Exchanging A Day of My Life

I saw the above quote today and it made me think hard. (If you can't see the image for some reason, it says, "What you do today is important because you are exchanging a day of your life for it.") These little introspective quotes always irritate me because they always have a way of making me feel like I'm doing something wrong.  This "author unknown" has gotten into my head and let me know that, no pressure, but your life is passing right in front of your eyes and what you have done today may just have been a colossal waste of time.  You didn't do enough, you didn't do the right thing, you didn't do....anything.

I don't know if it has been the weather this past week making me feel like summer is over, or what the dealio is, but I'm feeling kind of melancholy and this quote just made me angry.  Angry because, I just exchanged a day of my life for what?  I didn't do anything fun.  Just go and look at Facebook and you can see that many people are out there having fun...living life. Making sure their day will not need to be "exchanged."  Well, I'm not having fun.  I got up this morning with feelings of great potential and at some point it all got derailed.  Not because anything upsetting or disruptive happened, but because, left to my own devices, I apparently suck at living life.  I mean, I got the eating, sleeping, pooping thing down.  I'm okay at that.  I mean, half the time, I'm eating the wrong thing and sleeping isn't always easy, but the pooping, that is going pretty good.  So, to recap, I'm good at shit.  The part where I live my life, that part, not really that great.  I showered, made Shark Bait and I breakfast, went out and set up "Cassondra's Workout World" in the barn, brushed the ponies and put fly spray on them and then from there, things really kind of went downhill.  Shark Bait always asks, "so what are we doing today?"  Like I always have to decide.  I've mentioned all the things I want to do or like to do, but we never go do any of that stuff, so I just shrug and say, "I don't know, what do you want to do?" It seems we are at a bridge that cannot be crossed.

I find myself sitting outside in the sun reading a little book on how to maximize my fat burning potential, which surprisingly cannot be achieved sitting in a Cabela's camo-patterned chair while doing nothing, and Shark Bait is in the house on his Kindle reading whatever it is he reads.  I stay out there until I start to sweat and figure it's time to come in and cool down and not burn myself.  I go upstairs and stretch out on the bed and start thinking about that damn quote again.  About how I'm "wasting" my day.  A day of my life I can't get back.  I started thinking about all the pictures on FB I have seen of family and friends and all the adventures they are having and that I want to do, but never do. Places I want to go, things I want to see, stuff I want to do.  I started thinking about how I ever survived before I had this other person in my life. When I wasn't waiting for someone else to make my life special, or fun. What did I do then?  Back before all the i-phones, Kindles, computers and social media?  What did I do?  I was with my family, or my friends, or I was outside, I was with my horses, I would go for a ride, I would wander around that farm and find something that would need to be done.  And, when I didn't feel like doing any of those things, I would go lean on a fence, as the sun went down, and I would watch the horses and the sun and dream about what my life would be like someday.  I'm pretty sure I never pictured this.  Sometimes I would sit out there in the summer and just wait for the stars to come out and just sit there and just "be."  Now, I stand in my house and see the pretty colors in the sky and think, "I wish I was somewhere watching the sunset."  Why don't I just get in my truck and go watch it?  I don't know.  I guess I wished someone would know I needed to see it and wanted to share it with me and say, "hey, let's go watch the sunset."

And, I don't remember comparing myself to anyone else or their adventures so much before.  All this begs the question, before I had FB, was everyone still out there having fun in life, but I just didn't know it?  I just didn't have it rubbed in my face every day?  Or, have I settled for a boring life with excuses of no money to do stuff and not having someone to drive me to be more than this?  Do I need someone to drive me?  I have a license, after all, I can drive myself.  And then I hear Mama Safeway say those words that will forever stick with me, "Honey, you can't wait for someone else to make your life feel special, you have to make your own life special."  I guess I don't want to have to do everything.  I've always had to do everything.  I'm tired of doing everything. But, as luck would have it, every day that I do not push past that feeling, I've traded a day of my life.  A day I should have petted a pony, rode a pony, went to the water, put my feet in, basked in the sun and then watched it set.  Doesn't matter if I am in Hawaii doing it or in the water trough, I guess, just should do it.  If I want to go on a hike, I should do that.  I mean, I'm probably not going to hike far enough to get lost, and if I do, I have enough of a fat reserve to keep me safe until someone finds me, unless a bear tries to eat me and leaves me half alive and half dead, too maimed to make it out and I lose a lot of blood and die a slow, painful death.  In that case, it's a bad idea, but I should do it anyway, but I don't.  And, then, I get sad. 

Someone might counter my feelings and say, "hey, at least you had time to relax, I had to work today."  Or, as I make my lunch in the morning before work, I think, I can't believe I'm wasting another day doing what I'm doing.  But then I picture some Pinterest quote saying how each day is a blessing that someone else was not given.  Somewhere else in this world, maybe across the street for all I know, someone doesn't have any food to make a lunch.  Someone doesn't have a job to go to, someone doesn't have a life to live, because they died the day before.  After all, when you consider those things, shouldn't I feel blessed?  Shouldn't I?  What kind of ungrateful human being am I that I am not grateful for the things that I am given?  I still have my sight, my hearing, my ability to walk, while others do not.  And, so what if I could not have a child, not everyone does.  Just ask everyone who has a child, they tell you how lucky you are, after all, with all their kids, surely they are qualified to tell you how lucky you are.  Because any one of them would give up their child in a heartbeat, right?  So, all this worrying about wasting a day I am exchanging a day of life for, what the hell is my problem? 

My problem is, part of me is a fighter and the part of me is fucking tired (as I re-read over this, when I saw "fucking tired" I read it as "fucking retarded."  Same difference, just so we are clear).  And those two parts of me cannot get along.  Why can't I just get a prescription for "anxiety" and smoke pot everyday?  Why can't I just get up and accept this person in the mirror?  Why can't I just be happy sitting in a Cabela's camo-patterned camp chair on my porch petting my dog, drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade and paying tribute to "puff the magic dragon?"  Why do I have to be like a roller coaster inside that will not stop?  A ride that I am sure everyone wants off of. 

Anyway, speaking of rides being over, I should probably end this one. So many of you have been on this ride before, you poor, sick people, coming back for more.  For those of you I did "My Talking Pet" pet videos for and posted on FB today for you, you are welcome, because that was the freaking highlight of my day.  A day that I exchanged for one day of life.  All for the price of $2.99.  I didn't even have to pay tax on that, either.  Look at me, counting my blessings.

Amazon Now Hiring CIA Agents

I’m pretty sure I almost had a heart attack at work today. I have been battling with Amazon for two weeks now and I think we reached the point of no return.  “What did Amazon do?” you ask.  Well, it’s simple.  Valerina won a $50 gift card at work.  She wanted an Amazon card.  I went to Safeway and purchased her an Amazon card. It’s a task I’ve done many times without incident.  Well, Valerina went to use her card and she got a message saying it was “invalid.”  I take the card back to Safeway and tell them I need a new card.  They inform me it was activated on their end, so they can’t help me and that I have to take this up with Amazon.  Irritated, I leave and return to the Palace to make the call.  This is where my story of tragedy and, so far, no triumph, begins.

First off, even finding a way to contact Amazon is a joke.  It’s like a freaking scavenger hunt to find the contact information.  And, even when you get there, guess what?  You still can’t freaking call them, you have to put in what your issue is.  Unfortunately, the drop down menu does not have the option of “I want to fucking kill you” as an option.  So, I chose the next logical option, “Gift Cards.”  I won’t go into a ton of detail, because it is a pretty boring story.  However, I did opt to have an instant message chat conversation instead of calling them and speaking to them.  I messaged with some guy named Maurice that basically told me it was the store’s fault and I needed to talk to them.  Through our conversation, I let Maurice know, in a “politically correct” way that he could go sit on a unicorn horn and bounce and that he was going to help me.  Miraculously, he agreed to help and said he would even follow up with me the next day.  He said it was no problem to get the gift card activated, it should be done within 48 hours.  See, look how simple that was.

Day two, Maurice is a mother trucking, butt-licking, sponge sucking liar.  I received no follow up call AND, I got an automated email from Amazon telling me how to trouble shoot my issue.  Now, I’m mad.  This time I follow the rabbit trail to where I can get Amazon to call me and it’s some chick that I immediately hate.  She is soft-spoken, timid and I can barely understand her.  I tell her my story.  She says what Maurice says isn’t true and the card can’t be activated.  I tell her I want a supervisor, but she doesn’t have one handy, so I asked for an email address to file a complaint.  She provides it and lets me know I can send proof of purchase to them and they might be able to help me.  I then send them an email and proof of payment and a copy of the gift card.  In response, some scum-sucking, nose picking alleged human being sends me an email telling me they are super sorry for my inconvenience and someone will get back to me in 3-5 business days.  Um, no.  This is not okay.  Then, I get an automated message telling me that I need to basically go bark up a tree and here is how to trouble shoot my problem.  This message has nothing to do with my problem.  I take the auto messages and send them to the scum-sucking, nose-picking alleged human and tell him I don't appreciate this bullshit and I want an answer before 3-5 days.  That is the last I would ever hear from the scum sucker.

I waited a couple of days for an answer.  None came, as suspected.  I have now received automated email messages from a variety of dimwits.  I'm so furious at this point.  I call back in.  I'm not fucking around with YOU people.  I ask for a supervisor right off the bat.  The little beyotch transfers me to a no man's land an leaves me there.  I wait 15 agonizing minutes listening to music that can only be heard in hell.  I hang up, this is bullshit.  I call back and get some guy.  I tell him I want a supervisor and before he puts me on hold, I ask, "how long is this gonna take, because I won't be on perma-hold listening to music that makes me want to kill people!!!"  He says that it shouldn't take long, the call volumes are low and he doesn't know why I had to wait.  That bitch dumped me in some queue.  I hate her guts.  I now get transferred to a supervisor named Heather.  She is super sorry, blah, blah, blah.  She is going to follow up, blah, blah, blah.  However, after this conversation, I had at least, some faith.  She promised me a call back on Tuesday.  She can't provide me a number to contact her, but I should trust she will call me Tuesday.

Today is Tuesday.  Heather finally called, only to ask me to remind her of my issue.  Are you kidding me?  I refresh her.  She asks me to send her proof.  Oh, yeah, I already sent it.  She goes and looks at the notes. "Oh, we can't open the file you sent."  I'm pissed.  She then says I can fax it to her and asks when I will do that.  I tell her right away.  I hang up with her.  Big mistake.  I try and fax it and the fax number she gave me doesn't even work.  I'm pretty sure at this point I was borderline hysterical.  I'm going to have to call back in.

I follow the mouse trail one more time to get a call back and I get Nathan.  Ah, Nathan.  You worthless, pot-smoking, nail-biting drain on society.  Nathan informs me he is sorry.  That is the only marketable skill Nathan has.  Like, he is totally ready for marriage because that is all he says.  I tell him, "Look, I am not being mean to YOU personally.  I get this isn't your fault or problem, however, I am beyond mad."  He says, "Yeah, I can see you've talked to over 10 people about this, I'm sorry."  I ask to get connected to Heather. He says he can't connect me to her, he isn't allowed.  What? He says due to employees safety, they can't give out numbers or email addresses or transfer to each other.  I said, "Look, people hate my company and I still give out my name, voice mail info and email address.  We actually help people."  He's like, "What if a customer harasses us?  I mean, I'm not saying you would, but what if someone does?"  I lost it.  I said, "What, do you work in the friggin' CIA?  Some sort of witness protection program?  You're incognito?"  He laughs.  I'm not laughing.  I said, "So basically, you can't help me and you can't connect me with anyone who can?"  Well, he is trying to figure out what to do, he says.  He is messaging another department and they are advising him what I need to do.  It's quiet most of the time.  I assume he is one of those work at home folks sitting there in his Sponge Bob pajamas prepping his bong for his next hit and eating Doritos.  His life can't be stressful because he doesn't DO anything.  I'm growing impatient.  I said, "You can't really tell me you can't just send Heather an email and give her the message  that I can't fax her.  It makes no sense that you are not allowed to talk to each other."  He insists that no, he cannot.  I continue, "It must be freaking fantastic to have your job and have zero accountability.  You aren't allowed to talk to each other, you aren't allowed to help your customers, you have the best friggin' job, ever.  It sounds MAGICAL! I think I am going to apply for your stress free job!!!"  Nathan is unaffected.  He has to be stoned.  I look in the little mirror on my desk that says, "smile!"  My face and neck are red.  I'm ready to explode.  I know my conversation can be heard 3-4 rows over in every direction.  Cross Fit is safe in his office and has sprinted past me once or twice.  He's not getting involved.  More silence.  Finally, he tells me that the person that he was  getting help from has just closed out the chat.  I said, "Are you kidding me?  The ONE person you are allowed to talk to in the whole company just abandoned you with me.  No resolution, no answers, no hope, no suggestions....NOTHING!  And he just left you?! That is awesome, again, your company is beyond amazing."  Nathan is sorry.  He told me so.  I said, "So now what, Nathan?  Now, what do I do? Start over?  What?"  Nathan doesn't know because the one guy that was allowed to talk to him may have been killed for talking to him.  I mean, I think that is how the CIA works.  If you learn too much or talk to the wrong people, you have to die.  I'm sure of it. It's the Amazon way.  Nathan will be next.  Just like the Bourne Identity, he will wake up and not remember who he is and people will come to kill him.  I hope he has been working out in between getting stoned and eating all those Doritos.

I make one last attempt at solving this dilemma, "Nathan, I need to go over your head and the escalation team's head.  I need to know who I can talk to, this is nuts."  He informs me that there is no one I can talk to that can help me, no one will help me. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck, my left arm had pain shooting down it, my face was entirely fire engine red.  I said, "Hold it, hold it...did you just tell me that there isn't anyone in your company that is going to help me?  Is that what you just said?  Did you just say it didn't matter how far I go, that NO ONE will help me?"  He said, "...well, they aren't going to be able to do anything for you, you know, they'll have to reach out to the same departments I did...."  I was done.  D.O.N.E.  Next to Disneyland, Nathan works at the most magical place on earth where you don't have to do shit all day and you get to wear your Sponge Bob pajamas.  Fuck you, Nathan.

I hung up on him as he was telling me he was sorry again.  I ran over to Valerina, "Feel my cheeks, FEEL THEM!!!!  I am burning up because of fucking AMAZON!!! I'm  going to have a heart attack!"  She told me I needed to calm down.  NO.  I need to taste Nathan's blood.  I returned to my area.  Cross Fit said, "You need to email Bezos."  "Who's Bezos?"  I asked him.  Turns out he is the CEO of Amazon.  Yes, that is what I needed to do.  I Googled his picture and pulled it up on my right hand screen and then pulled up a new email on my left hand screen.  That guy looked like he had one crazy eye, but that crazy eye was no match for my crazy everything.  I cleared my calendar to write this email and set in.  I would just get to the point.  No, he needed to suffer as I had suffered.  His CIA agents were crafty, but I am bitter and that out-runs crafty any day of the week.

Thirty minutes later, I was satisfied I had recounted every detail.  I had told him about his secret squirrel workforce and the smoke and mirrors and the lies and broken promises.  I laid it all out on the line. It read like War and Peace.  It was everything I needed it to be. It was difficult to have to remain professional when I wanted to eat him for lunch, but I think I did, minus a couple digressions into "magical territory" and CIA references.  I told him his company was such a magical place to work that I, too, would apply for a position there so that I, too, could have zero accountability in life.  And just as I was ready to send it, I get an automated email message from someone allegedly named Tweeny F. that is going to get back with me in 1-2 business days to discuss this matter.  Tweeny?  Really?  I should now, all the sudden, have confidence in someone named Tweeny?  I added a "P.S." to my letter informing Mr. Bezos that Agent Tweeny was on the case, but that I wouldn't hold my breath for her resolution and expected a response from him.  I clicked "send" and just like that, my face returned to it's normal color, I shut my systems down and headed home.

I need a Mike's Hard Lemonade.  STAT.

Oh, by the way, sorry, I know I said I would not give you all the details, but I can't help it....you know how I am.

** Update**
The following day I received an email from the Executive Customer Relations department.  Problem is now resolved. No accountability has been taken for my shitty experience.

Feeling Introspective - Picture Journey

Had the day off yesterday.  Luckily, no real demands on my time.  I was just checking Facebook and doing the normal check-in with social media and I ended up on this surgery support group page that I am a member of.  It's always a challenge for me to see and hear other people's success stories about how they are six months out and down a ton of weight, or they are a year out and have already lost 120 pounds and the list goes on.  There are people, like me, that struggle and people are very supportive and encouraging to them, which is nice, but I still battle the inner voice.  Sometimes I participate in the group and add a comment here and there, but still follow the page with pain in my heart knowing that I could be doing a lot better if I had my head on straight.  It's a constant struggle.  One gal had posted a picture of herself in a sexy bra and underwear.  I was like, wow, that is one helluva great story, I wish I had something like that to share.  I did take a picture of myself in a sports bra and underwear the day of my surgery so that I would be able to someday compare and be amazed.  Trust me when I say,  I'm not ready to amaze anyone yet. 

I continued to read through that support page and one of the comments on there really affected me.  Someone asked if anyone that had the surgery had regrets.  One woman commented that she did not have any and that likely, the person asking the question would not get any negative feedback, because those that do have regrets have addiction issues and have faded away and were no longer "engaged" in the process.  I was instantly irritated by that remark.  Partially because I identify with it in the sense that I am not as engaged as I should be and I do still struggle with food choices, but I do not regret having the surgery.  I regret that I could not do it on my own without the surgery.  I regret letting myself get as heavy as I did.  I regret not doing something sooner.  But, for whatever reason, things happened in the time they happened and this is the journey I am meant to go on...I guess.  As The Rug Doctor says, "You are right where you are meant to be." And so, here I am still fighting and not giving up...just moving slowly.  I will do this, I just don't know how long it will take.

After reading some more and feeling a little bad about myself for not being further in the process, I decided I needed to really take a look at my journey.  So, I started looking at all my old pictures and really looking at my face and my body.  I found the picture I took of myself in my underwear the day before surgery.  My God.  I was so huge.  I could not even believe Shark Bait ever had sex with that body.  I just stared at that person.  That person knew she was fat, she just didn't see how fat she had become.  You just look in the mirror everyday and see this person.  I still see that person when I look in the mirror, but I have to say, after going through all these pictures, maybe I am starting to see someone different.  I spent all day putting these pictures into a PowerPoint presentation to document the journey.  I spent all day on it.  When Shark Bait got home from work, I made him take a picture of me in my bra and underwear and then some pics with me clothed.  I loaded the pictures on the computer and stared at them.  I have changed.  I will admit, I have changed.  The voice in my head still says, "you have not changed enough," but it is willing to concede that there is change.  And that, is what we call progress.

I am sharing some of the pictures with you below.  And, I will spare you the underwear pictures.  Even though they are not dirty or indecent, it might traumatize my co-workers that see me every day.  You can't un-see some things.  I will say, ironically, I am not ashamed of them.  I mean, I am totally grossed out and cannot believe I looked like that, but I am not ashamed to show them to you.  I am not that fat girl in those pictures on the outside, I am an athlete on the inside and I will find my way to the outside.  It will just take time.

The early years. In that picture in 1990, I thought I was so fat.  I would give anything to weigh that now.

This girl, this woman, so unhappy.

Pictures right after surgery on top, after all the complications cleared up and below, how I am today.

The progression has lead to me enjoying my horses again, which is the BIGGEST gift I could ask for.

In 2013, life started to get better, started to feel better about me and started to enjoy life a little.

2014 has been slow progress, but progress is still there.  Who knew this face could do short hair?

 

So, this is my journey so far.  Far from over, but something I need to be proud of.  I am proud of.  It's never enough, the voices in my head always tell me, but I'm trying to shut that bitch up.  And, if any of you are dying to see the underwear pictures, hey, I'll show em to you. LOL.

Thanks for being part of my journey.  Love to all!

Always Be A Unicorn...Always

Today was like Pee Wee's Big Adventure in interviewing.  By now, it is no secret that I applied for an outside job.  Something came up, I threw my hat in the ring, and by the grace of the HR Gods, I was chosen as part of the top seven percent to interview.  I've been sick about it since last week when I got the call.  Working at the Glass Palace for as long as I have, I'd kind of given up hope.  Kinda like in the Never Ending Story when Atrayu's horse dies in the swamps of sadness.  You accept your lot in life and you go with it.  It's not all bad.  I work with some fun people and we survive.  Anyway, I was strongly encouraged to apply for this job.  It would be less commute, a raise and a new challenge.  Why not?  I had some friends help me get my resume together, I did the application and just like that, I put myself out there.

I haven't done this in a LONG TIME, so I figured, eh, they probably won't even call me.  I was wrong, they did.  Crap.  I started researching interview tips and tried to consider what they might ask me.  I was astounded at the amount of information out there.  All the advice on what is and is not acceptable.  Some of it even contradictory. I pretty much drove myself and my friends crazy about this.  I mean, I know people at work think highly of me and call me the boss and the queen, etc., but ultimately, outside the glass palace, I'm a nobody.  I have to prove myself.  This could go amazingly well, or I could choke.  What if I get too nervous and tongue-tied?  What if they ask me questions I'm not prepared for?  I tried to tell myself it wasn't a big deal.  I mean, I have a job, so if I don't get this one, it's not the end of the world, right?  But then I started to think about what change would feel like and how my life might be different and I really started to want it. 

Fast-forward to last night.  I read the job description again.  I start scanning the internet, again. I start considering my experiences, again.  I ran across one article that said questions that could be asked are, "if you were an emoticon, which one would it be?" and "if you were an animal, what animal would you be?"  What the hell?  Why do they need to know that?  I thought about it.  I would be a lioness.  Taking care of the pride, hunting, caring for the cubs, telling daddy lion to get off his lazy ass under the tree and go catch us a gimpy gazelle or something.  All the while, the lioness is strong and has good intentions.  Sounds legit.  Then I read what the unacceptable answers were. Guess what?  Lion is the #1 wrong thing to say because it shows you are aggressive.  Well Fuck.  Now what animal am I going to be?  Not a dog, cat, chipmunk, squirrel, raccoon or...beaver.  Can you imagine their faces if I said I was a beaver?  I don't know where their minds would go, but I wasn't willing to chance it.  I just didn't know.  I couldn't say honey badger, cuz she don't give a shit.  I couldn't say kangaroo, or bunny or field mouse.  I had no idea.  It was bothering me.  Weighing heavy on my mind.  I put an APB out on my Facebook messenger to some of my peeps in a wild rant. This is how it all went down:

"Here's the 411 on my sitch. I hate the outfit I bought yesterday. I look like a cow, the jacket doesn't fit right and I don't know what I'm going to wear. I had an epic sobbing meltdown tonight and when Will asked if I needed a Mike's Lemonade, I sobbed and hiccuped "no." And when he said, "what would help?" and I said through sobs, crocodile tears and whimpering, "ice cream...with chocolate syrup." And then I ate a half pint of ice cream. I read more interview questions and now I don't know what the right answer is to what animal I would be because I was thinking lioness and the article says lion is too aggressive, bunny is too soft and so now I don't know, maybe a chipmunk cuz they are fast and cute, or maybe a squirrel because they are friendly to strangers in the park and collect nuts for the winter. Or, maybe a raccoon because they are curious and resourceful. I don't know!!! and I don't know what emoticon I would be either. And, if my previous boss had something negative to say about me what would it be? I can't say that I use too much sarcasm, I can't put a positive spin on that. I reread the job description and I don't know what I am thinking.  I'm never going to apply for another job again, I'm going to die at the glass palace with everyone else. I have no hope. And don't tell me I will be fine because you don't know, no one knows, are you a psychic now? Are you? no, you're not. Now I have a headache...and if I were to guess I would say you do too."

And then, out of nowhere, I received a FB message from Pinterest Food Porn Girl.  She said that I should just say I was a unicorn.  I can't say I'm a unicorn in a job interview, can I?  Is that legit?  I mean, people keep posting all those pictures on my FB telling me if I can be a unicorn, I should always be one.  No, it's too risky.

Fast forward to this morning.  I'm strangely calm.  I put my outfit on, take it off, try some different options and there it is, my interview outfit.  I'm feeling good (if we discount the presence of the FCD which is a little binding in the belly area) and I'm calm.  No hair or make up crisis.  Sure, I feel like I'm going to throw up, but other than that, calm as a cucumber.  I start to look at some more interview stuff and then I realize, at some point, I have to do this.  I can only do what I can do.  It might be a disaster, but I will make it the best darn disaster I can make it!  Wait, maybe that is the wrong approach.  Anyway, I drove calmly, almost in an out of body state, driving 62 mph on the freeway, hands at 10 & 2 like I'm driving a school bus.  I'm in a "special place."  I think I'm having an out of body experience.  People, if you have not interviewed in a long time, just do it.  Go find some place to interview and do it.  Don't let this happen to you. Interview impotence.  It's real.  I don't think there is a pill for it, either, unless you count Xanax or something of that variety. 

I'll cut to the chase, I handled the interview okay.  I had moments of shining and moments where I could have given stronger answers with more detail.  It was very structured and specific.  Not a lot of room to talk about my personality, I don't think.  At the very end, I asked some questions, which lead to some good discussion.  We all seemed to be getting along just dandy, so as we were closing and saying  goodbye, I said, "I want to thank you for not asking me the animal question."  They laughed and responded that they didn't think anyone asked that anymore.  I said, "I don't know, but in my research, I see it is still being touted as legit."  They then said, "So, what animal would you be?"  You and I both know where this is going.  I mean, I especially do, since I was there, but still.  I said, "Well, I don't really know what the correct answer is for that question, but if I had to pick, I would say I was a unicorn.  It's hard to find someone that works as hard as I do, I'm special and sometimes...(wait for it) I'm magical."  Yep. Done. Answered the what animal are you question. I brought it back. 

I don't know how this whole thing is going to pan out.  The competition is tough. But, I'll say this, I bet they remember me.  And, if I do get hired, maybe, just maybe, they'll call me the unicorn girl.  Hey, everybody's gotta have a dream.  That guy said so in Pretty Woman.  And, I believe it.

Stay tuned!

Damn You, Mike's Hard Lemonade

Here's the thing.  I don't drink alcohol.  Well, I don't drink alcohol as a general rule.  Occasionally, I am coerced into taking a swig of this or that, but ultimately, I don't enjoy the taste of alcohol and there are many kinds that I have a bad reaction to, like I turn red and my skin feels like it is on fire and itchy.  Friends have tried to turn me into a drinker, with limited success.  Honestly, I can make an ass out of myself completely sober, so I don't really require alcohol to have a good time.  I have found that a limited amount of home-brewed Apple Pie can taste okay and takes about half a cup to get me seriously giggly. I'm such a lightweight drinker that it seriously takes me just a few swigs and I am feeling the effects.  Aside from periodically drinking Apple Pie, I typically don't indulge.  Last night, however, I found something that I can apparently tolerate and it "relaxes" me.  That would be, Mike's Hard Lemonade, the Black Cherry variety. Here is my account of last night's episode.

I was sitting here last night, kind of in a funk because our vacation week is not really what we would like it to be.  When you don't plan and save money, etc., it can really suck the fun out of it.  But, it is what it is. Cannot change where we are.  Doesn't mean it doesn't piss me off.  So, in researching a day trip and getting frustrated, I decided I needed a Mike's Hard Lemonade.  It usually takes me three days to drink one of these things, however, the Black Cherry variety was quite tasty. When you have weight loss surgery, you can't really, and shouldn't really, drink alcohol.  Your body takes very little in before it affects you. And, I'm already a light-weight, even before that, so it didn't take long and I found myself very relaxed. My arms were kind of tingly, I felt light-headed, my stomach started to make weird noises, I couldn't type as well as I sat there Face-booking and things started to get funny...really funny.  I was only half to 3/4 of the way through the bottle, but I was feeling it.  I know, I know, it's like 5% alcohol.  You people don't understand, it may as well be kryptonite to Superman.

In reviewing my texts this morning, apparently I sent a picture of me and my drink to Pony Crazy and Valerina.  At one point I believe it was posted to FB, but I think I had a moment of clear thought that made me remove it.  It isn't a bad picture, but I was clearly feeling like sharing. Once that door is opened, sometimes I can't get it shut.

Luckily, Pony Crazy had to go to bed, so that was the end of that.  Valerina, however, suggested that I needed to go to bed and that maybe Shark Bait and I should play Cowboys and Indians.  The conversation that followed shall be omitted from this blog, however, since Shark Bait didn't know the rules of the aforementioned game and I was barely able to navigate to the bathroom, it seemed that playing an adventurous round of the final frontier was probably not a good idea. And I didn't know if rope was involved or if I had to go get spurs.  It was all very confusing.  I think we might be more like the librarian and the guy with an over-due book. More our speed, I think, anyway, I did finally make it to the bathroom.  This is where things escalated. As I sat there trying to stop laughing about Cowboys and Indians, so that I could pee, I realized that my underwear were stuck to my shoe.  I could not get them unstuck from my shoe and I proceeded to laugh so hard that I was unable to function in any way. You know how when you laugh so hard that no sound comes out?  That is where I was.  My underwear were fucking hilarious and NO ONE understood.  I truly was having a personal party.  Shark Bait, who was amused, but trying to ignore me, was not helping at all.  I finally begged him to come help me free myself from the underwear attacking my shoe.  Reluctantly, he came in there and freed me.  I contemplated sleeping right there, but Shark Bait said that my legs would go numb. None the less, he left me there, still laughing and now I started to sing.  I can't remember what I was singing, but whatever it was, it inspired me to get off the toilet.

Shark Bait kept telling me to go to bed.  Well, I had to take my make-up off first.  I'm in the bathroom, still talking to Shark Bait, still singing something and I put my head down close to the sink so I can rub the cleanser in and rinse my face.  I'm just singing and scrubbing and apparently I got a little carried away because as I was enthusiastically scrubbing, I accidentally shoved my pinky up my right nostril.  And I don't mean that I just barely poked the perimeter of my nose, I shoved that finger up there hard.  Which made me laugh hysterically and cry in pain at the same time.  Shark Bait was unaffected by my reckless cleansing ritual.  I laughed and laughed about it last night, but dang, my nose still hurts this morning.  I'm not so sure I didn't damage something.  I seriously should not drink.  I can't even wash my face without incident.  I've said it before and I'll say it again.  I should wear a helmet at all times.  I'm a dork.

Before going upstairs, I apparently went over and locked the door and declared, "doors locked - nailed it!" It's little accomplishments like these that make a drunk person feel good. I did finally make it upstairs, no thanks to Shark Bait.  I could have been killed on the stairs.  I flopped myself down on the bed and noticed some bugs on the ceiling, which I immediately alerted Shark Bait about.  He came and killed them, then helped me get undressed and get into  bed.  I sent one final drunk text and then it was lights out.  I had weird dreams all night long about someone trying to kill me and how I kept running and finding "safe rooms" to hide in, but the guy kept finding me, so I finally shot him, burned his body and put the ashes in a dairy farm settling pond.  I don't know what that is about, but let's just say I shouldn't get drunk and go shooting.  I think it is a bad idea.

I don't know if I will drink anymore special lemonade today, but I'm determined to get through that 6 pack by the end of my vacation.  I'm making that commitment. I just hope I don't sustain any other injuries.  Shark Bait better stay alert.

So that's it, that's what I remember. Now you can all feel better about yourselves knowing you never jammed a finger up your nose while drinking.  Walk a little taller today knowing that.  You are welcome.

Sugar Sabotage & Geriatric Gym Time

Today was another day of new starts.  I have been trying to cut sugar back out of my life. I was semi-successful yesterday and was not only going to give it a go again today, but was also planning on getting to the gym.  I have not been for a few weeks as I allow my body to simmer down and stop hurting.  Hips have been under control and my shoulders have been back to normal.  Normal meaning that they still cause me pain here and there, but I can deal with it.

I walked into the Glass Palace in a comfy summer-ish dress, completely allowing me to focus on comfort, not an FCD cutting me in half, and inner Zen. I went and got my water and returned to sit down at my desk to get some shit done.  Cross Fit Crazy comes walking up and puts his hand out.  It has a "fun size" Twix and a mini Snickers.  I stared at it.  He looked at me and said, "Oh, or are you not doing that?  Should I not offer?"  I continued to stare at his hand.  It was just a baby Twix.  I took it and he says, "what? you don't want the Snickers?" I said, "I thought you were offering me the pick of the two and the other was for you?"  "No," he says, "I brought these for you...these are mine."  He holds out his other hand full of candy, which was essentially a fist full of sugar.  Sigh.  It's only 8:30am and I have already violated my new start.  Cross Fit is cutting soda out of his life, so he has substituted it with candy, apparently.  This is not working in my favor.

Undeterred with my "fresh start" road bump, I continued on.  As I worked diligently on my project, I get an email from Ass Kicker.  He wants to know how I'm doing and when I'm coming back.  Ironic that he would choose today to reach out to me.  I think Ass Kicker and I are connected.  We have a bond. I finished up what I was doing just in time to make it to the gym at my normal time.  I went down and Ass Kicker was there, but otherwise engaged with someone else, so I started with the elliptical machine.  My legs hated my guts.  All that strength I had built up was still there, I think, but it was sleeping.  Key word here is "was."  My legs, now awake continued to burn a little, but I ignored it and pressed on.  I finished and went into the aerobics room and grabbed a kettle bell to do some strength training.  Did a little circuit and repeated it. Ass Kicker comes in and I inform him that I have not been hurting at all since I stopped working out.  He said, "well, that tells me a story right there.  I think we were too ambitious.  If I were you, I would focus on cardio and mobility exercises."  What??  I'm not a baby, I'm an athlete!  I'm not going to do sissy work-outs.  This is bullshit.  Do you see the sweat on this face?  This messed up hair?  Are you punking me?  You created an athlete!  You can't change that.  I don't want to be a geriatric touching my finger to my nose and marching in place.  I looked at him and said, "Well, while I see your point, I already did the elliptical, kettle bell, those strappy things, wall pulls, those stretchy cord things over there and some ab work."  He says, "oh,....well, I guess let's see how you feel tomorrow."  He's not the boss of me.  I'm an athlete.  A fat one, but an athlete.  I need to get my abs back...you know, the baby ones I was creating.

I finished up, cleaned up and headed back up to my desk.  As I started down that long hallway, there it was, that pain in my ass/hip.  I hadn't felt it in weeks, and there it was, my close friend, pain.  Mother-Good-Bob-Damn-Trucker.  Why in the fuck did I go to all those doctors a month or so ago?  None of them helped me, none of them know what is going on or causing it.  Angry, I walked back to my desk and considered my options.  I could give up and just try and lose weight without exercising, you know, starve myself, lick lettuce and sniff carrots, I could try the doctors again, or I can freaking Pony Up and work through the pain.  Clearly, like every other freaking thing in my life, this, too is going to be hard.  Fuck-it Pony to the rescue.  This is bullshit, we are working out.  We will learn to live in pain.  Decision made.

I sat at my desk eating lunch and Valerina came to see me.  I was venting about the gym drama when all the sudden, I felt a presence.  I turn around and Cross Fit is behind me with his lunch all laid out on the desk and he is making his lunch, you know, taking the pasta out of one container, putting it onto a plate, getting some other sauce stuff from another container, some shrimp... I turned around and said, "What are you doing? This is not the freaking kitchen!  This is my desk."  Completely undeterred, he says, "I know, but I just want to be near you.  I just feel like I need to be."  I look at Valerina, she looks at me, we exchange looks.  She is ready to bust a gut laughing and leaves. I called out, "Don't go!" Cross Fit just laughs, finishes up and finally retreats to his office.  I send Valerie an instant message, "why are people strangely drawn to me?  It's creepy."  She doesn't know either.  I guess this is what happens when I tell my boss I'm looking into another job.  It's almost like he is a cat rubbing on my leg to mark his territory.  Amusing, yet disturbing. I hope I don't get any hair stuck to my dress.  I guess crazy begets crazy.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful.  The usual administrative hilarity ensued. I had to clean up after other people that were naughty and then I had to send an email that was a reprimand, I got to research our new summer-themed decorations, at which time it was pointed out to me that summer is almost over.  I got to basically hold down the fort in the usual ways.  I had a conversation in the hallway about why the women of the palace can't stop peeing all over the seats.  You know, a typical day.  The good news is, it's been over a week and no reports of shit, puke or blood.  It's like a vacation from bio-hazard and don't think I haven't been enjoying it.

I arrived home tonight and Shark Bait is waiting for me.  He's hot and tired, but he is being all affectionate and keeps telling me he loves me.  Now paranoid from earlier events in the day, I say, "what's going on? why are you being so affectionate?"  I'm saying this as he is kissing me on the top of my head while I am trying to eat the dinner I just made.  Am I putting out pheromones? I mean, I did marry the guy and I'm glad he loves me, but something is up...I wonder if he bought a gun?  I'll have to check into that later.

Well, I have to wrap this up, my dog needs attention now...and the horses are hungry...dishes need to be done...you know, Shark Bait, you know what is really a great type of affection...?  Doing the dishes to show your love...Shark Bait?

Hoo-Ha Bling? What?

It was a very exciting day today at the Glass Palace.  It was "shorts day."  That's right.  We went rogue against the dress code and told the masses they could wear shorts.  I sent out the disclaimer about what people could and could not wear.  I, personally, opted to not partake.  These legs...they were just not made for shorts.  It was such a vast departure from my normal attire, I just couldn't bring myself to leave the house like that.

Upon arriving at work, I was messaged by Stiletto Barbie.  She sent me a link to a blog that was talking about how hot it was and how the blogger was having a hard time wearing underwear as a result. She didn't like thong's, but she came across something called a "C-string" that might solve the underwear issue.

C-String "underwear"

Now, I don't really want to steal anyone's blog material, but I cannot stay quiet about this.  I must put my two cents in.  I don't know what fresh hell this is, but why in the frick would you even bother?  What is this thing doing for you? It's bling for your vagina, from what I can tell. I can't count the number of times I've thought, wouldn't my vajayjay look so cute with a lace hat?  Oh, and you get the bonus of a string poked up your butt.  I think I finally know why some girls walk around with that disgusted look on their face all the time.  They probably have lace that has worked it's way inside their hoo-ha and a string up their butt.  I mean, I just don't understand.  When you go to the bathroom, do you take it off and put it on your head like a headband for safe keeping while you pee?  How do you know if your "underwear" has shifted?  How do you know when it is time to give that string a tug and re-adjust?  I have more questions than answers and I have to say, I'm just not willing to find out.

Not long after I was baffled by crotch fashion, I get another instant message from another friend.  This time, it's not a blog, this time it is a full-on picture of a girl wearing the C-string.  WHOA.  I closed my screen quickly.  I didn't need that cropping up if "big brother" ever checks my PC.  Why is everyone showing me crotch wear?  Do I have noticeable panty lines?  Do they want me to be on the edge of fashion?  The only thing I'd be on the edge of is an infection or taking hostages because something is up my ass.

Speaking of stuff up my ass, not to over-share (do I really need to say that anymore?), but I did have a small bug bite of some sort on the inner, lower cheek of where cheek meets my leg, where my underwear line was.  It was itching like nothing I have ever experienced.  I'm standing there talking to to Ambular and Valerina and I keep shifting weight from side to side, because as I do, my jeans rub across it, thusly, scratching it. Maybe if I had been wearing the C-string, I wouldn't be having these problems.  Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, off to the sanctuary of the bathroom I went.  I ripped those pants down, assumed kind of a "this plane is going down, grab your ankles" position and was able to get my hand to where the irritation was.  I scratched with abandon.  It was almost surreal.  I'd never had this kind of pleasure in stall number two.  I walked out of there and felt like I might need a cigarette. I mean, how in the hell did I get a bite there anyway?  My mind considered a spider did it.  I immediately got that out of my mind.  I didn't want to think about a spider checking out the vast valley of my ass or my cheeks while I was sleeping or at any other time.  Maybe it was a mosquito bite from laying on top of the covers on that very hot night last night?  Anyway, I hoped my few moments of heavenly scratching in stall number two would take care of the problem and I would not find myself rubbing all over any desk edge I came to.

The rest of the day was kind of a blur, honestly. I sent out a bunch of emails, handed out ice cream to everyone in the center, did some admin stuff, tortured the new supervisor a little.  It's cute when they are new, young and impressionable and a little bit scared of me.  It's been a while since I got fresh blood.  This could be fun for a while.  I like to look at him, hold the admin death glare for just a moment and then speak slowly about what he needs to do.  I like to think he pees himself just a little each time.  It comforts me in these tough times.

I went to leave the Palace tonight and Cross Fit comes out of the office.  He says, "I feel like I want to hug you, like I  need to hug you.  Seriously."  I looked at him and blinked...slow blinked, if you will.  I said, "why?"  He explained that he couldn't explain it, he just really needed to hug me.  I must have been putting off the vibe again.  Dammit.  I wish I could control the vibe.  I could tell he wasn't going to go until he got his hug.  I said, "Bring it in."  When it was over, I said, "no more than one a week, okay?  I can't have people seeing me being huggy."  I'm sorry, it's a risk I'm not willing to take.  Pretty soon everyone will want one.  No.  I will not allow it.

I managed to get home tonight, but of course, not without incident.  A stupid duck decided to cross three lanes of the freeway.  After slamming on the brakes, I missed him narrowly.  He seemed unaffected by the miracle he had just been a part of, like he was playing chicken...like his duck friends had dared him.  Like they said, "I'll double dog dare you."  And he did.  He showed them.  Duck punks, who's the bitch now?  Makes me think I should double dog dare people to hug me and then give them my admin death glare...and then give them a C-string and tell them if they can wear it for 8 hours, I'll hug them then.  But only after they had really, really, really washed their hands.  On that note, I think that is enough about vaginas, hugging and ducks.

That's a wrap.