The butt shocking continues...

Well tomorrow is Valentine's Day.  I don't really get that excited about it, but I have assured that I will get some sort of action tomorrow, I have an appointment with the physical therapist.  That's right, I get to do more kegel exercises and get my butt shocked.  If that doesn't scream romance, I don't know what does. One of my co-workers suggested that I might get addicted to having my butt shocked.  I won't be known as a "cutter" I'll be a "shocker."  I'll be out in the pasture, rubbing my butt up against the electric fence all hours of the night.  I might have to get butt shocking FMLA so I can miss work.  Instead of shopping at Lover's Package, I'll order a cattle prod from a livestock catalog. I don't know, that might be a bit extreme.

Hopefully, I won't have to go to therapy that long.  Hopefully, my sciatic will come to it's senses.  Mom offered up one of Dad's canes to me the other day.  I just looked at her and said, "No, I do NOT want to borrow Dad's cane!"  She says, "What? It's a nice cane, Dad got a lot of compliments on it."  Clearly she is out of touch with the people I am surrounded with daily.  One co-worker said I looked like a disco ball today because I wore a sparkly shirt under another shirt.  Can you imagine the mileage these people will get out of a cane?  Oh, and also, another danger is, I might club someone with it.  That really is the bigger concern.

What I am more concerned about tomorrow is that I am supposed to bring a pair of shorts to therapy, you know, so that my 13 year old therapist can see my legs better while I do kegels and the hairy guy can get the electrode things off my ass easier. Anyway, the problem is, I don't have shorts.  Fat girls don't like to show off their legs, come on.  The only thing I have that is close, is some flannel pj shorts that have teddy bears all over them.  I guess those will have to do. It has a matching top, I wonder if I should wear that too...?  That will definitely spike up the romantic, intimate nature of the session.  You know, the therapist did ask me if I wanted the lights off when she left me alone with my butt hooked up to the machine last time.  Maybe I should bring candles. 

Apparently, I've brought sexy back...

So, today I went to the physical  therapist to see if I could get anywhere with my sciatic problem.  I really don't like going to physical therapy.  I've been before for my shoulder, and not been too thrilled. Let's give it a shot, shall we?  Think positive.

I wait for my turn and this grizzly, hairy guy calls my name.  I go with him hoping he is not my therapist.  He isn't. He says one of the other gals will be in momentarily.  My gal comes in and first, she looks like she is 13, and secondly, she is pretty soft-spoken.  I don't feel good about this.  She seems unimpressed with my inability to function in everyday life.  She asks what I hope to get out of therapy.  I said, "Well, I'd like to be able to walk again and do day to day stuff like take care of my horses."  She nods as if she understands and says, "So, do you actually have horses?"  Like I make this crap up.  "Yes, I do."  She presses, "At your house?"  I'm confused at what part she is unsure of.  Seems clear to me.  Anyway, I confirm that yes, indeed, I have horses and they are at my home.  She asks me to take my shoes off.  She looks at my socks. "What is on your socks?"  I say, "horses."  They are my pink pony socks, duh.  She says, "oh, I thought they were skeletons."  And, I'm trusting this girl with my health.

Miss Doogie Howser looks me over for a while and decides that I need to do a few exercises.  She tells me to suck in my belly button like I am pulling it towards my back and to tighten my "pelvic floor" muscles.  What the heck is my pelvic floor? Sensing my confusion, she says, "you know, do a Kegel exercise. Like you were trying to stop peeing."  She's watching me as if she can see my bellybutton being held tight and my "floor" contracting.  This is ridiculous. The only thing you can tell looking at my stomach is that I've had too many cookies. I would never have guessed Kegel exercises would solve my problem.  My pelvic floor region wasn't in the mood for this, it didn't think this was going to help either.  I might not be able to walk when this is over, but Will should be happy.

Then Miss Doogie informs me that we need to do electro-therapy on my butt.  She tells me it shocks the muscles.  Now, I don't mean she is going to shock them with horrifying pictures or telling me something surprising that will startle me, she is actually going to shock my ass.  She brings this machine over, has me lay on my side and then says," I need to put these conductors on your sciatic."  Translation, she is going to put sticky pads on my ass.  She says, "do you mind if I put my hands down here?"  I told her to do what she needed to do, how else are those things going to get on my ass?  I loosen my pants and she sticks one down there..."oh, woops, that isn't the right spot," then "ripppp!" takes it off and repositions it.  No worries, my ass skin isn't sensitive or anything. Thank goodness I just loofah'd it this morning. She gets me all hooked up and says, "ok, tell me when you feel the buzzing." I feel it and I tell her.  She says, "ok, I'm going to turn this up, let me know when you think you can't take anymore." My eyes got big and I swallowed, "ok."  She gradually increases the power. "BINGO! We're there!"  I exclaimed.  She says, "Ok, I'm going to leave you here for about 15-20 minutes hooked up to this."  She then puts an ice pack over my hip and then rolls a little stool up to the front of me with a bell on it.  She says, "If the machine malfunctions, just ring this bell."  WHAT????!!!  What do you mean if it malfunctions?  What if it literally shocks my ass off? What if it burns a hole in it?  She informs me that it probably won't, but if it does, just ring it and then someone will be in to turn it off after my time is up.  I lay there, focusing on the electricity flowing into my ass.  Maybe I had her leave it too high, I tried to relax and not think about it. 

Anyway, I survived the treatment, the machine bell goes off and the hairy  guy shows up to take my sticky pads off my ass.  Just my luck.  You can't send a David Beckam look a-like in there, no, you send this hairy guy, who decides to tell me, as he is digging around in my pants, that he needs a manicure.  Awkward.

So, let's recap.  On Wednesday, the chiropractor adjusted me in places I never thought needed adjusting, like really close to my girl parts (It was like we were a pretzel M&M, I was the chocolate and he was the pretzel. It was intense, my one leg was wrapped around him, he had me in a half-nelson and body slammed me), now today, I get assigned Kegel exercises, my ass shocked and some hairy guy digging around in my pants.

I can only conclude one thing from all this - I'm exuding some sort of sexuality and doctors can't resist. I thought they might be repulsed by fat chicks, but it turns out, I've brought sexy back.

That was the first high-point to my day. The second one was when Ambular brought her daughter Cayden in to give me a Valentine's Day present.  Cayden brought me a cute pink My Little Pony.  It was at this point that the big boss comes up to see what I am doing and to ask how it went at the therapist. He is on his way out for the night.   He couldn't find me solving some sort of global problem or working on a mathematical equation that would double our year-end profit.  No, I'm playing with a My Little Pony.  He looked at me, kind of in disbelief and I said, "Look, it came with a comb and you can brush it's mane and tail." And then I sang the My Little Pony song to him.  This didn't help my case.  I told him, "Well, you could get one and then join the Bronies."  He asked what a Brony was.  I informed him it was a group of men that enjoyed My Little Ponies.  He didn't believe me.  He looked it up on his phone, sure enough, there it was.  He looked at me like I was off my wagon. I said, "What? It isn't like I'm a member, I just heard about it..."  I then told him about my trip to the therapist.  Again, he just looked at me like he couldn't believe he trusted me with his passwords.  He thanked me for over-sharing about my butt and the Bronies.  I bid him a happy weekend.  And just like that, my work week was complete.

It's happened, I've become "them"

I was sitting at my desk today, trying to come out of my muscle relaxer fog, kind of feeling sorry for myself and I started to think back on how I felt when I started at the glass palace 14 years ago.  I remembered being approx 60 pounds lighter and I remembered watching the geriatric invalids walking into the building everyday.  I remember thinking, oh my word, I hope this place doesn't do this to everyone.  There was one lady that hobbled in with oxygen.  She wore a mask at her desk between calls.  There was another lady that wore one of those masks you get at the doctor when you are sick and they don't want you spreading the crud you have around.  If you even wore lotion or perfume, she went ballistic on your ass.  There was another lady that  had this walker/chair combo thing and she  could only walk so many steps at a time and she had to stop and rest.  All of these ladies were large ladies.  It would seem CCA, Call Center Ass, was running rampant in this building.  I should have ran when I had the chance.

We had several folks that required ambulance assistance on a regular basis due to various health ailments.  In my younger days at the palace, I would always say to myself, shoot me if that ever happens to me.  And here I am, the fat girl, hobbling around because of a pinched sciatic nerve.  I guess there has been discussion from my pal Valerie about going to the grocery store and stealing one of those scooter shopping cart things.

I tried to put these things out of my mind as I opened an email advising me that we are going to do ANOTHER hiring open house.  I let out an audible whimper. We just finished an open house, I don't want to do another one.  I started thinking it might be nice if my desk was better equipped to handle these types of emergencies.  What I need is some sort of oxygen mask to drop from the ceiling like it does in an airplane when everything goes to shit and you are going to crash.  I looked up.  I think it wouldn't be too hard to install.  I asked Valerie to come over and I told her to hug me and I told her everything would be okay.  She seemed scared.  She asked what was the matter.  I assured her it would be ok, but that she needed to read the email.  She read it.  Her face fell, she too, whimpered.  We were in this together.

While I will have to see if my request gets approved for the breathing apparatus at my desk, there was something I was able to do to ensure some sort of comfort in these tough times.  It was vendor day at work and I was able to score a cool stuffed pony that came with a blanket and a sticker book.  One of our visiting managers was scoping out my new pony.  I told him that I was going to pet it and rock with it when times were tough.  I think he thought I was joking.  I'm not.  And, I am super excited about those stickers.  I don't exactly know what I will do with them, but I'll think of something.

My shakra needs to be re-aligned

Miserable day with my leg today.  I considered amputation, however, Valerie informs me that isn't going to end well, and quite frankly, I think she was telling me she isn't going to help me take care of personal needs while I am in my wheel chair.  It's really hard to find a good friend these days.

My boss was a pretty good help today, though.  He provided me with this back massager thing and told me I could use it to help loosen up my back.  His only condition was that I didn't make any overly pleasurable faces.  I'm pretty sure I've never reached nirvana with a back massager, but I guess there is a first time for everything.  The closest I've come to an "O" face at work was when I found out the managers had to do their own expense reports.

My other boss showed me some exercises on how I might help my sciatic problem. I tried it and almost got stuck in the position.  I think I'd better leave that to the professionals.  Friday I have a physical therapy appointment, so hopefully they can help me out.  My boss also asked this other guy if he could carry me around since I was in such pain.  I looked at him and said, "oh, I think that is above the call of duty."  The poor fellow. I know he wants to move up in the company, I should have called his bluff and seen just how bad.  I should have said, "I'll spot you a $20 if you can get my fat ass off the ground."

The good news is, when I gimped out to my truck tonight, I found the answer to all my problems on my windshield.  Julia the psychic left me her card.  She already knew I was troubled, worried and confused.  She also wants to check my shakra's.  The card has a picture of the shakra's and the "root shakra" is right at the crotch area and it's a red circle.  So, right away, I know this Julia chick is for real cuz she knows I'm a woman and that is where I have my period.  She says she has 40 years of experience and she can connect me with lost loved ones and she can re-align my shakra's.  I didn't even know I needed my shakra's re-aligned, so this gal, she already proved herself in my book.  I just need to give her a call.  She says she can help me with all my life problems.  She is just who I have been waiting for.  I'm totally going to call her.  And, great news, she takes Visa or Mastercard.  Julia says sometimes you just need someone to talk to.  I know it's just a card under my windshield wiper, but I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship.

I'm totally going to call her right after I pass out from the muscle relaxers I just took.  Who knows, I might be able to reconnect with loved ones on my own in this stupor.  Well, I can't type anymore, so here's to getting in touch with my third eye shakra and seeing my way out of this mess.

Legs...they are important...

Tonight I'd like to talk about a real problem I'm having.  My sciatic nerve is allegedly pinched or is under pressure or something catastrophic.  It's been bugging me on and off for a while, but over the last couple of weeks it has taken a turn for the worse.  The chiropractor has adjusted me, the doctor has medicated me and I am going to go do physical therapy, I guess.  All I know is, it is getting progressively worse.  It's starting to concern me.

Today, I was limping around like I am a geriatric nightmare.  I started to think, what if this really takes a turn for the worse?  Every day it feels like this leg is seizing up more and more.  What if pretty soon I can't even limp on it?  What if I am dragging it around like a dead body?  Then I get a hunch back from stressing my back and right hand side.  Pretty soon, the pressure of the pain makes one eye twitch and one eye bulge.  I can't get dressed anymore by myself.  I sure as hell can't bend my leg to put pants or socks on, so I wear a mumu, no underwear and crocs on my feet.  I won't be able to comb my hair anymore because my shoulders will be worn out from dragging myself around.  I'll have to order one of those Hover-Rounds or Little Rascals that they have infomercials for.  The 80+ age group sure likes them.  Then I will just get super fat, because I have given up all hope.  I'll be stinky and pretty soon no one will come visit.  The Para-Transit people will stop coming to get me, so I'll have to go out on indefinite FMLA on account of being a stinky invalid.  Then, I'll get some more wiener dogs and probably some cats for companionship.  I don't know if Will will stick around or not.  As sexy as I look with a google-eye, scary hair, back boobs, side boobs and front boobs, and bed sores from the Little Rascal, I imagine at some point Will is going to have to draw the line.

Once Will leaves me, that's when CNA Barbie will show up.  That's right, a Certified Nursing Assistant will come take care of me.  The only reason she is a CNA is because cheerleading and having sex with the captain of the football team didn't pan out like she wanted, so now she has to get a real job and she figured she might as well help people, I mean, that totally sounds noble.  Plus, she didn't want to have to do a bunch of schooling.  She's wearing her cute nursing shoes, her kitty cat scrubs and her hair is in a messy bun.  She is totally committed to serving me...as long as that means she gets to do her nails, talk on the phone and throw marshmallows at my mouth when I open it to speak.  I sure better not crap my pants, because, after all, she doesn't do diapers. So, now, I'm sitting there in feces watching CNA Barbie look for the perfect guy on Plenty of Fish and shop for high heel shoes.  It's at this point I wish I had taken all of my muscle relaxers and jumped off the skybridge at work on February 6, 2012.

I'm not saying any of this is going to happen, I'm just saying, if it does, that is going to suck.  Oh, and I am totally going to throw up on CNA Barbie, if I ever see her.

As I was at work having these thoughts, I noticed you can see the cemetery from the inner skybridge in the building.  I had never really noticed before that you can see two grave stones on the hill.  It was as if they were beckoning me. I've always said I'm not going to die in that building, but the signs are starting to indicate otherwise.  I guess I should try and focus on the positive side of things.  I'm positively happy it is almost time for two more muscle relaxers and bed time.

Back at it tomorrow...one step at a time...leaving one footprint and one drag mark as I go....

This is for you, Chocolate Block Barbie

Today was a typical Friday. Chaos. It's too much to give a blow by blow, but I'll hit a couple of the high-lights.

First off, I decided not to take muscle relaxers at work today. While that was a wild ride yesterday, I learned my lesson.  I would have thought the doctor might have covered the dosing instructions a little better.  I can see the allure of the muscle relaxers for sure though.  Not giving a crap about anything is definitely the way to go. 

Speaking of not giving a crap, my hair looked as  though I didn't.  It looked like I had a bad mullett. I did get one compliment on it, but I think that person might have needed an eye exam.  You know your hair is bad when you say to your friend, "I thought this looked good this morning, I was wrong, don't let me do that again..."  Then your friend looks at your hair and just nods.  That is all the confirmation I needed.

Aside from all this superficial stuff, I did actually have work to do today.  I had to call approx 40 people to set them up for interviews.  That's right, I activated the perky voice and proceeded to make magic happen. It freaks my co-workers out when I am this perky, but the outsiders seem to enjoy it.  I make it sound like where I work is freakin Disneyland.  I make myself sick.  I'm going to have to be mean to people for a day or so just to balance the scales.  It's super fun to pretend not to be annoyed when you leave a message for someone and they call you back and this is how it goes down: "Thank you for calling 'The Glass Palace,' this is Cassondra."  "Yeah, somebody just called me about some job."  "Ok, well, who am I speaking to?" He responds with his name, as if he is irritated he is having to deal with me.  I set him up for an interview because I am Cinder-freakin'-rella and I work at the palace and that is my job to make dreams come true. I'd also like to send a message to parents everywhere.  Quit trying to name your kids some super unique name.  Do not combine a normal cooking spice with a disease or ailment and think it is cool.  I'm not going to reveal the specific name I'm talking about, since that would be a violation of company policy, however, I will give you an example of what I am talking about.  Put the spice of Ginger together with a condition called Psoriasis.  Ginger Psoriasis.  Isn't that beautiful?  How about Nutmeg Pustule?  Seriously people.

In other news, while I am talking to applicants like I am Polly Anna hopped up on a Rockstar energy drink, apparently one of the nearby people came over and offered Valerie some chocolate.  They apparently were thinking about offering me one, but didn't want me to go off on them in one of my blogs.  Well, epic fail, my friend.  I was chocolate blocked and for that, you will be featured in tonight's blog. Chocolate Block Barbie decided not to offer me a yummy milk chocolate See's candy bar.  It might have been delightful, but now, I'll never know.  I mean, just to have been asked, that would have been something.  I would have felt loved and appreciated, but now, I'm just...hungry for chocolate.  Well, Chocolate Block Barbie, here's to you!

And so the day goes.  I finally finished calling all of those people, I'm exhausted.  Too much positive energy in too short of a time.  When I have days like these, it's fun to decompress with the girls.  Often, when us girls talk, whether we mean to or not, we end up talking about someone's period.  It just happens.  As it did tonight, one of the managers came up.  He's been featured in my blog before, it's CrossFit Crazy.  He asks us what we are talking about.  Valerie informs him we're talking about Rachel's period.  He says, "oh my God, that is what they are talking about over there! I can't get away from it!"  With that he walked away.  So I yelled after him, "maybe it is your red sweatshirt, it's making us think about periods!"  He said, "That's what they just said!"  I think I speak for a lot of women when I say, mission accomplished.  Every man that can be made squeamish by bodily functions of a woman, it's a victory.  They get to fart, burp, whatever and women just roll their eyes and they think it is hilarious.  Well, here's to you flatulent friends!

Anyway, one thing leads to another and we start talking about badge pictures.  I guess one person sent her badge picture in and she got it back advising her that her forehead was too big.  I was speechless.  Seriously? Well, what in the hell is she supposed to do?  Does she have to have her picture taken from 20 feet away? Will she have to get a poster sized badge?  I was outraged.  It made me want to challenge the security department.  Like, I wanted to see if I could create a badge picture with so many double chins, something so hideous that they would be like, "crap, what do we do with this?"  Go ahead, tell ME I have too many chins. I double-dog dare you!  Working in the badge department would be the funnest job ever.  I could mock people all day.  It's almost my calling.  I could send the pictures back, "Your eyes are bulgey."   "Nice try, but can you uncross your eyes?"  "Too many zits."  "Side part is ridiculous."  "My God, find a comb, use it and resubmit."  "No one is this ugly, please send alternate form of identification."  Or, the flip side, "In order to verify your identity, I will need a shirtless photo showing all of your abdominal muscles."

Oh well, I'll keep my job, it's pretty glamorous too. 

I'm not perky, and I don't play a perky person on TV

I finally got some good sleep last night.  So good, in fact, that I overslept.  For some reason I didn't set my alarm last night.  I was having a weird dream about how I couldn't get to work and then I finally woke up.  I laid there and thought, something doesn't seem right.  I rolled over and looked at the clock.  It said 6:49AM.  Holy crap!  This is a problem!  Normally I get up between 5:30AM -6:00AM.  I needed to be at work early today because of day two of the open house and now that was virtually impossible. 

I went out and fed the ponies, who looked at me like I was a total criminal for not being there sooner.  I told them if they wanted to see criminals they should come to the open house.  I threw myself together and off to work I go.  I hear on the radio that traffic is totally screwed, this is just not my day.  I'm going to need a hot chocolate.

I arrived at work 30 minutes late.  I had already missed the rush of hopeful applicants.  Damn.  I worked the screening table and was able to successfully deter a guy that was dressed for a job interview at Harley Davidson or the Hells Angels, not sure which.  After considering all I had to say about our great opportunity, he left.  Then, I signed in the smelly guy that had worked for a ton of call centers.  Okay, if you have worked for a ton of call centers, that doesn't make you a desirable candidate...just so you know.  Yeah, cuz we are dying to dump a bunch of money and effort into training your smelly ass, only for you to quit on a whim.  And, P.S., if I can smell you across the table, it's time for a shower, or at least stop in the rain for a few minutes without your coat on. 

And just like that, the open house is over.  We clean up the carnage of the open house and one of the HR gals, that has been working on a recruiting video decides she needs to video my boss coming out of his office and then he will say something very intellectual, yet fun, about our company.  But before he comes out, aforementioned HR gal wants a shot of me standing at my desk smiling and waving.  STOP.  First, I am over-due to have my high-lights redone in my hair.  I have a little grow-out going on.  Second, I hear the camera adds 10 pounds.  This is a weight gain I cannot withstand.  And finally, I am not the face of our company.  I am the face of fat girls fighting for calorie free ice cream, a comfortable chair at the movies and jeans that fit.  I am the face of bitterness, sarcasm and angst.  I am the face of "if you don't get the hell away from me, I will cut you."  This can't be happening to me.  So, I stand there, roots hanging out, with a fake pursed lip smile, waving like an idiot.  I wanted to do the Miss America wave (Never about the crown ladies, NEVER above the crown - elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist) , but they wanted something more "casual."  I only have one wave, and that is the princess wave.  Nonetheless, I acquiesced and performed like the trained seal I am.  I can't wait to see the final edit on this.  The biggest challenge was watching my boss in action as he walked out of his office in his new red sweater all Rico Suave-like talking about what a great place this is to work.  I'll be honest, I had to turn around and bite my lip to keep from laughing.  I gave some suggestions about what he could say, but I don't think they wanted my spin. Anyway, my boss is a good sport, he rocked that video. LOL.



The rest of the day can only be described as the hours I spent trying not to eat all the left over cookies from the open house.  I won't talk about my success rate.  Stupid open house cookies. 


Anyway, I am home now and am super excited because my doctor prescribed a muscle relaxer cocktail for my siatic nerve that is totally pissed off on my left side.  If I play my cards right, I'll be drewling and slumping in my chair tomorrow singing "Red Solo Cup."