Blog Sampler

Here's the thing.  I don't really have anything significant to blog about, however, my head is full of crazy stuff.  Like, it's a mess up there. This could be why I had crazy dreams of running from fire, mudslides, Russians and  then saving some girl's My Little Pony comb from a cliff's edge last night.  It's exhausting sorting this shit out.

Let's just start with something that I need to get out there. Something I need to come to terms with.  Something I have been putting off for a long time.  Something I have criticized, mocked and stood steadfast against.  This thing I'm talking about...this thing that I must come forth and admit...it's too much.  People, brace yourselves and hug your loved ones...I bought a mother trucking pair of LulaRoe leggings.  I didn't mean to.  I wasn't seeking them out. I didn't find them, they found ME!  I don't have legging legs.  I have legs that belong behind a long skirt, behind closed doors or behind hedges.  They do NOT belong in leggings.  But hear me out.  I was minding my own business on the book of the face and there was Shark Bait's cousin selling her LLR leggings.  And then, with God as my witness, the angels were singing in the background and right there...on the book of the face...there was a pony pair.  It was as if fate had stepped in and said, "You will wear pony leggings that feel like butter and the universe has said it will be so."  And so, what was I supposed to do?  God sent them. I ordered the damn things.

When they arrived, it was just as I suspected, they looked ridiculous.  I will never wear them outside the house, or when the curtains are open, but they are comfy.  So, now I am just like all the other crazy people out there wearing these damn brightly colored animal print leggings.  I thought I was a different kind of crazy. I didn't think I'd ever cave, but the ponies, I could not deny them.

So there's that. It's out there.  Don't judge me.

In other news, there is a woman that works on a different floor than me at the Glass Palace, but she has been coming downstairs to poop in the bathroom on my floor.  I call her the Third Floor Pooper.  There is a luxurious bathroom on the second floor with many stalls to choose from.  There is a bathroom on HER floor she could use, hell there are bathrooms all over that place, but she comes down to our bathroom, usually when I have to pee, and camps out in there and stinks the place up. It's bugging me.  I wrote a poem in my head about her the other day as I had the misfortune to walk in the bathroom behind her.  It goes like this, "I don't like your shirt, I don't like your hair-do, I don't like it when you come in here and take a poo.  I wish you'd take a dump on another floor, you stink it up so bad in here, I have to run out the door."  It bugs me...stinky Third Floor Pooper.

Something else that is weighing on my mind is the auto-correct on my phone.  It's really bugging me.  Piece of shit. You know, if it wants to correct me when I type the word "Fuck" and replace it with "Duck" that's fine, whatever.  Pisses me off, but I get it.  But when I write a legit word like "wide" and it replaces it with "wife" that's bullshit!  Why?  They are both words.  What the hell does my phone think it's doing replacing that word?  But if I write the word "wong" instead of "wrong" do you think it can fix that?  Oh, hell no, then my phone is ducking clueless.  I type in "callef" instead of "called."  Again, Smarty McSmarterson smart phone doesn't have a ducking clue what to do! It doesn't have a suggestion.  Here's a suggestion, stop ducking around with me and let me fucking swear when I want and choose my own sentences.  Hey, Smartphone, the word is BITCH, not BUTCH.  I'll let you know when I want to call someone BUTCH.  Dammit!

And before you get all smart with me, yes, I know you can turn it off, but my phone is ducking possessed!  I go to turn it off and it says it's already off.  Look, I'm just one simple girl trying to take selfies and send texts, don't get all technical on me, but I still know how to turn it off.

Moving along, last night I had a conversation with Shark Bait.  We were watching The Batchelor and I'm all like, "do you remember when you started falling in love with me?  Saying I love you the first time?"  Crickets.  I'm like, seriously?  I remember when I told you I loved you. I remember how you just had that dumb look on your face and didn't say it back because you weren't ready, whatever.  And then how when you finally did tell me you loved me, it was over the phone when I was getting my hair done in Everett and you said, "by the way, I love you" just before you hung up.  You didn't even say it to my face, chump.  He's like, I don't remember.  How come I remember that stuff?  I said, so you don't even remember the first kiss?  He's like, "I don't know....well, yeah, it was at your door and you kissed me."  Do you see how I had to do freaking everything?  So exhausting.  Basically Shark Bait remembers the sweater I was wearing the first night we met and he remembers the first kiss, beyond that, it's all a blur.  What else could possibly be up there in his head?  Fishing stories, hunting stories, gun parts, jeeps, random facts about why ducks feet don't freeze in the winter and shit like that, but me?  Not even there.  I'm like his right arm...and he's left handed, so he doesn't even really need me.  I mean, I'm there everyday, but unless he has a booger or has to hike up his pants, I'm just along for the ride. This might be a mild exaggeration, but seriously, no details?  So, that's why I punched him in the gut ten times.  Remember that, bitch.

I'm also pissed off that I'm looking a bit old and a bit haggard and that I am still fighting my weight years after my surgery.  One of my Facebook memories came up the other day ( http://angry-pony.blogspot.com/2015/02/best-cry-of-2015.html ) and I re-read it.  It brought back a lot of pain, but really is the root of my struggle since then.  I'm really tired of this whole fight, but I can't escape it anymore than I could escape the spiritually placed LulaRoe leggings. 

Anyway, I have a lot of things like this wearing on my mind these days.  This is just a sampling.

Some other topics that I won't delve into now, but still floating around up there are:

• Why is my horse costing me so much money right now?
• Why is Shark Bait's dog shitting on the floor in the house 30 minutes after he comes in from outside when he just shit outside?
• Why do people ask me about vending machine refunds when I don't manage the vending machines?  There's freaking 800# on the damn machines. CALL IT.
• Why do people think it is okay to go to break and never come back to work and never tell anyone?  Why can't we be responsible adults?
• At what age will I finally stop getting acne?
• How did Facebook know that I was out at Petco on Saturday looking for pet beds?  I got home and there were a bunch of pet bed ads on my Facebook page and on Groupon.  What kind of witchcraft is that?
• As much as I see the Rug Doctor, am I now through my psychology Jedi Knight training and can I now put up my shingle and start a practice of my own?  I've got a lot of good advice.
• Why do some people spell it "donuts" and other people spell it "doughnuts?"

 I have a bunch of other stuff up there, too, but tonight's blog was just a sampler.  I'm sure I will explore more next time.  Stay tuned...

 

You Will Not Define Me

For those of you that have been following my postings on Facebook, you know that I have started off 2017 trying to have a more positive outlook on life and trying to get going in a better direction for myself.  I didn't do this because I think America is going to be great again or because it's a new year's resolution.  I committed to it because it is time to focus on the things I can do and to stop telling myself I can't.  It's a new thing, you know, something the Rug Doctor has been trying to get me to do for a few years now.  I'm finally ready to drink her Kool-Aid and give it a try.

Everything was going pretty well with my new endeavor.  I was being positive, I was eating well, I eliminated the majority of sugar from my life and I was pushing worry out. I was asking the Left and the Right to be peaceful and not to hate on my FB page. The world around me was completely unstable with the induction of a new President into office, but I was trying to think, "maybe it won't be so bad..."  I had not liked either of the major two candidates running for election, so I really tried to stay out of the upheaval around it.  I just could not justify making myself miserable about it, but still felt like we, as a country were screwed either way. None the less, I tried to stay positive.

And then, the same weekend the new President of the United States officially took office, the women of the world marched in an act of unity, power and strength, but also fear at the same time.  Fear of the unknown of what would happen to their rights, but also taking a stand.  At least that is my interpretation of the events.  I could be wrong, and Lord knows, you'll tell me if I am.  That is where part of my positive resolve started to be torn down, which is ironic, since I am a woman myself.  I didn't understand what the real "message" was behind the march. Everywhere I looked, there was a different take on what the march meant, what the purpose was, why it was happening.  Was it against Trump becoming our President? Trump grabbing crotches?  Was it about women's rights? Was it about Planned Parenthood being threatened as a place for women to go?  Was it about healthcare? Was it about abortion?  I found myself inundated with images on social media and the news.  I saw a picture of some women with vagina costumes on their head and also some of  the women in full body costumes and I thought to myself, "what the hell is that about?"  As a woman, in my opinion, I am not defined by my vagina. I would not draw attention to that part of my body, because that isn't all I'm about.  It's a part of my anatomy.  And so I posted the picture and asked, what is this all about, I don't understand the message?  Many of my friends agreed and thought it was ridiculous and also did not understand.  I was not being hateful.  I was expressing my perspective. That's right, my perspective. My thoughts. My opinion. My ability to put something out to the universe and say, "this doesn't make sense to me." It's okay for me to do that, isn't it?

I get people are passionate about many things right now. Hell, who am I kidding, people are passionate about EVERY.FUCKING.THING right now. What I didn't get is that I would be considered shallow or ignorant by questioning the message behind a vagina hat.  I'm not either of those things.  Because I don't see the world exactly as someone else sees the world does not make me ignorant. It doesn't make me hateful.  I never said, "Look at those stupid bitches, what a bunch of C U Next Tuesday's."  Never said that. I wasn't hateful. I was questioning.  It also never occurred to me that people would not understand who I am and where I stand.  Especially people that know me.

This past week I've continued to see friends attacking friends on social media.  I've seen people posting things on their very own page and being attacked by others with their own agendas.  I've seen people being so hateful and mean. I've seen people I thought I knew, people that I care about being so riled up that I have feared to say anything on my page.  Scared to post about something, scared to post about nothing.  Scared of the judgment surrounding everything I say or do or don't do.  I've actually had anxiety about it for over a week.  I've been scared to be myself for fear I would be attacked for it, or judged due to misunderstanding. Scared to try and be sarcastic or poke fun at life for fear of the backlash.  I talked to the Rug Doctor about it today at Talk Me Down Tuesday and I said, "I am 45 fucking years old, I don't give a shit what these people think, but I sure as hell don't deserve to be ripped apart over it."  So, even though I wasn't going to blog about all of this, I find myself here, putting it in writing, taking my own personal stand.  You will not define me. You will not shoosh my voice.  You will not tell me to sit down because I have "White Privilege."

Let me just clear it up for those that may be wondering who I am or where I stand:

• I don't give a shit who you love, who you sleep with, who you marry.  I don't. Gay, straight, whatever.  I don't judge you for that. Everyone deserves to be happy and have legal rights. I will support the laws that give you that right.

• I could care less what color your skin is or what your ethnicity is.  Not meaning your heritage isn't important, but meaning, I don't judge you by your skin color, your culture, your beliefs. I don't.  I DO care that others judge you for that.  That bothers me.  I don't support that behavior.

• I believe in God.  I don't care what you believe.  There are judgmental religious people and there are people that believe in love and letting God do the judgment. Just because I believe in God, don't assume you know where I stand on the issues at hand. You likely don't, you know why? Because you've never asked me.

• I don't care if you identify as Liberal, Democrat or Republican or whatever else.  I don't. I have views that are a blend of all of those platforms, honestly.  

• I don't care who you voted for.  I have friends on both sides of that fence and I know all of them voted the way they did for different reasons.  Who they voted for does not define who they are as a person.  Some of you may disagree. Go ahead, that is your right. I know many people voted the way they did because they wanted change.  Those aren't bad people.  Given the two options we were given, in my opinion, the biggest Charlie Foxtrot in my lifetime, I think there were going to be challenges either way. I'm not going to be hateful and run people out of my life because everyone doesn't see things like I do.  p.s. Who I voted for is none of your mother trucking business. Don't assume, because you are likely incorrect. I did the best I could picking between Beavis and Butthead. And, there were OTHER names on the ballot, in case you didn't know.

I could go on about who I am, but I'll spare you. We don't even have to talk about my vagina, because, guess what, it is a fraction of the big picture. I don't want to talk about your dick, either, but I digress. What I am going to say is, I have been scared to death to say anything about anything for over a week, I've watched the hatred and I've watched the news and I've started to fret and be fearful and lose hope. My resolve for putting the positive out into the universe wavering because of the judgment and cutting words from some. I'm losing who I am because of the fear of the masses. I was expressing this to one of my friends and she said, "You know, historically, people have lived through worse times.  Look at mid-evil times, people got hung from their fingernails or had their heads chopped off in the streets.  The wild wild west. Times of slavery.  All of it horrible, and people survived it.  We will survive this, too.  Imagine how those people felt back then, probably just as freaked out as we are."

I don't want to live freaked out.  Do you? If I choose not to post anything about what is going on in America, it doesn't mean I don't care, it doesn't mean I'm unaware, it means I'm not going to go down that well of despair. Some would say that if we are not worked up and afraid, nothing will get done and that we have to stay vigilant.  Okay, I see your point, but see mine.  I need to control what I can.  I need to control my teeny tiny piece of this world.  I have the right to focus on my health.  I have the right to focus on my family and the things that affect how I live my daily life. I have a right to feel joy in my daily life. The POTUS will not take that from me and neither will you. You will not define me.  You will not make me live in fear. You will not make me feel stupid for expressing myself when I choose to do so.  You will not silence me because I don't share the same struggle as you. We all have struggles of our own.  You don't get to decide which struggles are more important than others. My voice may not speak from your personal experience, but it is just as relevant.  If I have the obligation to be open-minded and see your point of view, then you should also have the emotional intelligence to try and see mine.  You don't have to agree, but you should respect the right of another person's opinion or perspective.

If you find any of this offensive or impossible to understand, then it is possible that we may not be compatible as friends and that's okay.  We don't have to like each other.  We don't have to agree.  But, you don't get to define me and who I am.  And, if my level of positivity doesn't meet your standards, no need to tell me.  The only standards I'm trying to live up to are my own.  I'm one person, I'm not perfect and God help me, I'm a handful.

Talk Me Down Tuesday

Well, I have experienced "Therapy Thursday," "Wack-job Wednesday" and now, "Talk Me Down Tuesday."  That really only leaves "Freak out Friday" and "Moping on a Monday."  We'll give TMDT a chance.

Today, we talked about my all-time record of being positive for 15 days straight.  I mean, it's a big deal.  I've been eating good, no cheating, I posted some positive meme's on Facebook without throwing up in my mouth and I've even said, "Good Morning" to a few people at work.  Hell, I even wore a shirt to work that said, "SMILE" on it for a new program launch. This is behavior that cannot be discounted.  I feel like I just graduated from Schick Schadel Hospital or something and I don't even want to drink or smoke.  I think the Rug Doctor was quite pleased.

I went on to tell her that the voices in the back of my mind, or wherever they live, are worried that I can't possibly sustain this foreign practice of behavior.  She says we just take one day at a time.  Short-term goals.  I told her that being positive and seemingly happy can only lead to discord when the rug gets pulled out from underneath me.  I said, "You ever see the movie Final Destination?  That girl is all happy and then steps out in the street and then SPLAT!!! Freaking bus hits her and she's dead...and pureed.  I suppose you'd tell me that at least she was happy all that time and didn't waste time being sad.  I suppose you'd tell me her outcome would not have changed had she worried or been depressed vs just embracing life, isn't that what you were going to say to me?"  I like to think when I work this out myself I should get a discount on my co-pay, but she is the one that went to school for this shit, so I let it be.  The Rug Doctor said that she would say something close to that.  I think years of therapy qualifies me to be a therapist someday.  I mean, I kind of already am in some ways, but I'd like to just call these sessions an apprenticeship.  Someday I'll hang a shingle up and my practice will be called Let's Cut Through The Shit, Shall We? Too long? I guess I can put some more thought into it.  I suppose it should be more nurturing. Meh. Whatev's.

Speaking of the word, "Meh" do you know that Shark Bait HATES it when I say that to him?  It started as a joke, but it actually drives him KUH-RAZY.  Like, of all the things I do, of all the times I'm difficult, this is the thing he clings to that seriously, all joking aside, pisses him off.  You know what I have to say about that? Meh.  I guess I need to try harder to make one of my other behaviors more annoying.  Challenge accepted.

Anyway, the Rug Doctor and I continued to talk about my inner voices and how I need to get Catastrophe Cassondra to calm down.  I need to tell her that I am acknowledging her, but that I am going to stay on the current path of being positive.  I likened it to talking to a toddler.  "Honey, Mommy is being positive right now, why don't you sit down and watch a movie...no, not The Day After Tomorrow....no, not Titanic..look, do you want a time-out?  Mommy is trying to be positive but your making Mommy want to beat your ass...no, throwing that temper tantrum won't work...and NO ice cream, Mommy is eating healthy...don't make me come back there!!!"  And that is where things get weird.  I'm still working out the kinks.  If you ever see me yelling at myself, just let me be, I'm shaping the life of an unruly personality that has never known boundaries.  It's a full time job.

I guess that was about it.  It may actually be possible that  I'm finally making a break-through.  I'm not that upset about Shark Bait's man cold that I seem to be getting.  I'm not that upset about the sink hole that tried to kill me (go sit down Catastrophe Cassondra...) but that didn't seem to damage anything.  I'm just like, no big deal, I got this.  We are gonna be okay.  Maybe it is the lack of sugar I have been eating.  All these years I thought sugar made me happy and it actually took me down to the saddest I've ever been.  Who knew eradicating it would have so many benefits.  Well, honestly, a lot of scientists and health freaks knew about it, but...chocolate...you know?  What was I supposed to do?  Just give it up?  Turns out the answer is yes.  Just as long as nothing makes me give up my ponies.  I gotta draw the line somewhere.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go chug some broth and some zinc and not be bitter about it.

I have this much positive energy to give!

2016 - Seven Things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't Be Mean to Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I leave you with this:
 

 

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

Linus, Wonderwoman and Meth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

45 and holding...until I dry up.