#adultingsucks

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

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

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

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

The Farm House on the Hill

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where are the Quiet Times?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



 

Basic Job Tips

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doctor Genius

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Synonyms for blob

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

WTF Wednesday

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Thank you, 

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

This seemed to calm down the work humans.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

And that is how you handle that.

 

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

 

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

Weighing on my mind...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next milestone...clown pants.

My New Friend Wednesday...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome to the blog, Wednesday.