Happy Anniversary, Shark Bait

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Anniversary, Shark Bait.  Love you more.

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

Traumatized by Food Porn - Movie Review

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My House is a Freaking Safari

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, that could be the skeeter bug venom talking.

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

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

I Will Not Hate...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Make Me Comfortable...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cleansing of the Admin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Over-Achieving & The Dying Bunny

It's been said before and I'll say it again, any day that starts out with me being told to order pizza is not going to be a good day. Proven fact.  Today goes down in the books as substantiating that evidence.

My boss has been gone for a week, but returned today.  She had not been in the building even an hour when I hear from her office, "let's get Cassondra in here...Cassondra, can you come in here?"  I know the tone in her voice, this isn't going to go well for me.  "So, don't you think that everyone has done such a great job on their decorations that they should all have pizza?"  It's not like I was in shock.  I followed up with, "today?"  Indeed, she wanted it today.  This isn't my first rodeo, I got this.  No big deal.  I go out to my desk to order a buttload of pizza.

About 20 minutes goes by and my boss comes out, "have you sent the email out yet about the pizza?"  I give her the growl, "no...as soon as I'm done ordering...I will."  She scampers away to spread cheer in other places.  I've now ordered the pizza and am composing the email.  My boss walks up behind me, reads over my shoulder and says, "That email is kind of boring, it doesn't have the normal Cassondra flair, no funnies, no pictures..."  I growled a little stronger this time, "I'm not done yet, stop managing me."  She giggles and goes in her office.  I decided she was right, it did need a little something...I added a line especially for my boss, "...no one loves pizza more than [my boss].  She loves it so much she would celebrate her colonoscopy with pizza if she could!"  Flair added.  Insert picture. Click Send.

"Hey boss, I sent the email...did you see I added flair?"  She read it and then glared at me.  I smiled and left her office. You. Are. Welcome.

An hour later the pizza arrives.  I receive a phone call, "yeah, you ordered some pizza?"  I said that yes, I had.  He continued, "I'm here, but is someone going to come out and get it, because it's kind of a lot of pizza, I can't really carry it."  Mind you, every time I order it, they always bring it in.  Lucky me, I get the under-achiever today.  I grab some manual labor and some carts and off we all go to get the pizza.  Mission accomplished.

As I settle back in to my desk, the phone rings.  It's apparently one of the admins from one of the new states my company just acquired. She had questions...and an accent, a really strong accent.  I can't be certain what all of her questions even were.  You see, I thought I had done a good thing by creating a Welcome to Being An Admin at Magicland tips and tricks document.  I had shared it with about 10 admins that just got absorbed into my company and were likely clueless on our policies and procedures, as we all are in the beginning.  It was meant to be a friendly, helpful thing.  Apparently the 10 shared it with others and so on.  I guess I didn't think it through as much as I should have because here I am having a conversation about what helium is, where I live and how do we input worked hours into the system for technicians.  Shit just got real.  My boss comes out and says, "How many people did you send that to???!!!  If ever there was a time to under achieve, now is that time!"  Well, I guess being nice is not the best policy.  I mean, I've always suspected it, but now I know.  FML.

I was a bit irritated about the way the whole day was going, so I took a moment to just turn around at my desk with my back to the computer and take a break.  I sat there for a few minutes and then one of the supervisors came over and we chit-chatted a few minutes.  My boss comes out of her office all irritated and says, "Hey, I pinged you, why didn't you answer, I needed help??"  I looked her, smiled and said, "Sorry, I was under achieving, like you suggested."  I got another glare, but I smiled back and tilted my head and batted my eyes.  She wasn't having it, she turned and walked away.

I decided to head to the "ladies" room to pee.  I go in to trusty stall number one and there it is, all over the seat, piss.  I freaking hate it.  Another assault by the fire hose vagina bandit.  Ladies, and I use that term loosely, get it together, stop pissing on the seats!  I beg you.  I returned to my desk and one of my co-workers asked why I looked irritated (like I need a reason) and I told him about the bathroom.  He says, "Well, I guess loose lips really do sink ships."  Shut up.  Just...shut up.

I sit back down and I open my email.  There is one in ALL CAPS in the subject line.  I almost couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it.  Subject: DYING BUNNY IN PARKING LOT.  Am I being punked?  I mean, I've been asked to handle A LOT of stuff, a lot of shit.  a lot of utter nonsense but this might be the grand daddy of "other duties as needed."  I read the email and it was from one of our kind-hearted employees who saw a bunny out on the side of the walkway in the parking lot and it was injured and trying to run away, but it couldn't and it had blood on it.  People were poking at it and taking video of it and she was very upset.  She had called the animal control office, but no one had answered her. She tried another number, but no luck and she had to get back in the office because she didn't want to be late, so she wanted to know if I could go get the bunny and make some phone calls to get someone to care for it.  I just sat there, mouth a little agape.  Other duties as needed.  I mean, it isn't that I didn't care about the bunny, but...what exactly should I do?  Just then Naked And Unafraid shows up and says that she will go look for the bunny.  I emailed the tender heart back that I was sending re-enforcements.

The tragic turn in this story is that we have a center chat open all day for the reps to ask questions and get peer and supervisor support on issues they may have. Well, word of the bunny got out and the chat  turned dark.  The rednecks were talking about how good rabbit tastes and how it's tender and how you just put BBQ sauce on it.  It was not talk for the tender heart.  That bunny wasn't going to stand a chance.

I mean, the whole situation, while sad, was kind of funny, I mean, seriously.  So, I forward the email to our Building Dude, being kind of sarcastic, and I say, "Should I enter a ticket for this?"  I'm hilarious, right?  I get a response back that says, "Well, it's kind of late in the day, but go ahead and put a ticket in, I can send an engineer out there tomorrow to take a look."  I sat there stunned.  What?  I mean....what?  First of all, it's a bunny, hardly a corporate crisis.  Second of all, it's likely in it's final hours.  Third of all, what the hell is sending an engineer out there TOMORROW going to accomplish?  It's like, when I don't think the day can get any more ridiculous, IT DOES.

I didn't even mention about how my work place is all decorated for this Hunger Games decorating contest we are having.  The group that is the Fishing District has decorated their area so beyond what anyone would ever imagine and to top it off, everyone was wearing paper clam shell bikini tops (over their clothes) and green plastic table cloths as skirts.  And there was a bubble machine.  I mean, it's like I was stuck in a fun house all freaking day, except it wasn't fun!!!

So, anyway, that's my day in a nutshell.  Normally I can say that "at least no one died," but honestly, I don't think I can today.  I'm pretty sure that bunny is dead.  Naked And Unafraid could not find it, so who knows what became of it.

All I know is, one thing I learned today is that I am an over-achiever and I need to be an under-achiever. Roger that. Message received.