2016 - Seven Things

Well, it's that time.  It's the end of another year.  The last few years I have done kind of a year in review blog, so I thought I should probably keep up with tradition.  I've kind of struggled with what to write about and a friend challenged me to think of seven positive things that happened during 2016 and to write about that.  So, she wants me to do a positive spin.  Huh.  I mean, I can try that...I guess.

Let me think...seven positive things in 2016...

So, I think the year got off to a pretty bumpy start with having to move over Christmas last year when we didn't want to and then having a series of things go wrong shortly thereafter, but I am thankful that we settled in and made it work no matter how many things died under our house.  To date, we have extracted two dead possums and one dead rat.  To be fair, one of my friends, Lula Death Roe, has a husband that is in the "extraction" business.  This dead animal super hero was kind enough to extract the first dead animal for us and I felt the worst must be behind us. However, months later another one showed up. Due to it's location, we we were able to get it out. We sent it back to nature as a warning to the other animals seeking a burial plot under our house and prayed that would be the end of it.  We were not that lucky. Months after the second one we had an unbelievable third dead animal.  Once again, the dead animal super hero came out and got it taken care of.  I am so thankful that Lula Death Roe and her dead animal super hero husband bestowed such kindness upon us and helped us as that is a very expensive thing to hire someone to do.  It is unknown how much longer it will be before death is once again upon us, however, we pray it doesn't happen any time soon. These almost quarterly deaths must stop in 2017.  They just must.

So, that's two things, settling in and the gift of dead animal removal.

Another thing that I am thankful for is that my horses were able to go to my Mom's house in the middle of winter and be cared for.  Even though Mom was already full up with ponies and had no room at the Inn, she took in my ponies as if they were Mary and Joseph looking for a place to have the baby Jesus.  (I may have gone a little too far with that analogy but it was a pretty big deal to me.) She kept them until the spring and then my good friend Pal-O-Mino said, "bring Lola over and let her be our cow's friend and eat down our pasture."  I took Lola over there and I was able to start riding her more and spending more time with Pal-O-Mino.  I had missed my relationship with Pal-O-Mino very much and now I had someone to ride with and to take me places to ride.  This really allowed me a lot of opportunity to ride. I had missed that so much at the cabin where there was no good place to ride and the ground was so hard during the dry months.  I was very thankful for that.  Later this fall, when I needed to find a place for Scruffy to be, Pal-O-Mino took her in as well and now Scruffy will get to be her son's horse.  My heart could not be happier that both of my ponies are safe and sound and again I find myself grateful for the generosity and friendship I have with Pal-O-Mino.

I think that counted as two things, so that brings me up to four.

This year has involved a lot of depression, a lot of hopelessness and a lot of giving up.  I am thankful that I have a loving husband, even if he has no idea what to do with my hopeless self, he is here, always. I am thankful for all of my family and friends.  The amount of support I get from them is truly unbelievable.  Without them, keeping my head above water would not be possible.  I don't know what I do to deserve their undying support, but I never take that for granted.  The are truly amazing and appreciated.  They get me.  No matter how dark the day or how negative the post I may put on FB, they get it and they are along for the ride without complaint. (I mean, sometimes they message Shark Bait and ask if I'm okay, or if I've lost my mind or if I need to be under surveillance...) Some of the people I have become friends with on the book of the face I have never even met in person, but somehow, we have created a kinship that is supportive and caring.  I mean, sure, some people are just here to read about when I am stuck in the bathroom in stall number one with my bracelet stuck to my tights on my butt as I'm tucking things in.  Other people want to know when I take a pair of scissors into the bathroom and cut off an FCD.  Sometimes people just want to know when something dies under my house and stinks for weeks, or when my dog does something cute or when I mock Shark Bait for doing something naughty.  Whatever the reason, I'm thankful you are here.

I'm pretty sure that being thankful for Shark Bait and for my family and friends is two things, that brings me to six.  I've got to pick one more thing I'm grateful for in 2016.  My job? My health? My dog? My ponies? I mean, yeah, but this last thing needs to be the icing on the cake, right?

I think the final thing I can be thankful for in 2016  is that it showed me that giving up and losing hope is not the answer to get where I want to be.  I have read over some of my past year in review blogs and there were times when I had hope, there were times when I realized some success, but there were many times I doubted myself.  Doubting is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was not confident the weight loss surgery would work. I was scared it wouldn't.  I was worried what I would do if the weight came back.  Well, lucky me, I have the answers to those questions.  It's time to regroup. I'm too old for this crap.  I don't know how many tomorrows are left and I can't continue to waste it in the hopes that someday it will work out.  I get pissed at all those memes with all that positive bullshit about believing in yourself and trying hard and not expecting things to work out unless you do the work and all that crap. I mean, who wants to hear that?  So much positivity, blech. But, the one that makes the most sense to me is, "You can't start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading the last one."  I've  been doing a lot of re-reading, unfortunately. That and Cosmo magazine.  I still haven't figured out the perfect smokey eye or where that one spot is everyone is talking about...

Someone said to me recently in a pretty intense conversation, "Cassondra, you need to stop thinking about how you don't like your hair, how you need to lose weight, whether you like your job or not, how much money you do or don't have and start thinking about and being thankful for what you do have. People aren't wrapped up in the things you don't have, people don't see you like that and it's time you start thinking about the things you do have and find joy in that.  You are so wrapped up in what you don't have, you can't see what you do."  Ouch....but on some days, maybe many days, that is true.  What if...what if I  try something different this year?  What if I try and give a little positivity a chance?  I've said it before, but maybe I try a little harder.

Maybe I'll start making memes of my own! Maybe my memes will become as popular as that mother trucking freaking Squatty Potty unicorn shitting rainbow ice cream cones.  I'd like to be thankful for no one posting that damn thing to my wall again. Please.  I can't even look at rainbow sherbet anymore.

Don't Be Mean to Me

Well, it's Whack-job Wednesday.  You know what that means, I gotta talk through my therapy session with the Rug Doctor.  Tonight I had much on my mind. I've been tied in knots and I needed to get it out there.

I shared my drama and told the Rug Doctor that I was so frustrated by life's path right now that I just could not see any way out of it all.  Well, except death.  And that's not to say I'm suicidal, that just means, that is the only way I see things being different and even in death I didn't know if it would truly be different.  I mean, would I be one of those people that end up in purgatory? Or, would I have so much unfinished business that I wouldn't be able to "cross over" and so I would have to haunt people?  That would be my luck.  Everyone else is up there in heaven relaxing, wearing white robes, eternally, blissfully content and here I am scaring the shit out of someone that deserves it.  Or, maybe it is someone that doesn't deserve it.  Maybe I'm like Patrick Swayze in that movie Ghost and I am trying to get someone to see how life murdered me with its bullshit.

It was at that moment that I felt the total impact of my depression.  I was so depressed, I didn't even see death as an escape.  Like, I cannot see an end to it.  It's eternal. Forever.  No one knows what happens when we die for sure, except the dead people, and most of them don't talk.  I mean, some people think they see and talk to dead people, but do they or are they just crazy?  Or, are the dead people making them crazy?  I really don't know.  The Rug Doctor asked me what made me think that I would never get an escape, and that I deserved to be eternally miserable in the afterlife.  I shot back, "what makes me deserving of being miserable in the present life?"  Sometimes I really do believe I exhaust her.  She then quoted something from Buddha or the Dalai Lama about there being two days that we can do nothing about; yesterday and tomorrow.  Only today can we impact and be invested in and some may say that is why they call it the present, because it is a gift.  Well, friend, I just got the white elephant gift.  It's bullshit.  And don't even say life is what you make it, blah blah, blah.  I don't care if it was Buddha or the Lama, those two meditating beings can come up with all the Hallmark greeting cards they want, this girl has a different outlook.  I don't get to sit around in a bathrobe all day and think about clever stuff and self-actualize and shit.  I got stuff to do.  These bills don't pay themselves, Dalia.

I think I've been struggling a lot recently because life does seem out of control in many ways, but the one thing I have always been able to count on is my people.  I'm lucky to have a great support group.  But what happens when one (or more) of those people is hurtful?  Well, it sucks and it hurts.  I like to think that most people accept me for who I am and what I am and understand that my journey in life is often turbulent and I'm vocal about it. I'm sarcastic about it and I try and make fun of it so that it is easier to bear and I talk about it so that others know they are not alone in their struggles.  Lord knows, not everyone puts it all out there on the regular like I do.  They also understand that the physical form I exist in seems like a major ordeal for me, but isn't something that most of them focus on.  My people don't see me like that.  My friend, One Eyebrow Betty, always says, "I wish you could see you how we all see you."  Most people aren't focused on my size, they are focused on who I am as a person.  They want me to be happy and they cheer me on when life is going well and offer empathy when it sucks.  But when one of the fold kicks you when you are down, how do you deal with that?  I've dealt with it my entire life when it comes to my weight, however, less so as an adult. Most people aren't assholes about it. We all have struggles of our own in life whether they can be seen or they are internal struggles.  No one is exempt.  Except maybe Mariah Carey.  Nothing gets that diva down.

I've always prided myself on being strong and not giving a shit what people think, but right now, I know where I stand physically, emotionally and in health.  It isn't where I want to be.  I'm so insecure for the first time in a long time.  I don't like it one bit. So this one person, why do they get the power?  I don't know. Why do people think it is okay to make digs at me when I'm down?  Is it to feel better about themselves?  Is it to make sure I don't forget I'm unhealthy?  Is it to punish me?  To shame me into making decisions that they approve of?  What part of their being makes them think it is okay to do that to me or anyone else?  Look, I'm not perfect, I've criticized other people for stupidity, for being inconsiderate, for being blissfully okay with being self-centered.  And yeah, I've made fun of people wearing unicorn poop t-shirts to job interviews.  But, I don't see a person struggling and say hurtful things to take them down (unless that person is pushing a door that clearly says "pull."  I'm probably going to mock that person. Karma will catch up with me and I'll do the same thing some day).  

So, I'm just going to say it, fat shaming is not okay.  If you think for one minute I don't see this body in the mirror, you're wrong.  If you think I don't feel the strain on my body, you're wrong. If you think that riding my horse doesn't make me feel self-conscious, think again.  I know who I am and what I am.  I know where I would like to be and I know there is a long road to get there. I haven't given up, but I do struggle.  I always have and I always will. I don't need the hurtful comments.  I don't need to be reminded.  There isn't a moment in any given day that I don't think about my size.  And, just so you know, it doesn't raise you up on a pedestal in my eyes (or anyone else's) when you put me down. It doesn't make me think you are better than me.  It doesn't motivate me.  It hurts me.  And, if you truly care about me, you shouldn't want to hurt me.  It's not a game, it isn't a joke.  Words hurt.  I'm a 45 year old woman saying to you, "it's not okay for you to treat me this way."  How sad that as an adult living among adults that I have to say, "build me up, don't tear me down."  I thought that was common knowledge.  It's how I try and treat people (unless they shit all over the bathroom and  pee on the seat.  Ain't nobody got time for that).

Anyway, writing is my therapy.  I needed this off my chest. I don't want it to fester. I want to let it go, but I say to you, I'm a little delicate right now.  I'll get strong again.  I'll be okay, but if do die anytime soon, if you were mean to me, I will haunt your ass FOREVER.  The only thing that may circumvent that from happening is if I  get Dalai Lama FMLA and take some time to sit in my robe and contemplate the universe and self-actualize or some sort of shit like that.

I leave you with this:
 

 

"I believe all suffering is caused by ignorance. People inflict pain on others in the selfish pursuit of their happiness or satisfaction. Yet true happiness comes from a sense of peace and contentment, which in turn must be achieved through the cultiv" — Dalai Lama  

Linus, Wonderwoman and Meth

I think I mentioned a few months back that I had stopped going to Therapy Thursday as I felt I needed to take a break and just figure some stuff out on my own.  Or, maybe I didn't mention it.  I don't know, I can't remember.  At any rate, I decided to go back since I've had a lot of drama going on and I felt it was time for some support.  This means I have to start all over again getting a good spot on the Rug Doctor's schedule.  My primo Thursday spot has been taken by another likely unstable person and so today I went in at noon.  I have now re-named it Wack-Job Wednesday. 

As luck would have it, the drama to my Wack-Job Wednesday started before I even got out of the parking lot.  I was in my truck and I see this homeless guy come out of the bushes a few parking spots away.  I start to back out having plenty of room and the guy was not near me.  I lost track of him for just a second and then there he was right behind my truck.  Like RIGHT BEHIND my truck, like grabbing the tailgate.  Where the hell did he come from?  Just a second ago he was two spots away and he could clearly see what I was doing, why would he walk into me? I was cussing about what a dumbass he was and he just keeps walking with his blue blanket slung over his shoulder.  Look, Linus, if you want to get hit so you can get some money, you better pick someone that owns a fancy sports car and that didn't just win the lottery when she found nine dollars in her change compartment of her wallet.  You aren't even going to get a luxury refrigerator box out of your settlement with me. 

I proceed on to the office where my appointment was and I ran across a woman on the sidewalk in a superhero outfit, a backpack and some worldly belongings in tow.  She was having a hilarious conversation with the wall.  Hilarious to her anyway.  I have no idea what the wall was saying, but she was thoroughly involved in the exchange.  It's not for me to judge what was happening there, because honestly, sometimes my voices are hilarious, too, and they deserve the acknowledgement of laughter.

I finally made it to my appointment and sat down with the Rug Doctor.  We had our normal banter about what has been going on with me, what sucks, what doesn't totally suck and then stuff that will eventually suck and then a little bit about the good stuff I'm missing while I'm thinking about all the stuff that sucks. We talked through a scenario where she was at the airport and that sucked and she was getting angry about it, but then she asked herself if it was worth it to get upset because this standing in a long line to get through security was just temporary and if she can just consider that, it wasn't so bad.  Soon she would be through security check and things would be so much better.  When she finally got to her loading gate and she was waiting to board her flight, she took some time to people watch.  Some people were still grumpy from the trials and tribulations of traveling, but others were happy.  Maybe if those grumpy people could look at things as being temporary, life might be easier for them.  So she tried to lead me through my scenario and said, "...and what could help you deal with that is....?"  And I answered, "Meth...and drugs."  This was not the correct answer, for the record.

I don't really say anything that surprises the Rug Doctor anymore, but none the less, I took the time to explain my answer to her.  I told her that today, out of the blue, on the way in to work I started thinking about how Shark Bait and I would grow old.  Would we be living on the street like Linus and Wonder Woman?  Would we be in some assisted living home arguing about who should have won the 2016 Presidential election?  What if Shark Bait died first?  Would I be alone knowing no one?  Would I just die of sadness?  What if I died first?  Would Shark Bait be sad?  He's so social, he'd probably be okay.  It's decided, I should go first.  But what if we couldn't afford assisted living?  What if we were living on the street like my new friends, Linus and Wonder Woman?  I've kind of digressed here, but what I'm trying to say is, some of these people living on the street do drugs because life sucks.  And, if I end up homeless, I'm going to do meth if I can make some friends that will share with me, because then I won't care that I'm homeless, cold, hungry, haven't brushed my teeth in months, have a cooter that would make a petri dish blush and shoes made out of squished 1-liter plastic Coke bottles with some string I found.  We talk about drug abuse and homelessness, but the reality is, I'd rather be high and cold than aware that I am miserable and that my big toe just fell off due to hypothermia or some fungus I got from fighting a scrappy possum for cold fries out of the McDonalds garbage bin. 

You all might not be considering this kind of future for yourselves, and I think that is great.  I applaud you and your ability to have faith in your golden years.  My inner pony voices call bullshit on the potential for "happily ever after." Life isn't all The Notebook.  But hey, the whole reason I'm going to therapy is that I'm trying to get the pony voices to just let me enjoy today and not fret about tomorrow.  It's hard not to think about the darkness that awaits when there are so many people on the street.  It hurts my heart.  I talked to the Rug Doctor about it and there are many reasons people are out there.  We can't possibly know why each person is out there.  I just know that I'm really good at this self-fulfilling prophecy stuff.  I remember thinking, "What if I have weight loss surgery and don't lose weight? What if I have the surgery and I gain it back."  Nailed both of those things.  Gold star, dumbass.

Now, before you say something all logical like, "Why don't you create a positive self-fulfilling prophecy?"  "Why don't you believe the good will happen and then it will?"  Last time I checked, my life isn't a freaking Disney movie.  Look, that's why I see the Rug Doctor.  If I could reprogram my brain that easily, I would have.  Instead, I'm busy worrying about how I'm going to fit all of my stuffed ponies in that one shopping cart.  I'm going to need multiple carts.  Should I get them from multiple stores over time, or just go big and take them all from Safeway right up front?  What are they going to do? Have me arrested?  The jails are too full.  I guess I'll cross that bridge if I come to it.  (Look, I said "if" instead of "when."  If that isn't a therapy win, I don't know what is.)

Anyway, as long as I still have a truck and a home, I'm going to just try not to hit any homeless people and save my pennies.  I'll probably also try and stop self-fulfilling with cookies and maybe work on fulfilling with positive thinking.  That's funny. Ha!  That's probably what Wonder Woman was laughing at the wall for.  She probably thought she had her shit together at one point in her life and then, poof, she got that cape and the backpack...sigh.  I'll just make sure I keep my pink pony magical pj's, maybe add a cape or tarp to it.  And then I can tell everyone about the power of the pajamas.  In case you forgot about the power, here is the blog about them: http://angry-pony.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-power-of-pajamas.html.

Well, I think that's a wrap.  I'm going to go self-fullfill my spot on the couch and watch TV.

Thanks for the gift, Mother Nature...You Bitch.

As I write this blog entry tonight, I am wrapping up celebrating my birthday weekend.  I just turned 45 years old.  In my head I don't feel that old, but in my joints and muscles, I do.  When I look in the mirror I'm seeing the changes gradually taking place.  I feel like I am okay with it, but nature is providing me a special gift this year that has me questioning what I am really okay with.

About a week or so ago, I started experiencing rage beyond what I normally experience.  Rage to the point my boss said, "Why don't you go home...as a matter of fact, GET OUT.  I say this with love, GO HOME NOW."  Hmph. Wimp. The height of my rage is when shit gets solved and world problems are discussed in an open and honest forum.  This was no time to go home.  THIS was the time to hash some shit out.  However, there is this whole workplace appropriate thing and honestly, you really can only use variations of the phrase "Mother Trucker" so many times before people get all sensitive.  Not everyone is as hearty as me and frankly, it's a damn shame.

Anyway, I did what I always do when my bitch switch is stuck on high, I checked my Period Tracker app.  Well, turns out things were late.  I'm never late.  Not since I was 10 years old have I been late.  That's right, you wonder why I'm such a bitch, I've been dealing with this shark week thing since I was 10 freaking years old without a misstep.  My uterus sheds its wall with utter joy every month like clockwork. Suddenly, I was being mocked.  It was suggested I was either pregnant or I was perhaps beginning menopause or peri-menopause. Well, I know for a fact I'm not prego unless it is divine intervention.  I'd like to think God would make a better choice than this vessel for bringing a new savior onto this planet.  I mean, find a virgin, if you can, but I digress. Next, I reached out to my Mom, who is as good, if not better than WebMD, and I asked her.  She advised she started menopause when she was 45 years old.  Well, right on schedule, here it was.  What the hell?

I considered what this means to my life as I know it now.  What it mostly means is that I am old. I'm dried up. I'm pretty much waiting to die.  Best years of my life are gone.  I mean, in a nutshell, that is kind of the big picture. Of course, the only way to truly know what all this means to me, is to Google menopause.

First things first, if you are going through menopause or think you are, DON'T Google it.  Just don't.  I am more depressed now than I was before.  Turns out this is what I have to look forward to:

• Irregular periods
• Vaginal dryness
• Hot flashes
• Night sweats
• Sleep problems
• Mood changes
• Weight gain and slowed metabolism
• Thinning hair and dry skin
• Loss of breast fullness

That is FANTASTIC!  Periods, gone, okay, but now they are going to be "irregular?"  Like, I won't be able to predict them?  My Period Tracker app is worthless now! What if I don't have supplies? What if I am randomly bitchy (oh, wait, false alarm, that is not a new symptom)?

Vaginal Dryness...my girl bits are going to be dry?  One "friend" said, "oh yeah, you're going to be dry, dry, dry...so dry it will hurt to pee."  Another alleged friend said, "KY and Vodka, problem solved."   Seriously?  I don't need to maintain a slip-n-slide environment down there, but sweet Maryanne, I don't want to have a dried up raisin vagina.

Hot Flashes and Night Sweats?  Yeah, I have already been experiencing that.  I woke up like three times last night stuck to the flannel sheets like fruit leather.  Sometimes at work my face and neck are bright red and I'm on fire for no reason.  I thought I was just pissed about the stupidity of humanity, but now I know there is an actual medical reason.

Sleep Problems?  Got 'em.  That is what Benedryl, Nyquil, alcohol and Xanax is for, I guess.

Mood Changes?  I asked Shark Bait (Shit, do I have to change his blog name now? Will the madness never end?) how he felt about me becoming more moody or bitchy.  He just scoffed and said, "I've been in training for this our entire relationship, I don't see a problem with this."  I think he just called me a bitch, but on the other hand, I'm thankful I've put the time in preparing him for these alleged Golden Years.

Weight Gain and Slow Metabolism?  FUCK YOU.  That is all.

Thinning Hair and Dry Skin? One person advised me that my hair will thin, but then I will get rogue thick hairs in places I never had them before and likely do not want them now.  I'm going to be scaly and hideous. I'll look like some sort of river monster they find in the deepest rivers of Africa.

Loss of Breast Fullness.  This is a joke right?  I'd have to have breast fullness before I can lose it.  If I don't have it now, what will they do?  Invert?  Dry up? I mean, this really could not be any crueler.  I'll have to put two cutlets into each bra cup instead of one?  Should I just wear nipple covers and tape them against my chest?

I just don't know what to make of all this.  I know this is all survivable.  I know a bazillion women have gone through this.  I mean, I'm probably going to be okay.  I'm already unstable, so I can't see there will be much the general public will notice, but I can't help but feel like this means I am saying goodbye to my youth.  I get that my youth is long gone, but this just affirms it.  I can be in denial as long as shark week comes each month.  I also wonder, why did I waste my 20's and 30's not being a whore and living life and running amuck and living la vida loca?  My friend, Hearty Babe, pointed out that the level of activities in my 20's & 30's does not make up for anything that is or isn't happening now.  I guess that is true, but I'd have the memories.  My then slippery vagina would have memories.  Now, the old raisin vagina is just gonna be like, "is that another tumble weed? I remember when the river flowed through this valley..."

Sigh.  So, anyway, thanks Mother Nature.  I appreciate your gift this year.  I'll just be over here feeling tired and bitchy with my dry skin, male pattern baldness, four forehead hairs, some unsightly two foot long wire-like chin hairs, saggy water balloon boobs, fatter than ever body sweating while my vagina feels like someone glued it shut with super-glue.  I'll be fine.  I'll just cut out coupons for KY jelly and hit up the booze aisle at the grocery store.

I will say this, one thing that menopause cannot take from me is my love for chocolate.  You can't take that from me, Menopause.  You can take the hair and the moisture from my body, but you will not take my love of chocolate!  I will live my days out as comfortably as I can.  Chocolate will be there for me, even when my skin flakes off on a windy day and my wiry chin hair stabs me in the eye.  I got this.  Me and Chocolate. Together forever.  Fighting menopause...one day at a time.

I leave you with this parting advice, my friends... If you have youth, enjoy it.  If yours already left you...go buy some chocolate and seriously, if it hurts to pee, get some lubricant.

45 and holding...until I dry up.

MTHR TRKG Halloween Candy

So, I have made it to the gym three days so far this week.  You'd think that is a victory, and it is, on its own merits.  However, I'd like to talk about the great force of evil that has settled into my work zone.  That force is Halloween candy.  Mother. Trucking. Halloween candy.  

I knew it was only a matter of time before the evil force infiltrated into the inter sanctum of my work area, but I was hoping I had a little longer. This week, we had a vendor come in and bring swag for the online reps and when she left yesterday, she also left multiple bags of candy behind.  Now, I've been mostly good this week. I've been bringing breakfast and lunch, eating low-carb and trying to drink more water.  Sadly, Wednesday happened and I'm not going to lie, the fat girl inside me was like a school of hangry piranhas.  I figure the fat girl inside me must be approximately eight years old.  She was bouncing up and down, her pig-tails flopping as she jumped with glee and her over-developed boobs, complete with stretch marks due to premature hormones raging through her body, were also jumping up and down (sadly, that is also the age my boobs maxed out, never to get any larger. It's kind of effed up if you ask me).  Her belly like a bowl of jelly and her thighs slapping as if they were clapping along to some sort of up beat pop song.  She giggled with glee and clapped her hands.  She wanted the candy.  All the candy and nothing was going to stop her.  That bitch was damn near rabid.
 

I suspect she looks something like this...

And, to make the problem worse, it was all chocolate stuff. MILK DUDS!  Are you kidding me?  They look like something a wild animal pooped and left in the woods, but as God is my witness, I see that little "fun sized" box and I know there are four little caramels wrapped in chocolate and I need them in my life.  And it's just four of them and they taste so good and they get stuck in your teeth and give your jaw a workout and I cannot stop!  I love Milk Duds and I'm not afraid to tell everyone!  And then, because the little box is so small, I know it won't hurt anything to have a few more miniature boxes.  I mean, they are practically diet candies when you consider the size of the box!  Damn you, Milk Duds...Damn you. I'm powerless to control myself.

But wait, that isn't the worst of it.  There are freaking Kit Kats in there!  Who doesn't love a Kit Kat?  I mean, gimme a break...gimmie a break...break me off a piece of that Kit. Kat. Bar.  And again, they are like diet candies because they are just singles, little one piece single pieces...pieces of chocolate covering a crispy wafer.  I love a chocolate covered wafer!  The wafer is light as a feather, too, so again, it's just taking up air space, not really any solid space.  Freaking Kit Kats.

Oh, and look at that, here are a bunch of M-F'ing Reeces Peanut butter cups, but mini-sized.  Just one little cup per wrapper.  Like, the size of a pencil eraser, really.  I mean, so small.  And, peanut butter is protein.  Who the frick put their peanut butter in my chocolate? Who put my chocolate in their peanut butter?  I can't stand the suspense!!!  Freaking Hershey's did.  I hate those assholes for making delicious candy!

Almond Joy.  Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't, but you know what?  I wanted a nut. And, it's an almond, which is totally healthy, surrounded by coconut, again SUPER healthy.  Have you even read about all the healing power of coconut?  If you haven't, you should!  And, all of that health food wrapped in chocolate, which again, is magic.  Chocolate is proof God wants us to be happy.  There is no other plausible explanation for it.  It's divine intervention in the human experience, if you ask me.

Now, I will say, I could give a shit less about the Whoppers and the Heath bars.  What the hell is a Heath bar anyway?  Gross, that is what it is.  It has NO business in the assortment of candy.  It's presence just makes it more obvious the other kinds are missing.  It's bullshit.  I'm going to write to Hershey's candy about it, actually.  And the Whoppers, while not a bad choice, I cannot eat because the sugary inside hurts my teeth. It's an actual health hazard. I mean, dental hygiene is important.

Look, I know all this stuff is pure shit.  It's made from artificial crap. It makes you fat, gives you diabetes, causes cancer, causes acne, causes inflammation and car accidents when you can't get the frigging wrappers open when you are driving. It's a veritable death trap.  But the thing is, sugar addiction is real. I get it.  But YOU try telling the little hysterical fat girl inside of me that she doesn't need it.  I'll be honest, she's mean.  I'm all calm on the outside, seemingly mature and in control of the situation, but eight year old obese Angry Pony, she is rioting and looting in my guts.  I'm just standing there and then my hands are suddenly like Spiderman's web fingers.  They just hover over the pumpkin bucket and my inner fat girl sends commands to my index finger and my thumb.  She's like a cross between an alien and a crane operator.  My arm is in there until it picks up the appropriate amount of loot and returns it to a safe place in my other hand.  I don't even know how it happens, that little bitch is just in there with her arms ready to punch a hole through my belly to get to the candy quicker.  Like, if you walk past my desk and see me sitting in my chair with octopus arms hanging out of my gut trying to grab onto any candy within reach, get the hell out of there.  The more chocolate she eats, the more powerful she becomes.  If she can punch her way through a pair of tights and an FCD (fat controlling device), she can surely take on civilian life forms.

The good news is, I've eaten most of the Milk Duds so they won't be there tomorrow.  I mean, at least in the one bag.  The other bags are in other locations.  I hope I don't discover them, but if that inner fat girl goes looking, I don't know what I can do to stop her.  If anyone has any ideas on extricating the little bitch, let me know, okay?  If not, I gotta ride out the candy season and I don't think I'm going to make it.  I'm throwing out a lifeline, people.  Help.

Boring Gym Blog

Today I had a come to Jesus meeting with the gym.  I know I pretty much said I wasn't going to write about my weight loss struggle anymore, because, really what else is there to say?  It's been a life long battle and it consumes most of my thoughts on the daily.  However, not talking about it doesn't make the problem go away. It doesn't negate the fight.  I've been putting the struggle on the back-burner for a while simply because I could not deal with it.  I could not deal with my failure and I could not deal with the daily self-loathing. 

I did, however, find some joy in letting go of the struggle for a while.  I spent more time with my horse this summer and more time riding.  That is truly what makes me happy.  It's a double-edged sword because I love to ride, but I also feel the most self-conscious when I ride.  At any rate, I have enjoyed my summer of horseback riding and being outside.  Now that the weather is changing, it's time to get myself in better shape so I can continue to ride through the winter and be in better shape next year.

That brings us to today.  My boss told me that she wanted me to start going to the gym because she knows I'm struggling.  She told me to change up my schedule so I would have time to go after work.  So, today was the day.  I'd had kind of a crappy day emotionally and had already talked myself out of going.  My boss was home sick, so she'd be none the wiser.  I closed down my computer and got my stuff so I could head out to the parking lot, but in a last second turn of events, I stopped, reached under my desk, grabbed my gym bag and headed to the gym instead.  They say half the battle is getting there, right?

I got down there and walked over to my locker where my gym shoes and gym clothes had patiently been waiting since May 10, 2015.  I suited up and headed over to the elliptical machine.  I knew I'd only be able to do it for a short time and have to rebuild my stamina and muscles.  I took a few strides and immediately panicked, I don't remember this being so hard!  Oh my word, how soft had I gotten?  This was horrifying!  But, dammit, I'm going to at least do five minutes if it kills me.  I'm three minutes in and I'm staring at the control panel and then it hit me...you have to reset the incline on this machine as it automatically has you at the highest, hardest incline when you start.  What genius thought that was the way to go, I don't know.  I set the incline down to the lowest setting and now I could function.

I completed my five minutes and headed into the aerobics room where there is a variety of equipment like exercise balls, kettle bells, weights, foam rollers, and a variety of tools that I remembered so well.  I had used all of them.  Back when I was at my high point of exercising, I was a serious gym rat and Ass Kicker would really put me though the paces.  I was already sweating from the elliptical, but I kept the momentum going.  I ran through a series of weight lifting, squats, etc.  I have a book that runs me through all kinds of work-outs and I followed one of the plans Ass Kicker had written out for me back in the day. 

It wasn't long and I was sweating puddles and breathing hard and wanting to stop.  My God, what a wimp I was.  I remembered how I used to power through those exercises and Ass Kicker would say, "ok, that's 12, do you have four more in you, or do you want to stop?"  I would always give him four more. Always.  I wanted to be better.  I wanted to be toned.  I wanted to lose weight. Today, my gut was in the way. I was sluggish.  My muscles were tight.  I looked in the mirror, saddened by what I had allowed myself to revert back to.  I wanted to throw up.  Not just because of the visual in the mirror, but because this was so much harder than I remembered.

It was finally time to stretch out and I remembered how hard we had worked to stretch my leg muscles each time. My muscles, tendons, whatever is all in there was always tight and we always had to work hard to loosen them up.  Now it seemed as if they had no stretch in them at all.  It hurt.  I had to work around knee degeneration and bad shoulders.  I laid there on the floor and managed to work my arms above my head.  I was able to inch them up until they were straight up above my head, touching the floor.  I felt a sense of accomplishment and then I realized I was stuck.  Like, my shoulders were locked up.  Shit. I thought, now what?  How am I supposed to get up with bad knees and no way to use my arms?  Even if I did manage some sort of sit-up, how in the hell was I going to make it the rest of the way?  I looked over into the other part of the gym where there is a girl that I believe is a body-builder of some sort, and my pal Harley Babe going 90mph on the elliptical with her earbuds in.  Should I just roll?  Should I get to my belly and do some sort of bloated seal shuffle?  All I could think of was Jim Carrey and how he might handle this in some sort of comedy movie.  I laid there a minute and then finally I was able to get my arm to pop out of its position.  I wouldn't die in the gym today.  Progress.

I finished up with sweat running down my face and neck, but with a sense of accomplishment.  This is just going to take a lot of time and commitment to get back in the swing of things.  I can do this.  I'm not setting any major goals, I'm not making promises or deals, I'm just going to do the best I can. 

On my way out, I walked over and checked out my exercise log in the file.  The last time I had been to the gym was May 10, 2015, before that, I had been to the gym one time on February 13, 2015.  The time before that had been the fateful workout that changed everything.  August 27, 2014.  That was the day I did the hardest workout I had ever done.  I had a 20 lb sandbag over my shoulders and I went up and down five flights of stairs three times.  I had thrown a large, ten pound medicine ball over my head to approx 10 feet up the wall doing three reps of ten.  I had done many other things that even normal sized people were not able to do. I was an athlete, I was unstoppable. I was toned. I had abs that you could see. My legs were starting to tone.  I felt better than I had ever felt before.  I was addicted to the gym.  But that fateful workout had pushed me too far.  My body broke. My hips, my sciatic, my shoulders. I could not seem to recover and the doctors could not find a solution.  I got depressed and I just gave up.  Probably the biggest mistake of my life, to date.

I stood there and stared at my chart reviewing all the workouts over the months that lead to that day. I let it all sink in.  And, a part of me let go of what could have been and agreed it was time to start anew.  I'm going to send Ass Kicker an email tomorrow and see if I can get a new workout log. It's time.  Pity party is over.

As I walked down the long hallway, I was tired, but felt good.  Surely my muscles would remind me of this tomorrow, and that's okay.  That just means I did what I needed to do.  I got to the elevator and got my keys out.  Why did I need my keys?  I didn't need my keys to open the elevator door...what the hell is the matter with me.  It took me a second and then I pushed the button that would take me up to the exit.

The fresh air felt amazing on my sweaty face as I stepped out the doors. I hadn't changed out of my workout clothes, because, why?  I'm just going home.  I walk past the smoking section on the way to my truck, red-faced, hair stuck to my forehead and one of the gals from work says, "oh look at you in comfy clothes, that's a good look for you."   I couldn't agree more.  It's the best look.

So there you have it, faced the gym, survived. I'm pretty much like that climbing vine plant called Kudzu.  You can't kill that shit.  It will be back, even if you think it's gone.  I'm like that.  Like a robot walking out of the smoke, flames and mass destruction...living for another battle.  That's me...kind of...but mostly I'm that plant weed thing.

Sweaty, but proud.  Also wearing my t-shirt from the first 5K I ever did.

Happy Anniversary, Shark Bait

Today I celebrate 9 years of marriage with my beloved Shark Bait.  We've been together a total of 12 years.  It seems like a drop in the bucket compared to some people that have been married a lifetime, but if you compare it to Hollywood, we are lifers. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about what marriage is really like.  There was a post on Facebook about a month or so ago that was a 7-Day Spouse Challenge where you post a picture of you and your spouse on FB everyday for seven days.  It was just an opportunity to post something light-hearted and positive.  Some people criticized it as portraying a life that wasn't really real, or bragging.  I didn't think that at all.  I looked at it as a celebration.  I didn't do it to rub anyone's nose in our alleged happiness, to prove anything or to show my spouse that I loved him.  I did it as a fun thing on FB and it was an opportunity to look through a bunch of pictures and memories to find some shots of us, which are usually selfies, since we do things on our own a lot.  There was even an article written that blasted the 7-Day Spouse Challenge talking about how it made other people feel and that it made everyone roll their eyes and that the participants were trying to portray a life that didn't really exist.  My response was, "Wow, bitter much?  Seriously, it is FB, they are pictures, everyone knows marriage is hard."  Of course I'm not posting pictures of the hard  times because we don't take selfies mid-argument.  We don't capture on film when one of us is wrapped around the toilet with the stomach flu and the other person runs to the store to get butt wipes because the sick person can't use toilet paper on their ass...not even one more time.  Those things don't make it to FB because who wants to see that?  NO ONE (However, blogging about it, that's GOLD).  Anyway, I could go on about it, but what I'm saying is, marriage and relationships are challenging, they are sometimes hard, a lot of work and hopefully worth the effort.  I mean it has been for us.

One of my best friends always told me, "I don't know why you wanna find a boyfriend and get married.  It's not as glamorous as you think it is.  It's picking up their tightie-whitie's off the floor with skid marks on them and putting up with their crap." Alas, I was 30 years old and the clock was ticking.  I was sure it wasn't as grim as she depicted.  As luck would have it, I met Shark Bait a couple years after that.  I was especially in luck because he wears boxers, picks up his own underwear, and to date, I haven't found any skid marks.

Our marriage, from day one, has been challenge after challenge.  One month before our wedding day, Shark Bait lost his job of 10 years.  There was no period of marital bliss.  We immediately had a wedding to pay for, a house payment, bills and all that hard financial stuff to deal with.  What followed was several years of Shark Bait going from job to job and spending a lot of time either laid off due to lack of work, or looking for a new job.  It was a huge strain.  We ended up going through all of our savings and eventually losing our house. We also found out we couldn't have kids.  I eventually had to go through losing my Dad after a battle with cancer. All of it was heart-breaking. We likely took selfies during that time, many of which I am sure were put on FB. None of them were captioned with phrases like, "We are scared, we argued about money last night and we don't know what we are going to do."  But that was the reality.  The reality was also that we were committed to each other, this relationship, this marriage and we were going to be okay, no matter what. 

Fast forward through a lot of life happening.  I mean, we have had a hell of a year this past year alone, but here we are, stronger for all we've been through. Sure, there are days I want to punch that guy in the gut, for no reason at all, or because he left the door open on the medicine cabinet for the one millionth time, but mostly, I am thankful for him.  When I stop and think about all the comfort this relationship brings me, I can't even imagine my life without those things.  For example:

• Unlimited spider assassination and removal.  All I have to do is yell, "Spider!" and no matter how big or how small, Shark Bait comes in an instant and saves me.  Look, I know they are trying to kill me.  The frequency and increased size of the spiders is a direct indication they are stepping up their game to catch me and live off of my dead body for centuries.  I could easily feed a colony for eternity.

• Hugs & Kisses.  Shark Bait is pretty affectionate. I get unlimited hugs and kisses.  He holds my hand whenever we are in public, in the truck, sometimes while we watch TV.  I always get a kiss and hug before I leave for work and I always get a kiss and hug when I walk through the door or when he comes home.  I always get a kiss before going to sleep each night.   

• He supports my pony love.  It doesn't matter how much time I want to spend with my real ponies or how many stuffed ponies live in our house.  He supports that.  I mean, there isn't really much he can do about it, but he doesn't try and stop me.  I interpret that as support. 

• The bathroom door is open. We don't really have any secrets. Some people say the bathroom door open thing kills the romance.  I don't know about all that, but there is a level of comfort one can achieve just understanding the body does what it does and that everybody poops.  Oh, and girls fart.  I didn't actually start this, Shark Bait did.  Eventually, I just went with it.  We have had a lot of moments that might make the average person cringe, but hey, if I have a bump on my butt I can't see, I need that investigated.  Just saying, it's like living with a doctor.

• Tall Guy.  I'm 5'6".  There is a lot of stuff I can't reach.  Shark Bait is there to save the day.  All I have to say is, "Tall Guy...."  and he comes to my aide.  It's like having a step stool with arms.

• "Hey Baby...."  This phrase usually produces a response, "What's up, what do you need?"  And then he gets me whatever that thing is I need, because, first, I need stuff and secondly, I'm probably on the couch with my feet up and my good dog Spanky is on my lap. You can't disturb a wiener under a blanket, it's an unwritten law. Clearly, I am not able to move and Shark Bait is there to save the day.  

• Back Scratching.  Shark Bait is the best at back scratching.  Not big on foot massage, but rocks it at back scratching. 

• Door Opening.  Shark Bait is kind of old-fashioned.  He opens doors for me.  He ushers me through crowds either by putting his hand on my back or holding my hand and leading me behind him, thusly clearing a path.  I appreciate that. 

• "I love you."  He says this many times everyday.  There is never a day that goes by that he does not say it at least once. 

• Tells me I'm beautiful.  It doesn't matter if I just woke up, have the flu, am dressed to the nines, with make-up, without make-up, buck naked or in my pink pony magical footie pajamas.  He always says I'm beautiful. 

• "Are we EVER gonna do it again?" If I send that text to Shark Bait, it's like a bat signal for sex. That's all I have to say and it's on like Donkey Kong.  Who says the romance is dead?

 These are a lot of little things that make everything else that life throws at us manageable.  Notice, I didn't say that he bought me beautiful jewelry, a big house, a new car or took me on some extravagant vacation.  All that stuff doesn't bring me the comfort and security that the everyday stuff does.

At the end of the day, even if there is a dead, rotting possum under the house that we can't find, at least I have Shark Bait to reach the scented candles on the top shelf.  I mean, that's love.  You won't find that on a Hallmark card. Life is still hard.  We still have challenges, we still have arguments, but at the end of the day, there is a kiss and an "I love you."  I probably take that for granted sometimes, but I shouldn't because not everyone finds that.  I don't feel like a lucky person most of the time.  I'm a glass is half-empty with a crack in it kind of person, but I am lucky I found Shark Bait, or that he found me. 

So, take that, Facebook.  Take this blog link and gag away.  Roll your eyes.  Say that I'm bragging...because I am. 

Happy Anniversary, Shark Bait.  Love you more.

P.S. Shark Bait, if you eat the last bite of that 7-layer cake from Claim Jumper, I'll take you down. (This is part of any relationship - Chocolate negotiation. It's a thing.)

Traumatized by Food Porn - Movie Review

*** Disclaimer, if you have not yet seen the movie Sausage Party and would like to not have the movie spoiled for you, please do not read this blog.  I mean, even if you do read it, you probably will still be able to watch the movie and be surprised. ***

I haven't blogged in a while, but tonight I feel like I should get all of these thoughts out of my head.  I can't attempt sleep with all these thoughts...I'll have nightmares.  So bear with me, this is going to be a little rambly, but I need to try and make sense out of something I experienced tonight.

My sister wanted to go see the movie Sausage Party.  I had seen the trailer and knew it would likely be crude humor, but I had no idea as to the depths of crudity I would be taken to.  I can honestly say I have never experienced a movie like this.  And, I say "experienced" because I didn't just watch it, I experienced emotions and confusion at levels I have not reached before.

I should start by saying that the majority of the audience was male.  Of that majority, I would say a large percentage may or may not have partaken in a little weed before the show.  You probably think I'm exaggerating, but when the movie started and the opening scene was of a grocery store and the guys behind me burst out in laughter like they had just watched a buddy slip on some jiz, I knew their experience would be enhanced.

I'm not going to give you a blow by blow of the movie (no pun intended), but suffice it to say, the food talks.  And the food has a foul mouth.  Like, if there was a way to use the word "fuck" it was used.  If there was a way to make a sexual innuendo, it was made. They used the "C" word.  I would first like to ask, how does the food know how to talk like that and where did it learn so much about sex?  If they had never been away from the store, where did this knowledge come from?  Look, I'm not trying to pick the movie apart, but I have questions.  I mean, the hot dogs were talking to the buns and they knew stuff.  They were planning on burying some sausage, if you know what I mean.  Okay, that's funny, ha ha ha.  Cute even, right? Yeah.

Shit got real in the movie when a woman came in the store to do some shopping.  She had all the stuff for a great holiday weekend, her buns, hot dogs, chips, mustard, etc. but then she also got some douche because apparently she had a situation up in her girl bits.  We got a great shot of her scratching it for affect.  Lovely.  So, anyway, a chain of events lead to her crashing her cart into someone else's cart and then some of the items ended up on the floor.  One of those items was the douche.  The douche was damaged in the fall, so now he is really angry because he really wanted the va jay jay. He ends up getting cleaned up off the floor by the clerk and ends up in the dumpster.  We find him later, with a bent applicator and vengence burning in his soul.  He realizes he has a leak, but spies a dying juice box with a hole in it's crotch.  He then sucks the juice box dry from the crotch and becomes strong.  He finds a sticker and puts it over his leak and he is good to go.  Now he is enraged and wants to find the hot dog and the bun chick and make them pay for him not being able to dispense his douche into the human woman.  This is an intense story line, people.

I can't really tell you everything that happens because some of the time my hand was over my mouth in horror, sometimes I was looking away, sometimes I was just in shock with my mouth hanging open wondering what I was witnessing.  All I know for sure is that some little stubby hot dog, that was teased by the other hot dogs for being stubby (but was assured girth is important, too), managed to get away from a human in her home, get onto the streets, find a drug dealer, ends up at his house and SPOILER ALERT kills the druggie (kind of) that was high on bath salts and then brings his head back to the store.  How does a hot dog cover that kind of ground?  How does a hot dog lift a severed head?  And, if you are high on bath salts, can you really talk to food?  I'm not going to get high on bath salts to find out, but it begs the question, does food, other than Taco Bell on the way out, talk?  I may never know.

There are so many turns in this movie.  There is a horny lesbian Taco named Teresa del Taco that is lusting after the bun chick, but she doesn't want to anger the Gods, there is a Jewish bagel and what I believe to be a Middle Eastern tortilla shell that kind of looked like a burrito, but may have been a Flauta or something like that. I missed that part.  Anyway, they hated each other because hello, Jewish vs. Middle Eastern, I guess.  It's complicated, but I knew it was some cultural stereo-type.  Food is so judgy an I didn't even know. 

At one point the hot dog was smoking a pipe with the Firewater guy and some really angry Gritts and a Twinkie and that got weird.  The Gritts hated the Crackers because they took the good shelf space from the Gritts. Again, it's complicated being a non-perishable.  There is no way a perishable food could possibly understand.  Must be a perishable privilege kind of thing.

All the while, the angry douche was seeking the bun chick, the hot dog, the bagel and the weird tortilla thing with a mustache.  The hot dog is all trying to tell all the food in the store that they don't really want to leave the store with the "Gods" aka humans, because what is going to happen to them when they leave is not good.  The stubby hot dog and the bun chick eventually show the hot dog that the way he is trying to shove all his beliefs on the food is wrong, that is not the right way to send a message.

I don't want to ruin the movie for anyone...if that is actually possible that any of this will make sense if you haven't seen the movie, but suffice to say, stubby hot dog, along with a piece of chewing gum in a wheel chair that looked and sounded like Steven Hawking, saved the day in a BIG way.

The celebration part at the end of the movie left me sitting in my chair with my mouth open, I didn't know where to look, I didn't know what to say, there were no words, I was just paralyzed in shock as my sister sat next to me laughing so hard she had tears running down her face and she could not stop. I finally yelled, "WHAT AM I WATCHING??!!"  My expression was a little like this:

I mean, the hot dog was having sex with the bun chick, but wait, Teresa del Taco was going down on the hot dog chick while the hot dog was jerking off with the bagel and the tortilla looking guy.  Next thing I know, anal beads are coming out of the hot dog chick's ass.  The bagel and the angry tortilla looking guy had sex, a lot of sex.  The bagel said his hole needed to rest and the tortilla said he had great recovery time.  The gritts were giving it to the crackers really hard.  The human clerk guy was trying to defend himself but the angry douche found him and crawled up in his pants and shoved his applicator up the clerk's ass.  Then the douche pulled the sausage in and started to try and eat him.  I mean...it was intense.  I didn't know how to feel, what to think.  I just sat in horror.

I don't know how any of that food learned how to be that dirty.  I don't know where they learned those moves.  Shark Bait said he felt like he needed a cigarette when it was all over.  I've never been a watcher of porn, but I felt dirty watching food have sex with whatever got in it's path. 

Aside from all of that, I think there was an undertone of acceptance, an undertone of just believing whatever is told to you because everyone else believes it is bad, an undertone of how to affect change.  But mostly it was food saying "fuck" and then actually fucking...a lot. 

Look, I don't know what is going to happen to all that food now that the humans are contained, but I would assume the produce will rot, but with all that sex going on, it is possible they could reproduce.  I don't know how that works, genetically or scientifically speaking, with cross breeding food.  I mean, will the hot dog and the bun chick have little pigs in a blanket babies?  I don't know for sure.

I know there is a lot I am leaving out, a lot that is out of sequence, but I was like a cat watching a laser beam on the wall, not knowing where it was going next.  Some things I may have blocked out for my own mental health. Oh, and there was a talking used condom.  He used the word spooge and I didn't know anyone used that word besides me.  I think that is all I can remember.  I hope so. 

I hear they are going to make a sequel.  I don't know how it could possibly get any raunchier, but I suspect with enough booze and pot, they will find a way.

This has been a confused person movie review.  If this made no sense to you, then I have captured it perfectly.

P.S.  I will not be eating hot dogs anytime in the near future, but we did go to Taco Bell on the way home after the movie and I'm not sure what that says about us, or if it means anything.  I'm still feeling confused.

My House is a Freaking Safari

I've had a couple of melt-downs as of late.  I'll probably talk about the one I had yesterday at some point in the near future. I'm mulling over what it all means in my head and then I will likely puke it all out here.  I know, that right there was just as enticing as a preview for the Bachelorette. "On next week's episode, JoJo can't decide if she should wear the blue dress and kiss Chad, or if she should wear short-shorts and make out with Robbie, but what she doesn't know is that the guy from Canada was wiping his package all over everyone's toothbrushes...stay tuned, for the most dramatic rose ceremony...EVER!!!"

But for now, I'd like to talk about my living conditions that lead to this mornings temper tantrum.  You see, we live in what they call the "Seven Lakes" area.  Which, actually is dumb, because I think there are more than seven.  That's beside the point.  One of those lakes is just down the road from us. In addition to that, we live in a very heavily wooded area.  We have trees all around us, so you combine the two, and what does it get you?  BUGS.  Bugs fucking EVERYWHERE.  Like, I cannot describe to you how many there are and the varieties.  We may live in a house, but we may as well live naked in the woods for all the good it does to have those walls. 

To make it all worse, our house gets stuffy, so when we get home, we open the front door and the back door for kind of a cross breeze.  We are letting the house breathe.  Now, it is true that we have a screen door on each entrance, however, Shark Bait feels as if that doesn't allow enough air flow and then it doesn't allow the dogs to go in and out.  You see where this is headed, right?  So, the mother trucking bugs rush in like it's black Friday at Walmart.  Yesterday I opened the back door and a huge moth was waiting to get in and as soon as I opened the door it rushed in like someone selling me eternal salvation.  And those moths aren't too bright, they fly in your face, your mouth, your hair, into the wall, on the floor.  It's ridiculous, how do they survive in the wild?

And then, we have these things I call "skeeter bugs" which Shark Bait calls them Crane Flies.  Look, I don't give a shit if their name is Ice Cream Sundae bugs, they are freaking annoying.  They skitter all over the place and then eventually die in the bathtub or the window sills.  Grosses me out. Between them, the moths, the spiders, mosquitoes, bees and what ever else gets in here, I feel like I'm on a fucking safari every damn day!

This morning, it was no different.  I get up and I walk into the bathroom.  Luckily, I did not have to navigate through a spider web in the doorway, so that was a plus.  I see a skeeter bug thing scampering around.  I look over in the bathtub and two carcasses are sprawled out on the bottom of the tub, apparently they didn't make it though the night.  I get in the shower and go to grab my shampoo and two small black bugs go flying around in a circle, no clue what the hell they were, rat maggots for all I know.  I'm cussing and waving my hands around.  I have a skeeter bug up in the corner  of the shower, watching me. Freaking pervert.  Hopefully it isn't someone's drone because they are going to be very disappointed and traumatized by my primitive state in the shower. 

Anyway, I finish up and go out to the sink to brush my teeth and there is the freaking skeeter bug flitting around.  I open the cabinet where my toothbrush is  and the freaking skeeter bug goes in there.  Now, the cabinet is one of those three piece mirror things  where each piece lets you into a different part of the cabinet.  The stupid skeeter bug goes in where my toothbrush is and I am cussing up a storm.  I open the other part and there is the skeeter bug stuck in what appears to be an invisible spidey web.  So, that's great, I have Wonder Woman the freaking spider and her magic web lasso going on in my freaking medicine cabinet.  Well, stupid skeeter bug, that'll teach you.  I get a wash cloth and get its stranded carcass out of there and now I'm freaked out because Wonder Woman the spider could be anywhere with her invisible lasso.  And, actually, because I don't see any spiders, she's probably invisible, too.  Just fucking great.  It's not bad enough I hate the ones I can see and now the freaking superhero variety are taking over my home.  I guess the spider deterrent things I have plugged into the wall are no kryptonite to them.

All this cussing and slamming around apparently has woke up Shark Bait. He's like what's all the commotion about?  And that's when I told him... (apologize for the language you are about to be subjected to, but it was at 6:10AM, I didn't have my rational voice warmed up yet)

"What's wrong?!  I'll tell you what's wrong!! I am SICK. AND. TIRED. of living in the FUCKING WOODS!  I feel like I need a fucking safari ensemble to just walk around in my own fucking home!  Why do we even have walls? Why don't we just walk around naked in the woods, because that is exactly what it is like!!  And where did I get these bites on me?  Huh?  I don't know...WHEN I WAS SLEEPING?  Probably the skeeter bugs or God only knows what else is flying around here dining on my fucking fat carcass all night while I sleep trying not to be wrapped up in a fucking cocoon by Wonder Woman the Spider!  Why don't we leave the doors open ALL NIGHT LONG?  Why don't we just let every fucking bug in Snohomish County in?  Huh?  Look at my bathtub! Full of death!  We are going to die here like those skeeter bugs, I know it!  I can't take a shower alone, I can't do anything without a bug interaction.  I don't live in the jungles of Africa, I should not have to wear protective clothing in my own house!!!"  

With that, I finished up and walked into the kitchen.  A huge moth flew right into my face and then crashed to the floor.  Shark Bait was silent.  I said, "DID YOU SEE THAT?!"  He smiled and said, "yeah...."  I just could not comprehend it.  "How stupid are those things?  What possible purpose could it serve. IT FLEW INTO MY FUCKING FACE and dropped to what could be it's death.  It's not like I'm hard to see!!!!"

I got my stuff together and kissed Shark Bait good-bye.  I walked out on the porch to head to my truck.  Walked through a spider web.  Cussed at it.  Got to the end of the ramp, dodged a slug and got into my truck.  I sat there, cussing.  I'm a country girl.  I get being outdoors, but this is fucking ridiculous.

As I write this, the I-5 of bug transport is happening as we speak.  The living room door wide open, nature coming in and out of our house. Mostly in. I give up.  I'm going to bring sexy back. Scratching is sexy.  Bumps on your arm are sexy.  Bumps on your ass that no one else can see, but that you scratch all day in public because the bug venom is making your ass itch, that's sexy.  That bump in the middle of my chest, totally in style.  That's right, I'm a mother-trucking-itching-scratching-bleeding-scabbing sexy goddess.  Fuck smooth skin and being able to see through the locust swarming in my home.  Embrace it.  I'm going to. My body is like the all you can eat buffet at Cracker Barrel for forest dwelling bugs. I'm powerless to stop it.

However, that could be the skeeter bug venom talking.

P.S. does anyone know if Yankee makes a citronella scented candle?

P.P.S.S. I have a new bite on my ankle that's making me crazy.

I Will Not Hate...

Do you ever find yourself saying, "I hate that guy!" or girl, as the case may be?  I know I do.  It's habit, I guess.  We use the word hate to really drive home our level of dislike or disgust.  My boss said to me a while back, "I don't like to use the word hate.  It's too strong and cold and ultimately, hate gives that person power in your life and causes you to spend energy.  Why do you want to spend energy on someone you don't like?  Why give them that power?"  Very true.  It's such a simple word, hate.  We all use it all the time.  "I hate how I look in these pants."  "I hate my hair today."  "I hate people driving slow in the fast lane."  And on it goes.

Hating a person really does take up a lot of real-estate in your head.  When you hate someone, you get worked up, your blood pressure increases, you might get sick to your stomach, you might even fantasize about what it would be like to trip that person as they walk by, or wish horrible things to happen to them.  That is some seriously negative energy.  I'm not saying you can't or shouldn't dislike someone.  I think that's normal, that's healthy, that's life.  What you choose to do with that feeling is what separates us.

This week I have been thinking a lot about hate in light of events in Orlando, Florida over the past weekend.  Someone hated so badly that they took it upon themselves to destroy many lives in a matter of minutes.  All because that person didn't like the lifestyle.  I'm sure he had many other reasons in his head and I'm not going to pretend to know all of the reasons, or guess on his feelings, but it doesn't take a rocket-scientist to see the result of whatever internal justification he had. That result being, evil, destruction, terrorism...hate.

In the hours and days following, people are instantly making this about gun control, politics, racism, discrimination, oppression, immigration and on and on.  While there is no doubt there is a connection to all of that, it doesn't change what it was really about, which is hate.

I saw several people posting on social media about how this specific event wasn't actually the biggest act of terrorism in our history.  Several people came up with other examples of battles, murder, racism and other impactful events.  I don't argue with any of those people.  I saw yet another post that said something to the effect of why post a rainbow flag?  Why not post an American flag?  After all, this attack was not just on the gay community, but Americans.  I would take it a step further.  This attack was on human beings. People full of life with family and friends and their whole life ahead of them.  I don't want to focus on their sexual preference, their race, their culture, their lifestyle.  They were PEOPLE.  I understand that the underlying reason for their murders was due to their lifestyle, but I'd like to not categorize them. I'd like to just see them as sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, friends, neighbors, etc.  I know, I'm living in a fairy-tale world. And in saying that, I'm not trying to take away that they were gay, that's not it.  They should be proud of who they are.  I'm just saying if we ever want to truly achieve equality, let's call them people.  I guess we aren't at that point in society where we can say that, sadly.  I do know if it had been a night club where a bunch of straight people hung out, the headlines would have been different.  The focus would have been different. I just feel like, in my heart, they were people that were tragically taken from us, regardless.

And, I get we have to understand the past and history to not repeat it, but in this day and age of everyone getting butt-hurt and offended by everyone else's opinions and people forcing their beliefs on others, it feels like we are constantly focusing on our differences and the division between all of us instead of just focusing on the simple fact that we all share this earth together. Sure, that's naive of me to say.  It's not that simple. Lord knows I've been told a few times that I am a straight white woman, so after all, what could I possibly understand about diversity and the struggles of other races or cultures. That's right, my opinion doesn't mean much, to some. I get it, but let me explain.  When I was growing up, my parents never told me that I couldn't do what I wanted in life. Never told me I couldn't do something because I was a woman.  I was even a fat kid and they never told me I couldn't do something because I was fat.  I get there is a "glass ceiling" out there and there are injustices in salaries and such, but honestly, I didn't focus on that, because my parents didn't make it a focus. I haven't spent my life searching for equality as a woman.  I've spent my life searching for equality as a person.  I've spent my life looking at people as people.  Not a black person or a gay person or a disabled person, or whatever.  I've spent my life thinking, "If you're nice to me, I'm nice to you."  I've spent my life thinking, "If what you are doing in your life is not hurting me in my life, then live your life the way you want."

I've spent an entire childhood being the kid that got bullied in school for being overweight and I watch today's kids get bullied ten times worse than I ever did.  At some point, the parents have to take responsibility.  Teach your child acceptance and tolerance.  Teach your child kindness. Teach your child it's okay to not like someone, but it is not okay to hate them.  Teach your child that sometimes life is hard for everyone and we need to help those struggling instead of holding them down.  If I had a child, I would teach them those things.

I had one of my friends post something about the devastation of the last week and telling us to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.  Don't just sit there and change your profile picture to a flag, don't just put a sad emoji, DO SOMETHING.  I don't know what my power is, honestly. I often times feel hopeless about our future as a human race based on the constant turmoil.  I don't know how to change the world, other than to say, I will not hate.  I will make a conscious effort to say that I dislike something instead of giving hate energy.  I will continue to raise up those around me when I can.  I will continue to remind myself that everyone has a struggle and to judge less and be more kind.  That is the power I have.  I ask everyone else to use that power as well.

I realize I grazed over some pretty heavy topics pretty lightly in my writing tonight, but that was purposeful.  I don't want to debate racism, terrorism, politics, gun laws, religion or sexuality.  Those things are important, but the base of it all is love and hate and our capacity for kindness. I just wanted to say, love more, hate less.

On a side note, a little less serious, I will say, if the person that wrote "FU" on the mens room wall at work keeps it up, I'm going to slap a brother in the back of the head and that has nothing to do with hate and everything to do with admin justice.  Peace.

Just Make Me Comfortable...

It's another Therapy Thursday rendition of "deep thoughts by Cassondra."  Buckle up, bitches. (I have a few friends that find the term "bitches" to be derogatory and hateful towards women.  I really use it as a term of endearment.  If you are one of those friends that find it offensive, I apologize for nothing. Write your own damn blog about how much you think it is setting women back in time and causing rap music to talk about their bitches.)

Anyway, as many of you know, cuz I've talked about it openly, as I have most everything else in my life, I have struggled with depression my entire life and have fought taking medication (I may have used too many commas in that last sentence, but right now, I can't be bothered with that.) I have played with being on one kind of anti-depressant, then going off because I hate the side-affects or feeling numb or whatever and then trying another, then giving up, then getting tired of crying all the time and then trying yet another.  As it turns out, right now I am on one that seems to be working for me, for the most part.  I have a calmness about me that was not present before.  The Rug Doctor asked if I was "feeling my feelings."  I think Shark Bait can verify I still feel my feelings and I still struggle with depression, but it isn't taking me down like it was before and I can handle most things in stride.  I mean, just today, it was reported to me that the remote control to the TV in the break room at work was broken and I calmly handled the situation without telling anyone to go to hell or inserting the broken remote into any open body holes.  Wasn't even annoyed. Additionally, I was hit in the face with a ping pong ball and I didn't kill anyone.  I mean, the guy that hit me got up and got the hell outta Dodge faster than I have ever seen him move, but I didn't even plan his funeral or anything.  All this to say, I think this anti-depressant is likely doing its job.

However, I am still struggling with finding my will to get my life back on track where it needs to be with my weight.  I have gained back much of what I had lost and it tears me apart right down to the soul. It's embarrassing, humiliating, discouraging...it makes me feel like a failure.  It makes me feel like I let everyone down, mostly myself.  Anyway, insert a lot of deep feelings here.  A lot of angst.  A lot of self-torture (not the cutting kind, because cellulite bleeds really easily and we have white towels) a lot of self-loathing and a lot of dreams that feel so far away.  I feel hopeless.  Which brings us to today's therapy session.

Today I started out telling the Rug Doctor, who, I have to just mention, has not only been re-adjusting the rug, but her chair is also off-center now and she has re-structured her plant that was encroaching on the couch that I sit on.  It's a lot of change.  Now, every time I go, I have to settle in and "feel the room out."  But I digress.  Anyway, I told the Rug Doctor today that it was time to engage in what I'd like to call Therapeutic Hospice (and for anyone that thinks I'm mocking Hospice, I'm not, so get over yourself. I've seen it in action more than once and I would never downplay it's role in the human experience).

The Rug Doctor seemed a little concerned and asked what Therapeutic Hospice was.  I said, "Look, we've been going at this a long time.  Things aren't getting better.  I seem to be incapable of fixing myself.  Incapable of reprogramming my negative thoughts.  Let's just accept that life is never going to get any better than this, there is no cure and just make me comfortable until I die."  She seemed a bit horrified and I could see she was trying to figure out exactly how to address this.  I pushed on.  I said, "look, just help me find comfort in the fact that this is all there is ever going to be.  And, let's find the right drug to make sure I don't feel anything or that I don't care anymore."  She considered my plan.  She said that she would not be a party to my Therapeutic Hospice.  She didn't think I really could either.  She didn't think I was ready to accept that. I told her I was tired of fighting and didn't believe, after all this time that it was fixable.  Just make me okay with that.  And, with the right drugs, who needs to feel anything?  Once I wasn't feeling anything, her job was essentially done.  She asked where I was going to get these drugs I was seeking.  I told her from the Therapeutic Hospice team she was going to assemble for me.  When it reached the point I was crapping myself because I didn't care about going to the bathroom on my couch, then I could be passed off to another team member.  She asked who was going to pay for this?  Insurance or what?  I said, "well, if Bernie Sanders gets into office, I'm sure you and other fine citizens will pay for it (for those of you offended by that comment, please, see the doctor, get a cream for that "bern."  I've got Trump and Clinton jokes, too, just so you know)."

Anyway, we fully explored my plan for Therapeutic Hospice and we decided (mostly her) that it probably wasn't going to happen and that we would focus on dealing with the negative self-talk.  I asked her, "don't you ever get tired of telling me to stop being mean to myself, I mean, really?  This isn't the first time we've talked about this."  She said it's not an easy or quick process.  I've had years of negative re-enforcement, that isn't just undone in a short period.  She gave me the analogy of a door-to-door salesperson knocking on my door.  I can choose to open that door and acknowledge her presence and then I can decide whether I want to listen to her pitch, tell her to go away, or buy what she has to say.  I asked, "what if she's selling ice cream? Then what?  She's got me there...Why can't I get someone coming to my door selling a gym membership or something useful?  See, it's always the people selling stuff I don't need that come to see me." So, we talked through that.  The negative voices aren't going to go away, but how I choose to respond to them is the key.  They might not visit as often as I get stronger. Or, the little bastards are going to knock on my door repeatedly.  I just hope the freaking Girl Scouts don't gang up on me, because dammit, I do love a Thin Mint.

I finally asked her, "so what do I have to do, listen to some CD with a soothing voice on it saying, 'You are an amazing person.  You are lovable.  You are going to be successful.  You can do it...'" The Rug Doctor told me that depressed people don't really respond well to that approach.  I said, "damn right they don't, it pisses them off."  She agreed, it does.  She said that people like me need reassuring phrases like, "I will not kill anyone today..." That is a more reasonable expectation of something I could embrace and build a foundation on.  I told her I can't have that kind of CD found in my car right after the murder, it would be very incriminating.  You know, if the positive re-enforcement didn't work.  I'm not saying I'm going to kill anyone.  I'm medicated.  I'm like a baby kitty.  Harmless.

So, that's where I'm at.  Hopeless with a touch of maybe.   I think that is all the progress we can really expect at this point since no one is willing to just make me comfortable until I die. 

"I will not kill anyone today....I will not kill anyone today...I will not kill anyone today..." (as long as I don't have to report poop smears in stall #1 one more time...)

The Cleansing of the Admin

It was a crazy week last week and a crazy weekend. I figured, before life got any crazier, I needed to regain some control.  One of the places I seriously need to do that is in the arena of nutrition. I needed to be taking my vitamins everyday and doing my morning shake, which I hadn't done for a few weeks.  Time to get supplies and get back on track.

I headed on in to the local supplement store to get some protein powder and some protein bars. I noticed they had re-arranged since last time I was there and had some new stuff.  I'm walking up and down the aisle with Shark Bait and I see the cleansing product aisle.  I've never really done a cleanse, but maybe I should?  One of the boxes just spoke to me, "Tired? Bloated? No Energy? Depressed?"  Well, hell yes, check, check, check and check!  Clearly I should consider it.  Shark Bait was a bit skeptical.  I asked him what he thought and he says, "Well, if you want to shit yourself for a week, go ahead, but that should do the trick."  This is the kind of support I've come to expect from Shark Bait.  I started to walk away, but I couldn't stop looking at that box that listed off all my problems in bold print.  Well, not all of them, but at least four of them.  I moved back over and looked at them again.  I started reading boxes and they all said "it" should happen "gently."  Well, if they are saying gently, then I can do gently, right?  But what is the definition of gently?  Like, I'll be shitting so fast that I won't notice it is happening?  Like, it will ooze out?  Will it be as relaxing as petting a soft rabbit?  I just didn't know.

It was about that time that one of the salespeople that works there asked if I had any questions.  Nicely dressed guy, about my age, maybe a little older, gray hair pulled back in a ponytail.  Kind of a hippy kind of guy. What do I have to lose?  I said, "So, if I am going to do a cleanse, is there any of these you would recommend over the others?"  He gets down to it right away, "What's your goal? Weight-loss? Just detoxing? You blocked up?"  I told him just feeling sluggish.  He says, "Well, let me ask you, how many times do you poop a day?"  This just got personal.  I'm glad he was comfortable with this. I told him my regime.  He says, "Well, you should be pooping three times a day."  Wait, that's a lot of time in the bathroom.  I mean, how full of shit am I?  He then proceeds to go into detail about the stance I should take when I poop.  As I'm watching him squatted on the floor assuming the position, I'm nodding and actively listening, because damn it, this guy...this guy gives a shit.  He then tells me I should purchase a Squatty Potty so that I may always achieve a perfect shitting experience.  I didn't see those on the shelf next to the cleansing products, so I passed on that suggestion.  I did, however, decide to purchase a 14-day cleanse called "Flush & Be Fit."  The Poop Master, as I shall call him henceforth, said it was a good one. He did say if things started moving too fast, to just stop the cleanse until things returned to normal.  He also wanted to make sure I didn't buy this one product up there on the shelf because it's a laxative and if people use it all the time, their intestines will just stop slowing the the process and stop doing the thing they do to create poop and it will just shoot out your ass because there is no control.  And then, if you stop using it, your body just plugs up and won't go at all.  NOTED.  NOT buying that.  I don't need an ass that doesn't give a shit...literally speaking.

On Sunday morning  I took my first two pills and prayed it was going to be okay.  The Poop Master said that it wouldn't happen within hours, but that within a day or so, I should notice some movement.  Shark Bait had asked The Poop Master if I was going to be running for the bathroom as soon as it hit, but The Poop Master didn't think it would be that dire.  And, as it turned out, Sunday went pretty smoothly.  I drank a ton of water and had no episodes.  Which is good, because we had to go to Walmart and, as usual, I found the slowest cashier. She is examining each item, struggling with the bags, all the while moving at the pace of a depressed sloth.  I was purchasing some panty liners and she holds them up, looks confused and says to me, "is it okay if these touch other stuff?"  I looked confused, but said yes, that would be fine.  I mean, what exactly was going to happen if the package of panty liners touched my can of chicken broth?  Maybe there's a story.  Maybe she's heard something.  I mean, strange stuff goes down there.  Anyway, I digress.  The happenings at Walmart is surely another blog in itself.

This morning, I got up feeling decent.  Still no major issues. I'm thinking this cleansing is no big deal.  I got this.  I headed on in to work and had my morning chit-chat with my boss.  We talk about bathroom stuff and a bunch of other stuff equally personal on the regular, so I told her I got the cleanse. She says, "Whoa, okay...well, if you disappear, I'll know where you are."  I said, yeah, don't ask any questions.  She goes on, "You know, it's going to stink really bad, too. Like, BAD."  Well, good to know. 

Things were going pretty good for the first hour or so.  Then, there was a noticeable shift.  I felt a little weird.  As the morning progressed, just a lot of going to the bathroom to process all the water I was drinking.  During the last visit I had put a big hole in my nylons by accident, so at this point, if things went south, no reason to be gentle, damage has been done. 

Anyway, I ate lunch and was doing okay. I took my noontime pills, as directed, but I was not feeling well.  Valerina came to see if I wanted to take a walk outside and I declined.  I didn't think it was safe.  I started to do some deep breathing. I wasn't sure if I was going to throw up or shit myself.  I squirmed in my chair.  I told Valerina I would walk as far as the elevators with her, but that I needed to hit the can.  We get all the way over to the hallway and I notice the bathroom is closed for cleaning. I think Valerina could sense the fear.  She said quickly, "here, let's go up to the 5th floor, you'll be safe there."  I went up there and found refuge in an empty bathroom.  Thank you, baby Jesus.  What transpired next I'm going to leave out, but I will say this, when the boss is right, the boss is right.  I finally came out of the stall, half leaning, half staggering.  I washed my hands, did some deep breathing and left the bathroom kind of like John Wayne in a western flick where he had been shot in the gut.  I felt remorse for what I had done in there.  I hope no one was going to be needing that bathroom soon.  I would like to state, for the record, that no poop was smeared on the wall, the seat, the floor, etc.  I was able to keep it all where it needed to go without finger painting like those before me.  Just clarifying.

I got back down to my desk and I messaged Valerina.  I said, "There was just an intestinal reckoning in there."  She said, "Oh, okay, cuz the janitor is in there now."  That poor bastard just took one for the team. Bless his heart. I continued my breathing exercises.  Suddenly there was a noise in my stomach.  Oh shit.  Jurassic World was happening in my belly.  I feared what would come next.  I continued to breathe. I could do this.  I was going to be okay and I would not shit myself.  Not on this day, not in this chair.  I'm stronger than this.  The box said it would be gentle! 

I finished my day without further incident, but I'm not going to lie, I have 12 more days to go and I'm scared. This isn't over. Here's hoping I don't have to "stop until it returns to normal," because I'm like one of those shit spreaders the farmers use out in the fields on dairy farms. However, it is comforting to know there is an 800# I can call if the shit hits the fan to get advice from people like The Poop Master.

Fingers crossed, people.  Fingers crossed.  And cheeks clenched.  I could potentially have buns of steel after this.  Win-win.