Middle name?

Rose. Probably because I'm a prick.

15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?

Fucking tired, my kid is snoring really loud, and my house smells like chili beans.

16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink?

Water, milk, and booze.

17. Current worry?

How the holy fuck am I going to afford shit for the holidays?

18. Current hate right now?

Bills and collection agencies.

19. What do you wish for in the coming year?

To get some of our debt paid down.

20. How did you ring in the New Year?

Drinking at my friends' house.

21. Where would you like to go?

Someplace where there is jobs and money and free healthcare and a decent government, etc....

22. Name three people who will complete this?

Probably no one, since I posted this on my blog and not on Facebook.

23. Do you own slippers?

They're around somewhere.

24. What color shirt are you wearing right now?

Blue shirt with Mario.

25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?

No clue. I can't afford shit like that.

26. Can you whistle?

I can whistle a jaunty tune, yes.

27. Favorite color?

Black.

28. Would you be a pirate?

I'd rather be a fat ninja.

29. What songs do you sing in the shower?

I don't.

30. Favorite girl's Name?

Don't have one.

31. Favorite boy's name?

See above.

32. What's in your pocket right now?

Lint.

33. Last thing that made you laugh?

Doing a victory dance on my kid's bed. He was being a sore winner when we were playing Connect Four, so my husband played him, beat him, and I gloated like a big ol' bitch. But the best part was definitely the wild white girl booty dance I did while standing on his bed. Little boy was PISSED.

34. Best bed sheets as a child?

My sorta hippie flowered sheets.

35. Worst injury you've ever had as a child?

A tree branch poking my eye while learning to ride a bike. Yup.

36. What are your plans for the future?

World domination.

37. Do you walk around the house naked?

Yes, but only when it's hot.

38. Who is your loudest friend?

Rob.

39. How many dogs do you have?

Just the scrawny bitch that's under my chair right now.

40. Does someone have a crush on you?

Fuck if I know. And if they do, they should let it be known in the comments (anonymously, of course). It'll give my self-esteem a boost.

41. What is your favorite book?

Anything by Christopher Moore. His shit is hilarious.

42. What is your favorite candy?

I TRY not to indulge (key word is TRY), but if I do, I like chocolate.

43. Favorite Sports Team?

Cubbies and Raiders. Yeah, I like loser teams. Eat me.

44. What song do you want played at your funeral?

"Another One Bites the Dust" and "Who Wants To Live Forever" by Queen. Oh, and "Forever Young" by Alphaville. Mainly the first one.

A Bit O' Nostalgia

2011-10-25T21:03:00.003-05:00

I'm prepping stuff to make chili beans tomorrow. My grandma's recipe. While sorting the beans, I drifted into nostalgia, of course. Nothing too sad, just some fond memories of her puttering about the kitchen. The woman knew how to cook, and she expressed her love by feeding her family quite well.

Since she was pure Okie, she stuck mainly to the Midwestern classics, which included fried, fried, and more fried. Nah, she actually did make stuff without frying it. Some stuff. A few things.

I remember during the holidays, I would hang around the kitchen and watch her work. She would make EVERYTHING. Sometimes she would allow her daughters to help, but not always. Yet she always let me help her. Go figure. Maybe she realized that I would be an awesome cook someday. I still remember the time she let me make a homemade chocolate cake with chocolate frosting for Christmas dessert. I honestly didn't think it tasted that great, but my grandpa ate it. Maybe he was just being nice.

Then there was the time I made the pumpkin pie and it didn't set right. I was so disappointed, but my grandma didn't even care. She just made me make it over again. And this time, it worked. Now I make pumpkin pie like a champ.

Then there was the time that I burned the curd for lemon meringue pie. Didn't faze her. She just scrapped the curd and made a chocolate filling for it instead. I think she'd be pleased to know that now I can make lemon meringue pie without killing the filling, and that it's so good, I have to make two of them when we're in California, one for my husband and one for my dad. They'd go into steel cage death match mode if they didn't have their own separate pies.

She also made the most delicious fudge ever. That is one thing I have not perfected yet, but I'm still working on it. For the past couple of years, I've been trying to replicate the recipe, but I always wind up with chocolate sludge. Delicious over ice cream, and tastes exactly like what she used to make, but it won't set. Ah well, I'll get it one day or die trying.

It wasn't all sweets, though. Like I said above, I'm making her chili bean recipe tomorrow. With cornbread. She made some killer bacon gravy that is fantastic over biscuits. Fried okra, bread (oh, how I loved her bread), quick baked beans (fuck yeah, bacon!).....the list just goes on and on.

I'm glad I can reminisce about her now without crying. Right now I have a big smile on my face, just thinking about her in the kitchen, cooking enough food to feed a freakin' army. I guess it makes sense that she was so attached to food and cooking. Her life had not been easy (survivor of the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression), so food was no doubt a source of comfort for her. I remember that she would make three full meals a day. No wonder I was such a fatty when I was a kid. I'm sure the making of random snacks and experimenting in her kitchen didn't help.

But I wouldn't trade those memories for all the skinniness in the world.

Random Questions Cause I'm Lazy

2011-10-24T21:49:00.003-05:00

I dug this out of my notes on Facebook. Let's see if I can make the answers somewhat more interesting!

1. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?
WTF?

2. How much cash do you have on you?
Jack and shit. We's po'.

3. What's a word that rhymes with "DOOR?"
Whore.

4. Favorite planet?
Pluto! It's a planet, godammit!

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?
Some random number that I'm not answering. Fucking telemarketers.

6. What is your favorite ring on your phone?
David Tennant saying, "Allons-Y!" Shut the fuck up. It's hot.

7. What shirt are you wearing?
Cubs shirt with the name and number of someone who doesn't even play for the Cubs anymore.

8. Do you "label" yourself?
I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint.......

9. Name the brand of your shoes you're currently wearing.
Feet.

10. Bright or Dark Room?
Dark, so I can fall asleep.

11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you?
Since I took this once before, I'll talk about myself. I think I'm fucking awesome.

12. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Trying to fall asleep, but failing miserably because of the thunderstorm.

13. What did your last text message you received on your cell say?

Can't say (private, nyah!), but I will go back a month or so to one of my favorite texts that I saved: "When you're done moving your plump rump to pedophilic funk, we shall be awaiting you." This was sent by my friend. I was dancing to the Michael Jackson Experience. My friend is devilishly clever. And an asshole.

14. Where is your nearest 7-11?
In an area I wouldn't visit at night.

15. What's a word that you say a lot?
Fuck.

16.Who told you he/she loved you last?
My son. I went in to kiss him goodnight.

17. Last furry thing you touched?
The dog. He's under my chair, trying to kiss my butt.

18. How many drugs have you done in the last three days?
Shit, not enough.

19. How many rolls of film do you need developed?
People still use film?

20. Favorite age you have been so far?
23.

21. Your worst enemy?
Sloth. Not the character from the Goonies, not the weird Muppet animal from South America, but actual sloth.

22. What is your current desktop picture?
An altered picture of the "Nighthawks" painting. Two of the people are replaced by Doctor Who characters, and the TARDIS is in the background. The coffee urns look like Cybermen, and a Dalek is in a shop window. Yeah, I'm a nerd. Eat me.

23. What was the last thing you said to someone?
"You're not eating the fucking chapstick!" This was to my dog, who has developed an unhealthy attachment to Burt's Bees.

24. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to fly what would it be?

Fuck the flying. I need money.

25. Do you like someone?
Many people. I'm a slut.

26. The last song you listened to?
"John the Revelator" by Depeche Mode

Bleh

2011-10-23T20:36:00.002-05:00

I'm done for the day. Woke up too early (thanks, kid) and did too much cleaning. I'm hoping that I'll get to bed at a decent hour tonight. I need sleep. I need to make sure I stay awake tomorrow.

I probably won't. Damned slothy nature.

So this is all you get tonight. Oh, unless you want to figure out why my dumbass dog was trying to eat Burt's Bees chapstick. That's a new thing.

Time to go sort clothes and put them away. As much as I'd like to leave them out, I can't. They're scattered across my bed.

Shit.

Bad Mommy! Bad!

2011-10-22T20:50:00.005-05:00

I'm a horrible parent. Supposedly. Why? Because I don't really censor what my kid watches or listens to. I mean, I do have some limits, like I won't let him watch porn or anything too stupid (like Harold & Kumar). Beyond that, we've sat down to enjoy some pretty entertaining movies and music over his short lifespan.

Today we watched a couple of movies that would be questionable to a "normal" parent: The Evil Dead and Waxwork. Both schlocky 80s horror flicks with some minor nudity and a shit ton of violence. Do I think it will cause my child to become a serial killer? Hell to the no. I don't think him watching stuff like this screws him up in any way. We've sat through Friday the 13th, Snakes On A Plane, Kill Bill, Poltergeist, etc. He's normal. I don't believe it warps him in the long run because I've always stressed how this stuff is make believe and is just imagination at work.

As for music, eh. I let him listen to pretty much whatever he wants. His big thing for the past year has been The Beatles (you should have seen his face when I told him I was going to see McCartney back in July). I don't limit it to the mild stuff, though. He's free to listen to rap (I encourage Tupac) or R&B or Oldies or Jazz or Soul.....you get the point. I don't think music would influence him to be a deranged thug anymore than I think a movie would turn him into a wannabe zombie killer with the vocabulary of Samuel L. Jackson.

Lest you think I'm insane for doing this, I'll use myself as an example. My parents raised me the same way I'm raising my son (in regards to media, anyways). Growing up, my favorite movie was "Purple Rain" (I was in love with Prince). Madonna was my favorite singer, and I knew all the words to "Like A Virgin" (shut up). Twenty-seven years later, and I'm fairly normal. Yeah, I had my ups and downs, but it wasn't because of what I watched or listened to. My teenage years were filled with West Coast rap, but I didn't go out and shoot anyone, nor do I have any desire to do so right now.

I'm sure the "experts" will tell me that this is horrible for my child. Whatever. If he didn't want to watch it, he could tell me so. As it was, he was sitting here laughing his ass off at "Evil Dead" because it looks so FAKE.

I'm not sure why I wrote this all out. I think I was bored. But yes, I let my kid watch horrible shit and listen to rap, and he's as normal as can be.

Well, as normal as any kid of mine can be.

Working On Serious Stuff.....This Is Not Serious

2011-10-21T23:35:00.004-05:00

I'm working on a serious post about Christianity. I also have another one in the works about the Occupy protests. However, I have a lot to say and they won't be done anytime soon (I think). Soooooooo.....half-assed post night!

My friend expressed an interest in the knockoff cheddar biscuits I make. The recipe can be found here. They're gooooooooooooooooooood.
My other friend told me I'm ruining the magic of David Tennant with my obsession. To this I say:

If my husband doesn't stop watching MacGyver, I may go insane.
Luckily, I'm talking to my friends and they're keeping me sane. For now.
It's almost November! I can plan to bake pies! Wheeeeee!
I really need to exfoliate.
I'm all out of booze and Coke Zero. I sad.
My son's school pictures were today. I hope they turned out decent and he didn't pull one of his stupid faces.
I really need to make doctor's appointments. And call to see what's up with my glasses.
My husband won't leave me alone about Words With Friends. I may stop playing.
I made buffalo chicken mac n cheese for dinner tonight. I'm so bloated from it.
I posted about the Rapture today and had two friends go back and forth quoting "Rapture" by Blondie. I laughed my ass off.

That's it for tonight. I want to go talk to my friends, who always give me stuff to write about. Ciao!

Ramblings

2011-10-20T22:55:00.002-05:00

Earlier, I asked for blog post suggestions on Facebook. The conversation we had went from slutty Halloween costumes to Hitler to McRibs to Chevy engines. It was spectacular. I wanted to copy and paste the whole conversation here, but that's just too much work. So yeah. Besides, most of you that read this blog are on my friends list, so you can find it fairly easy, I'm sure.

So that's really all I have tonight. I can't really write about my day since I slothed around and slept, thanks to some really rotten dreams. I blame those on my friend because we were talking about ghosts and stuff, and I had a nightmare about living in a haunted house. Kind of funny because I really don't believe in the paranormal anymore, but it was creepy nonetheless. I think Kevin Bacon was involved somehow as well, so it was more bizarre than usual.

I made knockoff Red Lobster cheddar biscuits again. Those things are addictive, but they leave my breath smelling like garlic.

It's fucking cold. I'm going to go snuggle in my bed soon and torture my husband.

I may write about ho-bags Halloween costumes tomorrow.

Phoning It In Again

2011-10-19T22:37:00.004-05:00

It's late, I'm drinking, and I have no patience for writing out a real post. Therefore, ramblings!

I'm drinking the last of my whisky and the last of my 151. I'm sad.
Coke Zero makes me burp like crazy.
I have managed to get my husband completely addicted to Words With Friends.
It is really windy in Chicagoland right now. It sounds like it is going to break a window or something.
I'm so proud. I started playing this video earlier, and my son came running to watch it. Fuck yo' new music. My kid is being raised on the 80s. And The Beatles.
Speaking of The Beatles, one of my neighbors had a sweet assed "Yellow Submarine" lunchbox. I was totally going to jack her for it. No, not really. I do, however, want to hunt one down now so I can give it to my kid for Christmas.
Speaking of Christmas, if anyone wants to buy me this for the holidays, I'll love you forever. Size XL please.
Why did Pete Burns ruin his pretty face?
All the videos I have watched tonight have involved guys in the 80s that wear makeup. It was incredibly hot.
I suddenly want to watch a John Cusack movie. Cusack the pit sniffer. Oy.
Or maybe David Bowie in "Labyrinth". Rawr.
Culture Club video now. Boy George is so pretty.
I'm wasted. Later dudes.

Sex!

2011-10-18T22:01:00.003-05:00

Just kidding. I think everyone got enough of that last night. Huh huh.

So last night's post got more views and more comments than normal. I'm starting to think all y'all are kinky fuckers, but won't admit it. Maybe I should write a weekly sex post or something. It could be interesting, especially if I could get more people to participate. Maybe I should start soliciting ideas for future entries.

Anywho, I'm not much in a writing mood tonight. I am tired again, and I'm really starting to wonder if there is something wrong with me. I shouldn't be THIS tired all the time. So yeah. Another excuse for a lame assed post. If you want, go back and read yesterday's crap and leave more comments. That's fun. Oh, and enjoy the video above. I love the hell out of it.

Warning: Post About Sex

2011-10-17T22:37:00.004-05:00

You have been warned. Don't blame me if you are ruined by what I write.

Earlier, I was lying on the bed watching my husband put his laundry away (yes, men do this) and making small talk. Since I'm a smartass, and I was in the perfect position, I started imitating what I would do if we had a threesome with another guy. My husband was giving me his, "holy hell, you're fucking weird" look. So I was talking about the logistics of it all and somehow we got around to having another woman in this threesome instead of another man. I said that it wouldn't matter so long as she had a strap-on (I feel I really don't have to explain what a strap-on is). My husband was dying at this point and giving me that look again. I maintained that it didn't matter because we could get the same action has having a m/m/f threesome. Also, I could have the best of both worlds, tuna and sausage. My husband lost all composure at that statement.

I continued on with this line of thinking, daring him to prove me wrong. He couldn't. He also couldn't deny what I said about men having no problems with lesbians using strap-ons in porn. No denials, no reasons as to why that was different, nothing. Just a pat, "You're weird" and a walk away. Uh huh. Ah, my conservative Asian husband. I see the prude still runs strong in him, even though I know he's a porn watcher.

Anyway, I have decided to post some questions and leave the comments open to whatever crosses anyone's mind. You can leave them anonymously, because I don't track where they are coming from (I really have no reason to, since I know most of the people that comment).

Here are my questions:

Why are men so freaked out about being around another guy in a threesome?
Why is it okay to watch lesbian porn but not gay porn?
Why is it not okay to talk about sex?
Why must most women act like prudes?
When did sex between consenting adults become a bad thing?
Why the hell am I thinking about threesomes all the time?
Where can I buy a cheap riding crop to replace my broken one?

Alright, I'm done. Your turn.

That Bitch That Was Born 24 Years Ago

2011-10-16T18:58:00.007-05:00

(Us. Drunk as fuck. Or maybe I was. I don't think she was.)

My sister. Today is her birthday.

If you think my title is harsh, then you have NEVER hung around with me or my sister. We're pretty insane, and we have a horrible sense of humor, so she knows that when I say, "that bitch", I mean, "my loving sister".

(Note: this picture does NOT mean she's pregnant. I just thought she'd find it humorous.)

So this post is dedicated to my little sis on her birthday. I wish I could have afforded a gift, or a trip home or something. Alas, all I have to give are my words, and some snarky assed pictures.

Happy birthday, Dee-ta. I love you muchly. Now go rock your mid-twenties, you heiffer.

Because My Body Hates Me

2011-10-15T21:04:00.003-05:00

So my son is sick, and since we all live in close quarters, it stands to reason that I would get sick as well. Which I did. I woke up this morning with a wicked sore throat, my body aching all over. Luckily, I fell back asleep and woke up without the throat problems, but my body still feels like I was tortured by the Marquis De Sade.

So yeah, it was fun wading through the hordes of grocery shoppers today. I managed to get through it without killing anyone or their snotty little kids. I also managed to keep our spending to about a hundred bucks, which rocked. Now I just have to last until November 6, which is our next shopping trip. And it is going to pain me to go because Costco has all manner of kitchen stuff that I need, like awesome new knives, pots and pans, and new baking accessories. Ennnnnhhhhh.......I will resist, though. Except maybe the knives. My knife set is a bloody disgrace.

Now I'm just sitting here, deciding on whether or not I want to go to sleep or watch the "Green Hornet". Oh crap, I still need to shower as well. I do NOT want to move. This may pose a problem.

My dog is sitting at my feet, looking at me like I'm a spaz. He's probably right.

Lazy Day

2011-10-14T21:28:00.003-05:00

That's what it was. Kiddo stayed home from school because he's sick (again). He really is sick, but it is so amazing how children just want to keep jumping around even when they're under the weather. It took a lot of yelling and some minor threats of ass kicking to get him to chill out.

My husband also stayed home today, which helped quite a bit, since I had to make a trip to Walgreen's and buy some juice and ginger ale. Then I came home and made chicken soup. It was awesome.

So yeah, that's about it today. Oh, except the part where I've been playing frickin' Words With Friends with my husband for like the last four hours. Seriously addictive game.

And because my life is so exciting, I'm going grocery shopping tomorrow. The challenge of getting three weeks worth of groceries on $150 is always fun.

The adventures never end.

Shriek Of The Ovaries

2011-10-13T21:05:00.003-05:00

I have babies on the mind. Seriously. I can't stop thinking about having another little Chinksican running around. I keep dreaming about being pregnant, of holding another child in my arms. When I wake up and realize that I'm dreaming, I feel sort of let down and disappointed, especially when my dream self had already named the beautiful baby girl in her arms. It's not even a name I would have ever picked in a million years, but it was perfect for this dark haired, blue-eyed (WTF? That would be a hard explanation) baby girl with the dimples: Lucia.

It's not that I CAN'T have a baby right now. I could if I said "fuck it" to all rationality and just plunged ahead into pregnancy. However, my husband is sort of adamant that we get straightened out with finances and such. Yeah, that would probably help. Money is handy when you have kids, and right now, we are really struggling. Hell, I have to make sure I have enough money to pay for school pictures next week. But I digress.....

I know that if I were to get pregnant or even plan a pregnancy, I would have to stop all my meds. I have been on Paxil and Xanax since 2008, and while I would probably be fine if I weaned myself off of them, I'm still scared. I don't want those old feelings to come back. I don't want to be freaked out every minute of every day. I'm pretty sure there are alternatives to what I'm taking now, but I don't know. That is a big problem to deal with, and something I would definitely have to talk over with my doctor.

Then there is my health and my weight. I'm perfectly fine.....except the weight. I would say that that wouldn't even be a problem because I was fat when I was pregnant with my son, but I was also younger then. And I weigh more now. I know that there are women who have had healthy pregnancies at my weight (or even higher), but I'm afraid to risk it, afraid that something would happen to me or the hypothetical baby. So I must, MUST, lose more weight before I get pregnant.

Finally, I'm not sure how my son would react. He says he wants a brother or sister, but you know that only lasts until the kid is actually here. I remember how I felt when my sister was born, and my son and this hypothetical baby would be about the same years apart as my sister and I. She was fun for the first few months, then got annoying (sorry, dear). It wasn't until later in life that we both got along better, and found common ground.

These are all logical reasons to postpone the second child. It just isn't working on convincing my heart.

Just Write

2011-10-12T22:01:00.002-05:00

I was planning on posting a serious post, but I'm not happy with it yet. So, on the advice of my friend, I'm going to "just write". This may ramble into different things.

So my husband and I are watching Deep Space Nine, and there are some weird aliens with mullets and blue tattoos on their foreheads. What the hell?
I think my kid is getting sick. I hope not. He gets cranky, stays home, and then I can't go back to bed. Yes, I'm horrible.
Speaking of my kid, he received his progress report today. All "A's", except a "B" in Art.
The Ron Jeremy looking alien with the mullet and blue tattoos on DS9 is threatening the other weird looking alien.
My friend just told me about this contest that went down at Regretsy. I'm howling now looking at the pictures.
I am completely in love with this video.
My husband is sitting next to me showing off his manly hairy chest.
Holy crap, this episode is bizarre.
I'm being poked mercilessly by my friend on Facebook.
Does that mean I have no life?
Crap, my throat is starting to feel funky. I hope that doesn't mean I'm getting sick as well. I'm so tired of being ill.
I have no more milk. I'm sad.
I will end with a video of one of my favorite songs:

Ha Ha Ha

2011-10-11T21:30:00.005-05:00

I have no idea what to write. I mean, I have ideas, I just don't have the inclination to flesh them out because I'm so tired. I really need to step up the idea of staying awake in the mornings instead of napping. Not only would it give me time to be creative, I could also get other things done. Instead, the siren call of my bed rings out, and I'm drawn to it as soon as everyone leaves for the day. This is probably bad. Maybe I need to see a doctor.

Or maybe I just need to stop being such a lazy ass.

So I'm leaving this as a blog entry tonight, along with pictures of David Tennant, because I am a dork. I'm pretty sure my friends just rolled their eyes all at the same time. They suffer daily on Facebook because of my ~~major~~ minor obsession with the Tennant. Anyway, a picture...or two....or three...

Hmmm, maybe I should devote an entire post to him.

Phoning It In, Part II

2011-10-10T22:18:00.003-05:00

Incredibly exhausted again. I need to rethink this business of writing my blogs at night, I guess. Maybe I should do it in the daytime, but then that would cut into my naps. Ha.

I think I might just be run down because my kid dragged me all over the aquarium today. It was loads of fun (and free.....I love free days), but the hour wait in line (free days do that, *sigh*) was sort of suck. Still, we got to see the beluga whales and my favorite crazy assed puffer fish (he looks like the one on the right).

So yeah, nice day, just exhausting. Having a six year old run you ragged will do that, I guess.

I will try my best to be more interesting/funny/thoughtful/coherent tomorrow.

Phoning It In

2011-10-09T19:23:00.003-05:00

Nothing special tonight. I'm just too damned exhausted from scrubbing my house down. I may even be able to sleep tonight without taking Melatonin (*gasp*).

I'm still not done, either. I have to go put away about four loads of laundry, then shower. Oh yeah, and clean up dinner dishes.

I would relax tomorrow, but the kid has no school because of that stupid holiday that celebrates some asshole that didn't discover shit.

The Chevy Engine V8 Troll Stomping Technique

2011-10-08T22:23:00.003-05:00

I guess this post will only make sense if you have hung around the same message board that I have for the past 10 years. To be brief, this message board has been spammed and trolled by idiots that believe in some nonsense known as "decadeology". It will taper off for a time, then come roaring back. It has been perpetrated mainly by one person who is a total dipshit and has been banned like eleventy million times (proxy IPs are used....I guess he's not that stupid).

Anywho, my friend Al came up with an ingenious way to deal with this stuff: A Brief History of the Chevrolet Small-Block V8. The name was quite misleading, since it was anything but brief. Anytime these assholes decided to come and spread boring crap all over the boards, he'd post this long winded spiel. It was hysterical. It would infuriate the trolls to no end, because it was posted after every post they made. I'd repost it here, but it would take up a lot of space. However, if you go to the forum above and look it up in archives, I'm sure you'll find examples.

Eventually, we got tired of using this tactic, and Al has now moved on to using this picture over and over again. I'd say it's effective.

Magical Enigma

2011-10-07T21:38:00.003-05:00

The second topic that popped up last night in my quest for things to write about was "the magical powers of Enigma". If you don't know what the hell an Enigma is, please go shoot yourself now. Wait, peruse the website first, read my blurb about what the music inspires, watch the videos, then go shoot yourself. Hey, at least you'll die relaxed!

I have used Enigma for various purposes in my life. To mellow out, to enhance my chemical hallucinations (shut up), and to have really really awesome sexy times. The latter use is probably my favorite, although I haven't done that in quite awhile. That needs to change. The spiritual sensuality of these songs is enough to get me hot and bothered when I'm in the right mood. Which is like every day that ends in "-y". What?

That said, the music really does speak for itself, even if you're not a horndog like me. It is beautiful and ethereal, and you should totally listen and expand your mind, MAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!

This Is What I Get

2011-10-06T21:42:00.003-05:00

Being out of ideas for writing, I asked people on Facebook for topics. One of my good friends and sisters in snark gave me this topic: "What would happen if Chewbacca got crabs?" Yep.

I would suspect that poor Chewie probably contracted the crabs from Leia. Being that she was the HPOA (hot piece of ass), I'm pretty sure she was getting her fair share of action. Also, Leia totally looks like she has a furry/weird animal thing fetish. No doubt she contracted them from Jabba's pet, Salacious B. Crumb.

Now since Chewie can't really communicate and it's really hard for him to scratch everywhere (and he's totally embarrassed about letting Han in on this), he goes to the ultimate badass of the Universe, Yoda. Since Yoda understands everything and knows all, he advises Chewbacca to shave his fur before the crabs spread to everyone else on the Millennium Falcon. Chewie knows that he can't reach all the fur on his body, so he does his growl-yodel, which translates to, "Yo, Yoda, can you help a brotha out?" Yoda whips out his lightsaber and shaves down the Wookie without breaking a sweat. When he is done, Chewbacca looks like this:

When Chewbacca gets back to the Millennium Falcon, Han takes one look at him and says, "You too, huh?"

Okay, so this was my first foray into writing fiction. I truly suck at it. And no, that is not fishing for compliments. I KNOW I suck at fiction writing. I do much better with non-fiction. Anywho, that's my entry for today.

Tomorrow: the pleasures of Enigma.

Yeah, What Else Could I Write About?

2011-10-05T22:55:00.002-05:00

So unless you've been living under a rock, you've probably heard by now that Steve Jobs has gone on to the great big iCloud in the sky. I will say nothing against the man (all my snark is on Facebook), but I will pay tribute to his genius with the infamous "1984" commercial.

Come to think of it, the people staring dumbly at the big screen in this commercial remind me of the sheeple at the Apple store. Would that be considered irony or something else?

I'm Thinking Eight Years

2011-10-04T21:54:00.006-05:00

Yes. That is how long I've been with my husband. We started dating in 2003, were married in 2004, and had a kid in 2005. And we've survived! Or rather, he's survived me.

I still maintain that I'm the reason he's going bald.

So now I'm going to write mushy stuff, and if you don't want to read it, stop now. Okay? Okay, wait, now stop reading.

Husband:

I love you. I love everything that you do to for me. I love you even on days when I'm acting like the queen bitch of the Western world, and even on days when you're fapping to baseball stats and ignoring me. I love that you try to make everything better, even though you can't solve all of my problems. I love that you let me go off every month and hang out with my friends for a weekend. I love that you try and do everything in your power to make sure we have everything we need. Most of all, I love that you never make me feel terrible about my body. That is like the best thing ever.

Your Wife

"We may not have it all together, but together we have it all."

Three Days In, and I'm Out of Ideas

2011-10-03T22:15:00.002-05:00

Yep.

So, um.....more randomness!

"2 Legit 2 Quit" is really annoying. Which is why I posted the video on Facebook.
Denver lost yesterday. I gloat.
I didn't nap today like I usually do, and I was actually rather productive. It was scary.
Cactus is delicious.
I now know of three dogs in this neighborhood with mighty Greek god names. They're all tiny little shits.
I'm loving the weather right now. I love Autumn. Just a wonderful time of year.
My kid has another day off from school this Monday. Jesus Christ. Yeah, I know it's Columbus Day. Big deal. They should be in school.
I noticed that the massive pile of toilet paper (Costco sized Charmin pack) we have in the bathroom supports Breast Cancer Awareness. Damn, I can't escape the pink, not even when I'm trying to wipe my ass.
Now listening to Digital Underground's "Freaks of the Industry". Aye carumba.

That is all my rambling for the night. The exhaustion is starting to set in.

Tweakin'

2011-10-02T22:19:00.005-05:00

No, not THAT kind of tweakin'. I'm messing with my blog layout and colors and design. My cousin pointed out something obvious (like how it was all PINK when I really dislike that color right now), so I had to change it. I think it looks a lot better, but that big black blank space to the right of the title is aggravating me. Ah well. I'll figure something out.

So that is my cop out post for today. Hey, when I said I was participating in National Blog Writing Month, I didn't say my posts would be worth a damn.

I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaack

2011-10-01T23:14:00.004-05:00

So. It's the first day of October (duh), and I remembered that this used to be the start of National Blog Writing Month. I guess it still is, but I'm not officially participating in it. However, I figured it would prompt me to start writing again, something I've not been doing and really sort of miss. I figure tonight I'll just ramble (since it is 44 minutes until midnight), and try to do something proper tomorrow.

Here are random thoughts, feelings, stories, etc. that are running through my head right now:

Why did my neck hurt so bad yesterday? Was it a spasm? A tweaked nerve? Something else? I don't know, but it is finally feeling better.
Whiskey sours are awesome.
Listening to "Take Me Home" by Phil Collins does not make one feel better when they are longing for home. Watching "The Lion King" immediately after listening to that song is not recommended, since the movie is so sad for like the first half.
Mouse Trap is as poorly put together as it was twenty years ago.
I want another child, but a few factors are stopping me right now. One, I'm fat as hell. Two, we be po'. Three, I'm afraid that if I go off my crazy pills, I'll do something.......well, crazy. Still, that longing is there. I'd so give up alcohol for 12+ months to have another little booger around.
Speaking of weight, I need to get off my ass and improve myself. I was doing so well with the Lap Band and everything, and then I just started slacking. Also, I haven't been in to see the doctor or get a fill since May. Possibly because I don't want to hear about how I'm not losing weight to their satisfaction.
I mentioned home a few bullet points up. We are thinking about traveling to California for Christmas. We'd have to drive, because I hate flying and it would cost us a small fortune to get out there during the holidays. So that would leave us with like five days to visit my vast network of extended family. It can be done! Now I just need to find the money.
The only thing about going home that won't be the same: no grandmother to visit. It is going to SUCK. I was thinking about her the other day and missing her like hell.
Speaking of the deceased, I keep having dreams about her, my other grandma, my aunt, and my grandpa. It is rather unnerving.
Speaking of death, it is even more unnerving to dream of your own. This happened a month or so ago. I dreamed that I died in a train accident (quite plausible, because I do use Amtrak a lot), but I didn't realize that I was dead until I got to Heaven and Jesus told me to GTFO because I was such an awful person. That creeped me out, but so did the part where I was still on the train, pounding on doors and windows and hollering to the conductor to let me out, but he didn't hear me. Eesh.
The dream that I just wrote about is even more remarkable since I'm about as religious as Richard Dawkins (maybe a bit less hostile than he is, though).
I hate cancer. I hate Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I ranted about this on Facebook, but it bears repeating: I'm already AWARE OF FUCKING BREAST CANCER. I don't need to be reminded of it every fucking day this month! I actively avoided shopping at Meijer today until after 2pm. Why? Because they were having Breast Cancer Awareness shit and I didn't want to deal with it. Fuck cancer.

So I think that wraps up my ramblings for tonight. I'm going to go enjoy some more whiskey sours, maybe harass my husband, write stupid crap on my Facebook wall, and try to think up novel topics to write about for the next thirty days.

.....

2011-06-30T23:18:00.003-05:00

I can’t do it. I was going to write a post about my aunt (who died a year ago today). I was going to write about how awesome and brave she was, how she battled until she couldn’t battle anymore.

But I can't.

The memories, even though a year old, are still vivid. I've been trying to forget about them, tried to keep busy, tried to do anything to escape them.

It doesn't work.

I know my pain doesn't compare in any way, shape, or form to what my cousin and my uncle feel. I said as much to my friend the other day. It still hurts me inside, knowing how things played out.

And now I mourn for two that I have lost to this bullshit.....

If there is a Heaven or an afterlife, I sincerely hope that my Aunt welcomed my exquisitely beautiful Brazilian friend on May 29th. She too was a fighter against breast cancer, but she couldn't fight anymore. She was only 32 years old. That shouldn't have happened. She was too young.

I don't know how to end this. Most people would put up inspirational quotes or links to help fight against this crap. I can't bring myself to do that.

I just want to scream at the unfairness of it all.

One Year, Ninety-Five Pounds Lost....

2011-04-16T23:50:00.004-05:00

The title says it all. It has been one year since I had my Lap Band put in, and I’ve lost 95 pounds. I probably would have lost more, but I had issues with the band in August and October. The kind of issues that required corrective surgery. It wasn’t fun, and it seriously screwed with me losing more weight. However, I can’t blame my lack of weight loss only on that.

There have been days that I have completely slacked off in eating right and exercising. Hell, there have been WEEKS where I’ve slacked off. Then there is the darker side of it all, the side that involves my brain sending out the bad thoughts that mess with my self-esteem and make me doubt myself. The thoughts and whispered suggestions that kill me inside….”You’ll always be fat”……”Look at your body, it’s disgusting”……”You might as well give up and just eat whatever you want, fatass”……. Those thoughts hurt, and they’re successful, and you can’t just turn them off, especially when you’ve lived with them for most of your life. And while this Lap Band restricts what I eat to some degree, it doesn’t make wise food choices for me. I have to do that for myself, and it is hard, and sometimes I fail.

I truly wanted to be one of those successful Lap Band patients. I wanted to come back a year later, at least 100+ pounds thinner, but it didn’t happen. However, I can’t really sneeze at 95 pounds, especially when I look at pictures from then and now.

Before:

After:

When I saw these pictures, I wanted to cry. I can’t believe I was ever that large. I can’t believe I lived like that for so long. Now that I’m losing weight, I can feel the difference in my body. I don’t have to take asthma meds anymore, I don’t have to use my CPAP machine (which I do need to return now that I don’t need it), I can walk for three or more miles without breaking a sweat, and my feet and ankles don’t bother me anymore. And I do feel much more attractive.

I don’t know what the next year will bring me. I’m sure it will be filled with ups and downs, but I do know one thing: I’m not giving up. Through the setbacks and slacking that I know will happen, I’m not going to stop. I’m going to battle my way through this and become healthier in mind and body. I will win.

Thank you to EVERYONE who has stood by me through this journey. You have given me nothing but love and support without the harsh judgment that I know some people experience when they get weight loss surgery. I couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to cheer me on.

I’ll sign off on this post now, before I start blubbering on. Drinking does that to me.

Friends! How Many Of Us Have Them?

2011-04-15T23:32:00.001-05:00

So as I said in my last post, I was going to write about what a suck friend I was. It all came about like this….

Almost a month ago, I noticed that one of my long distance friends had unfriended me on Facebook. I was appalled that it had taken me awhile to even REALIZE that, and I was scared that he would be mad at me for not noticing. However, I hiked up my big girl panties and wrote him a note on Facebook asking him what was up. It took a day or so for him to respond, but the gist of it was that he felt our friendship was one-sided and that he knew I had a lot going on in my life and he didn’t want to weigh me down.

Now before anyone thinks that this was rude, I can safely say that I wasn’t offended. While I never thought that he was weighing me down, I knew that he was right about the one-sidedness. I had been thinking about it for weeks, knowing that I had been not really doing my usual things online and keeping in contact with people in real life or on the blogs that I read. It was my fault, and I felt terrible that he was made to feel like I didn’t care. We did talk later that night, and he apologized for writing it, but I told him he didn’t need to. I was the guilty party in this.

It’s been so long since this all happened, that I’ve already started to mend my ways. I’ve been commenting more on other blogs and stuff, and trying to talk to more of my friends. It is hard for me though, because I’ve never been very good at working out a schedule each day. I have tried to fit in taking care of my health (including exercising), being present for my family, being present in my online life, and just getting everything done that needs to be done every day. I honestly don’t think it was working very well this Winter because I was suffering from a mad case of Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.). Then I got the cold from hell that put me under for like three weeks. Not a fun time.

I’m hoping that Springtime will give me a sense of renewal and I can catch up with everything. I’ve been getting up and staying up instead of going back to sleep (a fun side effect of S.A.D.). I have been exercising more and spending more time with my family. My friends and extended family hear from me more regularly now.

And I get to keep my friend that gave me a well needed boot to the ass to get me on track.

Fuck Cancer

2011-04-03T22:50:00.001-05:00

I was all set to write an interesting post about why I haven’t been blogging and how I suck at friendships, but something stopped me. It wasn’t an epiphany or anything, but a rather innocently asked question that my six year old threw at me earlier: “What is cancer and what does it do?” Oh mama. What a question. I THOUGHT I could handle it. I THOUGHT it would be easy to explain. Boy, was I ever wrong. I’m still a wee bit shaken by the emotional pain that it dredged up.

When my son asked me about cancer, I tried to answer, the key word being “tried”. I couldn’t. I could feel myself getting all choked up. My stomach developed a herd (yeah, I know it’s the wrong word) of butterflies that were doing a mad conga line. I briefly explained that cancer sucked mega ass, that it usually wasn’t pretty, and that there really wasn’t a damned thing you could do about it unless you caught it in time. That was it. I couldn’t say anymore. He pondered it, then asked if he would ever get cancer. I lied through my teeth and said he wouldn’t. NEVER. And really, it is a lie when you think about it. Life is uncertain.

After that brief and rather emotional conversation, I walked out on to the balcony and stared into space. And cried. Oh yes, I cried. I cried for my aunt, for my friend Deb who died in 2009, and for my friend Oscar, who died when he was only 14 years old. I cried over their struggles, their triumphs, their relapses, and their deaths. I cried at the painful memories that my son unintentionally dug up. I cried until the pukey feeling in my stomach passed. And I questioned life. Hell, I even questioned God, and that’s really bad since my belief system is in shreds and I don’t know whether I’m coming or going when it comes to religion.

I’m not sure what my point is in writing this. I’m not sure if I am even making sense at this point. I just felt the need to type before I screamed my head off at the unfairness of it all.

Fuck it. Fuck cancer. I hate you. You will be destroyed someday. I hope I’m alive to see it.

Six Years Old

2011-02-05T23:05:00.002-06:00

Dear Jason,

Today we celebrated your sixth birthday. You had fun, but I noticed how worried you were about growing older. I wish you didn’t have these fears. Yes, I know a lot of people have died in your short lifetime, but I want to assure you that you have many more years ahead. However, you’re like me and worry incessantly about things that are of no consequence. I’m sorry you inherited that habit from me.

My son, you are growing into an awesome young man. Your speech has improved remarkably over the past year, and you are able to express yourself more. You have your own thoughts on what is right and what is wrong, and you are not afraid to stick up for yourself or your friends when life calls for it. I hope those traits are carried with you throughout your school years and that you will never have cause to be afraid of the bullies that you will inevitably meet.

I am immensely proud of you and all that you do. I’m glad you’re you. I’m glad you think it’s cool that I have blue hair and I’m glad you want to grow your hair long and dye it purple (which we will do this week, I promise). I’m glad you’re starting to form your own love of music (The Beatles, yeah!), and that you don’t listen to what is cool nowadays. I love your personality, your quirks, your attitude, and your style.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: YOU are the reason that I carry on in this world. You are the sole reason I am able to go on with my life. You have carried me through so many bad things, even if you didn’t know you were (because I tried to keep as much of it away from you as I could). Thank you, my little guardian angel.

I love you,
Mommy

Out With The Old

2011-01-01T23:31:00.002-06:00

So I didn’t get a chance to write down a New Year’s Eve post because we actually went somewhere. Besides, I look back at 2010 the way one looks at a fresh pile of dog crap (with disgust, unless you‘re a freak). However, since I feel I should, I’ll give a rundown of my year, with my usual sarcasm thrown in. Here we go:

January: The year started off shitty. I should have known that that would set the tone for the rest of the year. First off, my family dog died. Then my dad became ill. Then I was still fighting to get my Lap Band. Blah!

February: Eh, some good. My child’s fifth birthday. We had money(!). Then we had to give it all to my in-laws. Fuck. My foot continued to hurt because I was (and still am, in my opinion) a fat lardass.

March: In with the crazy! Some guy that I used to know and thought I loved back in the day returned to my life again with some fun on his personal message board. It was one post that called me “crazy” and a “nutcase”. All this because I refused to let him back into my life. I reported him for it and his board was shut down. Sucks when you’re held accountable for your own actions. Oh well. The month ended well with the news that I’d be getting my Lap Band in April.

April: The first two weeks of this month were devoted to the liquid diet I had to be on before surgery. I managed to pull off 27 pounds in 14 days. I was stoked. After the surgery, I dealt with some really bad gas bloat and air trapped in body cavities from the surgery. It sucked a ball.

May: Eh, not much, good or bad. My friends and myself started planning a trip to Ohio to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, get trashed, and sleep in. I was thrilled, because I hadn’t seen my one friend in four years, and I’d be meeting another one in person for the first time. But all that changed in the next month.

June: This whole fucking month sucked ass. I can’t stand to think of it now. Hell, I can’t really stand to think of it at all. Fuck it.

July: Still bleh, but not as bad. I stayed in California until the end of the month. My husband’s retina detached, I received a scathing email questioning my parenting skills from someone I’m related to by marriage, and I pretty much went crazy. It was fun. Our month ended with a road trip through the Southwest and back home to Chicago, just me, the boy, and my dad. We had a blast.

August: This month was great and awful. It was grawful. It was great because I finally, FINALLY got to visit my friend after four years. This was just dumb on my part because we only live about four hours away from each other, but I never made the effort to visit (except once) before that. So I was able to hang with him and his wife (who is now another close friend. Yay friends! I’m such a dork.) for the weekend. The awful part was the fact that the Friday before this weekend (like the DAY BEFORE), I had to go in for surgery to fix my Lap Band. So while my trip was great, I was also recovering from surgery. Of course, I wasn’t in so much pain or so helpless that I couldn’t pack away the booze. I have problems.

September: Family drama. ‘Nuff said. School also started for my child, and he is now in Kindergarten. He’s gone for five hours each day, which is good. Sounds mean, but we get sick of each other if we hang out together all day. Trust me. I’m coming off of two weeks of having him home, and some of those days have been less than pleasant.

October: Yay! Another visit to see my friends. Boo! Another fucking surgery to repair my Lap Band! Yeah, it broke again. I was in tears when I found out about it. Luckily, the surgery went smoothly, and it has held so far. I am so glad, because I really do not want anymore surgery, anesthesia, drafty hospital gowns, or IVs for a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG time. If ever again. Fut dat.

November: I finished with my psychologist. We both felt I had come to a point where I was good with my life, so we parted ways. I’m glad I saw her for almost two years, and I have the reassurance that I can come back to her if I need to. Beyond that, just the usual holiday preparations this month for Thanksgiving….oh wait, nope. Forget the preparations, we’re going to NEW YORK CITY!!!! Total awesomeness. Husband’s friend invited us to his house for the holiday, so we got to go out there. It was a fan-fucking-tastic trip…..until my husband got pulled over in Ohio for speeding. Shit. At least the cop (female) was hot.

December: At the end of November, I decided I wanted to go all out for Christmas. So I slowly started buying up decorations and whatnot. We decorated right after we came home from New York. The weekend of the 9th (I started my weekend on a Thursday, HA!), I went to visit my friends again (yay!), and we had a blast all around. Unfortunately, the weekend ended on a shitty note with the news that my grandmother was dying. Oh, and a wicked snowstorm that delayed my train for five hours. My grandmother passed away on the 16th, and I really just lost all heart for the holidays. I did it because of my son, but the vibe wasn’t there. December is a shitty month to me now and I just really fucking hate it.

And we ended the month at my friends house again. The kids got to play with each other, I got drunk, and we all lived to ring in 2011.

So yeah, sucky year all around, with the exception of the trip to New York and the fact that I grew closer to two awesome people who accepted my crazy ass into their home. You guys rock, and thank you for all that you have done.

And that was my year. Hopefully this year will be better, or else I’ll go bat shit insane.

Sick Of Goodbyes

2010-12-23T23:32:00.001-06:00

Note: I started this post a week ago, but didn't have the fortitude to finish it at that time.

Hey Granny,

I know your last request was to not have the news of your death plastered on Facebook, so I’m going to write this on my blog and I hope you won’t come back and kick my ass for it.

I’m not sure how our family will go on now that you’re gone. You were the glue that held us together. You were the one who would get on to your grown assed children for being dumb. Even when you had to have oxygen, you still had your say. It was admirable, and I laugh at the memories of you telling everyone what’s what. Hell, even at the end, you didn’t let Death take you until you were ready. I hope I’m that strong when my time comes.

I’m sort of rambling, but I can feel the tears welling up again. So many memories are flooding my mind right now. It’s pretty overwhelming. I remember….

….the days when you used to babysit all of us grandkids. We’d get yelled at for touching the roses you grew and babied. They were so beautiful though, that we just couldn’t leave them alone.

….the nights when I would be over while my parents went out. You would feed me a snack, usually a flour tortilla with butter. Then we would hang out in Grandpa’s room and you would fix my hair and explain the novelas to me, since I couldn’t speak Spanish.

….the times we would walk down to the corner store and you would buy me Mexican candies and whatever else. I loved those walks.

….the night my sister was born, you watched me and waited up with me because we couldn’t sleep. When the call finally came in that she was here, safe and sound, we both had big smiles on our faces.

….all the Christmas Eves spent at your house with the family. Those are some of the best childhood memories I have. You always had something for all of the grandkids, and I truly treasured everything you gave me, no matter what it was. You would yell at us to eat more food, because you weren’t satisfied until we had bursting stomachs. I know I got my love of cooking from you. I only hope I can replicate your Spanish rice.

There are so many other memories that I can’t write about at this moment. They are too precious to me, and I’m still overly emotional.

I have a picture of you hanging on my wall. Seeing your face each day hurts like hell, because I know that this will be the only way I’ll see you from now on. No more will I be able to come back to California and escape to your house for the peace that your presence brought me. I know I didn’t see you nearly enough, but those few moments that I spent with you were better for me than any care a psychologist could provide.

I’m going to close this letter now, because I can feel a massive lump in my throat.

I love you, Granny. I wish I had one more chance to tell you that and give you a kiss on your beautiful gray head.

-Jessica

Two

2010-12-04T23:46:00.003-06:00

I miss you, Grandma. I miss you so much that it hurts. Every damned holiday song I heard today in the store and on the radio reminded me of you. Every decoration I have put up and every food I have planned to make during this season bring you to mind. I just want to cry.

I hope Aunt Charlotte is keeping you company in the afterlife. I'm sure you didn't expect to see her so soon, but you know how life goes and how it can suck.

Jason still sort of remembers you. I wish he had more to go on that just a few vague images. He does know you're in "Heaven" with everyone else, but that is it. I'll try to keep your memory alive through cooking and stories.

I love you. I wish I had shown you that love more.

Thirty Days Of Truth: Day 03

2010-12-03T22:17:00.002-06:00

Day 01 is here.

Day 02 is here.

Day 03 of the truth exercise is something you have to forgive yourself for, and quite frankly, I‘m copping out again. I have tried writing something a million times, and I’m just getting more and more angry with my inability to write on this topic (or any topic, really).

So I’m going to bite the bullet, cheat a bit, and leave it at this: I have to forgive myself for the life I’ve led. It hasn’t always been pretty, and some of my choices have been questionable. I have engaged in so many shenanigans (both legal and illegal) over the years that if I really tried to sit and think about ONE thing that needs to be forgiven, it would never happen.

So there you go. I have to forgive myself for my life. Doesn’t mean I actually forgive myself NOW, but maybe sometime in the future it will happen.

And I swear I will start writing more. Monstrous writer’s block coupled with a suddenly busy life just aren’t mixing.

Thirty Days Of Truth: Day 02

2010-10-11T23:18:00.002-05:00

Day 01 is here.

Day 02: One thing you love about yourself.

Something I love about myself. That’s about as hard as something I hate about myself. Perhaps that is why it has taken me forever to write this one, even though it is very brief. Perhaps you won’t be happy with what I have written. Perhaps I pulled a major cop out, but it is the truth, and I don’t feel like spewing out some nicey-nice lie about how I love such and such about me. So here you go:

I love nothing about myself. Yes, you read that right, and no, it isn’t a ploy to get sympathy or compliments. I can’t think of one thing that I love about myself, be it mentally, physically, or emotionally. I honestly have no idea what I can say, because I loathe myself about 80% of the time, and that isn’t going to change anytime soon.

So there you go. Nothing, zero, zilch, nada. Maybe by the end of these 30 days, I’ll have some love for the letter I'm supposed to write to myself, but for right now, PBBBBBBBT.

Thank you.

Next up: Day 3, something I have to forgive myself for.

On a completely different note, I have elected to go with the surgeon’s recommendation of replacing the whole Lap Band system. I feel that I am not strong enough to try and battle my weight on my own. So I will be having it replaced on Friday, and I can only hope like hell that it won’t fail this time. So, more surgery for me, and a hopefully brighter future full of losing weight and getting healthy.

Broken Again

2010-10-06T22:31:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, after almost six months of having the Lap Band and having to have one revision surgery, I was to have my first fill. This did not happen. Why? Because the same problem presented itself as it did in August: a disconnected tube. To say that I was horrified would be an understatement. I knew though. I bloody knew when I started having pains last week and they felt the same as the last time. I was hoping that I was wrong, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t.

When the PA stuck the needle into the port and injected the fluid, I could feel it go all over inside my body, and I knew. When I saw her look of disbelief and anger, I knew. When, after she injected like 5cc of fluid and still nothing could be withdrawn, I knew. Granted, it hasn’t been confirmed yet by the Xrays, but even she said that she was about 99% sure that it was disconnected again. I’d say those are pretty damn good odds that I’m facing another revision surgery. The question is, do I even WANT them to attempt to fix it?

I’ve been thinking about this since the Xray yesterday. In between numbness, crying, and anger, I have asked myself if I want them reconnecting it and possibly having it fall apart again. I think that if I went that route, I’d ask them to replace the port and tubing at the minimum, because honestly? I can’t take anymore fucking surgery. I didn’t expect the surgery in August, and after having the surgeon reassure me that this was a rare occurrence, I certainly didn’t expect to be facing surgery again after only two months. Hell, not even two months. More like six weeks.

But if I have them remove the band, what will happen with my weight? I know damned well I’m not strong enough to battle it on my own. Then again, I guess this band hasn’t done much since it has never been filled. It has offered a little restriction, but I could eat like I used to if I wanted. I just haven’t been.

I guess I’m scared that if I get the band taken out, the whole “lose weight with this tool“ mentality will disappear. I’m also terrified that I won’t be able to drop the rest of the weight nor maintain a healthy body. I don’t want to go back to the way I used to be, but I know that without this band, I will. I have zero willpower, and even if I have a massive support system, I know that wouldn’t stop me from pigging out.

I don’t want that, but I don’t want to have surgery every other month, either. Jeez, why couldn’t I have had a normal body or at least a normal weight loss surgery? Why does everything in my life have to be so fucking difficult?

Shit.

Thirty Days Of Truth: Day 01

2010-09-28T22:53:00.001-05:00

Yeah yeah, I’ve been lagging on writing. I have just had way too many things going on and way too much writer’s block. I was going to write a post on what the rest of my summer was like, but the words never came, and lately I’ve been thinking that I should just let it rest. I’ll always have the memories, even if some of them are painful. I don’t need to see them written down or typed out. So let me wipe that slate clean and move on to something that might actually stimulate my creative juices.

Last week, as I was reading my usual blogs, I ran across something that intrigued me. It is basically a list of writing prompts for 30 days. You don’t have to do them 30 days in a row, but they are just sort of ideas. Reading through that list, I could feel myself getting inspired and actually wanting to do it, even knowing that some of those prompts are going to be emotionally hard to answer.

So, without any more rambling, here is the first in a series of 30 truths.

Day 01: Something You Hate About Yourself

Wow. Start out with a hard one, eh? I was going to go with the physical aspects of what I hate, but when I thought about it, the one thing I hate about myself the most has caused all my other problems. What is it? My compulsive behavior. As is my way, I don’t just have one compulsive behavior, I have several, and they can pretty much be blamed for the other reasons I hate myself. Be it shopping, eating, drinking, sex, etc., I do everything to the extreme, and pay for it later with the guilt, the weight, the debt, and the possibly half dead liver.

Mind you, I am in therapy for this, and I was doing quite well, but things have gotten worse all over again, and I find myself drowning in all my bad habits. Did I really need that expensive perfume? Did I really need to eat that late night snack, even if it was healthy? Did I really need to drink that much Bacardi 151 in one sitting? Did I really need to debase myself in that way? The answer to all of those questions is a resounding NO, but I still find myself engaging in this behavior.

I wish I could say that there was a magical fix for all of this, and that I will be cured before anymore damage is caused or before I hurt myself or those I love. I’m realistic, however, and know that this just won’t happen. There will be many more bumps and bruises and heartaches associated with me, and there really isn’t much I can do about it. Oh sure, I can say the pat, “I will get through this and I will succeed!”, but honestly? I just don’t feel like blowing smoke up everyone’s ass in regards to my being cured someday.

I was hoping this post would be longer, but I guess I’m still suffering from writer’s block. Ah well. Everyone gets my point.

So ends truth #1.

Lap Band Hilarity

2010-08-16T14:57:00.005-05:00

So I was writing a post about the rest of my summer and how frickin’ INSANE it was, but it was loudly interrupted by drama from the Lap Band front.

When we were driving back from California a couple of weeks ago, I called up to schedule an appointment to have my lap band filled. They set up an appointment for last Wednesday, which was pretty cool. We made it home, got settled back in to our routine, and off I went to the clinic last week.

When I got to my appointment on Wednesday, I had a bit of a wait, nothing too bad. They got me back there, and my weight hasn’t really changed that much (15 pounds lost since my last appointment). I talked to the Physicians’ Assistant for a bit about diet and exercise routines, then she got me ready for my fill.

I guess I should try and explain how this works with a band fill. Here to help is a handy little diagram, taken from the Orange County Register Newspaper (copyright, all rights reserved, etc.):

So how this goes is that the doctor (or the Phys. Asst.) takes a syringe filled with 1-2cc (or less, depending on your surgeon and how he does stuff) of saline solution and inserts it under your skin into the port. The saline then flows through the tubing and into the band, thereby inflating it and restricting your food intake. Depending on the patient and band, you will eventually hit what is known as the “sweet spot”, where you’re neither hungry all the time nor feeling so full you cannot eat at all. Some people have to have a lot of inflation and some people have to only have a little bit. It varies. Now here is where things went wrong for me.

The Phys. Asst. poked and prodded until she found the port, then inserted the needle into the port. It seemed to go normally until she tried to withdraw the fluid to see if it was flowing right (this is a normal thing for them to do). Nothing was coming back out. She did it several times with no results. I did crunches, exhaled, everything. It wasn’t taking. So she had the receptionist schedule me for a fluoroscopy. This is where they inject barium into the port to make sure that everything is still intact. That was today. Now for the bad news.

I went to the Radiology Dept. at the hospital this morning. After a minor clusterfuck of lost orders, I went back with the nurse, who got me set up. The doctor came in and explained what was going to happen. He also said that he did xrays first to ensure that the band and everything was still in place. Good thing he did. When he pulled up the first xray, he showed me what was wrong. The tubing was disconnected from the port. The band and the port were still in place, and the tubing is still connected to the band, but it’s not connected to the port. I just groaned. That’s really all I could do. Then he showed me where the end of the tubing was brushing, and a lot of mysterious aches and pains were explained, along with my supposed “cysts” that they discovered while I was in the ER in California (explanation of this in my next post). Oy.

Yes. The tubing is rubbing against my lower abdomen and my pubic bone, causing all sorts of fun discomfort. My surgery is scheduled for Friday. As far as I’ve been told, the surgery is minor and is done on an outpatient basis. I should go home the same day. The only thing that annoys me is that it is happening on the day I’m supposed to leave for a weekend in Michigan to hang with my friend and his family. I’ve already cancelled my train tickets, and I’m hoping that I can leave on Saturday and come home Monday. I guess I’ll find out if that’s possible whenever the clinic calls me back with more details.

Damn.

Untitled 2

2010-08-16T11:00:00.001-05:00

I realize it has been more than a month since I’ve written. Sorry about that. After that last post, I couldn’t bring myself to write anymore. I couldn’t bring myself to cry, either. I shed a couple of tears the day after, but not enough, apparently. That finally changed on Saturday when I saw my psychologist. I didn’t even talk to her for ten minutes before I finally did what I needed to do: have a major crying jag. That was pretty much my whole session. All the anger and pain and the questioning of why this had to happen to my aunt came flooding out, along with a few other things (that I’ll get into in another post).

I finally feel calm enough to sum up the rest of what happened after June 30th. I don’t know if I can do it justice after such a long hiatus, but I’ll try.

After talking to my mom for a little bit, I went into the room with my husband. Nothing much was said as we got ready to hit the sack. I didn’t really sleep that night, except towards the morning. I finally got up and got in contact with my cousin. She had told me early on that she wanted me to do the slide show for her mom’s memorial. I was honored by being given such a task, and sort of worried that I wouldn’t be able to do her life justice. My mom and I went to get the photos from my aunt’s house that morning, and I took them with me to my in-law’s house to scan and clean up.

The week passed by quickly, and I managed to get the slide show together by the Wednesday before the memorial. I took it to my cousin and we went to the church to test it out on their system. It worked beautifully, and we were pleased. Never mind the snafu we had the next morning when we realized we didn’t burn a DVD of it as well. That was taken care of, and we went to the memorial later that day.

I’m not sure I can adequately describe how beautiful and sad the celebration of my aunt’s life was, so I won‘t even try. I will only say a few things about it. The church was packed full of people, and this was not a small church. The people that were asked to share memories of my aunt spoke from their hearts, and it was very emotional for everyone. My cousin paid a loving tribute to her mom, which brought nearly everyone to tears.

The service ended, and we were allowed to file by the box that contained my aunt’s ashes. I felt numb as I did so, trying to reconcile myself to the fact that where once there had been a vibrant person, now there was only ashes. I couldn’t do it, of course, and the wall just grew around my emotions. I still don’t think that wall has come down, although it is slowly crumbling.

We went out to the main hall and were greeted by a solid wall of people, all getting in line to say some kind words to my uncle, cousin, her husband, and their baby. It was crazy, but nice to see that my aunt had a huge network of support in her life. It was also nice to see my mother’s younger brother and his wife, plus two of my cousins whom I hadn’t seen in forever. Honestly, I think the last time I saw them was when they were babies. Another casualty of no one talking to each other in my family. *sigh*

We moved on to the wake, which had to be held in a gigantic public area. It was great to see how everyone had banded together to try and make things easier for my aunt’s family. There isn’t much to say about that. It was nice to sit and talk with family and nice to see everyone reminiscing about my aunt. I just wish this had all happened under different circumstances.

So that is pretty much the end of the story for the first two weeks in California. I wish it had been better news. I wish I could have said that she was in full remission and recovering. I wish a lot of things had happened differently. Sadly, life doesn’t work out like that. Life can be a horrendous bitch about certain things, and this was one of those things.

And it sucks.

Untitled

2010-07-12T14:20:00.005-05:00

Note: there is a lot to this story, so I'm going to break it up into two parts.

“Your aunt has a tumor at the base of her skull.”

Those were the words that entered my ears when I answered my cell phone on the fifth of June. My aunt has successfully kicked breast cancer’s ass in 2008. It returned in January. This tumor was an extension of all those troubles. I vaguely knew about all of this, but since I wasn't as close to my aunt as I should have been, I didn't realize how awful it was. Yet when I heard those words, the first thing out of my mouth to my mom was, “We’re coming home.”

Two weeks passed. The boy got out of school, I finished up my medical appointments, the husband haggled for time off, and we planned the trip. I was following what was going on through my mom and cousin. At first, it was pretty encouraging. Then the seizures started. Little things happened to dampen everyone’s excitement of her pulling through. I grew more and more worried. Finally, the 19th rolled around and we left for California.

Our first day was uneventful. We made it to Kearney, Nebraska in decent time. We didn’t even experience the usual storms that seem to linger over Kearney every time that we are there. The next morning started our trip to Salt Lake City. Somewhere in the middle of Wyoming, my phone rang again. It was my mother. The news was unexpected.

“The doctors are giving her anywhere from a week to a month to live.”

Shit.

The tears started rolling down my face before I could stop them. My husband looked at me worriedly. I gave him the signal that I would talk to him in a minute and finished up the conversation with my mom. I told my husband what was going on, and he tried to comfort me as best as he could while barreling down the Interstate at 80mph. My mind was a jumble of thoughts and questions, the main one being, “Why her? What the fuck did she do to deserve this death sentence?” We stopped for dinner in Wyoming, but I wasn’t hungry. Food tasted like sawdust. We made it to Salt Lake City that night. I know I treated my husband like crap for no reason, but I’ve never been one to share my pain, and being a bitch was easier than just crying and talking about what I was feeling.

We woke up the next morning and headed out. Destination: Danville, California, my husband’s hometown. We were going to stay with his parents for a day, then head two hours south to my parent’s house. Somewhere in Nevada, my phone rang. My mom.

“The doctors are now saying anywhere from a couple of days to a week.”

Fuck.

Without breaking down, and without thinking about anything else, I hauled ass through Nevada, topping out at about 100mph. Stupid, I know, but I wanted to get to California as fast as I could. I made it to Winnemucca in a little under two hours. We stopped for lunch, then continued on. I got us through that state in record time. Along the way, my husband and I decided to drive the extra two hours and just come straight to my parents house. We accomplished this, and made it to Castroville by 10pm.

The next day, my husband and son left to visit his family. My sister and I went to the hospital to see my aunt. I was afraid, not knowing what to expect. My sister and I went to the floor that my aunt was on and ran into my uncle in the waiting room. I hugged him, and we talked to him while my aunt’s sheets were changed and she was moved around a bit. When we finally went to see her, my sister, my strong willed, balls of steel sister, burst into tears. I couldn’t fault her. It took all my willpower to stop my tears. I can’t adequately describe how I felt at that moment, nor do I want to. It is….private, I guess. My uncle came back into the room and we stayed to talk for a bit.

Later that day, I came back with my mom. Nothing much had changed. My aunt was still unconscious, but in major amounts of pain. It hurt to see her, and the guilt of so many years of shunning her washed over me. It was like the same bullshit with my grandmother had come back home to roost. Sixteen years wasted on what? Some petty fight that I couldn’t even remember now. I mean, yeah, I started talking to her again within the past year, but it didn’t make up for the times I didn’t talk to her. However, that is my cross to bear, and I really don’t want to get into that part right now. Moving on…

For the next week and a half, I came every day to that hospital. Even on the day I had to go to the ER for my own issues, I still went up afterwards, high as a motherfucking kite, to check on her. For the most part, I was stoic. There was one day that I had to step out and cry, and then there was THAT day. That day that changed me forever. I really don’t think I will ever get over it.

The days are all jumbled in my mind now, except THAT day. It was a Sunday, and my husband and son were at his parent’s house. I had gone to the hospital with my mom, and my aunt was AWAKE. She was aware, she knew we were there. She was also in a ton of pain, and I wish to God that she hadn’t been. Towards the end of the visit, my mom went to her to tell her goodbye, and my aunt said something that amounted to the fact that she missed my mom already. My mom was in shock. I went to my aunt after my mom moved and told her goodbye and that I loved her, and she said, quite clearly (to me), “I love you too.” At that moment, I literally felt my heart break. It hurt. I felt like everything wrong with the world had come into this hospital room and just crapped all over. I knew I would never be the same after that. I’m not. My heart is still cracked in two.

My mom and I went home, and I told her that I needed to get away for a bit. She understood. She knew I had to go for a drive and battle my own demons. I took along my notebook and headed for the beach. It was crowded as hell, so I went to the next best place for solitude: the local cemetery. I sat in the car and cried for a solid hour. I wrote a lot in my notebook, but I don’t have the desire to look at it now and see how I was feeling. I know that it would just make me hurt more. Maybe someday I’ll read it, but not at this moment. When I was finished, I went to seek out my friend, and we arranged a night out for Wednesday.

That week, we saw a change come over my aunt. It was death, making an unwelcome but obvious visit. It scared the ever loving hell out of me. I’ll never forget it. I can’t. Her face, her pallor, her smell….they’ll all haunt me for a long time, if not forever. I knew, my mom knew, my cousin knew, my uncle knew. At that point, we were just waiting. I can’t even begin to describe the agony my uncle and cousin were going through. I just know that whatever I was feeling, they were feeling a thousand-fold. And that hurt as well because I couldn’t fucking fix it.

That Wednesday, June 30th, I went out with my husband, my sister, and my friend. We did our usual thing, and got back home at about midnight. Everyone went inside, but I went across the street to talk to my neighbor. I don’t remember what we were talking about, but I do remember her saying, “Your mom is standing outside looking for you.” I looked across the street and saw my mom….and I knew. She was crying. I ran back home and she said, “She’s gone.”

My aunt died at 11:30pm on June 30th, thirty minutes before July 1st…my cousin’s birthday.

For Deb

2010-05-18T19:17:00.001-05:00

Dear Deb,

It has been one year since the world lost you. I still go back and read your blog when I need motivation. I still chuckle at the jokes. I still cry when I read about all that you and your family went through.

One year ago, I promised to lose weight and join the marrow donor program in your memory. As usual, I took forever to start. I’m finally on my way though, and once I hit 247 pounds, I’m signing up. That is one promise that I plan to keep.

I miss you.

Love,
Jess

Catching Up

2010-05-17T09:29:00.002-05:00

*Update* I wrote this last week. The next day when I weighed myself, I had dropped two pounds! The weight has continued to come off steadily since then, and I’m back down to 363. I guess I need to learn patience, right?

Wow, I can’t believe it has already been a month since I’ve written anything. I’m not quite sure where the time went. I guess the best thing to do is to bring everyone up to speed on what has happened and how I feel. Some of it is great, some of it sucks, but I guess that’s life, right?

I had started a blog post that detailed every little thing that happened during my surgery and stay in the hospital, but it started running way too long, so I abandoned it. To sum up the surgery aspect of it all: it went well, I recovered quickly (with the exception of the gas that I had trapped in my body for a week….ugh, so painful), and I pretty much started eating almost normal foods within a week and a half. The fantastic part of this all is that I dropped 37 pounds within three weeks (two weeks pre surgery and one week post surgery). I went from 400 lbs. exactly to 363 lbs. I was THRILLED. My staples came out, I was cleared for mushy foods, and then the trouble started.

I have gotten into the habit of weighing myself each morning. It is a bad habit, I know, but I can’t help myself. Over the past two weeks, I watched as the scale numbers crept up. And up. It finally settled at 369, and that is where I am now. Now I knew that this would happen, that my body would latch on to any food I eat because it was starving for so long. I know eventually it will start going down again. Still, I can‘t help but feel a little anxious about it. In the past, this lack of weight loss would have discouraged me to the point of giving up. Not this time.

I am DETERMINED. I’m going to stick it out, no matter how much it hurts emotionally (I can handle the physical pain of the exercises). I’m not going to give in. I will conquer this and hopefully see some improvement. I know the numbers don’t mean much, but I would like to see a little shift in the right direction. Besides, I have to be losing SOMETHING (inches, maybe? It is possible to lose inches without dropping pounds) because I’m constantly hiking up my pants and my chonies are hanging on me like a limp flag of surrender. My ass has shrunk, my husband can put his arms around me, FULLY, for the first time in years. My face has thinned out a bit, and my forearms are getting smaller. I wish I could say the same about my batwings and love handle, but I’m working on that.

There is another reason I’m sticking this out, a somewhat shallow reason. I’m hoping I see some real improvement by July. I’m supposed to meet up with my super awesome “online fantasy” friends in Cleveland. I know they don’t give two shits about how I look, but I wanted them to see that I didn’t do this surgery in vain. I don’t want them to slow their pace because of the fat girl. I want to go to the club we’re going to and look semi-decent. I want to go and not have people stare at me because I look horrible. It’s silly, I know, but it is just another mental quirk that I have to deal with.

I will deal with it, though. AND lose my weight. Trust.

A Gas Filled Update

2010-04-18T23:00:00.005-05:00

I'm bloated from the gas they used to enlarge my abdominal cavity, my shoulder and neck are screaming in pain, and I feel very full and nauseous from the swelling around the band, but I am alive. I'll type more about this tomorrow. Right now I need to get up and walk around more.

Many Thanks...

2010-04-15T23:00:00.001-05:00

After six (im)patient months, I have finally reached what I have so desired. Tomorrow I start the second chapter of my Lap Band journey, with band firmly in place (I hope) and a new resolve to better my life, my health, and my body. I can’t say that these last six months have been easy. I should have been doing a lot of things differently. If I had actually put my mind and body to it, I could have already been down forty or fifty pounds, rather than just the 24 pounds I lost over these two weeks. However, I’m a sloth, something that I hope will change in the coming months and years.

There is one thing that I want and need to do before I try and sleep tonight. I want to thank people, a LOT of people. Without them, I would not be standing on the brink of a healthier life. Yes, this is going to get all sappy and crap, and it will probably sound like an Oscar speech, but I’m sincere in my thanks, and grateful for the friends and family I have.

To my husband and son: I love you guys. You have put up with so much from me while I was waiting. Both of you encouraged me (unsuccessfully, because I suck) to exercise more and eat less. You have both been patient with my mood swings, my depression, my irritation….the list could go on forever. I appreciate the effort you put forth, and I promise that this will be a new start for us, with a wife and mother who does not tire easily, sweat easily, or stay at home because of how she perceives herself. You are my strength, my joy, and my life.

To my parents, my sister, and all of my extended family: Thank you for cheering on my decision and giving me long distance support when I needed it. I love all of you, even when you guys act nuts. I also miss all of you, and I’m sorry that we won’t be coming home until December. Of course, when you see me again, I’ll be less. Much, much less.

To Rob: Thank you for listening to me bitch about all the issues I had with the clinic. Thank you for making me laugh, for calling me up and leaving your insanely hilarious messages on my answering machine, and for just BEING THERE. Your friendship means more to me than I can express, and I’m so glad that you’re my “online fantasy world” friend, as well as a real life friend. I love you, in a totally platonic way, but I reserve the right to grab your ass in July if I’m drunk. *ahem*

To Julie: Thank you for taking the time to message me when you sensed that I was down or having a hard go of it. I’m glad that we’ve gotten to know each other better, and I truly value your wise advice and insight on life. You’re a truly beautiful person, inside and out, because you have no qualms about soothing others when you have your own problems to deal with. I look forward to meeting you in July and taking over the Soul section of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

To Bobo: Thank you for making me laugh and for sharing your life with me. You are an awesome friend, and I’m so glad that the tiff we had on the boards didn’t end our friendship. Someday, I will get to England and we will hang out, but until then, we shall continue talking online. I love you, little bro. Never forget that.

To all my crew at Renegade Retro and the 00ze: A million thanks and hugs and kisses for supporting me in this endeavor. I am eternally grateful that the people I know would never belittle this choice that I have made (and I’ve heard horror stories at the Lap Band meetings, trust me), but have rallied around me and stuck with me through the madness. You guys rock, and I love you all, even the pissers that annoy the crap out of me from time to time.

To the people I’ve befriended through my blog: Thank you for your comments, your advice, and your sympathy with my issues. I’m glad that my blogging and my reading of blogs have led me to some of the nicest people on Earth.

My thanks having been said, I shall wrap up this post. I will try to get on here tomorrow night from my phone, if it has a signal, just so I can update and let people know I’m okay.

Goodnight.

Just A Rambling Update

2010-04-12T22:45:00.001-05:00

Yes, I cheated on my liquid diet. I felt (and still feel) guilty about it. After beating myself up over it, perusing the internet for information about cheating, and sticking to the liquid diet religiously, I was cleared of all charges by my surgeon today. He didn’t seem to care, just “tsk-tsked” me in a jolly manner and said, “Don’t do it again.” I have also lost 18 pounds since I started, so I don’t think he’s overly concerned about fatty liver.

However, I’m hearing conflicting stories from various Lap Banders on the web and in the clinic that still make me fearful for Friday. Some people have said that the surgeons can and will change their minds about placing a band if they see that your liver hasn’t shrunk. Some people say that they don’t care. Some people have to do 2-3 week liquid diets and some don’t. Some people cheated and some (whom I hate reading about because they sound like smug assholes) didn’t. It’s all a big muddle of information and I think I’m working myself up into a frenzy over it. I should probably stop actively seeking this stuff out and reading it. I’m already high strung from living on liquids for a week or so. It would be nice, however, if the medical community got together and actually made some across the board guidelines on what a pre-Lap bander should do. I guess that makes too much sense though.

So yeah. I’m sticking to my diet now and have been losing almost two pounds a day. I have had people tell me, “Oh, how awesome! What are you doing so I can do it?” Uh, no, I don’t think you want to do it. *I* wouldn’t even be doing it if I had a choice. Hell, I’d be eating my usual hefty portions of my home cooking. Healthy, yes, but my portion control was off kilter. It might still be, but I won’t find out until I start eating solids again. Oh, did I mention I get to do the two week liquid diet AFTER surgery? Yeah. But I digress…

I just don’t get it. I don’t know why anyone would be impressed with someone losing that much weight over such a short period of time. It’s certainly not healthy, it isn’t fun, and I will likely never eat broth or Jello again. At least some good came from it though. I have found that I don’t need to snack throughout the day like I used to, that I can live without stuffing my face. Awesome.

So now I have four more days to go. I’m getting mildly excited, and I’m not nervous, but I’m sure that will change Thursday night. I’m just hoping that the surgery center actually calls me on Thursday like they’re supposed to. I won’t be content until I get that call from them telling me what time I’m having my surgery and where I should go in the hospital. If they don’t call me, I’m just going to show up Friday morning at the hospital and start complaining to registration. That could be entertaining since it’s a Catholic hospital and mouth can get foul, especially since I've been starved for two weeks.

Sabotage

2010-04-05T14:02:00.003-05:00

I knew it wouldn’t last. I was doing fine though. Friday was hard, but I managed. Saturday was easier. Yesterday was a breeze.

Then why oh why did I snap and eat junk food today? I did fine this morning. I even took the dog for a 45 minute walk, then left an hour early to pick up the Boy Child and walked down to the Point and along the beach, then back to 57th Street and around the park.

I didn’t need those effin’ Bagel Bites. I was even telling myself that when I was making them for my son’s lunch, but I put more on the baking sheet than was necessary. Then I ate them, even though I was telling myself that I STILL didn’t need them. As they disappeared down my throat, my mind was telling me, “NO! STOP!!!”, but my actions were automatic. Pick up, bite, chew, swallow, bite, chew, swallow, bite, chew, swallow. It was as if my hands and mouth were disconnected from my more reasonable side.

Now I’m sitting here, feeling guilty, ill (in mind and stomach), and near tears, but trying to hold it all in because my son is sitting next to me. I feel shame, so much shame, for what I just did. It might seem minor to a lot of people, but this could potentially ruin what I’ve fought for, and I would have no one to blame but myself.

How could I do this to myself again, after so many promises? How could I fail myself after waiting six months to get to this point?

Thus the curse of binge eating lingers on.

Firsty Firsty First

2010-04-02T23:44:00.002-05:00

Well the first day of my liquid diet is nearing its end, and I’m proud to say that I did not cheat at all. That is a big accomplishment for me, because usually I’d be all up in the leftovers and stuff. Nope. I stuck to it, and ate only the broth, Jello, shakes, and popsicles. There were a few times today that were really hard, but I persevered and made it through. So….*giant pat on the back*.

I also had my husband take a picture of me tonight. Looking at it makes me want to cry. However, I feel it is in my best interest to take a picture each month to document my progress. Maybe at some point I’ll feel comfortable enough to post them.

Now on to some other stuff while I’m on a roll (mmmm…..hot rolls). At the beginning of March, I wrote a post that covered all kinds of things. I feel that it is time to give them a minor update.

The Lap Band situation has already been covered, so the next thing was my foot. It hurts off and on, but I have a feeling it will improve once I start dropping the poundage.

My mind- still iffy, but I do have my Xanax now, and I am regulating it so I don’t fall into that trap of overmedicating again. I still have weird thoughts and odd feelings, but I’m trying to curb that mightily, and I’ve taken Audrey’s advice about writing out all the bad stuff and picturing it disappearing. It WORKS.

Heart palpitations -I never experienced them again, thank goodness.

Religion -'tis issue filled. Trying to find my way again. That’s all that needs to be said.

Money -we’re doing okay. Not as well as we would have been doing if we had had that extra two grand in our savings, but it’s going well. The in-laws presented another ~~demand~~ request, but it was soundly turned down. Hopefully it won’t escalate beyond that, because I‘m not going to deal with it.

And finally, my last bit of stuff (mmm…..stuffing): THE CRAAAAAAAZAY. I reported him and his post to Proboards because it was harassment. I’m not sure if they took action or he did, but the board is no longer active. So I guess he’s safe (for now) from me revealing all the crap he pulled.

I’m starting to feel incredibly tired from this day, so I think I will end……here.

Letters

2010-04-01T23:14:00.002-05:00

Note: I am going to start writing a series of letters to people (and things, obviously). I got the idea from this website, and I figured it would be a wonderful way to clear my mind. This is the first, and while it may seem that I wrote it in an offhand manner, I can assure you that this is how I feel about food.

Dear Food,

We’ve had a long and tumultuous relationship, but I really think it’s time to call it quits. For twenty-five of my thirty years, you have ruled my life. You have tempted me, punished me, made me cry, made me sick, and just really ruined my life, my body, and my health. Well I’m here today to say: NO MORE! I am giving you up, Food. We had fun tonight, but it is now over. Oh sure, I’ll use you to live, but it won’t go beyond that. There will be no more stolen midnights together, secret snacking in the afternoon, or tempting holidays. You will be MY bitch, not the other way around.

I know this will come as a shock to you. I know that you will always be around, flaunting your gorgeous wares. I know that at times it will be hard to resist you. However, I will reflect on what I went through to get my surgery and laugh in your face. I will look down at the scar on my belly and feel the hardness of the port that is near my skin, and I will let you go.

Goodbye, old friend. I won’t miss you.

-Jess

Yes...

2010-03-31T00:16:00.002-05:00

I was cleared for surgery yesterday. I was given a date for said surgery. April 16th is the big day.

My heart is too happy to type more than that. I feel like crying.

A Glimmer Of Hope?

2010-03-29T23:07:00.002-05:00

After almost six months, I am finally finishing up the odyssey to get my Lap Band. I think. Last week I saw the gastroenterologist and he cleared me of any malabsorption issues. As a matter of fact, he insinuated that it was downright dumb that I even had to go through any of that before I got the Lap Band. I really like this doctor.

So after the appointment with him on Thursday, I called the Lap Band clinic. Of course they didn’t answer, so I left a message. No calls Friday. I left more messages. I called again today and left another message, and yeah, it probably sounded snotty, but they called me back this afternoon. Luckily (for me and for them), they had a cancellation for tomorrow, so I now have an appointment to HOPEFULLY get medical clearance for the surgery. Of course I’m ecstatic, but I’m wary. Today has gone so well that I fear tomorrow will only bring me bad news.

I fear that the doctor will look at me, note that I haven’t lost any weight on my own, and say that I’m not suitable for the surgery. Oh yes, it’s true. I’ve probably gained a few more pounds from the last time he saw me. I really don’t have anyone to blame but myself for that. The first few weeks after consulting with the surgeon and dietitian (back in October and November, mind you), I took it upon myself to eat a lot more junk food than usual, thinking that in a few months (ha ha again) I wouldn’t be able to do so, even though I was never big on the crap food in the first place.

I was initially told that the process to get surgery only took 6-10 weeks. Then the clearance doctor threw a bunch of tests at me. Then the classes were scattered about. Then the original gastroenterologist I was to see had a crisis, and when I called back to make another appointment, I was informed he didn’t take Medicaid (which is a complete lie, according to my current gastroenterologist). I think that some time in January, I just got really discouraged and didn’t care. I still ate healthy, but not healthy portions. I half heartedly exercised if my foot didn’t hurt. I just gave up because I felt like I would never get this surgery, that I would forever be overweight, and that I would eventually die from some obesity related disease.

Sorry, I went off a little bit from what I was talking about. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, tomorrow might be crappy. If the doctor does not clear me for surgery tomorrow, I’m just going to give up on it. I know I’ve put myself and my family through hell, bouncing from appointment to appointment, but I can’t keep going on like this. I want to know if they’re going to actually do it, and do it quickly, or if they’re going to hem and haw and put me off some more. Honestly, you don’t know how much it hurts to go on the Yahoo Group board for this particular clinic and see tons of people talking about how their surgery is in a couple of weeks, how they’re doing the liquid diet to prep for it, how they’ve just had the surgery, etc. I want to cry every time I read one of those posts because I know half of these women have only been in the program for a few months, and here I sit, still waiting, still trying to be patient, hoping that everything works out, that they’ll call me back, and so on.

So here’s hoping that tomorrow isn’t a colossal failure. I fully expect it to be, because very little of this program has been easy. If he clears me for surgery, I’ll be delighted beyond all words. If he doesn’t…..well, I can imagine my blood pressure will creep up and few choice words will escape my lips. Like I said, I will get up and quit, even if I’m told that I’d be able to have it later on. I’m not going to be kept dangling while they screw with my psyche. Yes, I know that’s far fetched, but I always prepare for the worst. It's the secret pessimist in me.

O, Hai Blog!

2010-03-08T10:14:00.001-06:00

I haven’t felt the urge to write. It is barely coming back to me now. I wish I had the power to write something completely interesting, but this post is going to be pretty mundane. Just the usual complaints and bitching, with a couple of fun (not) new things. Let’s get started, shall we?

Lap Band -I saw the gastroenterologist on the 25th of February. I had to do a fun sample for that and will see him again on March 25th. In the meantime, I tried calling to get an appointment with the Lap Band clearance doctor. Of course, being the stellar clinic they are (note the sarcasm), no one answered. I’m still trying to get a hold of someone. I guess it doesn’t really matter anyways because I’m having issues exercising and eating right again. I hate this wretched cycle of eating right, exercising, then saying, “To hell with it”, and giving up. I wish I could break out of it, but it is a terribly difficult habit to let go of after 25 years.

My foot -still hurts.

My mind -this is one of the fun new things that I was talking about. I ran out of Xanax last week and had to stop cold turkey because the pharmacy won‘t refill it until later on this week. To put it bluntly, I feel like shit. The first couple of days were filled with physical symptoms. Today, I can feel the psychological bullshit kicking in. I feel on edge, full of hopelessness, and I feel that fun sense of dread creeping up in my mind. My stomach is in knots, so I’ll probably drop weight this week, which isn’t entirely a bad thing. The only shitty part is the feeling that Death is going to come up and bitch slap me at any moment. Moving on….

Heart palpitations! -had to go to the hospital last Thursday for this. It sucked, and they couldn’t give me any answers. Luckily, they stopped, but I have a feeling it was caused by the extra weight I’m carrying around, even though the doctor wouldn’t come out and say that. Shit, just say I’m fat. I know I am. You know I am. I honestly don’t take offense anymore.

Religion -not going there. Too much spinning through my mind, and this whole “Is there or isn’t there?” bullshit is getting on my nerves. I need to figure out if I’m going to have a faith or not and stop pussyfooting around. I just can’t commit to either one, and this limbo is leaving me even more on edge. It is the suck. Maybe I should start a Religions Anonymous group. “Hi, my name is Jessica and I can’t figure out what I believe in.”

Money -we had to loan our savings to my in-laws. The less said about this, the better, because I don’t know who reads this blog. *suspicious*

The (supposed) crazy -this is the last thing I’m going to write about, and I’m not going to go into full detail of it because that would be a whole other post that I’m just not ready to write. It was brought to my attention by an acquaintance that an ex-friend of mine put a post up on his message board calling me “crazy” and a “nut case”. How do I know it is about me? Because he used my full name, of course. It was posted on the 22nd of last month, but the acquaintance barely ran across it last week and sent me a message about it. Now keep in mind that this is the same ex-friend who badgered me from August to December about being his friend again. I wanted nothing to do with him and told him so, several times. I blocked his email and any way for him to contact me on social networking sites. He used a different email to contact me and enlisted the aid of his SON to contact me on Facebook. I reiterated my stance on not wanting to talk to him. He tried to add me on MySpace. It finally died down, and now this post has surfaced. I had not had any contact with him since December, so why he posted this now is a mystery to me. Now, I could be a major ass and use his full name, like he did to me, but I’m better than that. Besides, most of the people that read this blog know who I am talking about.

I have one thing to add to this, though. If it keeps up, I will post a blog about it all, with all of the proof I saved of him harassing me on here. Screen caps and saved emails are a wonderful thing, and these definitely don’t show him in the best light.

I think I’m done for now. My fingers are starting to go numb. What a weird sensation.

Less Hysteria, More Ramblings

2010-02-19T23:41:00.002-06:00

Okay, so I might have been a tad emotional and overly dramatic in my last post. However, after I finished writing it and everything, I felt better. Yes, I do have many uphill battles to face regarding my health and what goes on, but I can do it. I know I can. I’ve started upping my exercise routines, even though it kills my foot a bit. I’m looking to invest in this topical cream that supposedly helps tendonitis, but I have to drive way the hell out in the boonies of the city to buy some, so I‘ll do that tomorrow. I’m still eating relatively well, although I have days where I want to pig out and eat everything. It is a hard thing to deal with, but all I can do is try, despite what Yoda says. I never liked that little green bastard anyways.

The Lap Band surgery crap is going slooooooow. I had a major go round with the clinic and the gastroenterologist’s answering service, because no one could (or would) give me the right number to call for an appointment. I finally got that straightened out, and am seeing him on the 25th of this month. Hopefully they won’t want to do any weird invasive procedures and just tell me what I’ve always suspected: if I don’t eat regularly and in a healthy manner, then I’m going to do the explosive butt dance (yeah, TMI, I know) a lot. My husband thinks it’s hilarious, and in his words: “It’s like you shit helium” because I go a lot and I never seem to lose any weight or shrink in any visible manner. Thank you husband, for being so awesome about my butt problems.

My prior blog post was also written when I was really feeling the homesickness pretty badly. I miss my family, I miss my friends, I miss California. If our trip in June happens like we’re planning, then that means it will be exactly a year and a half since I’ve been home. That is too long for someone who grew up in a close knit family. I need to touch base, so to speak. I need to go sit on the beach and watch the ocean. That has always calmed me for some reason, perhaps because I grew up around the water. I need to go hang out with my friends, get drunk, and cause trouble with my sister. I need to meet the new pup of the family and try to resign myself to the fact that I won’t see our Blue anymore. I just need to be THERE, because no matter how far away I move, California is in my blood and will always be home to me.

I’ll leave you with a song that has been sticking in my gut for the past couple of days, even more than the Sarah McLachlan song:

Full of Grace....And Depression

2010-02-17T00:26:00.000-06:00

The winter is cold, and bitter,

It's chilled us to the bone,

I haven’t seen the sun for weeks,

Too long, too far from home.

I feel just like I’m sinking,

And I claw for solid ground,

I’m pulled down by the undertow,

I never thought I could feel so low,

And oh darkness I feel like letting go.

“Full of Grace” -Sarah McLachlan

As I was cleaning the house on Sunday, this song came up on my iPod. I was dusting, but my pace slowed down when I heard the opening verses of this song. While I know that Sarah McLachlan wasn‘t speaking literally in the above verses, I interpreted it in my own way….and it hurt….and I started crying.

This winter, besides being cold and bitter, with hardly a trace of sunlight, has been pretty sucky. My family has had a ton of problems crop up, some of which have chilled me to the bone. I’m in no position to help them because I am so far from home, and I‘ve been gone from there for what seems like forever. There are so many things I want to do to make it all better, but I can’t always fix things, and this distance creates a giant emotional gap between my family and myself. It makes me feel sad and guilty, like I’ve abandoned my parents and sister and left them to fight it out on their own while I live it up in Chi-Town. Every day that I talk to my mom is like a knife twisting in my heart, because I’m not there to ease some of the burdens.

When you combine those feelings with my instability and Seasonal Affective Disorder, you get a very emotionally drained Jess. I DO feel like I’m sinking, like there is no escape from this apathy or this wretched depression. Every day sees me clawing for stable ground, and I’m not finding it. I’m not. The hours pass, full of uphill battles that are rarely won.

I’m not asking for much. I try not to. That’s not my way. All I want is to be happy, to be fulfilled, to shake these feelings, to not be in pain every day from the tendonitis in my ankle. I want to know that I can get up each morning and meet the day head on, with no fears that I won’t live up to the meager goals I set for myself. I want to wake up and know that each day brings me closer to June, when we will hopefully get to go back home. These are dreams, however, and sometimes they don’t come true.

As the verse ends, I feel like letting go, but I don’t know which way I will drift. Will it be towards the good stuff in my life, or will I sink further down, down so far that I can’t get back?

Happy Birthday, Little Man!

2010-02-05T21:24:00.004-06:00

Mijo,

Another year has passed, and we have just finished sampling your fifth birthday cake. It is incredible how time flies by when you’re not looking.

Here is what I see when I look at you now. You have grown taller and stronger. You have grown to look even more like me, but in a good way. You have the most beautiful eyes that express all of your feelings. You are excelling in preschool and in your speech therapy. You have many friends in your class, which I noticed yesterday as we did your little party at school. And yes, I know you want your friends to come over, but you’re going to have to prod me along because you know how shy I get around other parents. I’m sure you’ll get me to do it, though. I know you want people over, and I’ll do my best to make that happen. But I digress…

I see that you are helpful to your teachers and to your classmates, and do not hesitate to stick up for your friends. You are not shy about talking to our neighbors and to the maintenance guys, even if you act a bit silly at times. You always try to do your best, even though you often get distracted by the little things in life. It is rather fascinating to watch when you are getting dressed and just sort of drift off into space because you’re looking outside or you’re thinking up some fantastical new project with Legos. I realized that you get this from me, because I found myself staring out the window today when I should have been putting on my socks.

For all the lovely things that you are, you are also only human (and only five), so you have a few things that we need to work on. Like the game thing. Winning isn’t everything, my love, and I desperately want to break you of that “winning is awesome and you suck if you lose” habit that you developed. With that also comes the “sore loser” aspect, and I hope to God that this is all just a phase of your age. I’m pretty sure it is. And yes, I know you’re awesome at Uno and can easily kick mine and Daddy’s asses.

Then there are the times that you get a slight attitude, and I realize that you are JUST. LIKE. ME. I remember being a hellion and trying Grandma and Grandpa’s patience, and I can see the same fire inside you and the same need for rebellion. It fascinates me and makes me nervous. I guess Karma does exist and I will be paid back in spades for the follies of my younger years when you become a smartassed teenager similar to what I was.

Despite these minor human faults, you are still my best buddy and I love you to pieces. I love the fact that I can take you ANYWHERE, and you don’t act up. I love the fact that you give the side-eye to kids that do act like snots in public and that you have no qualms about announcing loudly how badly they are acting. I love the fact that you sing along to Michael Jackson songs and try to dance like him. I love that you have a vivid imagination and that you can almost read and that you have memorized your favorite books to “read” to me. I love the fact that you are still in tune to my moods and can cheer me up with a silly smile or a rambling story. Most of all, I love the fact that you are you, and totally unique in every way (except the whole attitude thing).

Mijo, you are my world, and no matter what happens:

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living,
My baby you’ll be.”*

Love,
Mommy

*taken from “I’ll Love You Forever” by Robert N. Munsch

Screw You, January!

2010-01-31T23:06:00.001-06:00

January has been one big clusterfuck that I never want to acknowledge again. The crazy has run rampant within my family, my dog was put to sleep, the Lap Band idiots have been fucking with me, and, worst of all, my aunt’s breast cancer decided to reappear. I have cried every single week this month because something or other has happened. I’m tired. I’m annoyed. I’m sick. I want to be back at home in California.

Yes, there have been a few quiet and calm moments this month, but the bad definitely outweighed the good.

If this is an indication of how 2010 is going to be, I don’t want it.

Holy Crap! I'm Thirty!

2010-01-19T23:52:00.002-06:00

So. I’m thirty. I guess I should write some awesome post full of my life experiences, my wit, and my wisdom. I’ve got nothing. I’m grateful that I made it to thirty, and stunned that I’m this old now. See, when I was younger, thirty was the, “OMG, YOU’RE OLD!!!” age. I never wanted to turn thirty because it sounded like the end of everything. I fully expected to wake up this morning with gray hairs and tons of wrinkles. I still look the same as I did when I was twenty. Oh sure, I have a few laugh lines, but that’s about it.

Beyond that paragraph, I’m drawing a blank. Thirty is supposed to be this momentous occasion, and I’m just “meh” about it. I’m not really celebrating it in any way. I have no money to do so, and even if I did, I don’t trust anyone to watch my kid. I’ve already received more presents than I deserve from my family. I am blessed to have my family and my friends. I am grateful to be alive, albeit in a permanent state of insanity.

Here’s hoping that my 30s are smoother sailing than my 20s were.

Since I’m not really feeling the whole writing thing, I asked my friends and family on Facebook and a message board to leave some questions for me to answer. Maybe that will help pull this post out of the shit pile it’s in. Here we go:

The first one comes from my friend, Maria: “Other than the obvious - (husband and son) what are you most proud of?”

There are many things I’m proud of (husband and son first, of course), but the one thing that sticks out for me is my perseverance in battling my mind and all its quirks. I’ve known that I have had “issues” since I was 16, but they didn’t fully come out until I was 28. It has taken me many therapy sessions and countless pills to get it under control, but I finally feel that I can go out and not have a meltdown. I feel that I can control my emotional eating, and although I do slip up sometimes, I don‘t beat myself up over it any longer. I feel that I can go into shops and not spend money I do not have (shredding my credit cards helped with that one). Since I’ve reined in the bad thoughts, I have expressed a desire to LIVE, and I will not let go of this feeling without a fight.

The second question comes from my husband, Kin: "Now that you've seen what you've seen, what are you going to do moving forward to improve on your life?"

This question threw me for a loop because I’m having a reading comprehension fail. I finally had my husband explain it to me, and basically it boils down to, “What are you going to do to build upon what you have experienced, both good and bad, in your life?”

Good question. The bad things that I’ve experienced in my life usually involved my brain and my crazy tendencies, so I plan on keeping them at bay with a combination of therapy, writing, and good ol’ Paxil and Xanax. I eventually hope to get past it all and live my life without the help of drugs. I’ll probably keep my psychologist around for a couple of years, though. It is cathartic to spill my guts every week or two, especially because I know the people in my life will not have to listen to my psychobabble bullshit.

As for building on the good things, I think I will just keep on doing what I’m doing. This boils down to keeping up a good relationship with my family, maintaining the weight loss journal and exercising, working on my mathematics, and trying to rebuild my actual offline life. Oh, and my husband just reminded me that I need to keep up my lackadaisical practice of my guitar. Now my husband is just being a butt pirate, so I’m going to throw my phone at him and move on to the next question.

No, I didn’t really throw the phone at him.

I have two questions from my friend, Jack, who was the only one who had the balls (literally!) to ask a dirty question. I was expecting more questions of this nature, but my friends let me down. That gives me the sads. So, the dirty question: "What fantasies have you not yet entertained?"

To put it in the most blunt terms: a threesome. I’d prefer male/male/female, but I’m down with female/female/male. I don’t think it will happen now because I’m married and tend to be pretty serious (surprisingly) about my marriage vows, but when I was single, I totally would have. Also, my husband has some sort of squicky feeling about having another guy around for the sex, but he has no problem with another woman. Hypocrite.

The second, more serious question from Jack is: "What are your major plans for the upcoming year(s)? e.g., starting/finishing school, moving to wherever, having more chilluns, etc.”

My plans for the immediate future (this year) involve getting the SAT study guide and busting my ass to get it all down pat. I need to apply for FAFSA to get funding for schooling. I’m also hoping (but not counting on any more…I’ll bitch about this in another post) that I’ll get my Lap Band surgery and lose the weight that I need to. In the coming years, I hope to get into a University so I can start on the road to getting my Bachelor’s degree in Physics. I do want another child, which will make the schooling situation awkward, but I figure I can at least finish up my Bachelor’s before popping out another kid, since I have to lose weight anyways before getting pregnant again. As for moving, that will be decided when my husband finishes up his PhD program. Where we move to is also dependent on what he decides to do (I’m hoping back to California…or maybe North Carolina). Wherever he goes though, so go I. I’m obedient like that or some shit.

My friend Tammy wants to know: “Who, in your 30 years so far, has been the biggest contributor to the person you are today? And how/why?”

Wow. This is a tough one to write out and admit. I’m sure she was expecting me to say my husband or my son, but I’d have to say that it was someone (whose name shall not be mentioned) that I was friends with for a long time, but who turned out to be less than I expected in the end. I became friends with them in 2002, fell in love the same year, lost weight for them, did things for them, almost lost my family over them, and had my heart broken by them in 2003. There is so much more to this story that I can’t really type out at this moment, but this person influenced my life for a very short time and, despite being a less than stellar person, introduced me to a world that I had never experienced before….70s classic rock. No, just kidding. It was a world where I was loved for the first time, and I realized how much love I had to give back. That love flowed over eventually into my husband. I guess what I’m trying to say is that this person taught me how to love and be loved, to realize that I didn’t have to be that shy little person any longer, and that I was worthy to have a wonderful life. Like I said earlier though, appearances can be deceiving, and this person is no longer a part of my life, due to some major disagreements in our ways of thinking. I wish them well, but I no longer want them around.

My buddy Patrick asks: “What are your plans in your 30th year of living?”

To get STOOPID! Nah, to just take each day as it comes and improve upon it for my benefit and my family’s benefit.

And finally, my home girl Q wants to know: “Since your birthdays (mine and my husband’s….his is on the 16th) are so close together do you celebrate them together or separately? I mean independently."

We sort of meet in the middle to celebrate. It saves time and money. Ha!

So ends my thirtieth year post. If I get any more questions, I’ll post them up here with updates. Thanks to everyone who participated in my silliness. You guys rule.

Happy birthday to me!

Man's Best Friend

2010-01-08T14:49:00.002-06:00

It seems like only yesterday that I was 19 years old and the proud new co-owner of a random puppy that was given to my family by my aunt. My mom was against it from the start, but my sister and I talked and whined and pleaded our way into keeping him. She relented, and completely suckered in by the sweetness of the puppy, went out and bought a shit ton of things for him. So much for not wanting him. Not sure what to call him, we were settling on “Cocoa” because he was mostly Chocolate Lab, and the color of a Hershey’s candy bar. It wasn’t until later that night that my dad came up with the name of “Blue”, because the sweet little puppy’s eyes were a startling blue color. So Blue he became.

When we received him, he was only six weeks old, and a tiny little thing, with giant paws and the biggest ears I had ever seen on a dog. It was the first time in my life that I had ever had to be responsible for SOMETHING, and it was definitely trying in those first few weeks. Housebreaking a dog is not easy. Listening to the sad little sounds a puppy makes because he misses his mama and his brothers and sisters is heartbreaking. Knowing that I had to be firm with him, even when he was so darned cute, was taxing. Finally, we got over the harder bits of having a puppy, and began to enjoy him as a companion.

As everyone knows, Labradors are highly active outdoor dogs. Blue was the typical Lab. He wanted to walk, walk, walk, he wanted to swim (Labs are, after all, water dogs), wanted to jump over stuff, wanted to stalk ducks, and really wanted the neighborhood cats. He was always outside getting into things, and he always wanted to be with us. I remember the first time we left him at home by himself. He barked his fool head off, somehow got up on the counter in the kitchen, managed to pull down my mom’s curtains, then got stuck in the sink. At the time, it wasn’t really funny, but it is hilarious now. We were finally able to convince him that we did have to leave him at times, but we would always be back.

In 2002, when I started on my first weight loss journey, Blue became my faithful walking partner. We would spend literally HOURS in the artichoke fields of Castroville, walking down all the dirt paths and roads between the heavy crops. Sometimes we would go down to the little slough that ran through the fields, and he would beg me with his eyes to let him go swimming. I hated letting him get in there, knowing that the water was most likely polluted, but I would let him swim on occasion. We would typically pass an afternoon out there, just me and him. I would sit on the abandoned trestle train bridge, and watch him swim in the water below. When he got tired, he would climb up the little hill and indicate with a look that it was time to go home. We’d walk back home, I’d hose him down (which he hated…go figure), then he’d conk out somewhere. He was the reason I lost so much weight in such a short time, because he never let me give up those daily walks with him.

As life is not still and constantly evolving, I eventually got a job and had to give up my longer daily walks with Blue. Knowing that my dad was pretty injured from his job, I would get up as early as I could and walk Blue before I went to work. When I got home, I’d walk him again. On the weekends, I’d try to keep up our tradition of long walks. It slowed down as I finally developed a life and entered into a long term relationship. It slowed considerably more when I got pregnant. Still, I would try to walk him when I could, and as always, I spent a lot of time with him in the house or out in the backyard.

When I brought my son home from the hospital, Blue was slightly confused as to what this yowling, squalling, tiny little creature was. When I was sitting on the couch holding my son, Blue came over and gently sniffed the baby. I think he feared he might get yelled at for coming close to something that was so obviously delicate, but no one said a word, and he continued to sniff at him, then went to lie down on the floor. Later that night, I went off to take a shower and put the baby in his bassinet next to his daddy, who was working at the computer. When I came out of the bathroom, Blue was sitting up tall on the chair that my husband had vacated for a second, staring down at the little boy in the bassinet, guarding him with all his might.

The year and a half that we had left in California passed in what seems a blur now, but my son had the privilege of having a wonderful guard dog and friend in Blue. That dog tolerated more than his fair share of rough housing and playing, having food thrown at him (he didn’t really dislike that part), and any number of indignities inflicted upon him by my son. That’s not to say I let the boy treat Blue horribly, but little boys will be little boys, and you can’t always stop them before they pull the dog’s hair. Even with all that though, Blue never wavered in his devotion to the boy. He would even come and stare at me if I was busy doing something and the boy needed attention.

We left California in June of 2006. My heart broke, not only because I had to leave my family and friends behind, but because I had to leave Blue as well. It felt like I was leaving my baby, but as he was not just my dog, it wouldn’t have been right to insist that I have him with us on our journey to Chicago. So he stayed with my dad, who needed a friend and faithful companion to help get him through his long days of having to deal with the new disability.

When we came home for Christmas that year, I was pretty sure Blue had forgotten about us. Never. We were attacked by a giant ball of chocolate fur the second we walked in the door of my parent’s house. He hadn’t forgotten, he licked our faces in happiness, and he wouldn’t leave our sides for a minute. It was glorious to get on the floor and wrestle with him, to reach down from where I was sitting on the couch to pat his head, or to have him come and nudge my legs while I was in the recliner so he could sit in front of me and have me massage his back with my feet. It was wonderful to go walking with him again. I was sorry when we had to leave, but glad to know that Blue would always remember us.

We went back for a visit in June of 2007, and it was the same. My son and I went to California in May of 2008 and stayed a month. Blue was always nearby, and the bond between him and my son grew. The boy loved having a big dog to play with because our dog (a mini-pinscher/Chihuahua) doesn’t like to play a lot, though he does love to snuggle. Blue, however, was every little boy’s dream dog, and they were inseparable during our month there. I still remember quite happily one of the days of our stay there. My dad took me, my son, and Blue high up into the Santa Cruz mountains to enjoy the beauty of it. Somehow we got stuck on a very narrow, very unpaved, sheer-drop-to-the-right road. I was slightly wigged out, but Blue hung over the back of my seat and gave me a look like, “STFU. Dad knows what he is doing!” When we finally made it to Gilroy through the back roads, we stopped for lunch and I switched places with Blue so he could sit up front and enjoy forbidden hamburger from my dad. When we got back home, Blue collapsed in a contented heap. I think he was still dreaming of more hamburger.

The last time I saw Blue was December of 2008, and it was a very unhappy time. We had gone back to California for my grandmother’s memorial, but when we walked in my parent’s door, no Blue greeted us. This was unusual for him. He finally came to us, weakly wagged his tail, then went and laid on the floor again. When my husband went to lie on the couch, Blue hobbled over and sat next to him so he could be petted. Something was very, very wrong. The next day, Blue looked worse and was just so listless. We argued for a bit amongst ourselves, but I finally said to hell with it, looked up an emergency vet, and my husband and I walked Blue out to our car and took him out to Monterey to be treated. They had no idea what was wrong with him, so the next day, we went to a place in Salinas. They were decidedly more competent, and recommended he be sent to stay at an animal hospital in Santa Cruz.

My parents took him up there, where the vets diagnosed him with something that I don’t recall. All I remember is the sheer worry that we were all feeling, not knowing what was going to happen. We went to visit him as much as the hospital would allow, and the first time I went to see him with my husband, I broke down and cried. He looked so weak and thin and tired. He laid on the floor with a sigh, and me, not giving a rip if the floor was clean or dirty, laid next to him and cried into his coat. I couldn’t lose him, I still considered him my baby. Then on Christmas Day, two days before we left to come back to Chicago, the animal hospital called. Blue was perking up, responding, he could come home the next day! The holiday brightened considerably, and the next day my parents picked him up. He was still sort of weak and shaky, and he was going to have to take a ton of medicine, but he looked better.

I think it was at this point during the crisis of Blue that I realized he wasn’t getting any younger. I had tried not to think about it, but it was staring me in the face. Though I no longer live in California, I loved this dog with all my heart and I certainly didn’t want to think of him no longer being active and eventually leaving us. I was heartened by the fact that last month, my parents informed me that Blue had a son! Blue had made a puppy after all these years with a terrier down the street! There was still life in him yet if he was back to his dirty little ways of trying to get busy with anything and everything, except this time he was actually successful. My parents adopted his son and named him Rocky. Blue wasn’t exactly thrilled with that turn of events, but I guess he tolerated him as best as he could. Then yesterday happened.

I received a text from my mom asking if I was on Facebook because she had to send me an important message. Thinking she might have gotten fired or that my sister was ill again, I waited impatiently for the message to come. It finally dinged up: “Blue is really bad. Dad is calling the vet right now. He thinks he had a stroke.” My heart dropped. A flurry of messages back and forth on Facebook with my mom finding out that he couldn‘t walk and he was just not all there, then a phone call to my sister. She confirmed what was going on and said that the vet was pretty sure he would have to be put to sleep. I couldn’t cry. I was stunned. We talked for two hours, mainly to keep our minds off of what was almost certainly inevitable. Towards the end of the call, I asked her to put the phone to Blue’s ear. I talked to him for a bit, telling him that I loved him and that I was sorry he was hurting. I then told him goodbye, because deep in my heart, I knew the news wouldn’t be good from the vet.

Late that afternoon, I started texting with my mom again, who was waiting for my dad at the vet’s office. We both knew it wasn’t going to be good. My dad got there, and the women in the office came out and carried Blue in. The veterinarian came in, examined Blue, and told my parents that, yes, it had been a stroke. There were treatments available, but none were 100% guaranteed to work and would most likely cause him more pain. My dad made the decision to let our friend and companion go in a humane manner, then left because he could not take it anymore. My mom, brave woman that she is, stayed with Blue to the last, texting me with updates: “They gave him a sedative and some other medication so he won’t feel anything.” “He’s on the floor, asleep and snoring like he does at home.” A picture of him sleeping like he normally does rips my heart out and finally makes me cry. “The vet is here now.” A few minutes later: “He’s gone.” I lost it at that point and just sat on the floor in my kitchen and cried. My sister called me a few minutes later, telling me that she was watching our dad and forcing him to eat because he was so twisted with pain from the loss. She tried to raise our spirits like she always does, but I could tell that it was hard for her.

My mom called when she got home from the vet after signing all the papers and everything. Her voice was raw with emotion. We didn’t really talk for long because there was nothing more to say after such a hellish day. I spent the rest of the night in a stupor again, hopped up on Xanax and Three Olives vodka, wishing like hell that I could have been in California to say goodbye to man’s best friend. I think my husband and I might have watched a movie before sleeping. I don’t remember.

I woke up this morning, made my son some breakfast, prodded my husband out of bed, then went into the bathroom to get dressed for the day. I cried again. I’m crying now. I likely will cry again tonight, tomorrow, and probably for several more days or weeks, knowing that I will never see Blue again in this life. It hurts so bad to know that when I go home this summer, I will not be able to pat his blockhead. I will not be able to take him for a walk. I will not be able to sit on the floor and have him burrow next to me. I will not have him on my old bed, spread all across it, so I can’t get in. I will not have that happy, excited, manic, joyous barking to greet me.

To many people, I know it will seem ridiculous that I’ve written a tremendous blog post about an animal. It isn’t ridiculous to me. Blue was my friend no matter what fool shit I did in my life. He never judged me, never made me feel like a horrible person, and he was always there for me. Try to find that loyalty in the heart of a human. I can almost guarantee that you won’t.

Blue

March 3, 1999-January 7, 2010

Belated Resolutions

2010-01-06T22:32:00.002-06:00

New Year’s resolution #1 -stop procrastinating.

Whoops. Broke that one already.

New Year’s resolution #2 -exercise more, eat less, and breathe down the necks of the dumb fucks at the Lap Band clinic.

This one is easier to keep, although I’m about at the end of my rope in regards to that fucking clinic. If, a few months down the road, I still haven’t received the band and I’m losing weight just fine, I’m going to seriously tell them to fuck off. That might come sooner rather than later, though.

New Year’s resolution #3 -stop fucking worrying all the time and gain my sanity back.

This is ongoing. I suspect it will always be so.

New Year’s resolution #4 -stop fucking cussing all the damned time.

No wait. Disregard that one.

And the final resolution, and the big one to me -give up a major portion of the internet and discover what I‘ve lost. This is a HUGE deal for me, which is explained semi-coherently in the paragraphs below.

Lately, I have been feeling disconnected from my online life. I go on and read things, but I don’t feel any sparks or zest for it like I used to. Not that long ago, I’d spend the better part of my days and nights on the internet, reading, commenting, mocking, status updating, etc. Now I’m just sort of, “Meh.” about it all. I think my real life is calling me back into its arms, and I’m not going to let that opportunity slip away.

The only problem is….I don’t know how to live that life anymore. I have no real life friends around here that I can just call and hang with. I have no job. I won’t start school for another year and a half (had to push it back…circumstances have changed), and I can’t get out and walk like I used to because it’s ass biting cold right now. My mind is slowly turning into mush from lack of communication/interaction, and I HATE IT.

If I were to truly be honest with myself, I would have to say that I’ve been addicted to the internet for the longest time. I think it started when we moved here and that addiction got progressively worse. Having a mental breakdown did not help things. In fact, I think it made my dependence on the internet even more prevalent because I was reading too much into what was happening with my mind and what was causing the meltdown.

When I first started using the internet in 1999, it was an occasional thing because dial-up took forever and it used to drop a lot. The frequency of my usage increased in 2002, but I still managed to live outside the keyboard. Nowadays, I spend more time than I care to think about on here. A couple of nights ago, I was copying my old blog posts from MySpace and saving them on Word. Some of the entries that I read showed what my life was like before the whole dependency. I had a life, albeit a semi-boring one, but still, it was a life. It disappeared.

If the 2000s were the decade of excessive internet use, then I want the 2010s to be the decade of cutting back and discovering myself again. I may not make a lot of friends, I may not accomplish all I set out to do, but at least I can say that I tried. Two days ago, I shut down as much of my internet life as possible. This included cancelling my Pogo account (although still active until the subscription runs out in 10 months, so I can play if I feel the urge), shutting down any random message boards that I belonged to and didn’t post at, closing down the MySpace account, and logging out of message boards that I do frequent so I won’t be tempted to sit and post. It also included pruning down my bookmarks

So why am I blogging? An excellent question. Blogging keeps me sane, and usually I write out my posts on Word, go through it to spell check and look for crappy sentences, then just come here, copy, paste, title it, and post it. I’ll usually check back later on to see if I have comments and approve them. I don’t really consider blogging a giant waste of my time, especially if kvetching helps my sanity. The words of encouragement from my few readers does wonders for my spirits as well, and I‘d hate to lose that.

The big question now is: what will I do with all my free time? Well, there is brushing up on the maths so I can take my SATs next year. Yes, I know that a (future) 31 year old woman taking the SATs sounds ludicrous, but if I want to enter a university, I actually need to take them. On top of this preparation for school, I need to find out about any and all funding available to my poor ass to pay for my hypothetical higher education. I know it is going to cost a pretty penny, something we don’t have at the moment, but I figure if I throw myself at the mercy of the Feds, they’ll do something for me.

I will continue to exercise, which I mentioned above. Like I said, I’m getting pretty fed up with the way this Lap Band thing is going, so I might just give up on that and do my own thing again. This will require serious attitude adjustments on my part and how I feel about food. So, more hard work, less being lazy. I'm also thinking of finding the closest Overeater's Anonymous and just joining for moral support. At least that way I’m set, whichever way my weight loss journey goes.

I want to do a major blitz of my house and just get rid of useless crap. That will have to wait until the Spring though, because I need to move out a lot of stuff and sell certain things. For now, I’ll just be happy keeping on top of the housework so I don’t have to spend 6+ hours every week doing a major cleaning of it.

I want to spend more time with my family. I do okay during the day when I’m here with the kid, but in the evening, I just sort of zone out. Not a good thing. I want to hang with my husband and son, and get all competitive over stupid board and card games. We’ve actually been doing this for the past couple of nights, and I’ve had a blast. Uno is our game of choice at the moment, and it is fun to just loaf around and play it.

I want to get in some more work on my guitar. I did tune it like a month ago and never really did anything with it after that. I suck.

Last, but certainly not least, I want to rediscover my faith. I don’t know if this will take me down the path of being a Catholic again or to another branch of Christianity. This is something that I have been working on and have been waffling back and forth over. I daresay that my faith problem will ever be solved, but I would at least like to find some peace of mind (oooh, Boston song earworm now).

So ends the ramblings of me for another year, albeit six days late.

Five

2009-12-31T11:27:00.005-06:00

Seven years ago, I met someone online.

Six years ago, we started our relationship.

Five years ago, we sealed our relationship with marriage.

Forgive me if the following is rambling, but I’m just going to write what is in my heart.

Dear Husband,

We did it. We survived five years of marriage. Despite the doubts voiced by many a person about our relationship, we made it to a landmark anniversary (considering the divorce rate, five years IS a landmark). We overcame many obstacles in our life together, which caused some friction between us, but never caused us to hate each other. In fact, I think it made us stronger.

I know I haven’t been the easiest person to live with, but you managed to survive all of my evil ways, and have snapped me out of more than one bad mood and/or evil habit. In return, I have nagged you to not work so hard and bluntly reminded you that you need to relax. It works for us. I hope it will always work for us. I think it will.

You were wondering why I pulled down the old photos of us. I did that because I wanted to dredge up some photos to post on here, and because I wanted to relive the earlier days of our relationship. The photo boxes contained all the cards we exchanged while we were dating, and they brought a smile to my face. The hardships we faced because you lived 100 miles away from me, the fact that your parents disliked me (and still do, for that matter) and tried to keep us apart…it did nothing to quell our feelings for each other.

When we got married, I was joyous, although I was eight months pregnant and feeling like a pack mule. I think our wedding really reflected what our married life would be: simple, flowing along, with an occasional minor bump (the bump usually being lack of money). I knew that those tiny bumps wouldn't diminish our love at all.

Then a month later, when we welcomed the boy child into the world, my love for you grew even more. You had given me a beautiful gift, and you stuck by me through the pain and trauma that was caused by delivering said gift. I think we did an awesome job, though. Our kid rules, even if he is an angry smartass…sort of like me. Like you said, your genes are recessive. Ah well. Maybe our hypothetical next baby will be more like you, in looks and personality.

When we were living with my parents and scrambling for money, you did your best to make sure we were provided for. When you realized that nothing was going to come of these dead end jobs that both you and I had, you applied for grad school and got in. Though I was sad to leave my family, you have taken us on a major adventure in our married life: the adventure of being independent and responsible. Oh, and the adventure of actually LEAVING California to live in an awesome city 2500 miles away. Sure, it was hard to give up my family and friends, but you forced me to experience new things and new sights.

I know this past year with me has been difficult for you, but I can never express how much I love you for sticking by me through my “issues”. You never belittled me, you never told me to get over it, you never did anything that would push me over the edge. Instead, you made sure I got help. You held me up when I was down. You did whatever you could to make me feel better. It made a difference. Trust me. Even when I was acting crazy, having your calm presence around helped. Thank you.

I’m hoping that these five years of marriage are only the beginning of a long and loving partnership together. I can’t think of a better way to spend my life.

Love,
Wife

Now for your enjoyment: pictures!

The night we got engaged.

Awwwwww.

More awwwww.

One of my favorite pictures of us. Dunno what happened to the bottom of it, though.

San Francisco, right before we got married.

Wedding kiss. Note the stylish outfits.

Our family.

Post Holiday Slump And Other Things

2009-12-27T16:07:00.004-06:00

As the title suggests, I'm in that funk that a lot of people get into after the big holiday. Christmas was nice, but sort of sad and lonely for me, even though my hubs and son were here. I made a ton of food, which was enjoyed by my husband and myself. The boy child doesn't really like pasta salad (hi, vegetables), but he ate it anyways. He really wanted that dessert, I guess. He got a modest amount of presents and was quite happy with what he received. The best part was seeing his face on Christmas morning when I told him that Santa had come by to drink the milk and eat the brownies he had left out, and oh, he left a note for you, too. The boy sort of gasped and was in awe of the silver handwriting scrawled on a piece of paper. Definitely the best part of Christmas for me.

I didn't get a chance to go to Midnight Mass (ugly weather combined with a really sore foot), but I watched the live feed on television from Holy Name Cathedral. It was beautiful, and the Archbishop's message really spoke to my heart. To put it bluntly, I was crying because I really felt that it was time to accept the gift of Jesus into my life. Then I woke up Christmas morning still wrestling with the same stupid doubts and whatnot. I wish I could retain that feeling of complete peace, but it doesn't like to stick around. I could go on forever and ever about my lack of faith and being envious of people who are abundantly blessed with spirituality, but I'd just be repeating myself for the millionth time.

Other Stuff

On the Lap Band front, things aren't going so well. What else is new, right? I went to the hospital on the 17th to meet with the sleep study doctor, got directed to go down the hallway to meet him, got lost, was late, yelled at people who directed me, then finally found the place. The doctor was cool, and I have to see him in February to go over my CPAP results (the machine has an SD card that I take in with all my info on it).

On the 18th, I had three appointments in a row (I think I mentioned this earlier) at the hospital for more tests. The first was to see the gastroenterologist because of issues with my digestion. I get there at 7:45 (appointment was at 8), sign in, and wait. And wait. Then I hear the receptionist call the first patient to see him, but instead of seeing the doctor, the receptionist tells the patient that the doctor is out of town, his father had died, and all appointments had been cancelled. WHAT. THE. FUCK? Okay, I can understand family emergency and coming up suddenly, but I still think that there would have been a window of opportunity to call up the patients and tell them that the appointments were off. In this case, even more so, since I heard the receptionist say that his father had been ill for a few weeks and they knew he was going to pass. I was PISSED, and the receptionist knew it. So I'm supposed to go back on the 8th, with no appointment, which is perfectly fine, according to the receptionist. However, I don't trust this crap anymore, so I'm going to call the Thursday before and see what's up.

The other two appointments (to test my lungs and to have an ultrasound of my heart done) went well, and I was done fairly quickly. In between appointments, I ate breakfast and lunch at the cafeteria. The food wasn't too bad, but I do have to question the fact that they were serving fried catfish and any manner of unhealthy dishes. I did visit the chapel, and noticed that the wrought iron grill work over the windows had all the Stations of the Cross worked into it. From a distance, it looks like a lot of fancy loops and swirls. It's not until you look closely that you see the intricate and subtle work. I'm going to have to take a picture of it the next time I'm there.

Now it is time for me to get off of here and go nap. I had a major bout of acid reflux early this morning that kept me awake because I felt like I was going to hurl stomach acid all over. Gross.

Happy Effin' Holidays

2009-12-15T17:17:00.002-06:00

I’ve been feeling sort of “blah” lately. I don’t know if it is the Christmas season, I’m not feeling great, or it’s just that general rut that I always run in. Some of it might be due to the terribly sad news I heard on Friday, but I’m not going to get into that on here because it is not my story to talk about, although I feel awful for all people involved.

For the past week or so, I’ve been trying to live my life healthier. I’ve failed more times than I’ve succeeded, and I think I’m sinking back into that “who gives a rip?” mentality. I don’t want to be in that place again. I don’t NEED to be in that place again. I’ve tried so very hard to eat better, exercise more, and maintain a cheerful attitude about it. The exercise was coming along nicely, but like clockwork, my foot has decided to give me all kinds of trouble. It hurts when I get up in the morning, it hurts if I sit too long and then get up, it hurts all the bloody time. It hinders my mood and my motivation to exercise. It defeats my good attitude about food. I’ve tried to ignore it and just soldier on, but it is painful as hell.

Then there are my food issues. I sometimes wonder if I can hack it with the Lab Band surgery, given my food hang-ups. Yesterday, the Boy and I made peanut butter cookies with chocolate kisses in the middle. I ate WAY more than I should have, and subsequently felt major guilt about it. This led me down that old familiar path of not caring about food. I suppose I could just NOT bake, but it is the season for baking, and cooking usually puts me in a jollier mood. I just have to deal with the fact that I can’t and shouldn’t eat much of it, which is hard to do when you have little willpower. The worst part is that I don’t even subconsciously want the food. It’s just there, so I eat it.

Then there is my mood. It has been getting worse and worse over the past couple of weeks. I thought it was PMS, but this feels far different. I go from okay to happy to sad to angry to despondent to anti-social all in the span of one week. I put on my façade of being normal, but underneath, all I feel are seething emotions. Right now I feel sad, angry, and disconnected from everything. I don’t even know if what I’m typing makes any sense, and quite frankly, I don’t care.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this post. I just thought writing down some of this BS would help me a bit. All it has done is make me feel worse.

I keep thinking about the dream I had this morning. I’ve been really good about trying to stay awake during the hours my son is in school, but this morning, I took a nap. I dreamed of my grandmother again. I was back in my hometown. I don’t remember much, but I think I was at my aunt’s old apartment, and I was alone in her kitchen because my aunt and my mom went somewhere. I saw my grandmother, but knew that wasn’t possible because she was dead. DEAD. What the hell? But she held out her arms and I hugged her, but I knew she was dead, even though she felt real. I was laughing and crying in my dream, knowing that this could not be, and I know she was trying to tell me something important, but I couldn’t make sense of it. Then she sort of just faded away, but I knew she was still there. There are other parts of the dream jumbled up, places and different parts of my life mixed together, but I can’t figure that out. I felt safe though, and happy, and I was crying when the alarm woke me. Maybe I’m just homesick again, which is weird, given the issues I have when I do go back to California.

I’m having issues with my faith again. Some of it has to do with what I found out on Friday, some of it has to do with my own logic, but most of it is just this general feeling of apathy towards what I thought I believed. I’m thinking of hitting up Midnight Mass if I can find a place holding it so I can snap out of this crap. Why Midnight Mass? Why not? I was raised Catholic, and feel comfortable going there, although I’ll look like ass because I slop around in sweats 24/7. If there is God though, I doubt he gives two shits about what I look like when attending a religious function.

I’m getting bored with writing (whee laziness), so I’m bugging out before this blog entry gets too long. If you stuck around this long, please have yourself a Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah/Merry Kwanzaa/Happy Islamic New Year/Happy Holidays. Take your pick. I’m trying to be politically correct here.

Realizations And Randomness

2009-12-08T16:16:00.002-06:00

Realization -Having a CPAP machine to help me breathe at night makes me see how bad off I am, healthwise. I may have a low risk of high cholesterol and diabetes, but that doesn’t mean I’m the picture of health. Knowing that I have to use this machine to breathe better while I sleep is scary and makes me realize how dire my weight situation is.

Randomness -I saw the dietitian on Friday. A nice distraction, considering the day. She’s funny, cool, and we share the bond of not being accepted really by certain in laws. She thinks I’m a wonderful candidate for the surgery, if they’d only get their asses moving on it.

Realization -I’m lazy. That just hit me right now. If I’m not slacking off with my son, I’m on here, doing jack shit to improve my life or expand my mind. I’m supposed to be making a plan for school next year. Haven’t done it. I’m supposed to be exercising more. I barely started today. I’m supposed to make a doctor’s appointment. I haven’t called. It’s like I get in this rut of lethargy and can’t get out. I’m drowning in apathy!

Randomness -Throwing snowballs with a bunch of preschoolers and their parents is fun. We built a ghetto little snowman as well, but he had no eyes or anything. Then my son kicked him over. Good job, kid.

Realization -My psychologist and I were talking like we do almost every Saturday, when she brought up the question as to what I will do now that I’ve given up spending as a sport and eating because I’m bored. I wasn’t sure, except to say I’d be writing a lot and I’d (eventually) be working on school work. As I was in my room today, I took a look at the corner near my closet and saw my poor electric guitar sitting there, all forlorn. It struck me that I shouldn't be letting it go to waste like that, especially after the money my husband shelled out for it. I haven’t touched it since we moved into this place nor learned anything beyond a few chords. I think I’d suck at playing, I can’t afford lessons, and I heard a rumour that you shouldn’t teach yourself because if you start off playing badly, it will stick. However, since I’m not going to be on tour with Depeche Mode anytime soon, I don’t think it will hurt. So I am going to force myself to learn to play and to tune it properly.

Randomness -Old fashioned hard Christmas candy is awesome. I’ve eaten a ton of it since buying it last month, and I’m sure my teeth hate me. Oh well, I need to get rid of it before surgery.

Realization -Today I felt like the anxiety and panic were coming back. Not in full blown mode, mind you, but those weird twinges I had right before the doctor upped my meds again. It might come to that, it might not. The point is, I realized that I do need to find a hobby or something to keep my mind engaged.

Randomness -I’m plotting tons of baking this month, unless my slothfulness takes over and I never do it. I might have to beat it down.

Is done!

One

2009-12-04T11:14:00.001-06:00

One year ago, I waited for the inevitable.

One year ago, for the first time ever, I cursed the fact that my husband got into school 2500 miles away from home.

One year ago, I spent three hours on the phone with a friend who was kind enough to keep my mind occupied and my composure sound for my son.

One year ago, I got a call late in the afternoon. It was the end.

One year ago, I went numb for an entire afternoon and evening, not remembering much, except snapping out of it late that night to drink tequila and cry.

One year ago, I started planning a trip back to California for all the wrong reasons.

One year ago, my grandmother died, and the guilt from not being there at the end, not saying goodbye, and not treating her with respect when she was alive began to eat at me. It was not assuaged until I started seeing a psychologist, but I still don’t think I’ve fully given up that guilt.

Sometimes I feel like I have no right to mourn her as much as I am. What exactly did I contribute to her life, especially when she was older? What exactly did I do to prove myself a good and loving granddaughter? I certainly can’t think of anything. Sure, I gave her the first great-grandchild, but did she get to see him as much as she should? Probably not.

I had a dream about her last week, early Friday morning. She was here in Chicago, but she was ill and in bed. Even in my dream, I could feel myself losing patience with her. I woke up and silently cried, knowing that my conscience was telling me yet again how I had failed at being a granddaughter.

I have so much more I want to write about her, but thinking about it right now is giving me a sick feeling. It’s taken me almost an hour to write just this bit because I’ve had to get up and pace around, or stop because the tears started falling. Maybe in a couple of days, I can write about the flashbacks I’ve been having to holidays past with her and my grandfather. It can’t be done today. I can’t bear it.

Belated Thanksgiving Randomness

2009-12-01T14:22:00.003-06:00

Unless you live in another country or under a rock or something, you know that last week involved Thanksgiving Day in the United States. For me, it turned into Thanksgiving Week. We had actual people over! Guests! Good God, that’s unprecedented! I cooked a lot, drank a lot, laughed a lot (especially on Friday night), and generally had a good time. It was on Thanksgiving Day though, that I was….well, THANKFUL that we had people over.

Many of you know that last year I lost my grandmother. It was hard, to say the least. I did not get to say goodbye to her, I was not able to tell her I was sorry for past wrongs, my son did not get to see her, etc. She didn’t die on Thanksgiving Day, but she had a massive heart attack and lapsed into a coma, which ultimately led to other complications and death.

Last year, I had finished cooking Thanksgiving dinner for my family. I went to the restroom and heard the phone ring and my husband answering and talking for a few minutes. I thought nothing of it, washed my hands, came back, and sat down to eat. I don’t remember who told me the news of my grandmother, whether it was my husband or my mom on the telephone about twenty minutes later, it’s all a big blur. I couldn’t finish my dinner. I think I cried a lot. I don’t remember. I just know that my heart was aching and I was in emotional pain. Now that I’m thinking about it, I can feel all those emotions coming back to me. It still hurts.

That is why it was vital that this year we had people over. I did not want to dwell on what had happened all day long. I wanted to be happy for my family. Luckily, two of my husband’s friends accepted our invitation to come over and hang out from Wednesday until yesterday (which is why I’m barely writing this now). I had an awesome time, and except for a brief spell of tears on Thanksgiving Day while the guys were out playing ball, I managed to hold it together. We watched crappy movies, went shopping (LATE) on Black Friday, ate way too much, and generally had a good time. I don’t know if they read my blog, but thank you, Skye and Watt, for coming over. Both of you were thanking me for cooking dinner and letting you stay here, but you guys did more good for me than I can ever repay or express.

In other news, I failed at NaNoWriMo. I just got bored after 25,000 words and called it a day. Maybe I’ll try again next year. Either that, or I’ll participate in NaBloWriMo (National Blog Writing Month) next October. Writing one blog post a day seems easier than a novel.

After having my hissy fit last week about the incompetence of the Lap Band Clinic, I begrudgingly gave in and made the appointments. I have all three on December 18th. Then I’m going to march over to that damned nurse person, tell her they are completed, and try, YET AGAIN, to get medical clearance. Maybe things will be less messed up, I don’t know. I still have an appointment with the dietitian on Friday, and I’m still waiting to see when the next classes are. Maybe I'll find out 48 hours before the class instead of 24. We can only hope.

Lap Band V: The (Possibly) Final Frustration

2009-11-24T16:24:00.002-06:00

I’m not in the greatest of moods right now. Not two hours ago, I got home from the Lap Band affiliated doctor who clears you for surgery. It was not good news. I’m sure to the doctor and to the nurses who were fucking around and not doing jack shit, this was nothing. To me, it is disheartening. I have to make three appointments: two to study my heart (echo cardiogram and something else that I forgot and am too lazy to go get the paper to look up), and one to see a gastroenterologist. The first two, while unexpected, are understandable. They have to make sure that my heart is able to take the strain. The latter, not so much. The reason I have to see a gastroenterologist is embarrassing, and pointless, I might add. I’ve had the problem for all the years I was fat, it went away when I lost weight, and it came back when I gained weight. I attributed it to the fact that I was fat, that fried food does not agree with me (pan fried food as well), and that I’d have it until I lost weight again. Nope. The doctor wants to make sure it isn’t something more fun, like polyps or tears or whatever.

I’m frustrated. I’m damned frustrated, and near giving up on this whole thing. It is not just the appointments. It is the lack of help that I’m getting from this so called support system at the clinic. Why am *I* expected to make the appointments for these tests and referrals when the doctor is the one who wanted them? And I distinctly remember him saying to the nurse, “Make these appointments.” Why was *I* expected to keep up with the pre-op class schedule, when I didn’t even know we were supposed to join the Yahoo group online to find out WHEN they were? I asked today, while I was there, when the next classes were. I figured maybe, just MAYBE the nurse could have told me something. Nope. She was vague, saying it could the first week or it could be the second week of December, and was I a member of the Yahoo group? I am, I said. I was informed to keep watching that group for updates. I desperately wanted to ask her if she was going to give us more than a day’s notice next time or just spring it on us like an hour before the class. I didn’t. I should have.

I haven’t called to make the appointments yet. I started to while waiting in the lobby of the hospital for my husband to come and pick me up, but after sitting on hold for ten minutes, I just hung up. Right now, I don’t know if I want to go through with making those appointments. I don’t know if I want to go through this anymore. My mind is telling me to just say, “Fuck it all” and be fat and die in ten years. I’m starting to listen to that refrain. It is hard as hell to try and get something done to fix yourself and having all these hoops to jump through just to achieve that goal.

Could I lose weight the old fashioned way? Possibly, but every time I’ve started to, my body goes into rebellious mode and taunts me to eat, eat, eat, and forget about exercise. Or, curse Murphy’s Law, I injure myself somehow, and fall off the bandwagon. Or I eat and exercise and lose nothing, which frustrates me to the point of giving up.

This is why I wanted the lap band. Knowing that I’d have it in me, knowing that I have what amounts to an actual physical conscience chiding me every time I fuck up, knowing that I’d never be able to eat huge portions again. That’s why I wanted it. All I would have to do is look at the scar from where they put it in or feel the port where they inject the saline solution. That would be enough to stop any eating folly, to check myself while exercising so I wouldn’t overdo it and hurt something, to override the morbid thoughts. I’d like to say my family is enough to do all those things, but they aren’t. No offense to them in any way, but they can’t be there for me 24/7, watching my every move. With this, I would be held accountable for all that I did and did not do.

Fuck it, I guess.

Lap Band, Episode IV: A New Hope

2009-11-19T10:32:00.007-06:00

Mah bed last night.

Note: This was written last night while I was doing my sleep study. It was rather amusing.

11/18/09 7:38pm

I’m here in the sleep study room. Took me about 20 minutes to get registered. Nurse is very cool. She says she’ll start my study later since I’m a night owl. My room is on par with a Motel 6 room, not a bad thing. Got a nice big bed, my own bathroom, and a view of Lake Michigan. Well, I could see the lake if it were light. Crap, haven’t written by hand, in cursive, in a long time. My hand is starting to cramp. My cursive looks like my grandmother’s cursive writing. That makes me sad. 7:45pm

7:58pm

It feels so weird to be disconnected from everything. Usually, the TV is going (no TV), the computer is on (no computer), and my family is talking to me. Here, it is completely silent, and all I have is my music and this notebook and pencil. Yes, I have my phone, but it doesn’t do much. I feel like I’m a teenager again, with only my mind and my music to keep me occupied. Ah, to have those simpler times back. A couple more hours to go until they hook me up. 8:04pm

Really old reading material, but awesome nonetheless.

8:50pm

I have been wired to the electric thingie. There are about 17 sensors on my head, face, shoulders, and legs. They are plugged into something called a mini electrode board (which actually looks like a box), which in turn is plugged into the actual monitor. The technician is going to put me on the CPAP machine anyways, so she doesn’t have to interrupt my sleep later on. The electrodes feel funky. 8:55pm Oh yeah, and I’m thirsty.

The mini electrode circuit board thing. I could hang it around my neck for convenience!

Looking like ten shades of shit.

9:17pm

Not much longer now, I think. I have to pee again. This should be fun with the wires coming out everywhere. I’m not sure how to navigate that one. Hmmm… 9:22pm

And I stopped there because the technician came back to fit me with everything else. I eventually had 17 sensors, two belts to monitor my chest and stomach while I breathed, an oxygen sensor on my finger, and the CPAP machine mask on. It was weird and hard to navigate while I was sleeping. She took the mask off after awhile to put a sensor thing in front of my mouth and nose to check my breathing, but came back at about 3am to put the mask back on because my breathing was weird. I don’t think I slept very well, but I guess I did because she was watching it all night. So yes, it turns out that I DO have sleep apnea and I WILL need a CPAP machine. They are ordering it for me and I have to go back on December 17th to talk with the sleep disorder doctor about it all. I am hoping that this is just caused by me being overweight and that I will eventually be able to get rid of the machine. For now, I will have to use it.

As of right now, I’m just exhausted from it all, and pissed that the Lap Band clinic gave me a day’s warning about classes today. I was going to go, but to hell with it. I am TIRED, and I had no clue these classes were going on because I didn’t get the email until this morning. So I’m going to call up and bitch at them in a few minutes.

Taken last night, but pretty much how I felt this morning.

Finis.

Tales Of The Lap Band Journey, Part III

2009-11-12T21:56:00.002-06:00

So after a month and some change of freakin’ waiting, I finally got some responses about what the hell was going on with my Lap Band surgery. Two weeks ago I had called the Lap Band office to see what was going on. It had already been like two and a half weeks after my appointment with the surgeon. I was getting understandably antsy about the wait, so I thought a call wouldn’t hurt. The lady that I talked to was quite pleasant and reassured me that they would be calling me to set up pre-operation classes and other appointments. That made me less antsy, but still a bit anxious because it seemed to be taking forever. Turns out I was right to be nervous.

Cut to two and a half weeks later. I’m REALLY antsy by now. I haven’t heard ANYTHING at all. Plus, I was supposed to get a letter from the sleep study clinic to explain to me what the hell was going on with that, and where I was supposed to go for it. Silence. Not being the most patient person in the world, and thinking that I’ve given them MORE than enough time, I called them on Tuesday. No answer, so I left a message. Weirdly enough, I got a call that night from the sleep study clinic, asking if I wanted to do my sleep study that night. Not being prepared for it and hubby not being home, I had to decline, but mentioned to the guy that I had not received the letter nor any paperwork. He was puzzled by that, but said he would send it out to me. I’m waiting on that and I’m hoping to see it before Wednesday. But I digress…

The Lap Band clinic returned my call yesterday. The lady was pretty annoyed that no one had called me and told me anything, but said that they were holding classes yesterday and today, and oh, the dietitian was going out of town after today’s class, so I’d have to wait two weeks before doing any more classes. That slightly ticked me off because if I had known anything about any of this, I could have already had my classes done and been one step closer to getting the surgery. Since someone dropped the ball, though, I was shit out of luck and would have to make do with today’s class and just wait. I also made an appointment for the 24th to see their doctor and go over my test results and everything.

I left for the hospital at noon today and got there with plenty of time to spare. I signed in, filled out the sheet, got weighed in (still at 394), blood pressure taken (112/80), and just waited. While waiting and talking to some other candidates for the surgery, I discovered that the clinic doesn’t call ANYONE. We were supposed to go to their Yahoo group and find out about these things. Nice of them to tell me. Shit. Anyway, we were finally led into the auditorium by a tiny Asian lady, who turned out to be our dietitian. She was bloody awesome. No nonsense, answered every question, and then made a room full of obese people get up and exercise. Contrary to popular belief, fat people can and DO exercise. It was proven today, and we did an awesome job, even the people who had trouble with their knees. I’m feeling it now, though.

So this is where I’m at right now. Playing the waiting game again. At least now I know that I’m going to have be a pain in the ass to get appointments and class times. That shouldn’t be too hard with my personality.

Temptation, Boredom, Or Something More?

2009-11-09T15:28:00.003-06:00

As I noted in my last post, I had an issue with debt that my in-laws are now paying for. It is not something I am proud of at all. I ran up almost $2000 on my credit card. Six months ago, my mother-in-law had graciously said that she would pay the card off when the APR kicked in this November. At the time, the amount was less than $1500 and I was paying a hefty chunk of change on it so she wouldn’t have to pay too much. However, I underestimated my compulsion to spend. It is now November, and my in-laws are paying for my folly.

My psychologist and I discussed this on Saturday and tried to figure out why I did it. I told her that I spent here and there, small amounts, but in the end, they added up and I was left with that stunning balance. She questioned if it felt like something akin to what I feel when I overeat. I acknowledged that, yes, it did feel like that: a total sense of ‘who cares, I’m going to do it, it doesn’t matter’. I said that it also happens when I’m bored. I noted that many times when I looked for something to do with my son, the first things were to 1. Go to Borders and buy books; or 2. Go to Walgreens and the supermarket, browse, and usually wind up walking out with one or two unnecessary items. I stressed to her that I felt really bad about the whole thing and that I’m sure my in-laws despise me even more now, and she said quite bluntly that they probably do because I’ve established myself as a liability.

Now please don’t think that I hate my psychologist for saying that or that she was too harsh with me. It was exactly what I needed: for someone to just say it out loud. She didn’t say it in a rude way or anything. She was just very matter of fact about it all. It resonated with me the whole day. I know to my family I seemed quite melancholy on Saturday, but really, I was just musing on what my psychologist had said and weighing my past spending actions. However, I discovered that my spending may not be all boredom, and may actually be rooted in some sort of weird compulsive disorder.

After seeing my psychologist, we had to take a few things to the Goodwill. Usually when we go to the Goodwill, we make a day of it, go out, go eat somewhere, go shopping (there we go again!), and then come home, full of food and guilt for spending money we don’t have. The spending was usually prompted by me, my husband being a person of admirable frugality. This time, we went, took the stuff to Goodwill, and were on our way home, when I asked my husband to stop at a store. I don’t know, I just felt drawn to doing so. It was like I couldn’t stop myself. Knowing that we are now on a strict budget and that his parents are watching our every financial move (their right to do so, considering how many times they have bailed us out), he was wary of taking this action. I insisted, saying that I wanted to walk a bit. So we did.

Now at this point you’re probably rolling your eyes and thinking that I spent a crapload of money on stupid stuff. You’d be wrong. I didn’t. That’s not to say I wasn’t tempted. Oh, I was, so very, very much. My son wanted a tin of holiday popcorn that was $5.99. I wanted the tin because….well, I don’t know. Just to say I bought something. My husband had gone to the restroom, so I allowed my son to put the tin in the cart. When he came back, I asked about getting it. He was hesitant, obviously. I wondered aloud if we could somehow get it without my in-laws knowing (more deception on my part…will I ever learn?), but he was still digging in his heels about it. Then I just sort of snapped out of it, I guess. I realized what I was trying to do. It was wrong and dumb. So I told my son to put the tin back. Then I marched out of the store without even looking at anything else. It was hard to do, even though I realized how idiotic it would be to spend money we don’t have.

Sunday passed without incident. I was rather proud of myself for mustering up my inner voice to yell at me about spending. This is the same inner voice that yells at me about overeating. I guess she’ll be pulling double duty from now one. Anywho, we come up to today. I was SO tempted to take my wallet with me when I went to pick up my son from school. I did a marathon cleaning session yesterday and felt like I wouldn’t be able to fix him lunch, so I would get him Subway. I left my wallet behind. The consequences right now are just too much, even though my son is very cute when he asks me if I brought my wallet (his not so subtle way of asking for Subway). I came home and made him lunch, even though I feel like someone slammed me around and my mind was fighting with itself about not being able to spend money.

This is not an easy thing to deal with. I’m pissed at myself for what I did. I’m pissed at my mind for leading me down such a rocky path. I’m sad that my in-laws probably think less of me now, more so than they did before. It is just such a shitty thing, and I have no one to blame but myself. This isn’t a pity party, though. I don’t expect sympathy at all, and would be rather pleased if people would just yell at me for being dumbth. Maybe writing about it will make it easier to cope with when I get that urge to buy things we don’t need.

Random!

2009-11-06T21:25:00.005-06:00

-I have been continuously sick since my son started school. Usually it's just a mild sore throat or achiness. Last week, it manifested into some fun, runny nose, hack out a lung, what the hell is that yellow crap coming out of my mouth and nose sick-fest. So I've been feeling less than stellar. Now that stuff is coming out, I assume I'm getting better.

-I'm participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). My story sucks, but I don't care, because it is fun to do. No, I'm not sharing it because I'm embarrassed. Makes complete sense, yes? It is also a way for me to meet new people, but I didn't go to the big get together last weekend because I didn't feel I would fit in at that restaurant. Then I couldn't go to the Write-In at the local coffee shop on Tuesday because I was sick. There is another Write-In tomorrow at some coffee shop on the UofC campus, but I don't know if I'll make it since it starts at 10:30 and my psych appointment is at 10. Maybe the next one.

-Still no word on my surgery. I'm starting to get antsy. I called them once to bug them, but they just said that they were getting schedules and stuff together. I also haven't heard anything from the sleep study place, which is annoying because I need to get paperwork from them before I go. Oh, and it might be nice to know WHERE the sleep study is held. Remarkably, I haven't really exercised a lot because I've been sick/lazy/tired/achy, but I've still managed to lose six pounds since September. Go figure.

-I did bad stuff with money. I suck. Because of my suckitude, we are on super mega tight budget. We can't buy anything without justifying it to my in-laws since they picked up a HUGE portion of my debt. That is all I will say. Oh, and I'm pretty sure my in-laws probably want to beat my ass at this point, but it is completely justifiable on their parts.

I think that's about it. Not much else going on in my life.

Jungle Fever And The Suckasses Who Hate It

2009-10-18T22:18:00.002-05:00

I rarely talk about politics or social injustices on my blog, but this story out of Louisiana has really pissed me off. Apparently a Justice of the Peace REFUSED to issue a marriage license to an interracial couple out of “concern” (my fat ass) for any children they might have. I’m not going to link the story because you can find it all over the internet right now. The JotP then goes on to say that he’s not racist, yet he doesn’t believe in mixing races that way (the hell?), but he has tons of Black friends (the words of every in the closet racist). He says he refuses to marry interracial couples because, in his own narrow minded and bigoted world, those marriages don’t last long and they are bad for any children that result from said marriage.

Do you want to know WHY this pisses me off so badly? I’m a mixed race baby. My dad is Mexican and Greek (my Mexican great-grandmother married a Greek man…they were well ahead of their time!) and my mom is from Okie and Indiana White-bread stock. My parents have been married for a little over thirty years with no signs of divorcing, although they like to get on each other’s nerves (sorry Mom). To further rile me up, I am also in an interracial marriage and have a mixed race child who is Chinese, Greek, Mexican, and White. He has the pleasure of having two loving parents that dote on him and are not divorcing anytime soon or causing him any amount of grief by being from different backgrounds. My husband and I are coming up on our five year wedding anniversary, and we’ve been together a little over six years.

These are two examples of interracial relationships working out, and I can give you a ton more if I had the time and room on this page. I will concede that the judge has it right in some (very extreme) cases that a mixed race child is not accepted, mainly by people like him. I have felt the sting of that myself, but that was some twenty-odd years ago. I am thankful to say that my son hasn’t felt that, although his last name does cause some mild interest because he looks like me, and I look….White. My husband and I usually get some annoyed stares from Asian people when we’re walking, but we just chuckle because it’s such ass-backwards thinking.

I have honestly never understood why the color of someone’s skin or their ethnicity is so bloody important to some people. We’re all human. What is the big deal? Is it going to affect anyone else? Is it going to cause the world to end? Is Jesus Christ going to come down from the heavens and slap the shit out of us for falling in love? NO.

Keith Bardwell, you may kiss the fattest part of my mixed race ass. I hope Karma bitch slaps you in the face. HARD.

Twenty Years Later

2009-10-17T23:12:00.001-05:00

October 17, 1989, 5:04PM, the Monterey Bay Area. The Loma Prieta earthquake, 6.9 on the Richter Scale (7.1 according to other people). I remember it like it was yesterday. I even remember what I was wearing, how hot it was, and what I was eating for dinner. I lived through this, I experienced it, I thought the world was going to end. I didn’t sleep for four days. I was nine years old.

It was the most terrifying event of my life, even though I wasn’t in a majorly affected area. My dad worked as a custodian at a high school in a town that was pretty much flattened by it. They made him crawl under the high school to check the foundation. We were having aftershocks every hour. I remember the tent cities set up by people that lost everything. I remember the roar of it, the ground buckling, the screaming of my mom, the terror in my aunt’s voice. I remember when I heard that the Nimitz Freeway collapsed, I remember hearing that the Bay Bridge had fallen, I remember the horror of seeing how Santa Cruz and the Marina District in San Francisco looked afterwards.

We had no power for a week after it happened. We lived a nightmare of trying to stay sane during the thousands of aftershocks afterwards. We followed my dad around to his various jobs because we did not want to stay at home. Our little alleyway neighborhood banded together during that time and pooled resources so we fared well in that department. Our parents tried to keep the youngsters distracted so as not to dwell on the fact that a major aftershock could hit and knock down our homes. I’m pretty sure I was in shock for three days after, until the night of major aftershocks when I snapped out of it and started screaming.

I remember. I don’t think I will ever forget. Twenty years have passed, but when I think about it, it is as fresh as the day it happened. That was the day that I learned that Mother Nature doesn’t give a shit about what us puny humans have planned. It was a telling lesson.

Sitting In The Corner, Sucking My Thumb

2009-10-09T17:29:00.001-05:00

Apparently I’m not as at peace with myself as I thought. Right now I feel an ache so deep that I can’t even describe it. Why? I don’t know. The mind and heart are funny like that sometimes. I feel like bursting into tears. I don’t know why. Maybe the week has just been crammed with too many things going on at once. I’m not used to so much activity, I guess. Doctor appointments, tests, a six hour stay at the ER last night for yet another MRSA outbreak on my face, and then. THEN. Another email. Right now I don’t feel like explaining the whole story of this email, but I will eventually. As a matter of fact, I was working on that explanation earlier today when I just started feeling really melancholy.

I’m so tired of rehashing the same old bullshit pertaining to this email. I’m 99% certain my friends are tired of hearing about it, which is why I’m typing this quick entry (two blog posts in one day….shocking for me) so I don‘t have to bitch to them in private anymore. They can‘t fix all my problems, and I‘m an adult.

None of this stress is helping me. Last night I could feel myself stop breathing when I went to bed. It scared me enough to wake me up out of that “almost asleep” point. I laid in that bed, terrified that if I went to sleep, I wouldn’t ever wake up. I daresay I will experience that same terror tonight. My sleep study can’t come fast enough. I’m also having a slight panic/anxiety/asthma attack. It is just as it sounds. I feel like I can’t breathe, which could be caused by anxiety, which causes me to panic. I’m just trying to keep myself calm and concentrate on other things. I have taken the proper meds already, but I still feel ill.

I hate this. I want my mommy.

Tales Of The Lap Band Journey, Part II

2009-10-09T10:40:00.002-05:00

Just a quick entry to say that I saw the psychologist for the Lap Band program yesterday. He was pretty cool, just asked the standard questions and made me fill out some questionnaire that said I was mildly depressed (duh). He also made sure that I understood the ramifications of such a surgery and quizzed me on how much I knew about it all (a lot, because I did my own research). I guess I did okay because he said I sounded perfectly ready for it, but he needs to hear from my regular psychologist and get her input. That kind of makes me nervous and I really have no idea why. So tomorrow I'll give her the card and info and hope she does it in a timely manner so we can move forward with all of this.

Next up: Pre-op classes (I think)!

The Beginning Of My Lap Band Journey

2009-10-06T22:25:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I had my consult appointment with the surgeon. I was a bit scared of it all, thinking that he might find fault with me and that he would deny me. So I get to the hospital early, only to find that the Lap Band Clinic is not in the hospital. Whoops. It is across the street. So I head over thar, and find my way up to the office. The receptionist was a lovely woman who amused the hell out of me because she was perturbed by our answering machine message at home. It is rather rude, and I told my husband to change it, but I don't know if he has yet. But I digress...

So I wait around to see the surgeon and the dietitian. I am charged a whopping $2 co-pay (thank you, ObamafascistsocialistIslamKenyan healthcare program of Illinois....and really, people are fighting against an option like this?) for this visit. I'm finally called back to a room to be weighed on what I lovingly call a "cattle scale". Seriously, it's like a platform on the floor. I'm down to 395 (told you my weight is stupid), which didn't make me feel any better, but the nurse wasn't fazed by this at all. I guess you get used to the morbid obesity after awhile. So I wait around to see someone, and in walks the cheery nurse/dietitian lady from the seminar last month, which I completely neglected to write about. All you need to know is that the surgeon was hot, he was no nonsense, and some lady walked out after being informed she couldn't eat Big Macs after surgery. HA. But I digress again...

Anyway, the nurse lady takes my history, bows down to me for bringing her a list of the medicines I take (I'm way too prepared), and starts talking to me about why I want the surgery. She seemed pleased with my answers and we started talking about how easy the surgery is. She is also a Lap Band wearer, three years now, in her mid-fifties, and totally doesn't even look it. I freakin' adored her. Very cheerful and bubbly, which usually grates on my nerves, but it just seemed so natural with her. So after talking with her for about an hour, she goes off to get the surgeon. At this point I'm thinking, I bet this guy is going to be an ass and dislike me and not approve me. I was wrong.

He was very blunt, but not in a harsh way. He told me that I was a perfect candidate for the surgery: horrible BMI, but still active, has semi-normal eating habits, but splurges once in a while, and isn't completely immobile yet. So he agreed to do the surgery. I was completely giddy. He hands me the orders for all the fun tests: blood, urine, EKG, and xrays. I had to head back to the hospital for those again. So more walking! But it is good for me!

I managed to get all of those tests done yesterday and I have to go meet with a psychologist (wooo) on Thursday so he can make sure I'm sane enough to go through with this. The surgeon and the dietitian also want me to have a sleep study because I mentioned abnormal snoring when I lay on my stomach. So that is scheduled for November 17th. I also have to go through four pre-op class/workshops to understand better eating and what I will be going through. Once that is done, I will get a surgery date and begin a liquid diet for 2-3 weeks. Yes, that is right. Liquids, mainly weight loss shakes, water, and milk. Fun times.

So that is what is going on with the surgery. The updates will happen as things with the surgery happen. I still have other non-surgery posts to put up. Just so lazy....

Peace Came To Me

2009-10-03T23:18:00.002-05:00

Peace will come to me
Peace will come to me

I'm leaving bitterness behind this time
I'm cleaning up my mind
There is no space for the regrets
I will remember to forget

Just look at me
I am walking love incarnate
Look at the frequencies of which I vibrate
I'm going to light up the world

Peace will come to me
Peace will come to me

I'm leaving anger in the past
With all the shadows that it cast
There is a radar in my heart
I should have trusted from the start

Just look at me
I'm a living act of holiness
Giving all the positivity that I possess
I'm going to light up the world

Peace will come to me
Just wait and see
Peace will come to me
It's meant to be
Peace will come to me
Just wait and see
Peace will come to me
It's an inevitability

-Depeche Mode

Peace. I feel it at long last. After hours of fretting, days of worrying, weeks of wondering, months of fearing, I feel it. Peace. It came upon me without fanfare just a few days ago. It is a tremendous feeling that I will never be able to describe properly.

I want to knock it, to say there is something wrong with me, to say that it’s all a false hope. I can’t. I feel strong. I feel invincible. I feel like I can get through anything without having the doubts and anxiety that usually plague me. I feel like I did pre-nervous breakdown.

I didn’t want to say anything for fear that I’d jinx myself and bring the pain crashing back into my life. However, I can’t stay silent about it. I’m joyful that I feel better. I’m grateful to God that my mind has decided to cooperate. I’m ecstatic that I can go six hours without thinking of gloom and doom, and, if I do, I forget it just as easily as it showed up. I know I am not completely fixed, and I don’t know if that will ever happen, but the way I feel now is an enormous leap forward in all the heartache I‘ve felt.

I feel like crying.

Let Me Tell You Once Again...Who's Fat?

2009-09-29T01:10:00.002-05:00

With apologies to Weird Al for ripping off his lyrics for my title. Anywho…

Yes, I am fat. Not chubby, not overweight, not curvy, zaftig, or phat. I am FAT. Like, morbidly obese fat. Like “twomealsawayfrombeingconfinedtoascooter” fat. I’d laugh if it wouldn’t start an avalanche of fat rolls down my belly.

I guess it really isn’t a laughing matter, and I guess you’re wondering why I chose to write about this particular subject when I have several other posts backlogged in my blog folder. Well, I’m bringing it up because 1. I will (hopefully) be getting Lap Band surgery before the year is through and 2. when I went to my gyno appointment last week, I had gained weight. This killed me inside. I usually weigh about the same each time I go to an appointment. This weigh in was showing a 10 pound increase. TEN POUNDS. I was up to the dreaded number: 400.

Yes, I weigh 400 lbs. Writing that makes me feel wretched and ashamed. I almost left out my weight in this entry, but felt I should be honest with my few readers and myself. You wouldn’t think I weighed that much when you first look at me, but my body is really dense (like my mind). My husband doesn’t believe I weigh that much. In some ways, *I* can’t believe I weigh that much again. Did I say again? Yes I did. Once before, when I was 22, I weighed that much. I lost it for the wrong reasons (another story for another day), but I felt great! I want that feeling back again.

So you’re probably thinking, “Yeah, here is another fat ass that sits around and does nothing but eat crappy food and watch television all day.” You’d be wrong. I sit around and eat crappy food and play on the internet all day. Ha. I‘m kidding, of course. My eating habits are fairly normal. I eat less than my husband does, and he’s a skinny Asian bastard (I say this with love). I may not exercise enough, though. I love walking and working out on the Wii Fit, but I don’t think it is helping, and it is getting harder and harder to do those things.

So now we get to the reasons WHY I’m like this. The first time I lost weight, I instilled in myself the eating habits that SHOULD HAVE been instilled in me before. I made myself exercise like I SHOULD HAVE before. No, I’m not laying a “this is all my parent’s fault” guilt trip. Yes, they cooked a lot of fried foods and buttered foods and loaded me with 2% milk, but it wasn’t their fault. I was an active child. The weight just clung to me. Then I got lazy. Then I got fatter. Then I lost weight. Then I got pregnant. No, I’m not blaming my lovely son. I just let myself eat whatever because I was pregnant. And I had cravings. And I didn’t care. Then I popped out my boy, lost some weight, then it all came back again. Fuck.

I have battled my weight all my life. I have been called more names than I care to remember. I cried more days than I care to remember over the teasing and taunting. I have had doctors, nurses, and other people tell me the standard cliché, “Oh, you would be so pretty if you weren’t overweight.” Fuck all y’all and your lack of help. I have had exactly TWO doctors try to help me lose weight. It didn‘t work.

So where does this fat dilemma leave me now? Well, I can go into fat acceptance and embrace the heft until I die like 10 years from now, or I can get the surgery to help me lose weight. I’m opting for the latter. I do not want to be this fat. I can feel it weighing down on me, no pun intended. I cannot sit comfortably in chairs, couches, planes, trains, or automobiles. I cannot walk without breaking a sweat, even on cold days. I cannot buy clothes in regular stores. I’d say I can’t get frisky with my old man, but that still happens and he seems to enjoy the lard. I just hope he isn’t too disappointed when it disappears.

This post is not meant to slander people who don’t care about how much they weigh. I applaud you for embracing the chub. I do as well, but not at this level of heaviness. Even though I am crazy healthy (only medical problems are high blood pressure and asthma…and the mental issues, but they don’t count), I can feel the weight starting to take it’s slow toll. My knees and legs hurt a lot now. I am breathing harder. I have developed a form of sleep apnea, although I don’t need help with it yet (God willing, I will never need help with it). Most of all, I am afraid. Afraid of cutting my life short, afraid of having my son embarrassed about his fat mama, afraid my husband will be embarrassed about his fat wife, and afraid that I will never be able to do the things I want to do in life because I have 250 pounds of extra bulk hindering me.

My consultation appointment for Lap Band surgery is on Monday. I’m praying that the surgeon will see that I am sincere in my efforts and approve me for it, because I really have no other options at this point. Weight Watchers worked for a while. My doctor’s diet worked for a while. MY diet worked for a while. They all failed me in the end, though. Maybe being restricted to a half cup of food at each meal will finally gain me some results.

If it doesn’t, I’ll be dead before I’m 40, and I really don’t want that to happen. Life is fun, even when it is being a bitch.

One Year, Part Three

2009-09-11T00:57:00.002-05:00

Note: This is the last and final part of my story. The first part can be found here. The second part is here.

So the months rolled on, and now I find myself celebrating (is that really the proper word?) the anniversary of my mental meltdown. I wish I could say that I am getting better. I’m improving, but I’m not getting better. I still get those days when I have nagging thoughts that lead to me feeling slightly panicky. I take too many pills, drink too much, and stay up too late because this past year has taken a devastating toll on my sleep patterns. I’m getting better with interacting with my family and paying more attention to my son, yet there are times when I completely space out and ignore him. It hurts him, I know. It hurts me as well because I love him beyond all measure, and I feel like he’ll hate me later on. Then there are the faith problems that I have.

I was raised Catholic, but I lapsed from it. In June of 2008, I made a commitment to renew my faith in God. That sort of fell apart several months after my breakdown when I started questioning if there was a higher being, if there was any point to life, if I was just existing for no reason whatsoever. I researched and read and looked for proof of God or a higher power. I studied different faiths, read different books on different religious points of view (and some not so religious), and worried. I finally just prayed. It helped. Like I said in a previous post, my leanings are more towards Christianity than any other religion, possibly because I grew up with a Christian faith. However, I have many beliefs that would not fit in anywhere on the fundamentalist/true devotee Christianity. So I just identify myself with Theological Evolutionists and leave it at that while I work out my problems.

So what am I doing now? I’m trying to live. My son is now in preschool, so I have the morning occupied with getting him ready for school and getting him there on time. I will be turning in my volunteer packet soon so I can have my mid-morning occupied as well. I’ve started exercising more and will be getting Lap Band surgery in the near future to help with my weight and health issues. I’m looking to start school in 2010 to get my Associate’s Degree in Science because I eventually want to go balls out and get my PhD in Physics. Oh yes, I know that sounds insane, considering the fact that something to do with PHYSICS caused me to go crazy, but there it is. However, that’s another post for another day.

I still see Dr. O once a week, but I think I have improved enough to see her twice a month. She has been an extraordinary help in making me realize that all of these things happened for other reasons that just the one that cause me to collapse last September. I have worked through my eating issues and my feelings of inadequacy. I have bawled my eyes out over the family and friends that I’ve lost over this past year to her. She has done nothing but listen and suggest and given me mental slaps to the head to snap me out of stuff. Unfortunately, she can only do so much.

Sometimes the doubts linger. Sometimes I feel the dark creepy thoughts come back. Sometimes all I want to do is cry and rage about what happened to me. Sometimes I just want to give up. Then I look at my son. I look at my husband. I look at the freakin’ DOG. Then I know that I cannot give up. I cannot let this beat me. I will make it end.

I will not continue to be a victim of my own mind. I will live my life as fully as possible until God sees fit to shuffle me off this mortal coil.

Trust.

One Year, Part Two

2009-09-09T23:22:00.002-05:00

Note: this is the second part of this story. Some of it is a rehash of what I've already written here, but I just haven't been able to stop writing it out, so it might seem a bit redundant.

So I went home that night. It was painful. I managed to eat a piece of pizza, but it felt like lead in my stomach. I suffered through Sunday. I made it through Monday. Tuesday rolled around and I met with my awesome doctor. I told her what had happened. Being the awesome doctor she is, she hugged me and we got down to the business of finding something that would work for me. We decided on a low dose of Paxil, along with a low dose of Xanax for those moments when I felt really panicky. She also told me about a book that was highly recommended to combat panic attacks/anxiety. I was greatly relieved and rushed to Walgreen’s to fill my prescriptions.

Over the next few days, I felt a slight improvement. The Xanax made me feel weird for a while, but I got used to it. Eventually I was able to go out without being frightened of the world around me. My life started improving. I was seeing my doctor on a monthly basis to make sure the meds were working. This happened right up until she moved. Luckily, she recommended an associate who helped me with my issues. However, I still balked at seeing a counselor/psychiatrist/psychologist. I was feeling fine.

As November rolled around and the cold weather set in, I could feel my usual depression returning due to Seasonal Affective Disorder. It wasn’t as bad as it usually was, but it was majorly exacerbated by what happened at the end of November. My grandmother became ill, and at first I thought it was a ploy for attention on her part (my family has a long history of hypochondria). As the end days of the month rolled on, however, I realized that it was worse than was being let on. Then on Thanksgiving Day, it really fell apart. My grandmother had a major heart attack and went into a coma and was on every machine available. It didn’t look good. The week after, it was said that she was never going to recover, and that the machines would be unplugged and she would be allowed to die peacefully. On December 4, she died. I was devastated.

Surprisingly, the loss of my grandmother did not cause me to relapse. I was able to grieve a bit, all the while planning a trip back to California for the memorial of my grandmother. Since the season was so advanced, we could not get airline tickets for cheap, so we drove. I did not break down on the way there and I managed to take over driving duties for half the way. It was a strenuous drive, but the Xanax helped me to be a better driver and keep me more alert. The two weeks in California were hard and exhausting, but I was so busy that the panic and anxiety didn’t even touch me. It was not until several months later that everything started hitting me again and I realized that I needed another solution.

At the beginning of March, I noticed a significant change in my moods and the effect the medicine was having on me. Then I started worrying about things that shouldn’t be worrying a sane person. Asteroids, super volcanoes, natural disasters, basically whatever you could imagine that would destroy life on this planet. I finally worked through that, but by mid-March, I was questioning the existence of God and anything spiritual or supernatural. It got to the point that I was crying out for a sign or acknowledgment from a higher power. It never came, and I sunk deeper into despair. I neglected my home, my family, and myself. After six months, I finally admitted defeat, researched psychologists, and found a reputable one in my neighborhood.

To say I was nervous about meeting Dr. O was an understatement. I was terrified, and thought that she would think less of me because my initial call to her was one of hysteria and raging tears. However, I found her to be the greatest psychologist on Earth, and just talking to her for the first time helped me tremendously. I still wasn’t sure which direction I was going with my faith, but I felt a deep sense of loss over what I had believed in for so long. It led to several instances of cutting myself to dull the pain and sadness. I told Dr. O these things, and she listened. I talked and talked and talked, and she listened. It was the greatest release of the burden that I had been carrying around for the past six months. After the first session, she suggested I contact my regular doctor to get my Paxil dosage upped. It was done, and I slowly started feeling better. My faith wasn’t restored, but I was calmer and not dreading things that might not and probably won’t ever happen.

To be continued...

One year, Part One

2009-09-08T17:08:00.002-05:00

Note: When I set out to write this story, it took me several weeks to work up the courage to put down what I wanted to say. I am still working on it. It is also turning into a freaking book, so I decided to break it up into several pieces.

What does a mental breakdown, an anniversary, physics, and the Large Hadron Collider have in common? They are all related to the story I’m about to tell you. It is the story of how a year ago to this exact date, I had a mental breakdown that nearly killed me, that made me doubt my belief system, that reduced me to a shell of my former self. It is the story of how I struggled to survive my mind completely melting down on me. It is a story of how I tried to shield my family from the worst of it and didn‘t succeed. The story doesn’t have an end, because it is my life and I’m obviously still here, but maybe someday the madness will be laid to rest and I can continue living my life somewhat normally. It starts out like this…

September 8, 2008. A glorious Labor Day in Chicagoland. The day before, the husband and I decided to take our son to the MSI to run around and play since it was (shockingly) a free day. As life is wont to do, a curveball was thrown and my husband was called in to work. Not feeling like going anywhere now that the plans were stuffed up, I settled down with my son to hang out. I started my usual morning perusal of the internet, finally stopping at my main hangout, a message board. What’s this? A post about a machine that is going to replicate the Big Bang ? Is that safe? What the hell does that mean? What is a Large Hadron Collider? That’s what my mind looked like after reading the initial post. Being the curious person I am, I Googled it. BIG mistake. VERY BIG mistake.

What I found was several paranoid diatribes about how it was going to destroy the world, create black holes, it wasn’t safe, etc. I found lawsuits against it, trying to stop it from running. The more I delved into the conspiracies, the more panicky my brain became. Then came the breakdown. “Oh my God, these physicists are going to kill us all….what’s going to happen to my son…..Earth is going to be destroyed because these assholes are trying to play God…….we’re doomed…..oh shit…..” That’s what was going through my mind. That’s what resonated all day. “We’re dead.” “We’re doomed.” “Life is over.” I melted like a giant ice shelf being affected by global warming.

Looking back now, I can see that this was not the whole cause of my meltdown, but rather the trigger point. For months I had been feeling worried, anxious, scared, but had been able to bat it down. Reading about a machine that I really didn’t understand and then reading a bunch of asinine conspiracy theories just toppled my reserve. I cried for the rest of the day. I don’t remember much else, just the crying, holding on to the boy, praying, and eventually cooking dinner. I didn’t eat much; fear can do that. It turns out I wouldn’t eat much for the next nine days, ending with me losing about 14 pounds. Then night fell, and my panic grew…

For thirty minutes before I showered, I sat in the bathroom and cried. I pondered suicide. There was a straight razor in the bathroom that just seemed to be calling to me, urging me to use it, to just neatly slice my veins and be done with it. I picked it up, held it to my arms, then thought about my son and husband. I put it away (in reality, I should have tossed it since I used it to cut myself later on), took a shower, and cried some more. Then I went to bed, but did not fall asleep for the longest time. I was hoping against hope that I would wake up on Tuesday and the feelings would be gone. They weren’t.

Late Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, I stayed up because that was the launch date of the LHC. I wanted to see if we were going to die. When nothing happened, I went to my son’s room and sat next to his bed for twenty minutes, crying softly and holding his hand. I thought for sure that that would be the end of it with the startup of the machine. Nope. I endured the agony of a complete and utter breakdown until Saturday, September 13. We had gone grocery shopping as normal, but I was a mess inside. I hurried through the stores quickly, thinking that at any minute, something awful would happen. I couldn’t endure the laughter and smiles of other people. It finally got so bad that I begged my husband to take me to the hospital. After dealing with me all week, he was eager to comply. So began my night in the ER.

I arrived there, went to Triage, and told them what was going on. When they came to the question, “Did you think about suicide at any time?”, I hesitated, answered in the affirmative, and hung my head to cry. The nurse patted my hand, upgraded me to a purple band, and sent me back to the ER with another nurse and basically what amounted to a keeper because I was deemed suicidal. I was put in a room with my keeper and without my belongings (I might use my phone to commit suicide) and the nurse told me that a hospital psychologist would be along directly to evaluate me.

After a standard psychological evaluation, the psychologist said she had to consult with the main psychologist on staff (teaching hospital), and that she would be back soon. In the meantime, my keeper had gone home while the psychologist was with me, so they sent a new keeper in. She was very sweet and tried to keep me distracted while I waited. It took a while (it IS a Chicago ER), but in the interim, I got to watch someone die. Not exactly something you want to see when your mind is already messing with you. I definitely felt horrible for the man who died, his family, and the doctors and nurses who worked so valiantly to save him.

After an hour or so, the psychologist came back to tell me what was up. Since I was coherent and capable of responding to questions, they would not keep me. However, I had to see my regular doctor to talk about ways to get me over the panic/anxiety and to find a mental health counselor. Luckily, I had made an appointment with my doctor for three days after this incident, so I was good on that end. However, I was wary of taking on a counselor because I didn’t like discussing these things with perfect strangers, which is weird because I’m BLOGGING this now. But I digress…

To be continued...

The Big Day

2009-09-07T20:50:00.002-05:00

My son starts school tomorrow. It is quite unfathomable that he has already reached the age of school-dom, even if it is just preschool. What happened to that tiny baby that I held in my arms? What happened to that little chubby body that was so determined to roll over? What happened to the little boy that absorbed my every waking moment? What happened to that toddler who stubbornly refused to use the potty? All I am left with is a tall, lanky preschooler, who is growing up too fast for my liking. A preschooler who is independent beyond all measure and gets annoyed if I try and help him in any way. A preschooler who is starting to form his own thoughts and opinions on the world, which surprise and baffle me at every turn.

Even though he is very intelligent and wise, I am worried about him going to school. He hasn’t had a lot of interaction with other children beyond soccer and playground romps, so I don’t know if he will handle a classroom full of children well. He also has a slight speech delay and tends to express himself more than he actually understands, which is totally ass backwards from the norm. It causes no end of trouble for some people because he will repeat what he hears or just repeat himself rather than stop and think for a minute and come up with an answer all his own.

I feel like I have failed him as a mother. The lack of interaction with other kids, the fact that he spent most of his learning years with me, and the whole, “I’m too lazy/tired/sad/freaked out to go outside today, dear” that I pulled for so long might have stunted his emotional and mental growth. I worry that they will find something wrong with my baby boy, and that they’ll hand him over to Special Education before they even give him a chance. I worry that he will grow up as I did, shy and scared of making new friends, trying new things, going new places. I don’t want him to be like that. I want him to be independent, happy, free, and above all, fearless of life and what it throws at you.

I know this is just my random neurotic thoughts, but I can’t help but worry. Hell, we’ll probably get to the school tomorrow and he’ll to me to am-scray.

That would be the best and worst thing to happen.

Because I Haven't Posted In About A Month...UPDATE

2009-08-24T23:19:00.005-05:00

I have decided to share something important. No, I'm not pregnant nor dying or anything like that. What I am sharing is something that I said I never would do, that I was always totally against, that I spoke out loudly about. I am getting Lap Band surgery.

HA! Thought it was something major, didn't ya?

Well, I guess in a way, it IS major. It does involve surgery, anesthesia, and a lot of work. However, I'm not really worried about that. What I am worried about is how people will look at this decision. Will they look at it with derision and with the same sense of asshole-ishness that I did? Will they be accepting, and fully support this idea? Will they not care? I'm thinking it's the latter question, but due to my mind being completely effed up in the way it thinks, I am of the opinion that people talk smack about me all the time and this will just give them more ammo. But I digress...

I didn't come to this decision lightly. It has been on my mind for months. I have been researching it since May. I do not want to get the full on "reroute your internal organs to lose weight" surgery. That just scares the crap out of me. With Lap Band, they do laparoscopic surgery that is minimally invasive and can be reversed if there are issues. I will also have a cool access port (to inject saline into the band itself in case it needs to be tightened), which will sort of be like those holes that Neo had in the movie "The Matrix".

So what caused me to decide to look into this? Well, the fact that I have been eating right and exercising for most of the past year, and the same ten pounds have fluctuated sort of made me realize I was stuck. My blood pressure rising and rising was another indicator I needed serious help. I had a doctor's appointment today and told my super awesome wonderful doctor about what I was thinking of doing. She fully agreed with me and wrote me out a referral then and there. So I spent my day researching and looking at different hospitals, calling around, etc.

The first place I turned to was my hubby's employer: the University of Chicago. Sadly, because I have Medicare, they will not do it. When asked how much it cost out of pocket, I was quoted $60,000. I nearly shit a brick. The next place I tried was Mercy Hospital. They DO take Medicare, and they have a program that is solely concentrated on Lap Band procedures. I emailed them earlier and will hopefully hear back tomorrow. I also found that the University of Illinois does them, along with Northwestern. So those will be other places to try if Mercy cannot accommodate me.

Like I said, I'm not going into this blindly. I have gained nearly 100 pounds since moving to Chicago from California. My knees are giving out. I sweat all the time. I get exhausted easily. I can't keep up with my son or husband. Most of all, I hate looking at myself in the mirror and in the rare pictures I take.

I know this will not be a quick fix solution. Lap Band surgery is a weight loss tool. This tool follows certain strict rules. If I don't follow these rules, I can seriously injure myself, or worse yet, puke my guts out (I hate puking). I am completely down with liquids and pureed foods for the first month or so. I can handle that. I can handle cutting out sugars and alcohol. I can handle anything this surgery asks of me because I want to be healthy. No, I don't want to be supermodel thin. I'm shooting for my old sizes of 14/16.

That would make me happy.

UPDATE:
I am attending a Lap Band seminar on September 15th at Mercy Hospital. We'll see what happens after that.

I Am....

2009-07-28T00:53:00.003-05:00

Note: this was originally started on June 16th of this year. I last revised it on the 8th of July. Circumstances have changed as of late, but this still resonates with me because I was truly in a dark place and this just came from my heart and soul. I marvel at how I felt then and how far I have come in a single month. I'm not saying I'm completely healed, but I am on my way. That will be posted about later on though. For now, here is my offering:

I am angry.

I am angry because I have gained almost 100 lbs. over the past three years.
I am angry because, up until recently, I have not cared enough about myself to do anything.
I am angry because my body will never look normal, and I have no one to blame but myself.
I am angry because I know that I will never have the money or the time to fix what I have done.
I am angry because my mind has turned on me, and I know I will never be normal again.
I am angry because I have wasted my life with my family, and it is my fault.
I am angry that my sister did something completely stupid that could have fucking killed her.
I am angry that the loss of many people I know is due to cancer.

I am sad.

I am sad because I have experienced loss. Loss of loved ones, loss of acquaintances, loss of my own peace of mind.
I am sad because I do not know if I will ever be able to get off my meds and lead a drug free life.
I am sad because I am turning into a pill popping alcoholic.
I am sad because I still seek, but cannot find, the reassurance that there is something out there that created us, nurtures us, and lifts us up when we are down.
I am sad that I’m thought of as the villain in our little dramatic online community because the anonymity of the internet gives me the boldness to be someone else. (“Boldness is a mask for fear, however great.” -John Dryden)
I am sad because I know I should not feel this way, but I do, and nothing will ever change that.
I am sad that my sister never fully confided in me. Now I feel our close relationship is just a sham.
I am sad that my extended family has fallen apart, never to be fixed.
I am sad for so many reasons that go beyond the scope of my powers of expression.

I am lonely.
I am homesick.
I am always putting up a false front.
I am weak.
I am lazy.
I am scared.
I am tired.
I am done.

When Will It End?

2009-07-19T22:02:00.001-05:00

For almost a year now, I have been battling anxiety and panic attacks. Some days are better than others, but not a day goes by that I don’t think about what brought me to such an ultimate low in my life. Not a week goes by that I don’t have that nagging doubt in the back of my head that says, “This life is nothing. You are nothing. This world is nothing.” Not a month goes by that allows me to forget that I am not a normally functioning human being, and that I will never be the way I used to be.

Some people have panic attacks and anxiety because of childhood traumas or horrible tragedies. Mine started with a story I read one day on a news site and researching the darker aspects of it that involved conspiracy theories. Stupid, yes, but it ingrained itself deeply into my head and royally screwed me up. I am almost embarrassed to admit that that is the reasoning behind my panic and anxiety. It is inane compared to what other people have gone through. Nonetheless, it is my problem, and it has impacted my life in ways that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies.

Yesterday afternoon was the happiest day of this month for me. We went to a barbecue and I interacted and functioned semi-normally for two hours with my husband’s acquaintances. Sure, I had the, “Oh gosh, they probably think I’m an ignorant twat” thought process going on, but I managed to stifle it and at least come across as semi-intelligent, even though I was dressed like a thrift store reject and had no makeup on. I did not dwell on the darker parts of my mind, but enjoyed a beer with some people and watched the kidlets play. I laughed and joked and smiled a lot. I did not want to leave. I felt NORMAL.

Today, that feeling came crashing down, which is why I’m writing this now. Maybe it’s because I’ve been sick all day, due to coming off of Prednisone. Maybe my body is becoming accustomed to the Paxil again. Maybe it is because I read the news and it sucked. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I’m feeling really panicky right now, and I just want it to stop. I’ve already taken Xanax, so I’m a little less edgy, but I can still feel the fear in the back of my mind.

So how much more can I take? I’ve already upped my Paxil dosage once (and it looks like it will happen again) and have pretty much become dependent on Xanax to get me through those nights when I feel less than stellar. Will I always be on medication for these feelings, or will they eventually fade out? What happens 10, 20, 30, or even 40 years down the road, if my mind lets me function that long? What happens to my husband and my son? Will they always be stuck with a woman who is mentally broken and fearful of going out and living a full life?

I hate this feeling. I hate being so scared of everything. Most of all, I hate being scared of life and the future. What kind of life am I leading if all I’m going to do is cower in the corner and shake in fear?

Just Because...

2009-07-14T23:15:00.007-05:00

I have a raging headache right now, but this picture never fails to amuse me. This is my son in dork mode. He wore these things OUTSIDE. I was rolling with laughter.

Here is another one, with slightly less dorkiness. I love his smile.

Dig those long lashes.

I am SO ANNOYED that the light flare got into this picture and ruined the shot of his Robert Pattinson "Twilight" hair. His hair is short now, due to summertime sweating, but usually he's got this crop of curls.

That's my boy. I love him to death, even when he's being a little turkey.

Oh July, Why Do You Hate Me So?

2009-07-14T00:41:00.001-05:00

Seriously, we’re not even to the middle of the month, and I want July to END. Let’s recap the hilarity, shall we?

July 1st - I notice what I thought was a pimply hair on my chin. I pull out offending hair, leaving a smallish bump.

July 3rd - I have to buy new shoes because my other ones died. Not a MAJOR travesty, but still mildly annoying since our budget is practically non-existent. It also doesn’t help that my feet are “special”, and as such, require “special” shoes (read: expensive). Luckily for all of us (and our budget), I found a pair of New Balance on sale.

Bump watch - The bump got bigger. Crap. Must be a staph sore caused by our old family friend, MRS. A, aka Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. I guess I’ll wait until it forms its ugly little head and slice it open. Oops. No head. Let me slice it anyways. Oops. No pus. Oh well. It will probably go down on its own.

July 4th - I wake up to my chin doubled in size, no mean feat, mind you. I slap a Band-Aid on it (HA!) and go to my psychologist appointment. I try to ignore the sore, we go out to peruse IKEA and eat cheap Japanese food at Mitsuwa, a Japanese market in Arlington Heights. Come home, my face is killing me, I can’t take the pain anymore, so the husband and son take me to the ER and drop me off. Five hours, four doctors, two needle punctures (to see if there is pus), and a dose of humor later (the doctors and interns were actually cool and funny), I’m sent off with a 10 day antibiotics course (to make sure there is no underlying infections, since this is, after all, RESISTANT STAPH), Vicodin (WOOHOO!), and Ibuprofen prescriptions.

July 5th - The start of some family problems that I’m not going to get into on here. Let’s just say that it was unexpected, weird, sad, and very upsetting. As of Saturday, things have worked out, so all is right on that end. Good thing, too. That would have been the proverbial icing on the shit cake if it hadn’t.

July 8th - Discover we’re completely screwed on money again. Brilliant….

July 12th - My ass is completely kicked. A week of medicine that is not kind to me at all, a marathon house cleaning session, and trying to show SOME interest in my family wipes me out. I fall asleep on the couch, only to be awakened by maddening itching on my arm. Then it spread to my chest. Then my neck, chin, other arm, stomach, back….you can see where this is going. Almost NINE STINKING DAYS after starting the antibiotics, I develop an allergic reaction to it. Beautiful. I spend my night itching, popping Benadryl, and rubbing expired Aveeno Anti-Itch cream on my body.

July 13th - Still itching. I get up, take the dog to the vet for his teeth cleaning (more money we don’t have), come home, and admit defeat. I call my local clinic to see if they have Urgent Care appointments available. Of course they don’t, so I head to the ER. Again. Resigning myself to stay in the waiting room for at least three hours, I pull out my phone and start surfing the internet, while watching that stupid show on TV with Rose McGowan and Alyssa Milano. Shockingly, I’m called back to a room twenty minutes after arriving. The doctor sees me quickly, gives me the diagnosis of allergic reaction (duh), and says he’ll give me Bactrim to make up for the other antibiotic I can’t take, along with Benadryl and Prednisone for the swelling and itching. Great, I think, That didn’t take long at all! Well haha, cause three emergencies happened at once and I was stuck in there for three hours. The nurse came in and gave me my first dose of ‘roids and some Benadryl. I started feeling better within twenty minutes. So I finally get released, the husband and boy take me home, and I eat lunch because I’m starving. After all that, I sat for a bit, not really feeling like going anywhere else, but knowing I needed my prescriptions filled and, oh yeah, the dog might want to come home from the vet. So off I went.

The prescription filling went smoothly, and we were on our way to pick up the dog. My son and I start crossing the street and this SUV that I THOUGHT had stopped to wait for us to cross started GOING. I went into protective Mama Bear mode, grabbed my son, and yelled at the guy driving. He tried to start shit with me after we finished crossing, it wasn’t happening, I was already pulling my hair back in anticipation of a fight. It finally ended with the usual mudslinging and the Bird. I don’t think I would have gotten that wild normally, but I was already feeling like crap, the steroids were already making me sweat, and I was getting a raging headache. That guy just rubbed on my very last nerve. So Mr. DriverofSUVandohmygodI’mgoingtogowithoutlookingtomyLEFT, I salute you. With my one finger and a big FUCK YOU.

Now I’m sitting here, aching all over because Prednisone, haha, messes with your joints. That raging headache is still around, too. I need to shower to see if that helps the itching that sort of came back, but I totally do not WANT. TO. MOVE. I’m also very tired, but knowing my sleep patterns, I won’t get to bed for another hour or so. *sigh*

So yeah, that’s my month so far. I think I need to go hide in a cave now. Or under a rock.

You Knew It Was Coming

2009-06-27T22:57:00.003-05:00

So yeah, Michael Jackson died on Thursday. What can I say about him that hasn't already been said? His life, "Wacko Jacko", the allegations, the surgeries, the skin color changing.....yadda, yadda, yadda. I've heard it all before, and frankly, I'm sick of it. I don't know if he did what he was accused of. I don't know if he bleached his skin. I don't know if he bought the Elephant Man's bones or slept in a hyperbaric chamber or whatever. At this point, I don't really care.

What I remember is four year old me, dancing to and singing along with the "Thriller" video, watching "The Making of Thriller" over and over, wanting to meet him, adoring him, worshipping him. I remember seven year old me trying to Moonwalk down the slick wooden floor of my elementary school, and promptly falling on my ass and then conking my head. I remember the one glove, the Pepsi commercial, staying up to watch him on television, singing along with every damned song of his that became popular.

I grew up listening to him and the Jackson 5. He was highly influential on how my musical tastes developed. Some people think he has no musical genius. I think they are full of crap. His singing, his dance moves, his fame...they have influenced generations of musicians. He was not just some one trick pony with one hit and then forgotten. He was HUGE. He was a phenomenon.

In the days and weeks to come, we'll be inundated with news about him, mostly the worst parts and the most awful tidbits. We'll see the termites come out of the woodwork. We'll see his "friends" turn on him and tell all they know for a quick buck. We'll see his family fighting over anything and everything that belonged to him. And we'll see Jesse Jackson (gads, I can't stand him) talk his head off about everything, while knowing NOTHING.

I prefer to remember Michael as the shy young guy who sang and danced his heart out during my youth, who gave his all in each and every thing he did. Rest in peace, Michael. I still adore your music.