2015 - It's not forever, it's just for now

Well, here we are on the last day of 2015.  I haven't blogged much this past year and I don't really even remember what all has transpired.  It wasn't a particularly great year from what I remember.  It had a few high points, but it was not a year of moving forward or accomplishing anything amazing. Which begs the question, does every year have to include something amazing?  Was survival the amazing accomplishment? Is that good enough?

I know the last three months of this year, for Shark Bait and I, have SUCKED ASS. But what happened the rest of the year?  Where did things stagnate?  When did I give up?  When?  It's all just a blur.  So, I went to my blog, where all my drama is housed.  I found this blog: http://angry-pony.blogspot.com/2015/02/best-cry-of-2015.html.  Oh yeah, that's right. That's where I gave up.  I remember now.


OH, and also life changing, my band of Boot Bitches slowly all left the Glass Palace.  There are just two of us left there, but we are in different departments.  To lose that daily support really impacted me more than I thought it would.  We all still stay in contact when we can via Facebook chats, but ultimately, it just isn't the same.  No more hug threats, no more chocolate interventions...just...not the same.  I mean, I have Camo Boy, who was kind of our boy member, of sorts, but he just doesn't have a uterus.  I miss the daily presence of my bitches but am thankful that we still talk stuff through. Shark Bait will say, "What's going on with the Bitches today?"  I'll be like, "Oh, so and so is a shy pooper..." or "so and so's kid thinks there is grass in her hoo hoo..." or "We're thinking about having a reality show about being bounty hunters..."  You know, important stuff.  They are still my sounding board on the serious stuff, too, and I am theirs.  That is what friendship is about, being there even when you can't physically be there. I heart those bitches.

On a positive note, Shark Bait and I did get to go to California this year. Granted, it was for a memorial service for his uncle that passed unexpectedly, but we did get a few days to spend with friends and family that were enjoyable.  We drove around in a convertible in the sunshine and for just a few days, we enjoyed each other and contemplated the importance of taking advantage of every moment together as tomorrow is not promised.  A lesson well-learned by the reason for our visit.  The trip was over too fast but it was a highlight of 2015.


Over the last three months, the whole year kind of happened all at once, really.  Due to a problem with paperwork and regulations, Shark Bait was out of work from the end of September until, well, hopefully he will be back to work next week, on January 4th.  I thought that was a kick in the gut.  And then, over Thanksgiving weekend, we found out our landlord was actively advertising the property we were living at for rent.  We found out that she was illegally renting the cabin we live in due to the fact it was never coded as a livable residence with the county, and she was renting three residences on one piece of property, attempting to rent to a fourth person.  So, anyway, there are a lot more details to it, but bottom line, we needed to move. Things got ugly fast and there was not enough Xanax to make it okay. Shark Bait and I had to find a home for us, the dogs and the ponies at the worst time of the year.  Merry freaking Christmas.

We had no money saved up for deposits or moving expenses since we were already living very tight on one income.  We started looking at what was for rent and the reality was, we needed to choose something that would not include the ponies.  And, finding something that would take the dogs was another challenge.  I spent days crying about the ponies and the thought of not being able to live with them.  I had to adopt the motto of, "It's just for now, it's not forever."  It was still hard, but Shark Bait and I were able to put a deposit on a house with a big yard that would take the dogs.  The ponies would go live with Mom.

In spite of feeling like our world was crashing down around us and that life was not fair and that maybe I was being punished for something, Shark Bait and I were also very fortunate.  We were able to quickly sell the little fishing boat he had, some of his extra toys and I sold my fancy show saddle.  We were lucky, in a sense.  And, I did not, for one moment take that for granted.  We were fortunate that in our darkest hour there were people there to help us and we were able to make it happen.  And, while it sucked Shark Bait was not working, he was able to have the time off to get us moved out of the cabin and into the house.  I mean, I don't want to go so far as to say we "lucked out," but some things did work in our favor given the circumstances.

Everyone says things happen for a reason.  I don't know if I believe that or not.  However, during our move, we did discover a hole and the floor rotting underneath our bed which could have very easily lead to us being seriously injured had the floor given way while we were in bed.  I guess it's a good thing Shark Bait and I didn't do anything too crazy up there in the loft, we may have had a lot of explaining to do...we'll chalk that up to a 2015 success story.  So, maybe we were being "looked out for" or maybe we just lucked out.  It is comforting to believe we are being looked out for.  So maybe that is what we'll go with.

Anyway, as we started to settle in to the new house, the hits just seemed to keep coming.  We had not even been in our house a week and our dog was pounced on, in our very own yard, by a neighbor dog and her back leg broken.  Yeah, cuz I got money for that kind of vet bill.  So, I am thankful that I have enough money to take her to the vet, but pissed, because now I can't pay some other bills.  No cushion.  I'm torn on how that glass is looking right now, half-full, half-empty.  While I was pondering the water level, I also chipped my front tooth on a water bottle.  Seriously, enough 2015!  ENOUGH.

All that fourth quarter B.S. aside, kind of a boring year all in all.  But as I sat here tonight trying to decide what to write, not wanting to be melancholy baby and not wanting to go on about weight drama, I didn't really know what to think.  It's all so boring and uninspiring.

And then, my sister stopped by with her friend Thai-Dan.  It seems he has bigger problems.  His Dad, who is 72, is living in Thailand and has a girlfriend Thai-Dan's age.  Apparently she wants a baby, so Thai-Dan's Dad wants to know if Thai-Dan will pony up some sperm.  We all then shared a conversation about would that make the baby his child or his sibling? It seems complicated.  And then, would he do it the "natural way" or would he donate his spermies.  Then he said his Mom just married another woman and they are moving to Maui.  What if they want another child.  He could have two sets of siblings/children.  And then, should he marry his kind-of-girlfriend he has in Thailand?  If he does, it will cost him $13,000, because that's what they do in Thailand.  I was like, dude, you can have sex in America for free.  He said that any marriage is a business transaction of some sort.  I said, "Well, when Shark Bait and I married, there was no dowry.  Neither one of us brought any major cash to the marriage.  And here we are, working on our 8th year of marriage and have worked our way up to renting a 1988 mobile home."  I asked him, "Do you love her? Or do you just want exotic sex?"  Thai-Dan didn't have a really good answer to that.  I told him to just take his wiener international.  Don't get married just because, right? Young people problems, no thank you.

I sat there and contemplated the things on Thai-Dan's mind and what was going on in his life.  I'll take my boring little life, I guess. I think things seem complicated for me sometimes, but I know what I want and where I'm going.  I don't always know how to get there, or if I do, I don't always do what I should to get there, but I know, you know?

As I sit here typing this, I guess at this moment when I think I have nothing to be particularly proud of or to celebrate, I have this:  I have Shark Bait.  No matter what happens to us, we handle it.  We survive.  We buckle down and get through the shit life throws at us, but we also enjoy the stuff we are blessed with.  We have been hit with some tough stuff from the day we got married going forward. And there are days we don't see eye to eye and there are days when we are two people just trying not to lose our shit, but there are the important days that we rally.  The days when it is all falling down around us and we pull together and come out that much stronger.  I have to celebrate that.  Maybe there are no riches, maybe there are no fancy houses, maybe there are no little black dresses, but there is us.

Overall, the year happened to me rather than me happening all over that year.  But, it's done.  I will not beat myself up over it.  I will move on, with some regret, but I will move on nonetheless.

So, 2015, thank you for giving me "us," but keep the rest of that shit out of 2016.

#adultingsucks

This last week has literally kicked my ass emotionally.  Shark Bait and I found out that we have to move out of the little cabin we have lived in for five years.  It is small, it isn't fancy, but it is cute and we have become very comfortable here.  It has room for the dogs and the horses and it is a quiet little neighborhood. We figured we would stay for another few years while we got our debt paid down and then make another stab at buying our "forever" home, if such a thing exists.  Moving is not our choice, but it is beyond our control since we don't own it.  Our landlord is in a jam that she cannot get out of, so ultimately, we are collateral damage. And, as is often the case when shit goes down, Shark Bait and I are unprepared.  He has been out of work for over three months and so the timing could not be worse.  Such is life.

Today, while we were out driving around looking for a place for us and the ponies, we found ourselves at the farm I grew up on.  I lived there from the age of four years old until I was almost 30years old.  All of my ponies were there, so I was never in a hurry to leave and I was an able bodied person to clean stalls and mend fence when I wasn't at work, so it isn't like my parents wanted me to go. When  my family moved out almost 15 years ago, it was one of the hardest things I ever had to done.  I knew the farm and the lay of the land like the back of my hand.  The barn was my safe place, my church. The memories I had there were from most of my life.  The level of security I felt there was indescribable.  However, we had to go.  We needed to go. 

When we left that farm, I cried and mourned our life there, however, over time, I adjusted and life went on and I survived, as expected. Visiting the farm today was almost a kind of therapy.  I didn't plan to go there, but somehow, that is where we ended up.  No one has lived there since my family moved out, so we were able to go and walk around.  The sticker bushes have taken over, crack-heads have broken all the windows and tagged the buildings.  It's trashed and you can barely get around the outsides of the buildings. It is so sad that a place that we took such pride in has just become a wreckage.  I remember how long it took to mow all the lawn areas...with a push mower.  Ugh.  It wasn't a fancy home, but Dad had the utmost pride and it always looked well-kept.

As I walked around, I remembered so many things, but it was surprisingly easy to leave. The farm in shambles isn't part of my life or my memories. What is left is not where I grew up.  The pictures in my mind and in my heart are the memories.  It's almost like replaying a movie scene in your head. This place I visited didn't resemble any memory I had, any movie I'd ever seen.  I stopped and pulled a couple of the thin boards off a part of the barn I could get to.  The rest had been stripped by people wanting barn wood for antique projects.  I'm going to use them for a picture frame, I think.  Everything else that happened on that farm, good and bad, has made me into the person I am today.  I don't know if that is good or bad, but it is a person that survives.  It created Angry Pony.

The Farm House on the Hill

There was a farm house, standing tall upon a hill alone.
A little girl and her family moved in
and suddenly that house was a home.

That farm was the little girls life, her job, her heart.
She cared for all the animals that came to live there
Horses being the one from which she would never part.

She found her safe place in the barn, in the hay loft
or in the stalls with the horses 
laying in straw that smelled of freedom and was so soft. 

As the little girl grew up
life, at times, became hard,
life became sad.
She would hide away in the barn
because it was the only safe place she had. 

The horses were her safety, her sanity, her purpose.
And so the barn was, too.
But that farm house was where her family was
and no matter what happened, they would make it through.

There are things that happened on that farm 
that the heart of a little girl will recall.
Things outsiders wouldn't understand, 
but things a girl might spend a lifetime trying to figure out
if it is possible for her to at all.

That farm, that house, that barn.
It was her life, it was her place.
It serves as a bookmark in her mind
A place holder for her memories that time cannot even erase.
-Cassondra "Angry Pony" Zuver-White

So, anyway, after that little trip down memory lane, I guess what I'm saying is, I guess I need to buck up and not allow an attachment to this cabin and pony farm continue.  I guess I need to be open to the reason for change that I am not meant to understand.  I don't have to like it, but it is what I'm meant to do. 

I hate doing things I don't like.  Makes the pony angry.  Damn it. #adultingsucks.

Where are the Quiet Times?

They say ("they" being a bunch of random people) that life gives you the quiet times to enjoy life and to prepare for the tough times.  Our strength is allegedly created by both the quiet and the rough times. Pinterest has a truckload of meme's and quotes telling us this is a truth in life.  Most of us (self included) don't take the time to recognize and enjoy the quiet times as much as we should, but we sure spend a lot of energy on the rough times.  I am particularly guilty of this.  Shark Bait and I have been living through a shit show of events over the past few months and the hits just keep coming.  Just as we think we are on the downhill side of things, something new comes up.

This is kind of how life works, I guess.  I mean, I think it works like this for everyone, but it often doesn't seem that way.  Some people seem to be super lucky, leading charmed lives.  Others seem to have it much harder.  And, no matter how hard I think I have it, someone out there has it way harder than me. I do recognize this.  I mean the TV and internet shows me all the starving children in the world, the abused animals, the news tells me all about the terrorism, the hate, the corrupt government, etc. I get it, compared to all that, I'm lucky.  However, as the Rug Doctor says, my feelings are valid, but I digress.  Anyway, just today I found myself questioning when the last quiet time was that Shark Bait and I had.  I don't quite remember, but we always survive, or at least we have up until this day in time.  I have no idea what tomorrow brings.

Sometimes I have to be reminded about the quiet times. Facebook has this option where you get to see all your "memories/posts" on this day for the last 4-5 years.  I have found myself looking at that a lot lately.  Some of those memories therapeutic in nature, others a reminder of happier days, some a reminder of growth mentally, some a reminder of growth in circumference (yeah, that is a shot at my waistline).

Here's some recapping of the "memories" I have been seeing lately:

• I've seen a woman so miserable, at her highest body weight. And then she had hope, even if she never admitted it, she did, deep inside.  She had surgery and vowed to never go back to the darker days. She vowed to strut in a little black dress. She was going to move forward and she was going to be amazing and she was going to be unstoppable.  She became an athlete and then she got hurt and her body resisted change. And then she lost hope and then she gained a shit ton of weight back and now she feels like a failure and a disappointment and she has to start all over again.  There were happy times in there. I wish I could have held on to them and pushed forward to the light, to the happy, to the strength.  But I didn't.  I fell victim to what I knew, the darkness.

• I've seen a little dog that we love so much and brings us such joy go from the best dog ever, to the most broken dog ever.  To the point we thought he would be put down and there was no hope.  But that little dog is a fighter and he made it.  He still has tough times and now, even though he has back problems from time to time and he has lost his sight, he still continues to bring so much joy and we are so thankful he survived.

• I've revisited my Dad becoming sick and fighting to survive his cancer and losing that battle. What a journey that was and continues to be. Losing someone as important as your Dad is something one never stops thinking about.  The ripple effect from his passing continues to evolve in ways that complicate life. I miss him.  But the painful journey also brings back the memory of all of those people that remained by my side and supported me through it and continue to do so.  For those memories and those people, I am so lucky.

• I've revisited moving into our little cabin and creating a life here with my ponies again with the pledge to become reinvested in becoming the girl I lost years ago.  There have been challenges along the way but we are getting there.  Now, we may lose all of that forward momentum as we need to move in the next couple of months.  I don't know what that means for us.  Will we find a place for us and the ponies?  Will we be able to afford it?  Will we find our way to where we are meant to be, if only for another brief chapter in our life?  I hope so, but I'm scared.  I really had come to love this little cabin.  And like so many other things in my life, it is out of my control.  Does the universe or God have something more grand in store for us?  I've resisted tagging everything with #homeless because while I don't know what will happen, I know we will figure something out. (plus not everyone shares my dark humor and how I cope.  Surely I would offend someone by that hashtag, after all, it's insensitive. Because everyone seems to truly need to be offended by something and needs everyone to know. It's exhausting, frankly.)

•  I have revisited many happy memories for my friends and family.  So much happens everyday and is shared on Facebook.  I probably share too much, but it does serve a purpose when I need a reminder of where my friends and I have been over the years.

Anyway, I didn't find a lot of quiet times in all of that revisiting, but I did find a lot of life that happened.  And a bunch of life that I survived.  A bunch more of life that Shark Bait survived, and frankly, he lucked out.  I did also see some life that I lived. And, that is what we all should be doing, right? Living?  Not surviving, not observing, but living.  I need more living, less being stuck.  Still working on the figuring that whole thing out part. I'm not ready to resign myself to "this is how it is" and just surviving through.  I want more out of life.  I don't know if that means needing more quiet times or needing more tough times to make me stronger, but really, Hawaii, that's what I need.  It can't hurt, right?

Thanks for reading my introspect.  Believe me, there is a ton more in this head of mine, but I'm trying not to write a novel.



 

Basic Job Tips

Tonight I would like to talk about becoming employed and some helpful tips during the hiring process.  To start, a disclaimer:
Any likenesses to real life individuals is strictly coincidental and not intended to be linked to any individual at my place of employment or any other.  However, with that said, if you know someone that is a dumbass, you should encourage them to stop being one. This is strictly random advice from observations in life.

Tip #1:  Hygiene.  Shower. Daily.  Nothing else to add here, just freaking take a damn shower.  The rest of us have to smell you...everywhere you go.

Tip#2: Smoking.  If you smoke, refer to tip #1.  Maybe don't wallow in the smoke.  Maybe open a window in your home, in your car, etc.  Feel free to wash your clothes.  While you are blowing smoke into the air and killing the rest of us with your second hand smoke, the smoke will return to you and stick to your already stinky body.  And to your hair, that smoke shit gets on everything.

Tip #3: Clothing. Girls, don't dress like a whore.  Boys, don't dress like you pulled out the least wrinkly t-shirt out of the dirty clothes because your Mom hasn't done your laundry yet.  Likely, she hasn't come into your room because Lord only knows what you are doing in there on the internet in the dark and the rats in your cage need their bedding to be cleaned.  Your Mom has boundaries, even if making you get your own place isn't one of them.  Dress like you more than kind of care what you look like.

Tip #4: Your Resume.  First of all, if you could bring one that isn't wrinkled, that doesn't have coffee stains on it or is not glittery poster board weight, that would be swell.  Secondly, for the love of God and all that is holy, maybe use spell check, have a friend read it or open a dictionary.  Thirdly, if your primary experience is your contribution on the year book staff, your job at Bath & Body Works and an avid love of knitting, you DO NOT need four pages to showcase your "accomplishments" and qualifications for the job.  Oh, and one last tidbit.  If your email address is something like spankme@myemail.org or something close to that, maybe, just maybe get a free gmail account with a professional sounding email address.  When I say professional, I don't mean professional in the adult film industry.

Tip #5: Behavior.  If you think you see a bug or if something in the air catches your eye, do not start acting like a gecko or some sort of lizard and tilting your head and bugging your eyes out, followed by swinging and swatting at the alleged bug.  Maybe keep your shit together and focus on the questions.

Tip #6: Your Weaknesses.  Look, I love honesty.  But if you are asked a question about how you deal with negativity and your answer is that you are negative, so you don't know, maybe rethink how you want to answer that.  Like, maybe mention you are not a fan of negativity, not the president of the fan club of negativity.  Oh, and all the times you got fired.  Epic stories.  I love them.  Keep them coming.  Wait, I mean, maybe curb those.  Maybe find a way to not volunteer that stuff right up front.  For example, if I am interviewing for a job at The Foundation for Positive Thinking, I'm probably not going to bring up my blogging hobby.  If asked about it, I might find a way to creatively justify it, but probably not going to offer it up out of the gate.

Tip #7: Violent Tendencies.  If you normally need the assistance of a walking stick, cane or walker, maybe don't utter the words, "I should have brought my cane today, but I didn't want to be tempted to beat anyone with it..."  It's kind of a turn-off.  Maybe say something like, "I should have brought my walking stick today but it is such a challenge navigating through crowds."  See the difference?  Totally changes it from "I want to club people" to "I struggle walking."  Which, again, doesn't really help your case from a standpoint of looking like a healthy gamble, but at least an employer won't worry about you offing your peers.

Tip #8: Medical Leave.  Maybe don't ask the questions, "How many days can I be gone before I'm fired?" or "how many sick days do I get?"  straight out of the gate.  Maybe just ask if the company provides benefits. 

Tip #9: Participation in the Hiring Process.  If you are invited in for an interview...show up.  If you can't attend, call and say so.  If you have an interview at 10 a.m. maybe show up at 9:45 a.m.  Showing up at 10:04 a.m. means you are late and an employer is likely not going to take you seriously.  If you are late for the interview, what else will you be late for?  Every day of work?  Probably.

Tip #10: Personality.  If you don't have one, get one.  If someone exchanges pleasantries with you, be pleasant.  On the flip side, do not get verbal diarrhea.  I don't care about your life story.  I need to know that you are polite and how you are qualified for this job.  Your kids bowel movements, I could care less.  I think I speak for all employers when I say this.  Let's edit people.

Okay, that is all I have for tonight, but there will be tips forthcoming in the future.  Why?  Because I know people and people never stop amazing me.

Doctor Genius

It's a quiet Saturday morning as I sit here reflecting on life as I know it.  Shark Bait is gone hunting and it is just me and the kids (aka dogs). It's been quite a week, really.  It's actually been quite a month, but let's focus on this last week.  I'd like to talk about that.

So, Monday morning, I'm at work and I was having a lot of pain in my back that radiated through to my front just under my bra line on the right side. It was a very intense pain.  I have had gall bladder pains before, but this didn't seem like that. It had been hurting since the Thursday prior and I had been taking ibuprofen, muscle relaxers and putting some heat gel on on it.  Nothing was really helping and it was getting worse.  My boss was like, "you need to get that checked out, it could be serious."  I immediately was like, "the doctor isn't going to know what's going on, it's a waste of time."

Fast forward to a couple hours later.  I arrive at the walk-in clinic and decide I don't know how long it will be to wait, so I go to the bathroom first before checking in.  I check-in and they advise there is no wait.  This is practically a miracle.  Never happens.  So, I first go to the "triage" person.  He asks me a million annoying questions, some of them multiple times. Doesn't anyone freaking listen anymore?  He informs me they need a urine sample.  Mother Trucker.  I told him, "I just went."  He says, no big deal, they only need like 10 drops.  Dude, what if there are not drops to give?  He seems unconcerned, "There's a water fountain over there if you need it."  Sigh.  I head over to the bathroom with my cup.  Now, I have nylons and a dress on, this is no easy challenge to straddle the damn toilet shoving a cup up there keeping your dress out of the way.  And, men might not understand this, but as a woman, you don't know where that stream is gonna go.  You could have the cup perfectly positioned (in your mind) and then you drop liquid gold behind it.  It's complicated.  So, there I am, straddling and contorted and the bastards in the lab on the other side of the wall keep checking the collection thing that is right next to the toilet. Like every 30 seconds the door opens and closes.  Look asshole, I'm pushing so hard you might actually get a piece of organ rather than any liquids, so get off my case.  So freaking annoying.  Long story long, I finally produced the gold they were looking for. I mean, I don't know if it was 10 drops, but it was all they were going to get.  I had to produce it from future water that I might drink later, you know?  It was a serious effort.

I clean up and head down the hall when a medical assistant waves me in to one of the rooms.  She proceeds to ask me all the same questions that the triage he-bitch asked.  Seriously, the he-bitch seemed to be typing, does the system not update?  After that agony, she leaves and here comes the doctor.  Joy.  I tell my story a third time and show him where it hurts.  Now, I'm wearing a dress and a little jean jacket.  No one has asked me to take it off.  Don't you think maybe we should check me out?  So, I said, "Should I take this jacket off?"  He's like, "ok."  It's like having sex, "So, did you want me to get naked...or...?"  Anyway, he pokes around my ribs, "does this hurt?....how about here?....here?"  He listens to my heart, which if you ask me is just something they do to look like a doctor.  Like, in medical school, there is a whole course on just listening to the heart. "Oh, your finger seems to be severed, let's take a listen to that heart to rule out heart failure..."

So, now we are to the part where the doctor has come to the best conclusion he can come to.  I'm bracing for it.  He says, "Well, I think what is happening is because you are an admin and sit all day, that you have slouched and your ribs are pressing against your hip bones and you have bruised your ribs."  I sat there, blinking. Not totally surprised, but still feeling like I lucked out and got the biggest moron this place employs  I mean, what do I do with that diagnosis?  I knew there was no point to press the situation.  The doctor then checked his computer and says, "Well, your pee looks fantastic, if that's any consolation.  So, we can rule out kidney or UTI."  Well, I've finally done something right because no one has ever told me I had fantastic pee before.  I could leave there walking a little taller, a little more proud.  Indeed.  The good doc provided me a prescription for some muscle relaxers (and a pain pill that I would later find out at the pharmacy they don't even make anymore) and said there really is nothing I could do except wait it out and to sit taller in my chair. I said, "Should I ice it or put heat on it?"  He said, "Well, ice...wow, I mean, that would be cold. Yeah, I would only do heat."  Which is pretty much opposite of what the chiropractor says.  The doc went on, "you really only want to use ice if you have an injury, like your ankle is broken."  Okay then.

I don't really know how the ribs right under my bra line are rubbing against my hip bones.  I haven't done anything that I am aware of to injure myself or strain that area.  No, it isn't a sex injury.  I would definitely walk a little taller if that were the case.  So, there it is, my diagnosis.  Modern medical miracles happen everyday and what I am experiencing is the fact that I have gotten so fat that my upper body is crushing into the lower half.  I'm basically turning into Jabba the Hut.  In a nutshell.  I don't know what the medical term for that is, but it might be "Blobitis." 

I left the doctor frustrated.  I mean, what if something serious is happening?  How would we know?  What if I have gall bladder cancer or some other highly difficult to detect disease?  What if one of my internal organs is about to burst?  I mean, when I Googled what could be happening, there were a lot of possibilities.  If Google can think outside the box, why can't the doctors?  So, if I don't have a severed finger or broken leg, who is going to help me? Who do we turn to?  I'm not trying to convince myself I have some crazy disease, I'm just saying, I don't want to be sitting here with aforementioned  terminal disease saying, "if only they had detected it earlier, they could have saved me...."  You know?  I'm just saying.  Who's the guy we go to that actually cares?  The guy that is willing to to think about what is going on?  I mean, if Google could come up with so many possibilities, why can't my doctor say, "you know what, you're probably not turning into a blob, let's look a little deeper."  That's all I'm asking.  Is that so much? 

Synonyms for blob

lump, chunk, clod, clot, clump, dollop, glob, gob, gobbet, hunk, knob, nub, nubble, nugget, wad

 

Based on the Google definition of blob, I could have wadosis, nuggetitis, gobesity, globititis, body clot, chunkosity, lumpicolotis.

So, that's pretty much where I'm at.  The pain has lessened since Monday, but I might still be dying.  Some suggested I might have Shingles, but not sores have appeared and I don't have fever or flu-like symptoms, so I'm just assuming what I am experiencing falls under the general category of "broken."  A word I am familiar with.

I mean, I'm not a doctor, but if I had a stethoscope, I could be.  I can poke you in the ribs and ask if it hurts, too. I'll print out a certificate and hang it on the wall to make it official.

On that note, happy Saturday my friends.  I hope none of you have a need to go to the doctor.  Just know that we are all one day closer to death each day anyway.  It's just going to be fast-forward for some folks and the doctors don't know why that is...

 

WTF Wednesday

So...today.  What the fuck? It was like a roller coaster I could not get off of because the ride operator was high and didn't realize I'd been riding it for eight hours.  Seriously.

Woke up to find I had not locked Lola's stall door last night, so she had been traipsing about the barn all night.  Luckily, she could not get to the hay. I come in the house and the towels in the dryer I had been trying to dry the night before had been turned off.  Why?  Shark Bait said, "they were dry."  No, they were not dry.  It was an illusion.  They were warm, but when you let them cool off, they were not yet dry.  Thusly why I had turned the dryer on.  Both survivable moments, however.

I arrive at work and that is where the real trouble began. I'm barely past the guards desk, ready to head down the stairs to my lair [ Lair - noun; 1.a den or resting place of a wild animal: The cougar retired to its lair.] (hey, after my day, I felt I need to provide a definition) and I have someone (from another department, mind you)  telling me that the fixture for the water/ice machine has come off and water is spraying everywhere when you try and get water.  Additionally, the water is not as cold as it should be.  First of all, why in the hell would someone take the damn faucet thing off?  Seriously?  Have times gotten so tough we are stealing a piece of copper from the ice machine?  Has the janitor, who spends most of his time leaning on the cleaning cart or hanging in the break area, finally decided to give himself a bonus?  What?  Why?

I send an email out to the building advising them to remain calm. I knew if I didn't, people would bug me all damn day about it.  I wrote the following:

You forwarded this message on 9/23/2015 9:55 AM

This just in….3^rd floor break room ice/water machine is in distress!

 

I wasn’t even all the way to my desk this morning when the first reports of  tragedy in the breakroom came in.  It appears someone has taken the fixture off of the water machine, thusly causing water to spurt recklessly all over the humans using it.  Additionally, as if that isn’t enough drama for the Glass Palace, the water is also coming out warm.  For all of the people filling up their water jugs, this is a defcon 4 situation.  I, myself, got some ice out of the machine without any sort of issue or bodily injury and then went to the sink to fill up my water bottle.  It was at that time I noticed the cold water wasn’t really that cold at all, but thanks to the ice in my cup, I’m going to be okay.  I’m going to get chilled water.

 

So now what? First, remain calm.  Secondly, know that I have reported this issue to the Building Dude. No further action is required on your part except to go about your day with as much normalcy as you can until this situation is back under control. (hint: no one else needs to report this to me, to the two people that already have, THANK YOU Crime fighters!)

 

Additionally, if you, or anyone you know, has information on the suspect that has stolen the water fixture from the machine, please let the proper authorities know…like maybe Sean at the guard’s desk.  This likely happened after hours when Sean was not diligently manning his post.  I know this wouldn’t have happened during his watch.

 

Thank you, 

 

It wasn't long and someone arrived at my desk to report that someone in the break room found something odd in her cup.  Apparently, while filling her water cup yesterday, she didn't notice when it fell off in her cup.  So, today, she's like, "what's this...?"  Luckily, Camo Boy's BFF  was there and advised her it was the piece missing from the machine that was causing the issue.  Don't ask me how she didn't notice yesterday.  Was her water odd tasting?  Heavier?  I don't know.  I don't know what happens in this building where people drop bacon in random places and possible road kill is on the carpet.  I just don't know.  I sent out the following update:

 

 Subject: ***UPDATE**** FW: Breaking News re: Water/Ice Machine

I’m sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming, but I wanted to share information that just came in about the nozzle that fits on the water machine.  It has been located.  I repeat, it has been located.  Apparently it fell into someone’s cup yesterday while they were filling up and they didn’t know what it was or where it came from.  This morning when they went to fill up, poof, there it was, water nozzle, in their cup.  No word yet if the water tasted differently with the nozzle enhancement.

It has been put back on the machine by one of the civilians of the Palace, however, it is a bit loose still.  Be careful out there, we just don’t know when it will drop into someone’s water again.

Rest easy, Sean the Guard, justice has been upheld.  The Palace has been secured.

 

This seemed to calm down the work humans.

 

After that, honestly, the day is a blur.  I just remember a series of events that seemed so ridiculous.  Some of which I won't write about simply to secure my future employment.  Suffice it to say that someone is being a dirtbag.  And then others are making me shake my head.  One email I received had the word "wordage" in it instead of "verbiage."  Are we just making stuff up now?  Ever since they put the word "irregardless" in the dictionary and acknowledge it's existence, albeit incorrect, the whole English language has gone downhill.  I'm not saying I always use it correctly, but sometimes, I wonder.

 

Another thing that made me shake my head.  An email goes out stating in the subject line that people are needed at 1PM.  The body of the email says come to my office.  At 12:30pm, I have people at my desk confused because the email was confusing.  What part was confusing?  The part where you are needed at 1PM?  I don't get it.

 

Then, I have a guy come up to my desk.  He's from some other department, IT or something, I don't know, I wasn't  completely invested.  He had been meeting with my boss for a while.  He says, "So you're the one that sends out all those emails, it's nice to meet you.  At first when I got them, I thought, wow, that's a different way to communicate, and then I thought it was funny.  I could never write an email like that and get away with it."  I laughed and said, "yeah, I can't believe that I do, but for some reason...I do.  But, if I go missing one day, it's cuz I got fired for one of my emails."  I speak the truth.

 

I think I'm probably like Tom Cruise in Top Gun.  I fly by the tower, but I still get to fly!  People seem to like the humor.  HR had me write some emails for recruiting.  Not too Cassondra-ish, but they let me put a smidge of myself in there to create interest. The HR gal came down and told me that everyone, including the President and the VP and everyone loved the recruiting emails I wrote and wanted to know if it was okay if the recruiting team sent them out instead of me and if that was a problem.  I'm not going to get famous off of them and it isn't like it was my cutting edge stuff.  Whatevs.  Next time, they'll need to buy the rights.

 

Anyway, I'm just trying to finish my day when the Building Dude comes down to talk to me.  One hour of my day, gone.  He's a chatty fellow.  We are trying to find a space for us to use for a special project and that discussion took forever.  Then, one of the IT guys comes over to ask about a ticket I put in.  He doesn't know how to fix my problem, but proceeds to tell me all about how he doesn't like to make phone calls because his wife over analyzes all his phone calls and he's had mean bosses and stuff and now he really has anxiety about calling people and blah, blah, blah.   There is 15 minutes I am never going to get back.  Nice guy, but I'm exhausted.

 

So, combine all the stuff I can't talk about and the craziness of the day and then me having to stop by the store to pick up 250 freaking plates and forks for tomorrow's launch party, which is half of my pain right now, and then fast forward to Gelato getting put in the cart and here I am blogging and eating Gelato.  Shark Bait just came home and said, "ooooo, what's that?" and went to reach for my pink plastic spoon that I use especially for ice cream and I screamed, "Don't you dare touch that, I will CUT YOU WITH THIS PLASTIC SPOON!!!"  He laughed and tried to grab it again.  My eyes changed to that of a crazed woman. I said, "you think I'm joking, I'm not.  I'll fucking kill you over this."  

 

And that is how you handle that.

 

It isn't like there isn't more in the freezer.  Don't judge.

 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go crack a Mike's or something.  Gelato doesn't fix everything.

Weighing on my mind...

I have not written about my weight-loss "journey" in a while.  Mostly because I feel like there isn't much to tell and I feel like I have let myself down, along with everyone who was pulling for me.  I have avoided the discussion, the process and mostly...the scale.  It isn't like I didn't know what it would say when I got on it this morning. I struggle to put on clothes everyday.  I know what I've done. I know what has happened. I am ashamed and discouraged. And, while I don't spend a lot of time talking or writing about my journey these days, there is never a moment that passes that I am not thinking about it. Not one moment that I am not thinking about what I'm eating, drinking, how much I'm moving, if my clothes are tight or if I look in a mirror. There is no escape.

I saw the Rug Doctor last week and told her how I was feeling.  I told her that it would be so much easier if I was either completely engaged in my success and dedicated to reaching my goals or completely accepting of my failure and inevitable lifestyle. This in-between place is hard.  This constant struggle with myself is exhausting and defeating.  She said, "That's because you have hope."  I immediately stopped her, "Don't you dare say I have hope, I don't."  I do not have hope because there is no reason to have it.  I continued and told her that I had a desire for my life to be different, that is completely different than having hope.  She said that this desire for change is a distant cousin to hope. I don't care what family tree desire and hope are on, I just know I'm not related. 

The Rug Doctor and I continued on talking about where I am at and what that means.  I mean, it's a journey, it isn't over, right?  I feel like it's over.  I feel like I had this huge momentum after the surgery to get started, to change.  And, little by little, I did. And then life happens, as it does, and things happen and my progress slowed and then stopped when I got hurt. All of the expectations I had for myself, to be healthier and stronger and wearing a little black dress, where are they now? Instead of a long stall, I have now gone backwards and gained weight back.  Most people can't understand what that feels like or what that means to a lifetime fat person. I saw a light for a while and for the first time, I was not just thinking about moving towards it, I was running towards it. And just when it was at it's brightest, it suddenly was gone. All the milestones...wrapping a towel all the way around, going to Victoria Secrets...those boots, my first pair of knee high boots.  I literally sat there during my session with tears raging down my face and sobbing about those damn boots.  Those damn boots that represented so much to me, that meant so much, that made me feel powerful.  Like I had accomplished something. Those damn boots that are sitting in my closet right now that currently don't fit. I cried so hard and it hurt so bad. Over boots. Cried over them like they were a lost child. Even at this moment writing about them cuts me to the core.

So, why write about this stuff?  No one wants to read gloom and doom.  I write it because I feel like a fraud.  Because I feel like I promised myself and those around me such big things and I failed and it hurts.  And I write because of the people that read this blog, for whatever reason, and struggle with weight just like I do. It would not be the real journey if I left this part out.  This hard part.  This part that sucks. I am, if nothing else, real.  I try to be, anyway.  I can't pretend that everything is okay and that I am okay and that this is just a bump in the road.  That's bullshit.  This is hard. I have no more figured out today than I did three years ago.  I have people that told me that I inspired them to lose weight.  That cuts the deepest. I sure as hell am not an inspiration now.  I'm pretty much just the girl that can tell you what to do if you want to throw it all away. Anyway, whatever, it's where I am. No denying that.

And so, the journey...I so hate that word...journey...the journey is far from over (unless I die tonight or sometime soon and then, it's totally over), so I have no choice.  I just keep fighting. It's all I know, it's what I do. I have no new program or surgery or plan. I just have to do it. That's always been the case. And, I better do something soon because now I have this stupid short hair and this big pumpkin head and I look like Tommy Boy in all my clothes.

That pretty much concludes tonight's episode of, "Wow, she's gained a lot of weight back. How sad."

Next milestone...clown pants.

My New Friend Wednesday...

Some of you may recall that I have been mourning the loss of my Boot Bitch family over the last several months.  Some of the girls have moved on to other jobs outside of the company and some to other jobs within the company. The long and short of it is, I don't get to see my bitches. With all of my bitches leaving me, it's been lonely.  Sassy Pants recommended that I should really befriend one of her friends that I had seen around.  So, I did what anyone in my situation would do, I walked up to my "new friend" and said, "So, we are going to be friends now."  My "new friend" seemed scared, but willing.  We have since been chit chatting and getting to know each other.  Today we reached the point in our evolving friendship where she has been bequeathed a blog name.  The time had come.

It all stared out simply enough.  She came up to my desk to ask me how I was doing.  She then shared that she had a tough night the night before with a bitchy customer, so when she went home, she had to drink wine.  Well, first she had to go to Whole Foods and see if she could find some vegan mac n cheese.  And, there was a coupon for it, so that seemed like the thing to do.  I stopped her right there.  She just went into a realm I could not understand for a variety of reasons.  Let me break it down for you.

1. She had a hard day and she decided to treat herself, maybe even be a little "destructive" with comfort food.  Her comfort food was VEGAN MAC n CHEESE.  That's comfort food?  Really?  You're going to show you're body you love it and you are sorry the day sucked and you went to Whole Foods and bought vegan mac n cheese.  Whoa, easy girl.
2. She went to Whole Foods.  She didn't go to the liqueur store, or Baskin Robbins, she went to Whole freaking Foods.
3. She had a coupon.  I mean, if you are going to live a little, buy something bad for you and pay full price, because why?  Because you don't give a shit and bitches be crazy!

I sat there and blinked at her.  She was unaffected. She felt she had done the logical thing. Look, Spock, if I need comfort, I am going to fuck some things up, eat some bad ass food and not care what I spend.  This rational, logical, non harmful approach is something I can't even get my mind around.  I questioned our ability to relate as friends.  I thought maybe it was a good idea to clear the air on some other topics, so I started the inquisition.

•  I bet you don't even step on cracks in the sidewalk, do you? She never did answer this question. Curious, but I bet she doesn't, she just doesn't want to admit it.  She wants to be badass on some level.
• Do you use the F word? Do you say Fuck?  NO.  She tries to keep her communication clean...but sometimes she thinks it.  She doesn't say Fuck?  Mind. Blown.
• Do you speed in your vehicle?  She did once, but got pulled over, so she never has since.  I can't even talk to this girl.
• What is your stance on pre-marital sex? She is okay with it because it is possible for it to be enjoyable.  It's possible?  Or it is?  I didn't delve into that.
• Do you recycle?  She tries to.  Does she compost?  Most of the time.  Sweet Maryanne, I don't know what to do with all this information.
• What do you do if the Jehovah Witnesses come to your door? Are you nice to them?  She says she reacts completely unemotional and tells them she doesn't believe in God.  That's when it hit me, why didn't I see it before? She is like the character Wednesday from The Adams Family.  Her blog name is henceforth - Wednesday. 

Our conversation continued.  Out of the blue, she did admit to cat-calling at a Mormon boy, as if that showed her commitment to a life of shenanigans.  There may be hope for this relationship, after all.

And then, things got really deep.  I told her that she had just inspired me to blog, which I hadn't done in a while and that I was giving her a blog name.  I told her it was Wednesday.  She seemed to like it.  We then talked about what day of the week I would be, if my name was a day of the week.  I said I would probably be a Thursday.  You know, not Wednesday, I couldn't see myself as that, and I couldn't be a Friday full of fun and optimism.  And Tuesday, who's a Tuesday?  Not me, not Wednesday.  But maybe I could be a Monday, full of angst, stress and low energy.  I mean, Thursday, that is like, almost there, almost to Friday, but still hanging on.  So yeah, I could be a Monday or a Thursday, but not the other days.  Don't get me started on Saturday or Sunday, I'm not going to be a weekend day.  That's just too wild.  Anyway, I think we resolved some important stuff today.

I still am unsure of Sassy Pants recommendation, I mean, Wednesday doesn't say the F word.  I don't even know what to do with that.  Her go to comfort food doesn't have an animal in it.  Animals are tasty.  I don't know if we can go the distance, but if she cat-called a Mormon boy, well, that's something.

She may well end up being as colorful as my Boot Bitches, but it is going to take a while to see all the colors.  This one...this one isn't a sharer like the others.  Again, I don't know what to do with that.  I'm a sharer.

That is all I have to share today, really, but I just had to share with my readership that I have encountered something I do not understand and it will likely come up again.  This theory of responsible, calm reactions to things in life that suck.  I feel like I just discovered a new planet in the universe. More studies must be done.  Ooooo, I could have named her Lab Rat  or Big Bang Theory....but, she really is a Wednesday.  I can't go back on my blog name intuition.

Welcome to the blog, Wednesday.

Hypnotherapy?

Well, after some prodding by my pal Stepford Barbie, I went to a hypnotherapy appointment today.  I was immediately concerned about my decision upon arrival to the office.  I didn't see any signage and all the windows had blinds drawn.  My immediate concern was that I had just driven up on an underground prostitution ring. I mean, I was in Lynnwood.  I started to consider whether I should go in or not.  I mean, I had shaved my legs this morning and I was wearing a skirt that could be pulled up shorter, so, I could pull it off, either way.  And, if it was a prostitution operation, at least I could come out with some cash and a satisfied libido.  Look at me being positive!  It was after I had resigned myself to possibly starring in an adult film that I saw the signage upstairs on the second floor.  Okay, it seems legit. 

I entered the office and it was very nice inside.  The hypnotherapist gal, Ewa, was very nice, well dressed, well put together and genuine.  We spent over an hour talking about how I'm a hot mess.  I think she spends 30 minutes with most people, but as we all know, I've got stuff on my mind.  She listened, wrote things down and then spent some time talking to me about things I had said and how I needed to change my thinking.  Look, we all know I have negative thoughts, but I think I raised the bar just a little when it comes to being a challenge.  She asked about my thoughts when I was eating peanut M&M's (the ones my boss "hides" in her office for us to stress eat on) and how that dialogue went.  I told her how I knew better and knew I shouldn't, but would anyway, blah, blah, blah.  It was then that she told me something very enlightening.  She said, "We can't possibly know why peanut M&M's came into your life.  We don't know the reason and there is no reason to spend a lot of time thinking about it.  We can know that they have served their purpose and it's time for them to leave your life.  Again, we don't know the purpose, but we can know that our body was not meant to live on or process peanut M&M's."

 Okay.  Now, you know I'm going to spend some time thinking about it.  I'll get back to you on my findings, but for right now, all I got is that they are tasty and are in constant supply.  But, I will concede, it's time to say good-bye.  Maybe now broccoli can have a purpose in my life that I won't really understand but live with until such time that it no longer needs to be here.  Maybe that time is when I can't stop passing gas because I've had too much broccoli.  I don't know, this is a lengthy process people, I can't be expected to have all the answers right away!

We then talked about my hatred of my body.  This is when shit got real.  Did you know that there is research proving that our cells have a memory and feelings of sorts.  They can hear your self-talk. Apparently, I have pissed off my cells and they just might be holding on to the fat as a defense mechanism or to get back at me.  I've essentially hurt their feelings.  That is a lot of cellular apologies I'm going to have to make.  I guess they must have had their feelings hurt every time I looked in the mirror and said, "OMG, YOU are so FAT!  Look at those huge thighs!"  My cells, the ungrateful little bastards, then raised up an army of cellulite to fight for them.  Apparently, they are like Marine cellulite.  Semper Fi bitches!  No one leaves these thighs without a weekend pass!  I've got a lot of work to do to disassemble the troops.  So, my body is pissed because I'm mean to it.  GOT THE MEMO, cellulite, stand down!

We then talked a lot about what it would be like if I let go of all that negative talk and let things happen organically and allowed the process to work.  Blah, blah, blah.  Then, she gave me a zebra eye mask, I kicked back in the chair and allowed my limbs to melt away.  She was all soothing and stuff and talked to me and asked me some questions. I did get seriously relaxed and was conscious of what she was saying and what was going on.  I do not believe at any time that I acted like a chicken or did the macarena.

I didn't really feel any different when I left.  Not uplifted or down, just...me.  I did start to get a toothache on the way home, so I am partially convinced she has conditioned me to have mouth pain so I can't eat.  I'm not saying that is 100% true, but it sure is a coincidence, don't you think?

The big test will be when I go to work tomorrow.  Do I walk in wearing a t-shirt and tennis shoes, take down the wall on the front of my desk and then kick back?  Do I go tell "The Bobs" who should be fired and give them my mission statement?  I don't know.  I can't possibly know the full effects of what transpired during the two hours today.  I know I'm not giddy and light like my good pal Stepford Barbie, but my issues are different than hers, so maybe my behaviors will manifest in a different way? 

I asked the hypnotherapist if I should come back or how this works.  Of course, every person is different, every person responds in their own time.  Some just need a session or two and they are good to go.  Others need to come in once a week or so.  I could tell she thought I was the latter of the two.  I guess I'll see how it goes.  Am I sold on it?  I don't know.  Do I need to do some work on my self talk?  Yes I do.

I do ask one favor of my work peeps, however.  If any of you see me with a stapler headed down to the basement where I am unable to see the squirrels, please stop me.  I don't want to go to prison for lighting the place on fire. 

Here are the stages of thought process in my head during the session.  Thoughts ranged from, "WTF?" to "eh, seems legit."

Groupon for Life Change

So, I've been pretty down for a while now.  Have not been blogging much as I don't really have much to say that hasn't been said at some point in my life already.  Blah, blah, blah.  I've proclaimed that I was going to live and try and live life to the fullest this summer.  Well, that has not happened and I'm in a serious slump.  These things happen. Repeatedly. I'm really just down on myself because I am counting up my weight loss failures and feeling hopeless.  Weight has come back that I vowed I would never let back.  I'm kind of a fraud.  At any rate, there are some attitudes that all the Prozac and therapy in the world is not going to change.  And, it is my attitude about my body and food that drags me down more than anything. Blah, blah, blah....

Anyway, all that brings me to today's inner dialogue, which I shall now put to the written word.  I have a good friend that has also been struggling with depression and feeling hopeless, but for very different reasons.  She talked to one of her friends that went to a hypnotherapist and it changed her friends life.  So, my friend went.  She got a deal on Groupon for a discounted session. She called me right after her appointment and was on cloud nine.  Literally, happier than I have ever heard her.  A carefree quality to her voice that I did not recognize.  She was laughing and looking forward to the weekend.  I was admittedly taken aback.  I didn't know if she had been slipped a roofie or what.  She was like, "OMG, Cassondra, you have to try this!!! It will change your life!"  I'm like, okay, uh-huh, will do, sure thing...okay, bu-bye now.  I actually tried hypnotherapy for weight loss several years ago and went a couple of times and didn't really feel like I was getting anything out of it.  The whole time I kept thinking, "Am I hypnotized now?....how about now?  I think I could be...no, not yet."  Mind you, I have no idea what one feels like if they are hypnotized, but I've seen stuff on TV.  This wasn't like that.

I saw my friend again today.  It's been over a week since she went through this session.  She is still giddy and happy.  It's freaking me out, honestly.  I asked her, "Are you sure you aren't just happy because you think you should be because you went to the appointment?  Like, your mind is just pretending to think what you wish it would?"  She adamantly said no. She is urging me to go.  I started to think about it.  And that is where the trouble started.

What if I go to hypnotherapy and it works and I start acting all happy?  Holy shit!  What would that look like?  Being carefree? Spontaneous...not worried.  It isn't possible.  It isn't.  We all know I am close to dying at any moment from a collision on I-5, from some fat person disease or  from a mega earthquake.  It's just a matter of time.  Or, even more likely, I could be home alone and become trapped in one of my FCD's (Fat Controlling Device).  It almost happened tonight.  You don't even know the danger. You've seen videos of wildlife stuck in traps or nets?  Same thing.

What if I start to go to work in the morning and say, "Good Morning!" And I mean it? NO, it's too much.  What if she programs me to not care when stall one is clogged? That's going too far.  I could be on the verge of a major identity crisis just thinking about this.  What if I stop being sarcastic?  Is that even possible?  I might shut down my Angry Pony blog and start one on inspirational quotes and shit.  This could be a major disaster.

Let's talk about food.  What if it's Shark Week and I've been deprogrammed for chocolate and I'm like, "Damn, if I don't get some carrots or broccoli, I'm gonna seriously lose it!" Or, worse yet, I start to look at Shark Week as a blessing and as a symbol of womanhood and what life is all about?  I'm starting to have anxiety about it.  Serious anxiety.  Maybe she can help me with anxiety?  Like, what if I order pizza for everyone at work and someone that really needed thin, gluten-free crust didn't get that and I just said, "oh, I'm sorry..." and gave zero fucks about it?  I can't even imagine that scenario.

What if I wasn't worried about the mega quake or dying of cancer or global warming and I just let everyone who's anyone merge in front of me on the freeway and I just listen to Enya all the way home? What if I just look for the joy in life?  I'm practically trembling in fear right now.

What if I become a gym bunny and start taking selfies at the gym everyday and wearing those spandex shorts with a thong thing over them? Borat style?  (Do girls still wear that?)  And then I end up in spin class and do yoga and shit?  I start walking around the locker room naked  and talking to all my workout bitches about my spray tan while my boobs jiggle around?  It could happen. (As the Rug Doctor says, "Yes, is it possible, but it's not likely.")

OR, worse.  What if I just think I'm "the shiznit" and walk around in a mini skirt and go to spin class, but I'm still in this fat body and make an ass out of myself and then for some strange reason, every time someone says, "Cassondra, did you get my expense report done?" I start inexplicably doing the Macarena?  I mean, I have concerns.  My friend seems okay, but she is bordering on Stepford Friend.  I don't even know what to do with her right now.  It's like, I can't look away, but I'm scared to take my eyes off of her.  I'm not 100% positive she hasn't been brainwashed.  My friends are dark...not this light and happy thing I don't understand.  Instead of being Boot Bitches we'll be...the Boot Belles or something with zero street cred.

I don't know how to be anymore than I am.  Which, honestly, is kind of the problem.  I'm not oblivious to that, just so you know.  I know at least one of you is thinking, "Duh, maybe you should try to care less and just find the daily joys."  It's people like you...you people...I'm not like you.  I do see joys here and there, but I'm focused on the big picture.  And maybe it's the wrong big picture. Maybe I'm focusing on the picture of the possessed clowns hacking up a baby bunny when I should be focusing on the picture of the butterfly landing gently on the petal of a flower while a curious little girl watches with amazement in her eyes.  Apparently the art gallery I visit is different than yours.  Maybe my GPS doesn't lead me to your art gallery.  I only go to the one I know instead of trying to find a new one in a town I don't know.

This shit just got deep.

So, anyway, I bought the damn Groupon and I'm going to hypnotherapy this week.  I'll give it a try. I've tried everything else and failed at everything else.  If the next blog you read is me talking about how effing happy I am (which is doubtful)...be afraid.  I am.

PhD in Cutting Paper

Today I don't want to talk about the fact that I had to be enveloped in a strangers fart at the check-stand at Safeway.  I don't want to talk about eating a donut.  I don't even want to talk about the rage I felt when I walked over to get the boss a quarter-pounder with cheese at McDonalds and then decided to get a happy meal myself so that I could get a swearing minion toy, which I didn't get.  I don't want to talk about how I had to say good-bye to another friend that is leaving the Glass Palace.  I don't.  None of that.

Today, I want to talk about the inevitable end of society as we know it.  How do I know end of times are near?  Interns, that's how.  The project was simple.  Take these flyers and cut them in half.  Use a paper-cutter.  There were somewhere between 2-300 sheets of card stock to be cut.  Intern#1 (whom, I really do like) brings me the box of flyers and says, "We tried to cut these, but....it didn't really work so well."  I looked at what they had done.  It was paper homicide.  I said, "Were you using scissors or a paper cutter?"  She said, "The paper cutter...but we couldn't really figure it out."

STOP.

A paper cutter is a block of wood with a straight blade on a handle.  This block of wood has a grid on it so you can line the paper up for a straight cut.  You don't need a degree to operate it (but thank God I have one for times like these).  You don't need safety goggles, you don't need a certification or steel-toed boots.  What you need is some common sense.  This baby isn't the "i-cutter Galaxy s6" okay? You don't need an app to use it.  You put the mother trucking paper in there, line it up and pull the handle with the blade down.  There are no instructions or operation manuals with the cutter. Just keep your fingers out from underneath the blade.  And, I do know, from past experience, you can fit your neck under it, but it won't actually chop off your head.  We just don't keep it that sharp.  Anyway, There is no self-help for this thing on-line...or wait...let's go to "The Google."  Turns out, that indeed, there is a video for that:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25x-zoLcLmE

So, anyway, I look at the box of uncut flyers that were handed over to me.  You could tell they had put, like, 30 sheets, at one time, into the cutter and used brute force.  Why didn't they just ask me for the hack saw I have in my drawer?  Why didn't we rent a chainsaw?  I took it to my desk, got the archaic paper cutter and started in on my task, 2 - 4 sheets at a time.  Lo and behold, they came out great.  Is this a ploy by the interns to get out of work?  Did they form a master plan upstairs and then come down to see if I would perform like a monkey?  If so, well played, interns, well played.  If not, were they really not able to figure it out?  Did they circle it like a coon dog circles a porcupine wondering the best angle of attack?  What happened up there?  Did all of them pull their long, intern Barbie hair back away from their face and apply lip gloss so they could think more clearly?  Did they Google it?  I did after this incident, just to see if they had options.. Found a video within seconds.  They had options.  I'm just saying.  I mean, I don't even care if they wanted to take a selfie of themselves using the paper cutter for Instagram, just use the damn thing.

I didn't ask them to cut the flyers into the shape of a swan taking a dump on a lily pad.  It was one straight line.  These people are our future.  They are going to make decisions for us. They are going to go to school to become doctors.  If they can't cut paper, how in the hell are they going to cut open my chest and get to my heart?  What's next?  Will we have to stop using toilet paper and just have to go to tissue boxes because no one knows how to tear a piece of toilet paper off?  I don't know.  What else will they not be able to figure out?  I'm very worried.  Remember the guy that came in and stuck his visitor name tag to the sign-in sheet, wrote his name on it and then couldn't get it back off?  This is exactly what I'm talking about.

Based on today's activities, I'm just going to go turn on some Housewives of Orange County or something and dumb it down so that I fit in with everyone else.  I need to lower my expectations and the sooner the better.  I mastered that paper cutter today, but in a months time, I want to be able to say I've erased the knowledge from my head.  We have The Google.  There is no reason to retain anything or learn anything new for that matter.

I'm exhausted.  I know too much.  I need to go lay down.

Mega-Quake - I have concerns

I know many of you, especially those on the West Coast, have seen all the recent stories about the predictions of the next big earthquake.  The Mega-Quake we are due for.  It's supposed to happen within the next 50 years.  That means any moment forward through 50 years.  And if it doesn't happen by then, just continue to wait, because it's coming.  It's the mother of all earthquakes and many of us will die.  Specifically, everyone West of I-5 pretty much from Canada down through California.  If the earthquake doesn't kill you, the tsunami will.  We are pretty much waiting to die.  So, maybe you've heard about it?

Anyone that knows me knows that I am a bit of a worrier.  According to God's word, we aren't supposed to worry, we are supposed to have faith and all that.  What is going to happen is out of our hands, blah, blah, blah.  Look, since I'm a fatty and I'm poor, there is a lot of stuff I can't do, so in the time I'm not doing that stuff, I've got some time on my hands to think about this.  I mean, it's kind of freaking me out.  I mean, not really, but at the same time, I'm kind of worried.  I'm not, like, building a doomsday shelter or anything but that is just because I haven't had the time or funding.  Shark Bait says not to worry.  We aren't going to die and if it happens, he will come get me, no matter where I am, he will come for me.  This is all well and good, but I've got some concerns about how that is going to happen, as you may have guessed.

Yesterday Shark Bait and I were taking a drive in the truck and I brought the subject up again.  Shark Bait reiterated that we were going to be fine, if it even happened.  Oh, it's going to happen.  Haven't you seen the movie The Day After Tomorrow and the movie trailer for San Andreas?  Haven't you been watching the news and Facebook and all the media about it?  It's just a matter of time.  We don't know when.  We could be anywhere.  At home, at work, it could be the day we decide to go into the big city.  And, if we go into the big city, we are surely going to be among the first dead.  It's like he isn't even in touch with reality.  He said, "If it happens at work, you stay put and I will come get you.  I promise you, I'm coming for you.  If it happens, the first thing you are going to do is get to Safeway, get as much money as you can out of the cash machine and then get water and snacks.  You need water.  It's crucial.  I'll come home, take care of the animals and come for you." This lead to a lot of questions.

Me: What if you can't get home because all the bridges are out?
Shark Bait: I'll get there.  I'll swim if I have to.  If I have to abandon my truck and walk home, I will.
Me: That's going to take a long time and I don't want you swimming across the river, you could drown and if you are dead, you are of no use to me. I'm going to worry if you tell me you're swimming. No swimming.
Shark Bait: I won't drown, and it's only 20 miles, I can make that in a day. I've done 20 miles in a day before.
Me:  Recently? Because I don't see you walking 20 miles in a day.
Shark Bait: (looking at me irritated) I will do what I have to do.  I will get to you.
Me:  What if I'm dead? How will you know I'm alive.  I work in a five story building.  I could be trapped in there, either squished or dying a slow painful death screaming for someone to save me, but no one does because there is so much trauma everywhere, there isn't enough manpower.  I could die there, my voice haunting the building and then my carcass starts to decay.  Who will feed the dogs if we are both dead?  How long with the dogs and horses live without food?
Shark Bait: I will know you are alive.  I will believe it and you will be.  You are not going to die.
Me: Even if you do get home, how will you get to me?  There are a lot of bridges.  It will be chaos.
Shark Bait: I'll make it.  I'll hook up the USS Squishy and come get you. And if you leave work, leave a note for me, so when I get there, I know where you went.  If you go to a shelter and then leave there, leave a note so I know.  Leave a note about what path you are taking so I can find you.  If you start home on foot, make sure you have water and cash to buy a ferry ride across the water.  People will be charging outlandish rates because people are animals of opportunity. Just let me know the path you are taking.  And if you find a wheelbarrow, take it.
Me: Why do I need a wheelbarrow?
Shark Bait: For your stuff.
Me: I'm not pushing a fucking wheelbarrow on my incredible freaking journey over God only knows what kind of terrain.
Shark Bait: Your back won't be able to take it with a backpack, not carrying all that stuff.
Me: How much stuff do you think I'm going to be carrying?  I can live off my fat, I need water and maybe a coat and blanket.  I don't know, what if this happens in the dead of winter.  We could die out there.
Shark Bait: Well then, wait for me.
Me: How will I know you are coming?  How long should I wait?  How do I know you didn't die?
Shark Bait: I'm not going to die, and I don't care how long it takes, I will come for you and I will find you.  I won't rest until I do.
Me: But who's going to feed the dogs while you are braving the wild frontier?  And what about the horses.  How do we know if my Mom will be home to take care of them?  How do we know if she made it? Should we put messages on Facebook to communicate if we find any signal?  
Shark Bait: Don't worry about the dogs and horses.  I'll ride the horses to come get you if I need to.
Me: How will they get across the water?
Shark Bait: We don't know the bridges will be useless, we just won't know.  But, I'll get to you.
Me:  Okay, so say we make it and we get back home, then what? Will we have to live primitively for days, weeks, years?  Do we have no jobs and no money? How do we live?  Will we turn into looters and live by the gun in the streets at high noon?

And so the conversation went on and on.  I'm not even going to sugar coat it, it was painful.  Mostly for Shark Bait.  He says to just have faith and know that he is coming for me, like he is a freaking super hero or something.  I mean, I guess he is my hero in a way, but come on, it's going to be a Mega-Quake.  They are saying the Tsunami is going to take out the entire coast and then the land will be under water.  We are not pineapples under the sea, we can't live under water.  We can't.  Will says we can go to his parents house in Eastern Washington.  What about the ponies and all our stuff?  Will we have to be like they were on the Oregon Trail?  I don't know how many weeks it would take us to get there, but it would be a long haul.  We don't even have a wagon.  Do we have to build one? Steal one?

Or, I could get hit by a car tomorrow and never have to worry about the earthquake.  Or, it could happen when I'm like 80, if I live that long, and if that is the case, I guess I'll just sit there and pray for the tsunami to take me.

Look, I'm just saying, I have questions. I should just have faith, I guess, but I work on the third floor, what are the odds I am going to survive this thing? What if the building almost crushes, but there are a bunch of us in there living in little air pockets but the sewage from all the toilets is floating throughout the building.  That's how I picture it going down.  Who's gonna call maintenance about that?  What if I'm trapped in one of those air pocket places with the most annoying person in the building?  Will I just slam my head against the nearest piece of concrete and end it all?  What if just my arm is trapped under part of the rubble?  Will I have to gnaw my arm off to free myself?  I guess I'd have a snack for later. 

Say the building doesn't collapse.  Say we make it, but there is no clean water supply.  So, next thing you know, we are drinking contaminated water, the mosquitoes start biting us that were living at the turd laundry just a few miles down on I-5, then we get Malaria or some other disease and it starts to spread. Now, we are all sick, we all have open sores and are dying a slow painful death.  It spreads all over the state and then the nation and then possibly the world, but probably just the nation, unless someone takes a flight to like Africa.  Like those people need anymore drama and disease.  I mean, this could be catastrophic.

Am I the only one considering the ramifications of the Mega-Quake that is bound to be the end of civilization on the West Coast?  Anyone else?  Anyone?  I can't worry for everyone, surely there must be someone else.

This would be a perfect time to say things like, "live each day as if there is no tomorrow."  "Make sure to say I love you every time you get the chance as you may never get another."  This is probably the time for that, but seriously, if the Mega-Quake happens, it isn't even going to matter if you are wearing clean or dirty underwear because we are all going to be shitting ourselves and then kissing our ass good-bye.

I think that sums up my concerns, mostly, but not completely.  I could go on and on.  I have a lot more questions.  Maybe next time.  I have to go live life to the fullest until I go to bed.

Sleep tight, if you can.  Hope we make it till morning. Love you (in case I don't get a chance to say it later).

Movie Review - Magic Mike XXL

Tonight I went to see the movie Magic Mike XXL with my sister and my aunt.  I would like to take a few moments and provide my review.  It's actually kind of "our" review as my sister and I discussed it at length after the show.

First of all, I'd like to say, I love Channing Tatum.  He's hot, his body is hot and I suspect he is a nice human being.  I don't have a lot to base this on, but I think he probably isn't a Hollywood douche bag. I just have a feeling about him.  Some of those feelings we can talk about, some of those feelings are reserved for my alone time.  Anyway, I digress.

After watching approximately three billion movie previews before we got to the big show, I was delighted to see Channing making an early appearance when the movie finally did start.  He's still hot as ever and his co-stars are hot, too.  Plenty of eye candy.  Two thumbs up for scenery. 

I don't want to ruin the movie for anyone, so I don't want to give away the very intricate plot (p.s. spoiler alert, there was no intricate plot), so I will try and speak in generalities.  First of all, Channing Tatum, I mean Magic Mike, welding in his garage is hot.  Seeing him start dancing all over and dry humping a wooden table is hot.  I mean, I wanted to be that wooden table.  I wanted to feel the wood.  I wanted Magic Mike to dance on me like a pole on a stage.  We liked this part of the movie.

After that, turns out Mike and all his stripper buddies hit the road on their last big hurrah to the stripper convention in Myrtle Beach.  If there really is such a convention, I want to go and make it rain on someone, you know what I mean, ladies?  Make. It. Rain.  I want to be a freaking monsoon, people. Anyway, they are driving cross country in a freaking yogurt truck because one of them has a dream to have a yogurt truck.  Okay, this is dumb.  I don't care if he wants a yogurt truck.  Why are they traveling in a revamped taco truck that they are now making yogurt smoothies in?  Why?  There isn't even good seating.  It's not sanitary.  Apparently, they must have felt the same because then they start popping "Molly" and everyone gets freaking crazy.  It kind of made me want to do some Molly.  Whatever place they were in, I wanted to be there.

On their trek, still jacked on Molly, they stopped at a convenience store where there was a lady working there, who likely had not smiled in years.  Stone cold bitch.  Well, this was a great opportunity for the one dude, who was losing his confidence as a stripper, to go in and make her smile.  After exploding a bag of Cheetos and spurting an Aqua Fina from his groin, she finally smiled.  This part was funny, we liked it.

After that, they end up crashing the yogurt truck into a bunch of trees because they were still high on Molly and decided to meditate while driving.  This is a bad idea for any of you considering it. The driver dude ends up in a hospital, now they are in a bind. Blah, blah, blah, they end up at this rich chick's house that has kind of a personal strip club, it's pretty amazing.  Those stripper guys did stuff to those girls that was pretty...wow. One of the ladies was a really big lady and this guy is all up on her picking her up and swinging her around and stuff.  I felt weird about this.  Awkward.  I get that fat girls like strippers, too, but it was weird.  The good news is, she must have been mostly built of marshmallow fluff instead of actual poundage because that guy was flipping her around like she was a blow up doll.  Side note: I'm pretty sure Shark Bait cannot pick me up like that. 

So, after that, all the stripper buddies end up at some girls house that they met earlier in the movie on a beach outside a drag queen club.  When they get there, she is outside, but her mom and all her mom's cougar friends are hanging out inside.  They all latch on to the strippers and it is a regular Ya-Ya-Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants experience as they drink wine and talk about how sad their boring lives are. There is one guy that apparently has a really big package and that hasn't had sex in five months because his peener is too big for the ladies, but he ends up hooking up with the one mom who never had sex with anyone except her husband who recently left her because he was gay.  We don't get to see this going down, but he gets a high five for it the next day.

My sister and I are kind of pissed there is no on screen sex in this movie.  It's kind of bullshit.  I mean, I look around at the theater and let me tell you, it was full of women who needed to see some ass, crotch bulge and hot sex.  They needed it, I needed it and we didn't get it. Bullshit.  There is one girl that Magic Mike is kind of connected to in the movie, but she is a lesbian.  STOP.  I didn't come to see Channing fucking Tatum have a lesbian friend in this movie. Who wrote this, his wife?  Bullshit!  If this is fantasy, it's my freaking fantasy along with all those other poor women in the theater that are eating their popcorn like a cougar eats a bunny rabbit.  Okay?  Bullshit.  That theater was not full of lesbians.  Lesbians don't care of about peeners, straight girls do (100% of my lesbian friends have verified this to be true). Beef, that's what we want. 

Ok, so they finally make it to the big show in Myrtle Beach and this is where shit gets real. They go to the hardware store to get some supplies to build some stuff for the stage.  And let me tell you, these boys know how to build a swing a girl wants to be in.  Finally, we get to the dancing.  Halle-freaking-lluiah.  However, in our opinion, they leave their pants on way too long.  We needed more thong action much sooner.  I didn't pay to see your abs Channing, I want to see that ass.  There were a lot of girls getting crotch thrusts in their face, but it was with the pants on.  What fun is that?  For the lesbian girl on stage with Magic Mike, I'm sure she could give a care less, but frankly, I was upset by the amount of clothes being worn.  I only really got to see Channing ass the last couple minutes of the movie.  And another thing, they were showcasing a lot of fat girls.  A lot of dancing up on fat girls.  One girl even had her dress pulled up and you saw her Spanx.  What is that all about?  What are you saying?  Why did she have to be wearing Spanx?  I mean, I'm glad there was equal opportunity for fat girls getting gyrated on, I think the Spanx shot was unnecessary.

My sister and I would like to say we believe that there was an overall lack of male nudity.  No shower scenes, not enough sweat and no sex.  If 50 Shades of Grey has taught us anything, it's that there are a shitload of horney women in America and on this day, at this movie, a lot of women went home and had to watch porn to get to their happy place.  This movie was just not enough.

Overall, we did enjoy the over-use of the F word, the use of whipped cream, the dancing and the bodies we did get to see.  It was worth the show, but it did come up a little short in the happy ending department.  It was kind of like Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure meet's Chipendales Dancers.  It did inspire us, and my aunt, to want to go to the hardware store on the way home.  Brings a whole to new meaning to the phrase "if you build it, they will come..." (shameless Field of Dreams quote).

And that's a wrap. 

"Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure meets Chippendale's dancers.  3 out of 5 stars" - Cassondra & Theresa

Disclaimer: We may have to go see it again to make sure this movie review is accurate.