Niceties
I've received two separate bunches of flowers from work friends, which was extremely nice. I'd post pics but I couldn't figure out Hello and Picasa and I want to get back to the couch. I wish I had more time to catch up on all your blogs - okay, so I have the time, but not the inclination to sit up all day. sigh. I'm really missing my Blogger friends.
BTW, WTF happened to my blog? Such intricacies.
Dad came home from his trip yesterday and brought me a stuffed bear cub. Never mind that I'm a bit old for stuffed animals, it's a sweet bear and keeps me company on the couch and in bed.
I'm watching a lot of the DNC, and am proud to be from IL with Obama. He rocked.
Okay. Off to check a couple more blogs and then back to the couch.
Stolen!
Wish I could blog more; just don't have the energy as of yet. So I stole this from
Pup.
Directions:
1. Copy this whole list into your journal.
2. Bold the things that are true.
1. I am perfectly content to sit by myself for hours listening to the same songs over and over again.
2. I'm a loud person.
3. I would love to do country line dancing.
4. I don't really care about...anything.
5. I can completely lose myself in a song.
6
. Driving aimlessly while blasting music is therapeutic.
7. I love fall.
8. I hate turtleneck sweaters.
9. My friends mean the world to me.
10. I also hate when people TypE LyKe D1s.
11. I only get 3-4 hours of sleep a night sometimes.
12. I believe that even if they work, long distance relationships still suck. 13. Computers suck <-- but i need them
14. I don't like people
15. I like shopping for shoes.
16. I don't like studying.
17. After high school I'm going to Law school.
18. Sometimes I feel like passing out in the middle of the floor for no reason.
19. I want to go to Europe.
20. I have a lot to learn.
21. I'm vegetarian.
22. I sometimes like to watch the rain and think.
23. I like pop music.
24. Johnny Depp is beautiful.
25. Groups of the same kind of people make me sick.
26. I can type rather fast.
27. I wish I could sleep better.
28. I wish love was like a movie.
29. I'm not a huge fan of the holidays.
30. I like the movie Star Wars
31. I want to win the lottery one day.
32. I like the Starting Line.
33. I trust people way too easily.
34. I don't have a job.
35. I dont like a lot of people.
36. I like to go stargazing.
37. I know a lot of people, but only have a few close friends.
38. I'm easy to get along with i think
39. I'm a very aggressive person.
40. I like having "beauty nights" with my friends.
41. I need to find something I'm talented in and stick to it.
42. I'm very insecure, even though I don't show it.
43. I really enjoy thoughtful gifts, even if they cost nothing.
44. I never want to live in Australia.
45. I'm too aggressive.
46. I love flavored lipgloss
47. Sometimes words can actually hurt me more than sticks and stones.
48. The movie Honey makes me sick.
49. I like holding hands more than anything.
50. I have no life.
51. Sometimes, I like spending time alone.
52. I'm not a big fan of relationships.
53. It needs to be quiet and dark for me to fall asleep.
54. I miss being kissed.
55. I love to find money in my coat pockets.
56. In the winter i never want to leave my house.
57. I wish I was good with directions.
58. I'm pretty good with forgetting about things.
59. I like to read childrens stories.
60. I dye/cut my hair way too much.
61. Emotional neediness scares the crap out of me.
62. Hearing people say they miss me, when I thought they didn't care, makes me smile.
63. I like the beach.
64. One of my favorite movies is Life as a House.
65. I'm very loud.
66. I feel like something's missing, even though I'm pretty content with my life right now.
67. My hair has a mind of it's own, and that mind is a paranoid schizophrenic.
68. I think meat is gross!
69. For the most part I don't care what anyone thinks of me.
70. I don't like having a boyfriend.
71. the song iris by the goo goo dolls is one of my favorite songs.
72. I've never (really truly) been in love.
73. I get really excited about girls/boys who play acoustic guitar.
74. I have never seen E.T.
75. I am drawn to intellect and humor.
76. I want my hair to be long but I can never grow it out.
77. I hate when people do things just to look important.
78. I love the game twister.
79. I'm not old-fashioned.
80. I watch a lot of TV
81. I'm not picky about anything.
82. I like acting like a kid.
83. I don't understand why everyone feels the need to be obsessed with star shaped things.
84. Music plays a big part in my life.
85. I hate the word "emo"
86. I want silky smooth skin.
87. I love Oprah.
88. Sometimes I think to myself: Wow. People are really stupid.
89. Stupid people annoy me.
90. I may sound sarcastic but I really am serious.
91. I can forgive and forget.
92. I like being mean to people I don't know.
93. I can't stand ignorance.
94. Really tall people scare me.
95. I hate snow.
96. I love to laugh.
97. I don't listen to people that much.
98. I HATE hello kitty gear.
99. I think people throw the word love around too much.
100. I am outgoing
101. I hate when people always have to sound smart like when they correct the teacher.
Ow.
I was in the hospital from Fri. morning through Sunday afternoon. Not much fun. It's so good to be home now, even if (because?) Nurse Mom is a bit overprotective.
I have like a 10" cut on my belly - it's basically the incision they do for a caesarean, though they didn't pull a baby out of me. Apparently they did pull a fibroid out that was about the size of a can of V8 juice. The cut is held together right now with lots of metal staples. Ohh, pretty. I'm hoping to actually get some pics of it b/4 the staples come out later this week.
I'm sleeping a lot. MMMMM. I'm off all good drugs. I got flowers today from a coworker, that was nice.
In short, doing okay. Pain is tolerable, and there's 800g of Aleeve for when it's not. I'm going to check a few of my favorite blogs (i.e., anyone who's ever commented here), and I'll probably be back in a few days).
BSE
For all you uninformed plebians out there, that stands for
breast
self
exam. Or, as I like to call them, the most uncomfortable part of a doctor's visit. I mean, a pelvic exam is bad enough - you're wearing a paper gown (not as much fun as it sounds, Pup), a strange man or woman is in between your legs, you're thinking 'Should I have shaved?' and "God, that's cold.'
The one saving grace is that you can't make eye contact with Doc! S/he's down there, doing their thing, and if they're a good doc, they're talking to you about the weather or telling you crappy jokes or doing anything to take your mind of the fact that they're looking, and feeling, and smelling something that isn't usually (okay, always) offered up to strangers.
But, breast exams. Lie back, this time in a paper gown that's actually more of a paper shirt. That opens. All the way.
Down the front. And again, a stranger is feeling you up. And the nurse sits back and watches. And
the doctor is right above you! Eye contact is virtually unavoidable!
Now, I have no problem making eye contact with someone touching my breasteses. But it's always (okay, usually) in a much less sterile environment. And there's generally not someone watching in the background. It's a very awkward thing to put yourself out there, so to speak, and look in the eyes of someone who is touching you privately, but professionally. Or so you hope.
Sure, there are stories out there about doctors who seduce their patients, and patients who seduce their doctors. I mean, half of the partnership is already naked, and the doc has liberty to oogle and touch - how much easier does it get?
I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I'm just glad that breast exams aren't an everyday occurrence. At least, not with a doctor. ;)
Deletion!
I deleted my last post. It was depressing as hell. Why'd you let me indulge myself that way? I know, blogging - writing in general - is cathartic, but I feel I've cashed in my chips for that game.
I'm up EARLY today because I have to go have bloodwork, chest xrays, and an EKG done. It's very hard not to have my morning smoke, but I figured I should try to hold back. Make sure my heart and lungs are in top form. You better believe they're coming with, however! (The smokes, not my heart and lungs - those go everywhere I go, like it or not.)
Okay. I don't think I'm making any sense, so I'll go shower now.
P.S. -
Aimee, thanks for your kind words. :)
I Have a Date!
An actual, honest-to-goodness surgery date! Now I can stop bitching and moaning and whining about it! Hmm...I'll have to ponder that one.
This Friday is the date. I'm stoked, and only a little nervous. Trying to look at it as a 6-wk paid vacation. :)
Saturday Night 'Fun'
There's no way I can convey how annoying a particular married couple I know is. They were each individually friends of mine in college; the guy, I shared a naked shower with on Spring Break and many drunk nights; the girl, a sorority friend who I also shared many drunk nights with. I'm 'credited' - or blamed, depending on their mood - with getting them together, and boy do I regret it.
Individually, they're both spoiled and selfish. Together, they're both spoiled and selfish. And now, pregnant.
Unfortunately for me, they're two of the very few 'friends' who live in my neck of the woods. I turn down about 5 offers to socialize for every 1 I accept. I never initiate contact, and I always brace myself before seeing them. They're nice people, they're just...selfish. And spoiled. And like to complain about how broke they are, while I sit there thinking: Tiffany bracelet for her...new house for them...new car for him...trips to Vegas, Boston, Phoenix for them...yep, that would make me broke, too. She switches jobs like there's no tomorrow, and he has surprisingly landed a good position at a good company. They're smart, don't get me wrong, but I know personally that her work ethic is nonexistent. I used to receive DAILY long-distance calls from her after graduation - all on her company's dime, and all in between her calls to Him, her mom, and other friends.
So, as I said, now they're pregnant. And yet, we sat in the smoking section of the restaurant last night, with Him claiming she was fine, and with Her complaining of breathing problems (she has bad asthma). Then, it was a good idea to go to the local casino. He of course took advantage of his DD and drank and drank. She won $92 on the slots; he lost $50 at blackjack. I'm wondering to myself where their child's college fund will come from.
I know, different strokes for different folks, and maybe it's a bit premature to worry about college when the kid is still lin fetus stage. But it's annoying nonetheless.
And they bicker! Boy, do they bicker. About anything and everything. Last night, it was about something at his work, where she also used to work. "No he doesn't" "Yes he does" Who gives a fuck? It's Saturday night!
He once slept with a good friend of mine from out of town during college. And now, everytime I see him, he asks me - in front of his wife - how my friend is doing. What kind of an asshole move is that? I called him on it last night, and he said it's a good way to piss his wife off. Ah, a marriage made in heaven.
Sometimes, being single just ain't so bad.
Broken Ankle
I went to an outdoor art fair today. Beautiful weather, some interesting art, all more than I could afford. I went to the liquor store nearby, picked up some necessities, blah blah blah.
As I walk back to my car, parked in a corner space, I see a group of older women walking across the grass to the parking lot. Now, when I say older, I mean gray hair and orthopedic shoes and Alfred Dunner outfits. The youngest of the group was probably 50, and that's what she shall be called.
'50' apparently hadn't received the latest memo about dressing for one's age. She was wearing sparkly purple capris, with a matching sparkly purple/black/green top. Her shoes were 4" black velour platforms. Stylin' and profilin'.
As I unlock my car and place my liquor in the trunk, I'm staring rather unabashedly at this group coming at me. At the intersection of curb and parking lot, '50' takes a misstep and twists her ankle on the curb. Down she goes!
Being in the medical profession, as she claims to be, her ankle is declared broken. She heard it snap. Her elderly friends stand there gaping at each other for a moment. I ask if '50' is okay, and state that I'm going to get some first aid help. I return to the throng that is the art fair, hunt down a red-shirted volunteer, and explain the situal.
Returning to the scene of the crime, three volunteers eventually show up. They've called an ambulance. The women are standing around muttering that it was '50's' shoes that did her in. The ensuing conversation went like this:
"Are you going to the hospital with her?"
"I don't want to go."
"If it were you, I'd go, but not with her."
"I've spent too much time in hospitals."
"Well, someone should go with."
I hung around while the ambulance folks strapped up the offending ankle and got '50' into the ambulance. Hell, I had no choice - my car was in their way! They were using it to lean against, prop things up against, etc. I didn't dare offer to move it, as I know that my reverse sometimes sticks and lurches forward at times. No way was I going to take the chance to run someone over with witnesses standing there!
I bided my time, waiting for the old biddies to figure out who was going with, who wasn't, etc. Thank god these weren't my friends - I'd kick their asses if they had to draw straws to see who came with me!
Moral of the story? Dress your age! And make sure those you call friends, actually are.
Update to - fuck it
I wasn't going to post again so soon - I wanted to make sure people took my quiz. (There's an answer in there specifically relevant to a few of you.) But, I'm pissed, so here goes.
So I called the doctor's office. Again. After not calling Wednesday or Thursday and giving them ample time to call me.
Well, guess what folks? It's Friday again, which means the ONE woman in the office who schedules surgeries is off! Back to waiting for Monday...
Fuckerfuckerfuckers.
Eatshitanddieyoufuckers.
I'mwillingtoletyoucutmeopen.
Let'shurryupandgetthisshitdonewithyouasswipes.
It's....Quiz Time!
I do my best to oblige the masses:
http://quizilla.com/users/katey911/quizzes/What%20Type%20of%20Blogger%20Are%20You?
(How the hell do you enable a link???)
Update to Update to *#$@&%
Thursday: And we're waiting...and waiting...knowing that Doc doesn't work on Thursdays...and the dreams of having surgery done by this time next week have all disappeared...and we're waiting...and we don't want to call AGAIN b/c Nurse Lady has probably blacklisted me and is purposely screwing me over...and we're waiting...
godfuckingdamnitshitmotherfuckersfuckingmeupshityoufuckstickfuckerwhores
Blogging = High School?
Seems to me, as I ponder on this so-far sleepless night, that blogging is a lot like high school:
-- There are popular blogs, that receive hundreds of comments on each post, regardless of the topic.
-- There are sex-filled blogs, some perhaps authored by posers who may only be writing about sex because it draws attention.
-- There are blogs that don't give a fuck what any and everyone else is doing and contain solely what interests the author.
-- There are bloggers who aren't actually bloggers themselves, but comment on everyone else's blog.
-- There are bloggers who are trend-setters, and manage to spark an idea or thought that is then found echoed in numerous copy-cat blogs.
-- There are blogs that try to pander to the general public without making a statement about anything, in the hopes of winning the Mr/Ms Congeniality Award. I suspect these bloggers are ones with low self-esteem who worry that others' blogs are better (more interesting, more liked, appreciated, etc.) than their own.
-- There are blogs that no one knows exist.
I should make up my own quiz - Which Blogger Are You?
Requesting Blogger Help!
Can someone please tell me how to move the comments so that they are at the bottom of a post? It's driving me nuts...
I promise free licks to whomever helps me out...
Update to *#$@&%
Tuesday: Call the dr's office. Surgery Schedule Lady says 'Oh, Doc has been busy, you're on my list, I just haven't been able to get him. I'll let you know.'
Wednesday: Waiting...and waiting...
Donuts. Heaven on Earth.
I swore I wasn't going to post any more today. I have work to do, damnit! But then I had 1/2 of a donut (or doughnut, if you prefer) that someone brought in from a shmancy bakery. Oh. My. God.
Melt in your mouth goodness. Yummy yummy. Strand me on a desert island with a radio and a daily dose of doughnuts, and I'd be a very happy camper.
I think doughnut stores should give tours with samples, like breweries do. I'd be first in line, all the time.
Of course, then they'd have to roll me out the door, but I can be okay with that.
Nature Says: The Man is the Aggressor
That was paraphrased from our dear book 'The Rules.' And like everything else in that book, it's a load of crap.
I've never been the girl who won't ask guys out. In fact, the majority of my relationships (encounters?) occurred because I took the bull by the balls - er, horns - and stepped up. I have no problems doing that. It's fun to be in charge. And I don't believe that the guy should always pay. I actually feel guilty when a guy pays for me - I'm more comfortable paying for him than having him pay for me. I've been too independent for too long to be immediately comfortable when a guy picks up the check. According to 'The Rules' authors, those are exactly the reasons why I'm single.
When I was a sophomore in college, I 'dated' a guy who was a second-year senior (I think). At any rate, he was a little older, had a rep as being a ladies man, and I was immediately hooked. Low and behold, he tells me that I'm 'too aggressive' and that he didn't like it.
Whoa.
I remember thinking...fuck you! I'm no pansy-ass wallflower who's going to sit around and wait for the guys to come to me.
I wasn't a stalker; and I wasn't obsessed. But I was - am - a bit forward, and he didn't appreciate that.
Good riddance, I say!
*#$@&%
Wednesday: Dr's appt. "Looks good, come back on Friday for an ultrasound."
Friday: "Looks good, schedule the surgery. Oh, sorry, the ONE person in the entire office who schedules surgeries doesn't work on Friday. She'll call you on Monday. Er...maybe Tuesday."
Monday: No call. I call them. "Hmmm...I don't have any notes here about scheduling surgery for you...Let me check with the doctor and call you back tonight. Er...maybe tomorrow."
Tuesday: Waiting...and waiting...
The Rules
I had the fortune of going to a great bookstore yesterday, the kind where they have rows and rows of uncategorized books. Fiction, nonfiction, textbooks, all line the walls in cheap floor-to-ceiling shelves. The tables in the middle contain more of the same. There's a mustiness in the air and in all of the pages and a good mix of old with new.
Each item - for there were obscure videos and CDs there as well - was normally priced at $1.00. However, for a week, all items were reduced to $.25. A quarter for a book!!! Heaven!
One of the books I purchased was 'The Rules.' Surely you know what it's about: it's a whole book of archaic 'rules' that are 'guaranteed' to win you a proposal from Mr. Right. I bought the book out of curiosity - I had heard of the book and the subsequent outlash, but never read it.
Oh, is it funny! Here are some of the notable quotes I've read thus far:
-- Men prefer long hair, something to play with and caress.
-- If you have a bad nose, get a nose job.
-- Remember that you're dressing for men, not other women, so always strive to look feminine.
-- Let him kiss you on the first date, but nothing more.
-- Always end phone calls first.
-- If you don't get jewelry or some other romantic gift on our birthday or other significant occasion, you might as well call it quits because he's not in love with you and chances are you won't get the most important gift of all: an engagement ring.
The really sad thing about this book is that it wasn't written in the 1950's, as it would suggest,
but in 1995! And women followed these rules! Sigh. So much for womyn's lib.
Randomness
1. Anyone else see the USA series '4400?' It's oddly sad - 4400 people disappeared, some for 60 yrs, some for 3. They're now back and trying to piece their lives together, and their families are dead or rejecting them, they have no jobs, no homes...I hate when stupid movies make me sad.
2. Anyone seen that allergy commercial? You know...
that one. I want to say it's for Claritin, touting the non-drowsiness of the medicine. The mother has a classic line: "Now I control her itchy eyes and runny nose." What a sadistic bitch! Mwahahaha, now my daughter's symptoms are at my beck and call...
3. I'm one of those people who shake. Twitch. Constantly. One leg is constantly moving, rocking, tapping. Drove my family nuts this weekend. I rarely notice when I'm doing it until someone points it out to me, or grabs hold of the table and shoots me a glare. Seconds later, I'm doing it again. It's almost always my left leg. It's not a nervous habit. It's not an anxiety thing, though that amplifies it. It's just me, rocking out to my own little incessant tempo.
4. I think I'm seeing things. Out of the corner of my eye(s), I see little things running by me. Like mice, only my place doesn't have mice. Honest. And I swear, the other night, driving home, there were some fox-like animals that darted across the road, just seconds before my car. It's like these permanent tracers, only I haven't done the drugs to induce them. Freaky.
Going Under
So, it's official. I have to have surgery to remove some tumors. I spent the last 3 months on some horribly expensive medicine that shrunk the tumors a bit. Not enough to allow me to have a laproscopic surgery, but enough to make it a bit easier for Doc.
I found out how expensive the meds were when I went for my last injection. The nurse called the day before my appt and said their supplier had not yet brought the meds over and was not going to be able to before my appt. Rather than postpone my appt, which then would delay everything else (further appts, surgery, blah blah blah), I said "hey, no worries - call the med into my pharmacy, I'll pick it up, pay the co-pay, and bring it with.'
Well, for reasons as yet unknown, the med was not covered at all by my insurance, leaving me with a $500 tag. OUCH. And as we all know, dealing with health insurance is a bitch. So I had the nurse write a note (I felt like I was 12) and managed to get an address to send my plea to. Hopefully, they'll realize that the prior two injections were covered by my plan, and they'll refund me. Either than, or they'll realize they should have charged me, and I'll be screwed. :)
The meds weren't too bad. Though they give me hot flashes - helloooo, annoying as hell! In the middle of an air-conditioned office building, and I start sweating like my life depends on it. After about 5 minutes of that, I'm reaching for my sweater and I'm shaking with chills. Jesus, what I've got to look forward to!
Anyway, back to surgery. Murphy's Law dictated that on Friday, when I had my last check-up, the one nurse in the office who schedules surgery was not working. So I don't have a date yet, which means I can't get my short-term disability going, and I can't transition things to others at work, plan vacations, RSVP to a wedding, etc etc. The bitch better call me tomorrow!
I'll be out of work for about 6 weeks, and as I live alone, I'll be 'moving' into my parents' house for that recoup time. The plan was to stay there for a few weeks, until I could move and handle things, and then I would come back to my little slice of heaven and continue recouping here, alone. However, my dad informed me this weekend that I have no choice in the matter but to spend the entire time at their place. They want to make sure I recoup fully and don't tax myself, which is appreciated, but...
AHHHHH!
I love my folks. I generally get along with them. I had a good time with them this weekend, with my sister and BIL. But stuck there? For 6 weeks? With absolutely no way to sneak a smoke? Or look at porn? Or do any of the things that we do when we live alone????
Didn't know until now that it was possible to both look forward to and dread something.
Mirage
This is funny, in a sadistic sort of way, which of course are the best ways...
Sorry for the lame-ass link, I dunno how to embed things:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/5402910/
Blah Blah Blah
There's nothing like wearing a pair of too-small pants to make you overly conscious of breathing.
I watched a cool show last night - Anatomy of a Snake Bite, is what I think it was called. They had this constrictor-like machine that they tested on people - and dummies - to see how much force it would take to snap a neck, to break ribs, etc. One of the dummies had balloons in it's eyes, so they could see when fluid (blood) got into the eyes. It's pretty amazing how terrifying nature can be. We're talking, like, 20 tons of force. All from a slithering lil guy with a forked tongue.
Must go now. Multi-tasking is forcing each breath to become more and more shallow. Must...go...inhale...
I'm Exhausted
I just had a nap, one of those all-consuming heavy sleeps. It was long and deep (hehehe) and weighed me down. I had to struggle to pull myself out of it, and I haven't done so completely, although making innuendos is a start.
I'm just pretty beat. I've been beating myself up emotionally a lot lately. It's a bad habit, but as they all are, one that's hard to break.
I don't want to write anymore. Why should I pour my heart out to you, who don't know me, who may judge me, who have your own problems? Why should I let you in, and why would you care?
Night time
Nights are the worst. That's when the shadows come in, when the mind doesn't shut off, and when the doubts circle 'round. Why wasn't it enough, why was it too much, what could/should/would have gone better. It always comes back to not being enough.
It's hard when your mind understands one thing but your heart doesn't. The two don't gel, the beliefs clash, and one always wins out. The questions remain, and they'll never be answered, because they'll never be asked. And all the books have happy endings and they fool you into thinking life is like that. And when it's not, who's to blame? You think you are, but you can't believe that, for that's too hard a concept to swallow. You don't want the responsibility, you want to blame others and claim your innocence.
They say that the others aren't 'better' than you. They use the word 'different' instead of 'better.' But they're living your life - the life you wanted, the life you dreamed of, the life you were scared to desire. And now all you do is covet it, and wonder, and hate yourself for not being enough.
Again, with that.
And you wonder if perhaps you are to blame. Maybe just a little bit responsible? You always proclaimed you didn't want that life, that it wasn't for you, that it wasn't going to happen. Was it a self-fulfilling prophecy? For it's not happening. Maybe if you had openly chased it, you'd have it. But you'll never know if that's true, and you're still afraid to pursue it now. It never seems attainable, always slightly out of reach.
So you remain aloof and cold and hard-hearted, telling yourself that it's for the best, and it's what you really want; but at Night, it's hard to believe that. It's hard to convince yourself when you're alone in bed, reading of fairy-tale endings and true love.
The walls continue to grow taller and thicker, and even as you see it happening, it scares you, but you're unable to stop it, to slow it down, to prevent it.
If only you could sleep, sundown to sunup, perhaps these feelings would pass you by. But you can't, and they don't, and you're left rocking yourself to sleep, waiting for the sun to erase the cobwebs the Night left behind.
Until tomorrow.
Ewwww
Why are there people at work who don't wash their hands in the bathroom? Do they think I didn't notice? That even if I'm tucked in a stall, I can't/won't recognize their shoes? That I'm not peeking through the crack between the stall door and the stall walls to see them?
And for those of you who don't even try to hide it...nasssssssssssssty! And not in the good, Janet Jackson kind of way, either.
Trust me, you won't melt if your hands get wet. Soap won't melt you either, I promise. And if you lean up against the counter and get your shirt wet? IT WILL DRY. HONEST.
Work with me.
Online Relationships
I once had a lover (can I use that word at work?). He was someone who wrote a story I read, and responded to my email compliment. We clicked almost immediately and had a few months of insane, crazy, confiding emails. We 'talked' daily - multiple times daily. We had long IM sessions, long into the night - and with a time zone difference, that meant a lot of late nights, candle burning, cigarette in hand, talking to someone I didn't know, yet sharing everything.
I loved this man, the way you can only love someone who you know, but you also make up. There were so many things about this man that I didn't know - that I 'made' or 'tweaked' to fit my mold of how and what I wanted him to be. I turned him into exactly who I wanted - some attributes he brought himself, some I gave to him.
Things ended, and not well. We're both self-proclaimed damaged goods, and things, circumstances, feelings and people crowded our thoughts and slowly turned us away from each other. I never met this man, and there's a good chance I never will.
The point I'm trying to get to is that no matter how close you are to someone online, over the phone, in email...it's still no contest for actually meeting them and finding out who they are face-to-face. It's so easy - perhaps too easy - to turn an online friend into an ideal, only to have that image dashed. In reality, that image wasn't true.
Shopping! (No, not what you think) (Well, maybe a little)
I returned a $25 item to Target last night. Then I spent $97 there. Curtains, all on damn curtains!
I returned $80 worth of items to Kohls last night. Then I spent $5 there.
All in all, it's a wash.
Don't Judge a Book by its Cover
I have a friend. Okay, I have a few, but this post is about one in particular. I know her from college; we were Orientation Leaders for the frosh together and also in the same sorority. I'll call her Liz.
She was beautiful then. She still is now, but it's a different kind of beauty, because I know her better now and know what goes on inside. She was one of the popular girls, and with reason. She was vibrant, outgoing, charming - charismatic. She was talented - god, she could sing like you wouldn't believe. She was dyslexic, but aware of it and dealt with it. She was the one girl everyone knew, and everyone liked, and everyone wanted to be friends with and to be liked by.
She graduated college and went on to intern at the White House for a few years. After that, she ran the governor's fundraising campaign in the state she moved to. Get it? This girl was something.
She's engaged now, to a great guy. She's still beautiful, but she's far too skinny now. She's had some rough dealings the past few years - she had recent emergency surgery to remove an abcess, after which she promptly ruptured her stitches. She had a nervous breakdown this year; she's been seeing a shrink almost daily.
She - they - think she's bi-polar. They also think she has an eating disorder, or at least a control issue. She has depression. She has insomnia. She is at least 20 pounds underweight. She's planning a wedding. She's using her college degree and all her fantastic experience to babysit for $15 an hour, under the table. She's on anti-anxiety meds, sleep meds, anti-depression meds, meds for her stomach issues...And she has no insurance.
In college, she was the girl who had everything. Who was everything.
She's still fantastic now, but she's a bit broken in some ways that won't ever completely heal.
I love you, Liz.
Cheats!
Okay. There's a woman at work who just came back from having her stomach stapled. I have to say, I think that's cheating. Now, I know first-hand how hard it is to lose weight. Trust me, I'd rather pull my own toenails out with my teeth and then saute them in pigsnot before I work at losing weight. But. But but but. It can be done!
Going to a doctor and saying, "Here, fix me, do what I can't do for myself" is just plain cheating. I mean, when you think about it, it's not IMPOSSIBLE to lose weight (unless you have a thyroid or other health problem, and I'm not speaking of those situations here). Just back away from the cookies and drink some water. Trust me. The pounds will s-l-o-w-l-y come off, as they should. Losing 10lbs in a week is NOT healthy. I don't care what the folks say!
Hellloooooooooooooooo. Anyone home?
Sidenote #1: I have been known to take 4, 5, even 6-hr naps. And then get a full night's sleep. It's a talent. And like any talent, I practice it often.
Sidenote #2: I live alone. I know few people in my apt complex, and none of them well.
I have a nice, Atkins-friendly lunch prepared for my parents when they arrive today. Dad is armed with tools to hang curtain rods for me. I'm not that helpless, but the way the blinds are hung makes curtains much harder than normal. And I've decided that all my apt needs to be 'done' is new couches (5 more weeks!) and curtains/drapes (they're all the same to me). And then life as I know it will drastically improve. :)
We have a nice time. Curtain rods are hung. Parents leave. I take a nap.
Five hours later, I wake to someone knocking on my door. And knocking again. And trying the door knob. I'm partially undressed, and there's no friggin' way I'm opening the door at 11pm on a holiday. I know there's no one I want to see on the other side!
So then I check my cell phone and find about 10 missed calls. Mainly from my parents and sister. Two messages, both from my folks, saying I've left my computer online but I'm not answering their IMs, where am I, they're worried, please call.
I do call, and find out that was the police knocking on my door. Mom talked herself into freaking out, and was convinced that something bad happened to me. She called the police to come check things out.
ARGH!
I'm nearing 30 - I'm responsible - again, it's not unusual for me to sleep like the dead. My cell phone was in my purse in the other room; my apt phone didn't answer b/c I was online. I understand why she was worried, but come on!!!!!
Sigh. Mothers. Can't live with 'em, can't...ah, never mind. She meant well.
Personality? Check
This was surprisingly accurate:
Wackiness: 44/100
Rationality: 38/100
Constructiveness: 44/100
Leadership: 44/100
You are an SEDF--Sober Emotional Destructive Follower. This makes you an evil genius. You are extremely focused and difficult to distract from your tasks. With luck, you have learned to channel your energies into improving your intellect, rather than destroying the weak and unsuspecting.
Your friends may find you remote and a hard nut to crack. Few of your peers know you very well--even those you have known a long time--because you have expert control of the face you put forth to the world. You prefer to observe, calculate, discern and decide. Your decisions are final, and your desire to be right is impenetrable.
You are not to be messed with. You may explode.
Thanks to Angi for the link, which I will try to embed later on.
Oops.
Ever come home from a half-day at work and realize your apt smells really good? Really, really good. Almost like one of those scented candles that you love and burn frequently.
And with a sinking heart, you step over to the table where the candles rest and realize that one is burning. Still. All through the day; all through the night. Burning for over 12 hours straight - upwards of about 16 hours, in fact.
Oops.
Thank god I'm insured!!!!!!!!
Can I just say, that I love seeing comments on my blog? Yeah! You folks make my day. My goal is to someday have as many comments on a single post as Kev does. I have a dream...
