Doing it for me...I guess

The last blog I posted stated it may be my last blog and that the Pony may be put out to pasture. I've received several messages from folks saying they didn't want me to stop, but I still felt like I didn't really have much more to say that anyone would want to hear.  Tonight, it was Therapy Thursday and my writing came up.  I told her I had  written my last blog.  She, too, asked me to reconsider.  We discussed why I was considering stopping and she pointed out that my blog is for me, not anyone else and that my writing is a great outlet for me, so whether I choose to share it or not, her opinion is that I should continue to work out my feelings through the keyboard.

And so, I find myself here.  Here inside the safety of my blog where there are typically no boundaries, no secrets, lots of digression and the occasional use of the word Fuck.

I walked in to therapy tonight and The Rug Doctor says, "I'm ready."  I said, "You think so? We'll see."  I sat down and she said, "Well, what have you got?"  I said, "Syphilis." Tension breaker, had to be done.

Since I don't really have syphilis, we talked about what has been wearing me down these last couple of months.  To bring everyone up to speed, I'll just spill what has been going on.

Towards the end of the summer, I was walking into the Glass Palace and one of the Directors was walking in next to me.  We shared idle chit chat and then she said, "Why don't you come work for me?"  I said, "yeah right, sure, make it happen."  Knowing we were not hiring anywhere in the company due to the budget.  She said, "Actually, I do have a position open, you should apply."  And that is where the drama started.  Long story shortened considerably, I had two interviews, the last of which was on September 1st.  I was told they should have a decision in a week or two.  I was patient, I told very few people as I don't get my hopes up and I didn't really want anyone to know.  The problem is, there are never secrets at the Glass Palace, word gets out.  I was getting pressure to go for the new job, but then also pressure to stay in my current position.  After all, how could they live without me?  Weeks turned into months.  Daily interrogations, "have you heard yet?"  "any word yet?"  on and on it went, heightening my anxiety.  If they offered the job to me, should I take it?  I was confused.  People were tugging on my heart strings, putting guilt on me.  Intentions may have been good, however, it was making me crazy.  I didn't even know what I wanted to do anymore if the opportunity were to present itself.

Most of me wants change, a new job, a fresh start, distance from the constant drama of the call center.  However, weeks have turned into months.  Day in, day out, waiting for an email from HR or from recruiting.  Nothing.  I have finally been told, as of this week, the job is "on hold."  It won't happen this year.  It might happen next year.

I'm so angry.  Angry I got my hopes up.  Angry that I put myself out there.  Angry that I was strung along.  Angry to be put through the ringer by well-meaning, but frustrating co-workers and friends.  Angry that I am denied the option to move on.  So tired of being told that "things happen for a reason."  Tired of all the meme's in life telling me that this wasn't my door, or it wasn't meant to be, or the time wasn't right.  Whether the job will or won't become an option next year is unknown.  The company is all about budget right now.  The company is not about the human beings waiting to hear if they got a job. I feel devalued. I feel strung along.  I feel bitter. I feel stuck. I feel hopeless.

I have said a million times before in this blog of mine that I don't have hope for a good reason. I've been let down so many times.  Remember "The Year of Angry Pony" where all my weight loss dreams would come true?  I ruined that good, didn't I? I am so angry at myself for that.  I can't forgive myself. I can't enjoy my horses, I can't enjoy getting dressed in the morning, I can't enjoy eating.  I struggle to make each day feel like a gift or to find my positivity.  To find the voices that encourage me instead of listening to the ones that like me contained in misery. The Rug Doctor says that I have to have hope from time to time for things to get better.  I told her I am basically Wild Bill's victim in Silence of the Lambs. I'm down in that hole, rubbing lotion on my skin and there is no way out.  I'm going to be some perverts woman skin suit.  That much is certain.

The Rug Doctor asked me to read a book called Rising Strong by Brene Brown.  It's apparently part of a series of books, but it talks a lot about being in this stuck place, this "rumble zone" where one tries to figure things out.  This place where you wallow for a while. I said to her, "I suppose you're going to tell me I'm right where I need to be," as she often does.  And she said, "Actually, yes."  Apparently, it is better to exist in this rumble zone and work through it, than it is to bury it all and let it fester and then erupt later into a nasty, pus-filled pocket of emotions that oozes all over everything in your life.   Some people can work through this dark place in a week, others over months, some other people, even years.  I said, "well, no guessing which category I fit into."  The Rug Doctor said it was kind of funny I had brought up the Silence of the Lambs reference earlier, because the author of Rising Strong talks about how Hannibal talks to Clarice in Silence of the Lambs.  I guess I should give this book a read, what do I have to lose, I guess.

So, I find myself here, where I always am, working through it.  Never truly giving up, but never truly enjoying life to it's fullest.

I'm struggling with being okay with my job and where I am.  I'm told I need to mourn the loss of what I hoped would be.  It's okay to do that.  And then, it's time to re-evaluate where I want to go and what I want to do.  Being in the position I am in, where I take care of everyone, rise to every occasion, give all my creativity and ability to others is not healthy for me.  It's not what is best for me.  So what is?  Fuck if I know (as promised earlier, the F word).

In the meantime, I guess I'll just hash it out here until I figure it out.

Time to put The Pony out to Pasture?

I've been thinking about my blog quite a bit lately. Thinking about how I need/want to blog, but that I don't know what to write anymore.  In the beginning it was clear.  I was documenting all the stories that were funny or making me mad.  Life was just pissing me off and I loved to rail about it and you enjoyed reading about it, or so it seemed.  Then, it turned to more of my weight-loss journey and self-discovery.  Now, it depends on the day as to what words come out on the page.  It's more of Lost Pony than Angry Pony.  Which makes me wonder, is it time to stop this blog?  Put the pony out to pasture?  I just don't know. 

I put a post on FB earlier today stating that I was thinking about closing it down, but wanted to save the stories and asked for folks to send me some tips if they knew how to do this.  I received a few private messages asking me why I was going to stop blogging.  People were saying they didn't think I should stop.  But I have to ask myself, have I lost my edge?  Have I lost my way?  Do I have anything to say that anyone wants to hear anymore?

In this current age of everyone getting offended about everything and people wanting the hate to stop (self included), is there a place for Angry Pony?  Maybe being this Angry Pony is holding me back from everything I want in life? Maybe Angry Pony's outlook is the problem?  See, shit just got real there. It's so complicated.  AND, honestly, how many times can I talk about my FCD?  How many times can Spanx/Pranx be a topic of discussion? I mean we are NEVER going to figure out how to use that pee hole in the crotch of those damn things.  How many times can we talk about the bathroom situation at the Glass Palace and people coming to hiring events in Unicorn Poop t-shirts and mismatched shoes?  How many times can we talk about my lack of ability to lose weight?  How many times can we talk about my boobs going East and West when I lay down and my arm fat...and muffin top?  How many times can we talk about how stupid doctors are?  Admittedly, that never gets old, because seriously, buncha idiots with fancy paper in a frame on the wall.  How many times can I possibly get trapped in stall one with my bracelet stuck to the back of my tights and I'm in a bind?  Actually, that is an on-going problem, seriously.  How many dead things are going to rot under my house? How many times can people piss me off in traffic? And vaginas.  I mean, they've come up a few times.  Who blogs about vaginas?  Or shitting their pants?  (raises hand, looks around room, sees no one else's hand is up...puts hand back down)

Now, let's talk about self-discovery, how much self-discovery can the world handle?  How many Therapy Thursdays can we review?  I mean, my God, aside from the Rug Doctor, I've now added a Psychiatrist to the support team of people that keep me from losing my mind because I need to figure out why I'm such a mess.  This whole 45th year of my life has been non-stop angst.  So much change, so much turmoil, so much aimless wandering to figure out what the fuck I'm supposed to do with my life and how to get what I want before I'm dead.  I'm about to turn 46.  Maybe my birthday will end this crazy cycle...magically.  As if the clock strikes midnight and this nightmare is over.  But my life has never been a fairy tale, so I'm not holding out hope for that.  Besides, hope is not a strategy.

In looking back over the last few years, I have shared some really personal stuff on here.  I have also shared some seriously embarrassing stuff.  I mean, after reading the Fifty Shades of Gray books, I blogged about the first time I had sex (I mean, it was a pretty epic tale, in my mind).  Nothing has been off the table, except my bosses at work (for the most part), family drama and my sex life with Shark Bait.  But even that isn't really true, because I have made a couple vague references.  And, for some reason you all followed me down this road.  I don't know why, but I know some of you have said different stories have resonated with you or made you feel better knowing you were not alone.  For that, I'm glad.  We are all in this life together and whatever we may be portraying on FB, the reality is, life is hard and painful and sometimes ugly.  Pretending that underbelly doesn't exist is not helpful, in my mind.  At the same time, life is also beautiful and precious.  I need to spend more time remembering that.

At any rate.  I'm writing this tonight because I don't know what I will do with this blog yet.  I'm torn.  I guess I will give it some more thought. Maybe just take a long break, or a short break, or maybe I'll just chain watch episodes of Family Feud and pet my wiener while sitting in my recliner until I die. It's a crap-shoot right now.  If this does end up being the last blog, thanks for reading and coming on Angry Pony's journey.  If it doesn't end up being the last...well...I guess I'll blog some more.

Which way do I go?

10 Years With Shark Bait

This Labor Day weekend Shark Bait and I will celebrate 10 years of marriage.  On September 2, 2007 I said "I do" to the person that I was meant to find and spend the rest of my days making crazy. That poor guy.  However, I never hid the true me.  I let my crazy show.  I waved the crazy flag proudly.  He came into this relationshiop under full disclosure, with the exception of the blog name.  I'm certain he didn't know on that amazing day that someday he would obtain a blog name and that it would be used on the regular about our crazy life.  To be fair, I didn't know either, but some things are just meant to be, I guess.

In the beginning...

Looking back, I didn't think that I would ever get married.  I was pretty sure I'd die alone and that my 30 cats would eat off my carcass for weeks until someone finally found my remains.  I mean, there is no guarantee that won't happen, I guess, since I'm still alive, but the good news is, I have Shark Bait and zero cats right now, so I am less likely to be used for cat consumption.  Anyway, I met Shark Bait and he was goofy, but sweet.  He was a gentleman and made me feel safe. We dated for two years before he proposed and then we married a year later. Our wedding day was so fun and so special, I will always recall it with the best of memories.  My Dad walked me down the aisle and gave me away to this man that I loved and we were surrounded by family and friends.  Best day ever.

Best day ever...and then life started coming at us fast and furious.  Many of the problems that couples don't have to face for several years were thrust at us immediately.  I guess it is lucky that we got married in our mid-thirties, because we seemed a little more emotionally equipped to handle it all.  No matter what came our way though, we have never turned on each other, only turned towards each other.  Don't get me wrong, there are days I want to punch him in the breadbasket, but we work it out.  Shark Bait doesn't like conflict, which helps, I guess.  I try and get him to fight with me sometimes and he won't do it.  It kind of makes me mad sometimes, so I have to up the ante and get a bit hysterical.  That usually gets his attention.  Maybe by our 20th anniversary he'll learn to spar with me a bit so that I don't have to take it up to the next level.

The best thing about our marriage is that we have a comfort level with each other that some may say defies any sense of mystery or romance, but here's the deal, if I have something on my butt and I don't know if it is a zit, a bug bite or MRSA, I need someone to take a look at that.  I don't have time for embarrassment, boundaries or disinterest.  I could be dying and we won't know until someone looks at that spot on my butt that is itchy and sore.  I'm not saying this happens a lot, I'm just saying, it's happened.  Thankfully, Shark Bait is up for the task, which is good because I can't see back there and he can get a magnifying glass and really assess the situation, you know?  Also, Shark Bait can't always tell when his eyebrows are closing in on a Bert and Ernie situation.  I'm there for him.  I got that plucking action down.  It's give and take, but I know not everyone is about that kind of thing.  Especially the bathroom door thing.  Honestly, I'd like Shark Bait to close that door more frequently, but hey, whatever, everybody poops, right?  They even wrote a book about it.

I know I don't have to go into a lot of detail about the kind of shenanigans we get into, because I've already blogged a lot about it.  We'll just leave it here by saying, we're comfortable and I don't know if I could ever have that level of comfort with anyone else.  It's not that I'm scared to show my butt to other people, but it's a safe kind of comfortable that I can't really explain, but I hope everyone can experience at some point in their life.  If the butt example didn't clarify it, let me put it another way.  It's the kind of comfortable that you can totally hate your body and how it looks, but you can stand there naked in front of this other person (with the light on) knowing that they love all of you and all they see is beauty.  They don't see all the things you obsess about.  They just see this person that they love so much and want to hold in their arms.  That's the comfort level I'm talking about.  I always tell Shark Bait the only reason he thinks I'm beautiful is because he has bad eyesight, but the reality is, he sees ALL of me, inside and out, crazy and sane, good times and bad.  I'm pretty freaking lucky.  And, it goes without saying how lucky he is with me, mostly because I make sure the bills get paid and the cable stays on.  It's a love balance.

Shark Bait tells me he loves me every day, multiple times.  He tells me I'm beautiful every day.  He kisses me when I get up in the morning, he kisses me before we part ways and go to work, kisses me when we return home from work, kisses me before he falls asleep...every night.  Even if we were mad, still the kiss.  He holds my hand all the time in public and protects me in a crowd.  He's just always there.  Sure, I get after him for ignoring me on his phone or his Kindle, but in the big scheme of things, he's there. 

Our marriage is not perfect.  We struggle (mostly me because I over-analyze everything). Times get tough.  What has made it work over the last ten years is that we aren't going anywhere.  I'm not leaving, he's not leaving.  As he likes to say to me as he points to his ring finger, "bought and paid for."  No refunds, no returns, as is.  We are in this for the long haul.  He's my person, I'm his.  It's that simple.  It's love.

Happy 10 years, Shark Bait.  Remember, I love you just enough to be your forever person, to fold your underwear correctly and to tell you where all the stuff is that you lost, but not enough to give you that last cookie...even though you are always willing to give me yours.  I choose to believe you wouldn't have it any other way.  I am your Squishy.

BUY. THE. MUMU.

 I haven't really complained about my body lately, have I?  I mean, really got involved in addressing an issue?  Well, the wait is over.  Today I'm over it.

Today, I stand up and say, screw you mid-section. Eat shit and die, food baby.  And fuck off lop-sided hips.  All of you, just go to hell. I'm so sick of my straight up and down body with no womanly curves to hold up my clothes.  No booty, just a bunch of jiggly, cottage cheese thighs.  Most "plus-size" girls have some badonk-a-donk to hold up their pants and have, like, an indent between fat rolls to hold the waist of their pants up.  Not me.  Not this slab of beef.

For those of you that may not have ever experienced my unfortunate situation, there is a difference between having fat on your body and being voluptuous.  I'm not voluptuous.  I can't even get the right side of my waist and hips to hold up a pair of jeans.  Today, for example, my jeans, which are actually a bit big for me, decided they would ride up on the left hip, but below the 'ol jelly roll on the right side.  I put a belt on to assist with my crisis.  The problem with that is my freaking food belly decided it was going to push the waist of my jeans down.  So, I'm cinched up with the belt, my waistband has folded over and my belt doesn't even try to help me out and my right side is sticking out like you just busted open a biscuit can.

The belt isn't even trying

I can't operate under these conditions.  Add into the equation that my FCD (fat controlling device) is forcing the band of my bra into my body. Don't get me started on the fact that my boobs are not big enough to hold my bra in place.  The band just slides on up so that it looks like I'm harboring chicken breasts under my bra band, like they are oozing out from underneath.   All I could think was, just give in to what you've always known would be your future.  Don't fight it anymore.  You are a weight-loss failure, there will be no little black dress, just do what nature intended, BUY. THE. MUMU.  Just do it.  It's time.  We can't live like this anymore.  Our man boobs are tired of pretending to know Victoria's Secret, our hips can't support mainstream fashion and we sure as hell don't want to wear skinny jeans.  Skinny jeans for fat people.  I don't get it.  It's like diet water.  It doesn't make sense.  I look like a waffle cone when I wear skinny jeans.  Small at the bottom, big 'ol wide funnel on the top that you could load ice cream in for days!

So, I started looking for mumu's online. I found this beauty right away.

Mumu shopping. This one is a winner.

This girl looks really happy with her choice.  She doesn't seem in distress, no slippage, no busted biscuit.  We don't even know if she is wearing a bra.  I sense she might be, but again, she's adding a little air of mystery, a little, "come see whats discounted at the tent sale" kind of thing.  If you think about it, she's being flirty.  Almost luring the men in.  No one knows what's under there.  She might not even be wearing underpants.  She could be wearing Care Bear underpants and pasties for all we know.  Look at that shade of lipstick she is wearing, she's kind of a seductress. She could be hiding a wanted criminal in that dress.

If that girl can do it, why the hell can't I?  I just need to know, what is the best fabric for a mumu?  Is it a rigid cotton blend that makes you itch or can you really just go with a poly-blend?  I think the pattern is a must to distract the eye from any unflattering shape you may have.  How do you know if a mumu is the right size?  How much leg should really show?  Should you show any skin at all?  I think it is a personal preference, of course, but this girl pictured above is clearly being playful with her choice.

I've got a couple fleece blankets, let's see if I can re-create her splendor.

You don't even know if I'm wearing a bra...or if I have boobs...

Who says I can't be "playful" in this.  I could totally Instagram this shot.

Look at this, pulling the back around to the front...REGAL!

I don't know, I'm still not doing it right.  Not doing the mumu justice.  Let's find more pictures.  I need to know what is socially acceptable, you know?

Here's our sassy minx at it again.  I was right about her.

This lady really does it up nice with accessories and great make-up.

This here is what I think I'm striving for.  And, she was lucky enough to find a hat to go with.

I think what I've learned today is that wearing a mumu is okay.  And, if you accessorize appropriately, you can work it as good as any model on the catwalk.  I just need to let it go.  Stop trying to fight my body and be at one with the cards I was dealt.  As long as I can put a poly-blend tent on this body, there is no reason to fight my belly, bra or jeans ever again!  Hell, I may even start a movement!  Or, maybe I'm joining one already in progress?  I don't know, but the world is about to find out.

My weekend just filled up, mumu shopping is happening!

Can You Become Numb To Anger?

Do you remember being a kid just playing and then suddenly screaming and your parents came running to see if you were okay? And every time after that, when you screamed or cried, they'd come check on you, maybe having a little slower response-time as they got used to your shenanigans?  And then after that, pretty soon, they didn't come running, they figured you were fine.  And you were.  You didn't die, it was a long way from your heart. That spider didn't kill you (although, I have it on good authority, they seek vengeance on humans all across the world and are Satan's minions and they love the blood of children) nobody bled to death, you grew up and here you are, no worse the wear for getting socked in the arm by that little bastard, Bobby, that lived down the street from you.  No worse the wear for falling off your bike or getting shocked from peeing on an electric fence.  You're fine.  And, your parents have probably lost some sleep along the way worrying about the stupid shit you did, but eventually, they just shrugged and went with it.  They may have built up a little resistance to your bullshit.  Not that they don't care, but it's all in the day of the life of a parent raising a strong-willed child.  Or, maybe you were a little angel and never caused them any pain because you were perfect. (*coughs*) Bullshit.

Anyway, my point in going on about wearing down your parents is that I think it is a good metaphor for what I am experiencing in my life right now, which is, I fear I have developed a numbness to my anger.  Perhaps, my give a damn is busted for good.

It's no secret, I can go on a tangent about things that piss me off.  I created this Angry Pony blog to help me express those angry rants and to entertain people about the stupid shit that happens in life that really does need to be analyzed or laughed about.  In the beginning, it was funny stories, then it went to just raging about everything, then back to random stuff, and then it became a journal in my weight-loss journey and in dealing with my on-going depression and figuring life out.  Writing is how I work things out. Weird, but it's how I do it.  Well, that and eating...and petting my pony....and watching skinny girls in turmoil on TV...and sex.  But I digress.  Anyway, in the space I am in mentally right now, I'm coming to discover that while I can get angry about the stupid things in everyday life, like the asshats on the mother trucking freeway on the way home, I'm not really able to reach the kind of anger I need to affect change in my life.  That saddens and scares me at the same time.

Is it possible that I have become numb to true anger?  I don't mean the kind of numb you get from sitting on the toilet too long reading Cosmo and then you can't stand up because you can't feel your legs, but you have to get up because it hurts, but you're afraid if you get up you'll fall down and someone will find you on the floor with your underwear around your ankles, Cosmo thrown across the floor and you may or may not have left skid marks on the seat. I mean the kind of numb where being mad doesn't seem effective in any way anymore.  Some might say that anger never solves anything.  I disagree.  I think sometimes you have to get so mad about how life is going that you put your foot down and vow to make a change.  You change your life.  You hit rock-bottom and say, NO MORE.  You stop the bullshit because you are driven by this power within.  And, somewhere along the line it changes from anger to action and change and then to having a power within you that says, "you know what? There is nothing I can't do."  I don't mean the kind of power you need to sit in line at the DMV waiting to renew your drivers license or to sit on Santa's lap at Christmas.  Those are short-term, temporary goals.  I am talking long-term, change your life stuff.

I've talked before about feeling angry that I have never had "a moment" that made me want/need to change.  It's always been there, this need for change.  As an overweight infant, toddler, child, teen-ager, young adult and now full-on mid-life crisis unicorn-loving friend-of-chocolate, I've always had to fight for change.  And, my body has always fought against me.  I have always lost. In 2013, I had hope for the first time in a long time and while I started to succeed, my body betrayed me and then I succumbed to the depression again.  I think a part of me figured that was my last chance and I blew it.

My therapist says it is the years of negative re-enforcement that has caused these internal messages of "I can't" and that I need to re-program positive messages in my head.  How do I do that when I'm all, "If I read one more Pinterest pin telling me that every day is a blessing and that there is something positive in each day and we get back what we put out to the universe, I'm going lose it!"  My therapist has been trying to reprogram me for years.  It's like she's trying to take a kitchen mop and equip it to make a flight to the moon and back.  I don't think it can be done.  See there, that's my problem.  Just so you know, we've pin-pointed my problem.  It isn't hiding anywhere, it's like an elephant standing in the open prairie, we can see it.

So, am I just so tired of trying to change that I can't get angry enough anymore? I can't get down-right furious that I can't achieve this one thing in life that I want the most?  And don't tell me maybe it isn't meant to be, or that I should be happy for what I have.  I am happy for what I have, but that does not change my desire and need to be in a healthier body.  So, just do it, you say.  Stop bitching and just do it. Seems simple.  Why can't I dig deep enough to do it?  Why can't I get angry enough to do it?  Have all the asshats on the freeway cutting me off wore out my give a damn?  Where is my inner warrior?  Where is Angry Pony?

And so, I'm at a standstill. I'm at a crossroad.  I'm at an Taco Bell wanting an Oreo Blizzard from DQ.  You know what I mean?  Does anyone else feel like this?  Is anyone else so overwhelmed by all the hate and anger in the world that you've just succumbed to this place of being where you are just, "meh, whatever?"  I don't think you are.  I see all the rage on social media all the time.  But that is not productive anger, that is just spewing hate, I guess.  Totally different.  However, people are genuinely upset about what is going on in the world.  Do we all feel so helpless to change it that we just accept it and grumble?  We just live our life and take what it gives us?  We just berate stupid people in You Tube videos because that is our outlet? 

I'm asking, how do I stop being numb to the anger?  How do I find the courage and strength?  I actually encourage your advice, unless you're quoting Buddha, save that shit for Pinterest. And, the first person that quotes me Curly from the movie City Slickers and tells me I gotta figure out this "one thing,"  I'll throat punch you.  See, there is anger, but it isn't going to change my life unless I end up in prison.  Not helpful, but on the other hand I bet I could lose weight in prison...

Angry Pony vs. Dalai Lama

I've recently been friended on the book of the face by a person that posts a lot of positive stuff.  He's a very self-assured, confident and positive person and lives his life as such.  He's kind of like a Success Buddha (I think he just got a blog name).  Anyway, he posts stuff that I instantly have a sarcastic response to because that is pretty much what I do. I hold back from mocking too much, because I don't want to ruin his mojo, plus I secretly worry the universe will punish me.  I think I mock a positive outlook because it is easier to make fun of something than it is to embrace it and make a choice to live it. Some would argue that it is actually easy to be positive.  I'd counter, you talk to all the angry pony voices in my head and reason with them.  I've been seeing the Rug Doctor for years.  This isn't a job for amateurs.

Anyway, after reading some of his posts lately, I thought, how did we all decide the Dalai Lama and all these other "deep" people were the end-all-be-all of wisdom?  I don't want a history lesson, I'm just saying, I've got some time on my hands and I've got some stuff to say.  I'd like a gig as epic as the Dalai Lama sitting there being all deep and saying epic stuff where people are like, "You know what, she's right."  For example, the Dalai Lama is all like, "Not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck." Who decided, you know what, that dude is right on, I'm glad I didn't get that promotion, I'm going to adopt this attitude? I'm not saying we need a world of sarcastic admins out there, I'm just saying, I've repeatedly stated, do not wipe poop on the bathroom wall, and nobody has adopted my way of thinking. Do I need to get a robe and sit at the top of the stairway in a meditative trance and chant softly, "use the toilet paper, not your hand....use the toilet paper, not your hand..." and then if someone comes to speak to me, I'm like, "what is it my child?"  And then the person says, "Someone took my lunch out of the fridge."  I'll sit there all ponderous and think deeply.  I might even eat a Hershey's kiss and then close my eyes and exhale.  Then I will say something epic like, "Do not want for something that no longer exists, for those who required the nutrients now have them and you are richer for providing that nutrient."  That person would say, "You know what, you're right.  I didn't really need that left over spaghetti anyway because I have a Cup O Noodle in my desk drawer.  Now two people have been fed instead of just one."  And with that, the person would walk away.

You know what?  Bullshit.  This Angry Pony is going to say something useful like, "You know what I think? Sucks to be you, dumbass, that's what you get for putting your lunch in a public fridge.  If you were truly hungry, you would have kept it at your desk in a little cooler bag.  A smart man looks out for his food in this dog eat dog world.  Now, go on with that hunger and plot your revenge.  Tomorrow, you bring two lunches, one for yourself and one that has Colon Blow in it and you put that one in the fridge.  Now, your food thief will shit his pants and be easy to find and then you can sit there, eat your sammich and laugh your ass off.  Now go, your problems make me tired."  This is the kind of helpful advice the world needs.  I've got more where that came from, too.

Say I'm sitting there,  at the top of the stairs again, in a robe and some pony print bottoms, and someone comes to me and says, "Angry Pony, I don't know what to do.  There is a car in the visitor parking area and I see it there everyday, so clearly it's someone who works here.  Someone needs to do something!"  I will once again ponder this most disturbing world problem.  I may scratch a little, take a few deep breaths and then I will impart my wisdom on this person.  It would probably go something like this, "Dear able-bodied person with a whiny tone, it would appear your legs work and you are able to climb these stairs to reach me.  You have a voice in which to cry out in angst. With these things being true, why is the presence of this car disturbing you so?  Have you no purpose greater than the car in the visitor parking spot?  Have you no ability to walk by the car and go about your day?  Are you letting this material object control you? Repeat after me, 'Who gives a shit?' Set your soul free!  Go about your day and wonder not where others park, but where you have parked your mind...and hopefully you have one of those auto-lock key chain things that makes your lights blink and horn honk so you can remember where you parked since there was no place in visitor parking for your lazy ass to park.  Now, take your petty bullshit, go on-line and donate some money to a charity that actually helps people without able-bodied limbs like yourself that would gladly walk from two rows over from visitor parking!  Now go!"

You know, the world needs someone to be that voice of reason.  The type of reason that people can readily understand right now.  The type of reason that they don't have to wait 20 years to make it click or have hindsight for.  I'm talking down and dirty, upfront and honest, in yo' face wisdom.  

Seriously, because while the Dalai Lama is saying that it's sometimes good luck to not get what you want, there's another quote I saw that basically says, all things are possible and who you are is only limited by who you think you are, or something like that.  Well, that's not what our pal Dalai just said, he said it was good luck, now this other wise-ass is saying you didn't get what you wanted because you were your own limit.  Look, we've got a world of millennials out there, we don't have time for them to figure this bullshit out.  We've got to be up front and honest with these people.  We do not have time for them to self-actualize!  There's no time!  Between Pokemon Go, Snap Chat, Grand Theft Auto and Game of Thrones, society doesn't have time to make sense out of life.  They need someone like Angry Pony to say, "you're being a dumbass! Look, you put the address in the middle of the front of the envelope and yes you need to include their name, street address, apartment number, city, state and zip code! And for fucksake, the stamp goes in mother trucking upper right hand corner!!!"

Look, I'm full of advice and problem solving skills.  I may not follow my own advice, but that is only because I am so self-actualized that I think I am fine the way I am even though I'm not, but believe that I am because I know that loving oneself is the key and that when one door closes a window opens, plus I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be as long as I do not look back because that is not where I'm headed, so actually, I do know what I'm talking about because you should always trust yourself and believe in yourself. For all I know, I'm a GD Unicorn!  So, what I'm saying is,I'm the girl for this job.

I think I need to create a homepage for my advice.  I don't think I do, I know I do.  You know why I know?  Because the only thing stopping me from what I want is me and I'm not going to stop me, so therefore, that's what I'm going to do.

Stay tuned.  Coming to a website near you, bitchy advice from a snarky admin.  It's just crazy enough to work.  

*FREE! Bonus advice during shark week!

Found a Starburst in my Pocket...

So, I think I've mentioned I'm having a mid-life crisis a few times now.  I really didn't know my 45th year of life was going to be the age of discovery for me, but it seems to be.  I'm questioning everything. I'm considering my regrets of the past and maybe I am trying to right them in some way and trying to "live it up" before my time is over.  I don't know.  What I do know is that I'm spending a lot more time thinking, which I didn't even know was possible to do.  I already make myself crazy by analyzing everything. You'd think I'd have figured this shit out by now, or at the very least, discovered a cure for cancer for the number of hours of analysis I've put in.  Yesterday is another prime example.

I'm driving home in rush hour traffic.  I have the radio on, I'm on the lookout for people driving like asshats, you know, the usual.  I think to myself, "dang, my mouth is really dry, I could use a mint or something...wait, isn't there a Starburst in my pocket?"  I had taken my fleece jacket off and it was thrown over the seat, so I'm driving with one hand and seeking the pocket with the Starburst with the other hand.  Digging, digging, damn it, wrong pocket, so I make my way to the other side of the jacket. My hand is in the pocket, I can feel the Starburst, but I can't get to it. What the hell?  It's then, at that moment, that I realize, I'm in a pocket on the inside of the jacket. Well color me happy, that jacket has had an inside pocket all this time and I never knew!  All this time, it was right there.  I could have used it for so many things...but I digress. I finally got to the right pocket and found the Starburst.  As I chewed on the orange Starburst, which is my second favorite flavor, the red one is the best, I thought to myself, this whole thing with the jacket is just like my life.

I spend all this time seeking this one thing. Searching, analyzing, dreaming about it, that I don't even see the things I do have that I should be thankful for, like a damn secret pocket.  And then, I'm sad I didn't know I had the pocket for all the things I could have used the pocket for. Wasted time with stuff in the pocket. And now, sure I can use it, but what about all that time that was wasted?  I think about that stuff. Why?  What possible benefit is there to doing that?  Then I start thinking about the Starburst.  It was the orange one.  Not the red one, which is my favorite.  I can't ever just have what I want.  I wanted a red one.  Why can't I just be thankful there was an orange one?  And be thankful it wasn't the pink one, because I really don't like the pink one. Don't get me wrong, I'll eat it, but I won't enjoy it.  Some people think pink is the best, but they are wrong.  I won't even take the time to argue about it.  Red is the best. End of story. Then I start wishing I had another Starburst, because correct me if I'm wrong, who just eats ONE of them?

This whole secret pocket and orange Starburst thing really is all about my life as I know it.  It really sums it up.  I just need to be thankful for what I have, orange or red.  I need to find joy in life's daily surprises.  To sum it up: Eat the mother trucking orange Starburst, enjoy it and be exited you have a new pocket to hide future Starbursts in and don't worry about when that will be, because someday, there will be one there, and if by some chance there isn't, that's okay because you'll probably stop at Wendy's someday and get a Frosty and that will totally make up for any Starburst that did or did not happen.  Why is that so hard to understand?

But here I am, frustrated because something I want, I can't have.  And it isn't that I can't have it, it's just that the store that has the red Starbursts is at the end of a difficult road. Like, I need 4-wheel drive to get there.  I have a Cabbage Patch Kids Big Wheel that barely gets me across the yard.  I need an upgrade, clearly. Trying to figure out how to get the upgrade.  The Angry Pony 4X4 Edition with the Power Train warranty.  And, if I could, the new truck smell.

So, anyway, that is pretty much why the red hair, because I can control the change, I can make it happen.  That's why the tattoo, I decided.  My body, my life, I controlled it. And both things I did not giving a shit who liked or didn't like, because I am all about not taking time to give others the power over me.  This year has changed me.  The Presidential election, the women's march, the ending of a friendship over it.  The open criticism, the silent opinion, I take it all in and I kick it back out to you.  Now, if I can use that power for my personal mission, that would be good.  That time is coming.  I know it is.

However, until that time comes, I don't know what may happen next. My hair may end up blue and I might start doing Yoga or something, but I probably won't pierce anything. As a matter of fact, on the way home after I got the tattoo, I was kind of on a high and I said to Shark Bait, "hey, should I pierce something for my next endeavor?" He asked if I wanted to get my nipples done. I asked, "Would that turn you on?" (asked for research purposes only, I'm NOT piercing my mother trucking nipples)  He says, "I don't know...." I responded with, "look, if you don't know, I sure as hell am not shoving little rods through my nipples.  Seriously."  So, just know, there will be no follow-up blog about what it was like the day I got X, Y, Z and certainly not my V, pierced.  Rest assured, not on my watch.  There is no crisis major enough to cause that madness to happen.

With all this said, I don't know how many of you put that much thought into getting a Starburst out of your pocket, but I'd love to hear some tips and tricks on how to make the process be shorter.

Thank you in advance for your suggestions.

It's all fun and games till your vagina catches on fire...

Well folks, it's Talk Me Down Tuesday.  I had a helluva week last week, so it was very much needed. And, as I often do, I'm working it all out right here in my blog. 

Today's session started out with me running down the list of things that have been going on in my life to The Rug Doctor.  I know I'm seeing the right person because after I finish, she says, "You are doing remarkably well, you didn't kill anyone or anything!"  At least the bar is set appropriately.  I told her how I had to say good-bye to my boss of two and a half years and how hard that was.  We had such a great working relationship and she has become someone I really genuinely care about.  She had our best interest at heart and fought for us and protected us at work.  Her leaving left me feeling vulnerable and sad, but then they brought in one of my previous bosses to temporarily fill-in.  While I was happy to see the previous boss, I was full of mixed emotions.  Like someone just gave me a puppy that I knew I would never be allowed to keep.  I've never been able to keep any of my bosses.  They all keep escaping.  I mean leaving.  I wasn't holding any of them hostage, I promise.

I went on to tell The Rug Doctor that I had to wear my big girl panties all week.  Honestly, they bind and pinch and they aren't comfortable to wear.  There is no joy in sucking it up, putting the brave face forward, acting like everything is okay, like it is all for the best, like you're happy for someone getting to move on. Like change is good.  Like we have to have faith.  Bullshit.

I told her that I was brave all week.  I looked people in the eye that I know are miserable, manipulative, ugly people inside and I was polite, because that is what I had to do. And I know karma is supposed to work that stuff out, but honestly, it's hard to wait. I looked my friends in the eyes and told them I was fine.  I moved forward and did what I needed to do.  I didn't get to spend time being sad. I took care of business. What I really wanted to do was to go bury my face in my pony's mane and cry, but there was no time for that.  And then we had Shark Bait's parents over for the weekend.  There was no decompression time and so I found myself sitting in The Rug Doctor's office saying how I didn't know how I had my shit together, but somehow I did.  I gave a little shout out to Effexor and the unlimited chocolate I had consumed.

I went on to share how I hadn't really broke until last night when I was on my way home and I saw this homeless guy on the corner as I got off the freeway.  He was old and wrapped in a blanket. He was holding a sign that said he was super hungry.  Not just hungry, he was SUPER Hungry.  At that moment I was so deeply sad that I didn't have any food to give to him and that it wasn't like I could just stop traffic and go ask what he needed.  Why was it this guy I had so much compassion for? Most of the people on that corner are meth-heads and I look the other way. Was this guy talking to my inner fat girl?  Was she like, "This guy...THIS GUY is SUPER hungry!!! Feed him!!!"  I don't know.  Can a soul starve?  Maybe my soul is starving?  I think it needs ice cream, frankly. 

Anyway, the Rug Doctor went on to say that there are extremes of compassion.  On one end is Kim Kardashian breaking a nail and on the other end is the Super Hungry homeless guy.  Each of us is somewhere in the middle of that scale.  We have to keep perspective on that. We can't compare where we are compared to that person.  That person's feelings are valid and so are ours.  I told her I didn't know how compassionate I was because if there are only two cookies left, guess who's getting those two cookies? Me.  Not one for Shark Bait and one for me...both are mine."  She said that cookies don't count, that is a whole different thing.  This is a relief to know that I don't have to share with Shark Bait.  He would share his with me, but I wouldn't share mine with him.  It's not that I'm a bad person, I just have a cookie superiority complex with the belief that cookies are better served in the hands of Angry Pony.  We need cookies to survive.  Kind of like vampires sucking your blood.  They aren't bad people, they are just thirsty and you have blood, they need blood, it's just how it is.

This just got weird.

I told The Rug Doctor about the conversation I had with my mother just before the appointment today. I told her that mom told me that my grandma is going to move farther away and grandma said who cares because she's only going to live a little bit longer anyway.  My brother is depressed and we are worried about his health. Mom isn't using her sleep apnea machine, which isn't good for her heart not to use it.  Some other drama I can't mention, and that she needed to clean the chicken coop, which in itself is not stressful, but the fact that mom really would rather be cleaning the chicken coop than talk to me caused things to escalate and so I said, "Great, Grandma's dying, my brother is going to die, you're going to die because you're aren't using your machine and there I am, waiting to die..."  And then, my loving mother, in her most matter of fact tone says, "Well, none of us are going to have to worry about any of that if North Korea has their say."  I sat there stunned...what the fuck?  Clearly, I had missed a very important Facebook update.  I said, "What?"  She says, "Yeah, they are going to bomb us with nuclear warfare, we'll all be dead."  What else was left to say?  "Well, Mom, this was uplifting. You go work on that chicken coop."

The Rug Doctor says I can't spend a lot of time worrying about that.  Like I have to put a priority on my worry.  Worry about immediate imminent things, but only a little bit, because that is normal, but don't spend a lot of time dwelling on what I can't control.  I told her the worry has to go somewhere.  It comes out in my dreams.  And, I didn't want worry or stress coming out of me like it did for this woman I heard about at work.  I guess her tampon caught on fire.  I'm not lying.  I've seen the pictures of the little tampon disposal container.  It had black scorch marks on it and I saw the picture of the tampon after the fire had been put out.  Look, if some woman was so pissed that her tampon caught on fire, that is a serious health concern that I, for one, am not going to take lightly.  I don't want a smoking vagina.  If your tampon is so hot it catches on fire, as far as I'm concerned, that is a reasonable excuse for missing work.  Like, "hey boss, I'm not feeling well, my tampon just caught on fire, I'm gonna go lay down and put an ice pack on the hootch" is a totally reasonable thing to say.  I didn't know it was even a thing that could happen.  I mean, the reality is, some chick probably lit a cigarette in the loo and flicked it in the tampon container thing.  But we don't know that.  As far as I'm concerned, a smoking vagina is a legit thing.

So, that kind of rounded out our therapy session.  I mean, once you've talked about smoking vagina's, what else is there to say?  Not much, really.  With that said, I'm supposed to give myself a pat on the back for surviving this past week, I'm supposed to focus on not worrying until it's time to worry.  She doesn't think the North Korea thing is critical today, so I can store that for later. I can wear loose fitting clothing during shark week to prevent over-heating and I can try and enjoy the time I have now.  And, I can choose coping mechanisms like when I wrote that blog tribute to my mom several months back, that was my way of taking care of the worry that my mom would never know how much I loved her.  That idea inspired me, actually.  I'm thinking about starting a series of blogs saying goodbye to people or things that are important to me, in case I never really get the chance.  Like, my pony, my dog, my husband, my other family members, my friends, my cell phone, my job, my FCD, ice cream...you know, the stuff that deserves a proper tribute.  I'll think more on that because I'm pretty sure if I wrote a tribute to my job right now...probably not my best career move.  Maybe I'll focus on saying good-bye to submitting tickets about shit floating around on the floor in the mens room.  It'd be a real tear-jerker, I can promise you that.

Until next time, keep your bits ventilated and don't worry, be happy...

Unable to Steal Your Soul

Well, I think I have officially commenced my mid-life crisis. I went to Talk Me Down Tuesday this week and then on Wednesday, I went to get my hair done. It seems like a basic thing to get one's hair done, but that is for normal people, not me.  Every appointment is its own adventure.  I go in, I think I know what I want to do and then my stylist, Giraffe Stalker, says those innocent words, "So, what are we thinking?"  And I tell her, "Well, I don't know, I think I want to grow it out..." or "I can't take it anymore, I look like I have Minion Mom hair and I can't take it anymore, cut it off!"  And she will say, "I thought we were growing it out?"  And then I say, "I want to, but I look ridiculous.  I don't want to look ridiculous.  Do you think I should grow it out?  I mean, do you think I look better with long hair anyway?  I mean, what's the point?  You know what? I don't care, cut it off."  She reluctantly agrees knowing that the very next time I come in, we will repeat this conversation.  Now, it's time to talk about the color.  Giraffe Stalker says, "So, are we just going to brighten it up a bit with some blonde?"  Yes, let's keep it blonde and let's brighten it up.  The color is typically the easy part.

This appointment did not stray from the usual conversation.  I said, "Okay, I'm growing it out, this time I mean it, fer reals...unless you think I shouldn't.  I mean, I want to, but what is our exit strategy for this style?  I mean, it's so short now, can I do this and not lose my mind and look hideous?"  Giraffe Stalker assures me we can do this, we just need to grow this part out, keep that part short until the other part gets a little longer and it can be done.  Seems reasonable.  I said, "Well, what if we did something fun with the color so that I was distracted by the color and not by the fact that I look like a homeless person that just crawled out of a dumpster?"  We discussed adding low-lights, we discussed adding a little flair underneath and then somehow magazines came into play and we were looking at pictures to find just the right color for the underneath shade. 

And then it happened.  I didn't mean for it to happen, I don't know where the voice came from.  I don't know which pony voice was juicing up in my head, but I said, "See this color?  I've always wanted to try this color...all over.  Do you think I could pull that off?"  Giraffe Stalker said, "Yes, I think you could.  However, if you really want to do that, you can't just go back to blonde if you don't like it, because if we do, we will fry it...so, you would have to commit...for a while...do you think you can do that?"  I sat there, giddy inside.  The pony voices in my head formed a committee and then a sub-committee and then the one that was likely the ring leader of this whole thing pushed her way to the front and said, "Yes!..I mean, I'm scared, but should I dare? OMG, I want to....but what if I hate it...?" Giraffe Stalker waited patiently as I verbally and mentally processed the decision.  It was just another moment and all the committees finally reached a decision.  The verdict was read and my voice repeated, "Fuck it, let's do it! I've been blonde my entire life, I want to try it!"  I could hear the one scared pony voice in the back of my head.  She was in the back room shaking and weeping, "this is a mistake, you're a blonde, you're going to hate it, then what are we going to do???"  The other pony voices left her and went to celebrate with cake.

I sat there in the chair as my transformation took place.  It just so happened Giraffe Stalker had her lap top open next to her work station and we were streaming that giraffe named April back East that is supposed to have a baby any day now.  How ironic, as I waited for that giraffe to pop out a new life, here I was, going rogue.  Going against every rational thought.  Why was I doing this?  Why did I want to be a Ginger?  Why did I want to depart from who I am inside, which is a sunny, bright, blonde girl?  I mean, the sunny and bright part is an over-dramatization of my personality, but still, you see where I'm going with this.  Was I going to become dark and angry?  Wait...wasn't I already?  Oh yeah.  Okay, well then what in the hell am I worried about, it's just hair? Right?

And so, it happened.

Right after, as soon as I got home.

Two days later in different lighting, less freaked out

 As luck would have it, 99.9% of the friend and acquaintance audience has embraced the change and told me they think I was brave to do it and love it but wondered what prompted it.  Was I in the Fitness Protection Program?  Had I taken a second job as a stripper?  Was I trying to tie-dye all my white towels with pink and red coloring every time I wash and dry my hair? Was I wanting to become more sassy? That one makes me laugh, because, seriously, I've never needed red hair to be sassy. Was I trying to become a ginger and steal souls?  Which, come to find out, since I am not a natural ginger, I am unable to steal souls.  Very upset about this.  The .1% that didn't like it was an older bitter bald guy.  He looked at me, scrunched up his face and said, "I don't like it.  I like it blonde.  I'm sorry."  Funny, I hadn't asked for his opinion. I said, "Well, when I decide to change it back to blonde, I'll come straight over to your desk for your approval."  Whatever.  I didn't do this for approval, I did it for ME.

In the end, the real answer as to why I did it is quite simple.  I'm just a woman who is 45 years old realizing that the time to do random shit like this is now.  What am I waiting for?  Maybe this will be the first of many bold changes in my life.  Maybe taking the plunge into doing something as silly, yet bold, as changing my hair color so drastically is just the kick in the ass I need to take plunges in other places.  Now, don't look for plunging necklines or plunging butt cracks.  No one needs to see that, except Shark Bait and frankly there is no shocking him anymore.  But maybe I'll do something else shocking.  I don't know.  I'm still getting my bearings, it's only been two days.  However, I did send a very snippy instant message to Biker Barbie and she wrote back, "Look here, Missy, just because you have red hair now doesn't mean you get to get sassy with me!"  Well, apparently I have stepped up my sassy game without even realizing it.  Shit, the transformation is happening more quickly and intensely than I had anticipated.  Must be in the chemicals in the coloring...I can't be held responsible.

So, there it is, my little blog about my hair color.  Not epic, but my abbreviated version of how it all went down.  And also, kind of a warning to y'all, I'm feeling a bit bad ass and I think it's time to start acting it again. I've been feeling puny for a while now.  But just wait, I'm going to own every part of this damn hair. 

More to come...

xoxo

Vending Machine Emergency Preparedness

There has been a lot of stress in life lately.  It's been kind of hard to feel like writing or working through it in the blog as I often do.  I also have not really been able to vent about much of it either, which you know Angry Pony LOVES to do.  Angry Pony has actually been pretty  tame for a while now, which saddens me. Just so you know, that Angry Pony still exists, she is in there fighting the fight every day.  I let her out occasionally.  As a matter of fact, she came out to play just the other day...

It was last Friday, to be exact.  I had been given a project to update a spreadsheet that was all about being prepared for an emergency.  I already attend monthly meetings on safety for the building, plus assist with the departmental safety team for our floor.  We've got it covered., or so I thought.  Apparently, there is an emergency preparedness site that also needs all the I's dotted and the T's crossed to make sure we are REALLY ready if shit goes down. This site requires that we fill out this spreadsheet with what we are ready for, what we haven't covered yet and what we are currently working on getting updated.  I saw this spreadsheet and I am certain my eyes rolled back in my head.  I was instantly pissed.  I hate crap like this.  Alas, the boss asked me to do it, so I guess I'll dive in, bad attitude or not.  The emergency preparedness spreadsheet didn't care that I was on the verge of Shark Week.  The emergency preparedness spreadsheet didn't care that I didn't care about all these damn questions.  I threw an internal temper-tantrum, snipped at a few people and then resigned myself to the task at hand (also known as the Administrative Stages of Grief).

I start reading the questions and I am instantly annoyed.  The questions they are asking are redundant and ridiculous.  Look, I get it, being prepared for a major event or even a minor one is important.  I don't mean to take safety lightly.  Really, I don't.  We have actually had a couple of situations come up over the last couple years that have tested our level of preparedness, so know when I vent about the following, it's just venting.  I don't need a lecture on that one time you were stranded in Iceland with only a cigarette lighter and a light jacket, in the dead of winter on Christmas Eve and Santa couldn't see your rescue fire, okay?

Anyway, I'm checking the stupid boxes and having a full on pissed off conversation with myself at my desk when I get to some really stupid shit. 

• "Estimated time to make a decision?"  Is this a real fucking question?  I don't know?  Which people am I trapped with?  Like, someone with common sense or Betty White who is in need of a Snickers bar before she can decide whether to pick her nose or wipe it on her sleeve?  How can I possibly answer that question? Just the time it was taking me to answer the questions was a clear indicator of how screwed we are in the event of an actual emergency.

• "Do you have someone appointed to paying attention to communicating about the evacuation?"  Seriously?  It's bad enough trying to find someone that pays attention on the daily, now you have limited me to the people that just happen to be around at the time of an emergency that I don't know when it will be?  You don't normally plan emergencies, right?  I have to assign someone to pay attention?  We are as good a dead.

•  "How long will it take you to get everyone paper order forms?"  Wait, what kind of emergency are we talking about here?  I mean, it's an emergency, but my people are still taking calls?  What kind of an emergency is it?  Like, we are out of toilet paper in the bathroom?  The power is out and we are running on a generator? Or, was the city just destroyed by a massive Tsunami?  How long will it take me to make copies?  I don't know...am I having to hand write them with my bad hand because the good one was blown off in an explosion?  Did all the paper get blown up?  Am I re-assembling sheets of paper?  Are we taking orders via chisel and stone?  How can I truthfully answer that question?

• "How long will it take you to notify contacts that the lines are down?"  Stop.  If the lines are down, how in the hell are we going to tell anyone?  Smoke signal? Pony Express? By boat?  I'm so confused.

And then there was this question, the granddaddy of them all...which is what inspired me to get out of my chair, walk in my bosses office and ask her just what in the hell kind of bullshit am I filling out.  The question is, "Who is in charge of contacting the vending machine company?"  I looked at my boss and proceeded to go on a rant.  She just sat back and enjoyed the show because she knew what you all know...there was no stopping this train from derailing, so the best thing to do is let it go and look for survivors later. 

I assumed the stance, I got the angry, crazy eyes and warmed up my poking finger and I said something like, "Can you please tell me why in the hell I am filling out and emergency preparedness spreadsheet that is asking about who is going to call the vending machine guy?? Like, I need to assign someone to call the vending machine guy in the case of a catastrophic event?  Are you shitting me? If the BIG ONE hits us and the roads are demolished, do you think the vending machine company is going to beam Scotty down here to give us Sour Patch Kids and Cool Ranch Doritos???!!!"  My boss remained calm.  She said, "Now, this isn't necessarily for a catastrophic event.  Say, for example we have a sniper on the roof or across the street and no one can leave, having those vending machines full would be important.  And sleeping bags and water..." I cut her off and continued in angry disbelief, "SO YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT IF THERE IS A FREAKING SNIPER ON THE ROOF, JAMES BOND THE VENDING MACHINE GUY IS GOING TO COME IN HERE??!!! I DON'T THINK SO! What are they gonna do, put a Kevlar vest on him, some sort of helmet and a bullet proof box of Twix, say a little prayer, slap him on the ass and send his dumb ass over the skybridge?  Are you kidding me???!!!  Oh, sorry ma'am, your son died trying to get Twizzlers and M&M's to the hostages in the Glass Palace.  I don't think so.  NO ONE is coming for us, I don't care if Betty White is in here needing a Snickers, it ain't happening! I've seen the vending machine guy, he ain't that tough."  I stood there wild-eyed with an elevated heart rate totally fired up.  My boss just busted up laughing.  She said, "Okay, maybe that is a bad example, but there may be times when having that vending machine full is critical."  I said, "Well, what if no one can get to us?  You think Sodexho is going to helicopter something in?  I think the vending machine company is going to have bigger problems than our need for chocolate.  Besides, if the BIG ONE hits Seattle, we are good as dead.  This building is coming down on us and we are going to get squished and we are dying here, do you hear me? Dying here. Guts squished out everywhere."

I think my boss may have sensed she was not going to win this battle. She said, "Maybe we should work on this together on Monday when you've had some time out of the office."

Subsequently, Monday came and went.  I never saw the spreadsheet again.  I believe she filled it out on her own and sent it in.  I think it's safe to say that my name is likely listed as the person that is going to contact the vending machine guy if we do actually have a disaster.  I'm probably also the one that is assigned to paying attention.  I just have a feeling about it.

Anyway, I  hope all of you have considered these things at your respective places of employment.  What I would suggest is finding out who is in charge of the vending machine and befriending them, because that, my friends, is how you are going to survive a major event.  Just saying.

Be safe out there...and carry an extra Twix with you in your purse or backpack.

 

 

Thinking About Thoughts...

Anyone that knows me very well knows that I pretty much analyze everything.  I can't help it.  Part of it is because I'm a woman and I think most women are pretty introspective.  Shark Bait may say I'm not only introspective, but obsessive as well.  Look Pal, it's a skill and frankly, I think more people should tap into their analytical skills.  Like, hmmmm, Cassondra looks pissy today...I wonder if I should really bug her about what I just saw in the bathroom....  Anyone with common sense (which is another subject all on its own), would take a look at the situation, consider possible scenarios of how that could go and make an educated decision. That is the beauty of analyzing a situation when utilizing it for one's own safety. Sadly, I run into many people that do not take the time to truly consider the outcome.  Those people generally have to learn the hard way.  I'm all about education.

Anyway, there is a lot of stuff to think about, if you think about it, which you should.  I spent most of Talk Me Down Tuesday talking about my thoughts and what they really mean and how they impact my journey in life.  The Rug Doctor spends a lot of time trying to get me to engage is positive self talk.  It's cute that she has hope for me and thinks that I've made progress.  I like her spunk and positive, if not delusional outlook. She believes in me.  She wants me to believe in me.  Someday I might, but until then, I'm mostly going to think about it.

We talked about how if you start your day thinking, "this day is going to suck," that it likely will.  All your energy goes in to proving that statement to be true because we like to be right, we like to be validated in our feelings.  So, people that start their day like, "I'm going to make this a great day!" will focus on all the positives and focus their energy on the bright side.  Well, we all know where I stand on this positive, Polly Anna bullshit.  The Rug Doctor understands the force is strong in this one, so we previously negotiated that my mantra would be, "Today probably won't totally suck."  This is supposed to be my starting point.  And then at the end of the day, I'm supposed to think, "today was good enough."  So, start your day and end your day with positive-ish thoughts.  This is a problem for me.  Let's examine an average day:

Alarm clock goes off, I hit snooze. "Fucking alarm clock.  I don't want to get up, I've been up half the night, I'm tired and my hip hurts.  I wonder why my hip hurts. Stupid body...I'm probably dying, it's probably bone cancer...if I do get up, what am I going to wear today?"

Seven minutes later, alarm goes off again, I hit snooze button. "I can't get up, I wish I could call out today and just stay in bed all day. But would I really want to stay in bed?  I'd probably get tired of being in bed.  And then once I got up, what would I do? Would I clean house? Watch TV? Go see my pony? I would like to go shopping but I'm too poor.  I hate being poor.  What if I won the lottery?  I should buy a ticket.  If I won, I would totally buy a big piece of land.  But if I won the lottery, I'd have to win, like, a shit ton of money because I have things I want to do and people I want to help.  I'd have to go to the store to buy a lottery ticket. What numbers would I choose? That means I have to get out of bed, but if I am going to the store, I have to take a shower.  I can't just go like this.  And, I can't just take a shower, I have to do my hair.  I really hate my hair right now.  I look like a boy if I don't wear any make-up.  I wonder if I should grow my hair out?  I mean, it's really hard getting through that middle stage, but if I can do it, that would be good.  If I lost weight I wouldn't look so ridiculous.  I hate that I'm fat.  Why can't I do what I need to do to get skinny? What if I never get skinny?  Will I end up in one of those Hover Round wheel chairs? I probably won't live that long because I'm fat. What happened to my underwear?  Did I take them off before I went to bed?  Did we have sex last night?  I don't think we did...no, we didn't, I'd remember.  Will's still sleeping, why does he get to sleep? (let out big sign and tug on blankets) should we have sex now?  No, that's gross, who has sex in the morning with morning breath?  I mean, I guess you could just not kiss.  Have we ever had morning sex?  I think once.  We are night people...sometimes afternoon. Sigh....I need to get up. What am I going to wear today?"

Get up, get in shower. "I wonder how long this shower scrubby has been in here...it probably has dead skin on it.  Should I shave my legs today?  Who's gonna notice? No one. I hate my legs. How did I get to be this fat?  I need to eat better today.  I should go to the gym. I hate going to the gym.  I'll feel better.  I'm totally going to the gym today.  I mean, if Shark Bait isn't going to be too late.  If he is, I can't go to the gym because I have to go home to let the dogs out.  Who let the dogs out? woof woof.... stop screwing around. I wonder if anything is in my belly button, I hate putting my finger in there, it's weird. I wonder what would happen if I never cleaned in there.  Gross...I don't think I feel like going to the gym today. What am I going to wear today...?"

Okay, I'll spare you the entire day, it's a lot of thoughts.  What I'm really trying to get at is that I spend a lot of time thinking about everything.  I brought up to the Rug Doctor that I think I'm probably a bad person because of the things I think about.  And bad thoughts mean I probably deserve to be in this body.  She says, "No one can hear your thoughts." To which I said, "God can."  And in retrospect, probably Santa Claus can, too.  Anyway, she says that all people have thoughts that might be mean or negative and that doesn't mean we are bad people.  What makes a difference is what we do with those thoughts and that we use the filters to keep them inside.  If we keep them inside, they don't hurt anyone, unless we are talking about mean thoughts about ourselves.  That's harmful self-talk.  I said, "Just on the way here I was thinking that I should embrace my fat self, let my skirt ride up showing my fatty legs, wear a tu tu over that and a Mickey Mouse shirt and shave half my head and dye the other half purple like other people I see that seem perfectly happy with looking like a crazy fat person.  See, that's mean.  Who am I to say what beauty is and if that person feels good, good for them.  I'm a bad person for thinking that."  The Rug Doctor insisted that those thoughts are normal and don't define who I am.  What I do with them and how I treat people as a result define who I am.  I did bring up the fact that I usually don't hide my feelings, so therefore, many of my thoughts are not a mystery.  We are just going to call that a draw.

So, Rug Doctor doesn't think it's rational for me to feel like I deserve bad things because I have bad thoughts and my relationship with bad thoughts is a tough battle for me.  My depression and the bad thoughts are having a party that my body doesn't really want to go to, but feels obligated because there's going to be cake, ice cream, pony rides and a big screen showing of Magic Mike and who doesn't want to participate in all that? I need to focus on the positive.  I need to understand that progress is not always a straight line to the finish line, often times there are many little bunny trails we go on before we get back on track.  Whatever. Just because I understand it doesn't mean I have to like it. 

I guess I could try some positive thoughts.  It's not a new idea. I've been trying, honestly, I have.  I guess I have to try harder. Have you ever seen that video of the little girl giving herself positive affirmations in the morning?  Here, let me grab it off of You Tube...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cgw8OFVHzd4.

Maybe I need to make something like this.  Let me give it a try...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1l22RpWf7Hg&feature=share

There, I'm going to do this every morning.  Probably. And go to the gym.  Got my thoughts in order.