"But if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need."

Since I know you've been dying of suspense I'll get it out of the way early:  The wardrobe crisis on Friday night was fairly minimal. I tried on one dress, said "oh, that doesn't work with boots," changed clothes once, and it was done. I think I spent more time on my makeup than I did on dressing myself, and I don't really spend a lot of time on makeup.  I was pretty happy with my decision; I still looked dressed up enough to be going out without feeling like I'd overdone it, and when the time came for dancing like a filthyfilthywhore I didn't feel like I was too classy to get down.  When your Girls' Night Out crew of Derby girls and affiliated fun girls are given the VIP Room at THE Premier Douchebag* Club in town complete with complimentary champagne and a DJ who says "WHATEVER YOU WANT, LADIES!!!!", you do what you've gotta do and you back dat ass up.  When in Rome, yo.

Side note: Sabine gave me a rockin' gift- a belt buckle made of .30-06 shells.  This buckle is absolutely stunning and is clearly a Conversation Piece. In the pub, bikers/dudes with awesome hair loved ammo and wanted to talk about it. In the PdC, boys with popped collars loved ammo and wanted to talk about it.  On the street, a slightly off-kilter drunk guy who kept playing with his zipper loved ammo and wanted to talk about it. Note To Self: Do not wear buckle when feeling antisocial.

The Hangover Fairy completely skipped my house on Saturday.  Lots was accomplished:
Fylgir and I went running for miles
Bedroom carpet shampooed
Blankets/sheets laundered
The rest of the kitchen cupboards emptied/cleaned/re-papered/organized
Stuff was hung on the walls
The best nap ever was enjoyed. Clean sheets + open windows on a Saturday afternoon just can't be recommended highly enough. 

And now- on to the real point of writing at all:

The Dash Rip Rock and Cowboy Mouth show was absolutely eargasmic, ya'll. 

I'd never seen DRR. Up until about a week ago I'd only heard "Smokin' Pot" and I downloaded a few songs just to check them out.  I thought they were pretty much OK and didn't think more about it.  But ya'll- WOW.  They had so much energy and stage presence and holy cow, they were just hot.  They really warmed up the crowd for Cowboy Mouth and I don't think I've ever felt that much positive energy in a room in my entire life. It was just jubilant and joyful and magical like unicorns and puppies were having a tea party.

I want to play this song at some future wedding. Probably not the one for love and likely not the one for money... maybe I'll have to work one based on lust in there somewhere. I'm thinking for the recessional. Future bridesmaids, this is your notice.


A moment I'd like to remember:  Somewhere about midways through the set, CM opened up with an audience sing-along of the chorus of "You Can't Always Get What You Want."  It's an understatement to say that that's one of my favorite songs... and it was really touching and perfect, and the lead-in to "Take Me Back to New Orleans" which is one of those songs I classify as "a song that probably saved my life."  I swear that everybody in the room was not only singing along but really meaning every syllable.  So that was mind blowing... and then they finished up the song with a nailed-on-the-head version of the long instrumental ending of Layla.  I think I could've died happy at that very moment with no regrets. 

Anyhow- once the concert was over I bid adieu to my friends (and favorite concert-going buddies, Medusa and her husband) and headed out feeling both wrung out like a sponge and wound up like a watch.  I headed over to hang out with a few more friends for some Rock Band and conversation and for the second night in a row didn't get home until after 3AM. Let me just say- I'm TOO OLD to be doing that. My body is set to be awake early, and even if I stay up late I'm still going to be awake by 8 at the latest.  So we combine two nights of staying out too late and on top of that, Sunday brought the most profound emotional hangover I've had in at least two years.  I'd love to say that Sunday was a great day and I got a lot done that isn't what happened.  Instead, I laid on my couch and watched a Degrassi marathon for 7 hours.  I did finally pry myself up from my nest of blankets and cats to go see a movie and hit retro skate night which is somewhat redeeming, but I still feel as though I wasted an entire day.

It's a new week, though, and a new day.  I still feel a little bit emo but under that, there's some excitement brewing, like something neat is about to happen and I have no idea what it is.  It's a good feeling. 

*FYI, I have a newfound phobia of popped collars.

I was planning on writing about shoes.

I have no wish for a spartan existence. It's important to me that my home be homey and comfortable and unassuming, but I want to find the chord between the two that allows for the things that I have to be seen and loved and used without the white noise of Things Just Taking Up Space.  This is new to me. I come from a long line of pack rats. TIDY pack rats, mind you- but my family has long held the beliefs that if it belonged to somebody deceased it must be kept forever, and if it came from someplace else it must be preserved as proof that you were there.  My home has been said to be decorated in "1970s Al-Qaeda Chic" because of my parents' travels around the Middle East and my father's fondness for brass "little things."  I have my grandmother's bedroom suite, my mother's dining set and living room furniture, my great-great-great grandmother's hutch, another Grandmother's sewing machine, and pictures hanging on some walls of ancestors that I honestly cannot identify without pulling the frame apart to read the writing on the back of the photo.  This has been just fine for a long time but I've kind of gotten over some of the excess that happens when you try to blend your own identity in with the remnants of yesterday.  Some of those remnants are very important - but some, honestly, are not.  It is not a sign of disrespect if I let my Nanny's bathroom towels go away.  Yes- I inherited towels 7 years ago and they've lived with me ever since. I know. Don't judge.

With the exception of my shoes, I've completely overhauled my bedroom closet to contain only clothes that fit me or that are still be one size too small, thanks to EvilSara's generosity. My bathroom is organized and tidy, and I've done a decent job at my bedroom - I now have 3 empty drawers in my grandmother's writing desk and removed an entire dresser.  The pantry is done, and no expired or stale goods remain.  The Frightening Monster of Dad's Bedroom Closet has been tamed, and I donated probably 15 sheets, 20 pillowcases, 3 comforters, and eleventybillion towels to the animal shelter while retaining enough bedding to reasonably outfit every bed in the house twice (including the airmattresses and cots.).  As for the Study.... well, Rome wasn't built in a day.  The study's closet is good, though.  Next up on the list of things to de-clutter and organize* are the Spice Cabinet (!) The Utility Room (!!) and then we'll see where we're at. Baby steps, ya'll.  This project is challenging enough to be difficult but taken in chunks is not so overwhelming that I want to drop it.  I'm actually really kinda digging it a lot.  Who figured?

Anyway- I've told myself that, within reason, there shall be no shopping** until I am fully satisfied that my house is in a state that pleases me- whatever state that is.  This isn't about "clean" so much as being about divesting myself and my abode of excess weight- and things are easier to not bring home than they are to make go away after the fact.

Old habits, though, are hard to break. Witness the internal conversation I've been having with myself for three days:


"Girls' Night Out! New Dress!"
"Seriously? You have like... 5 dresses."
"Yeah, but I've worn them all before. Downtown, even!"
"Wear the black one."
"Don't have shoes."
"Wear the other black one. It goes with boots"
"Wore it last tiiiiime....."
...."I can wear the other one if I go buy SHOES!"
"NO NEW SHOES."
"We never get to do what I want to do."

The kicker here is that I probably could justify new shoes. I've gleaned out about half of my shoe collection, but I still have at least 30 pairs.  Unfortunately, most of them don't fit me, because one of the untold truths of weight loss is that your feet shrink, too.  In the past two years, I've gone from a size 10.5 to an 8.5, but I haven't made myself settle down to the entirely depressing task that would be trying on all of my shoes and honestly evaluating which ones fit and which ones don't.  Until I do- and thus, have a reasonable idea of what I have and don't- I'm not going to buy any new shoes.  If this means that I end up wearing Nikes with a ballgown***- so be it. That might be the motivation I need to weed through my damn shoes.

So here I am, 4 hours before I have to be ready for Girls' Night Out. I have no idea what I'm wearing, and I'm finding that I really don't care. I'm going out with my lovely derby ladies who don't care what I wear as long as I show up.  They've seen me sweat. They've seen bad after-practice helmet/pigtail hair. Whatever I'm turning up in, it will be ok.

Let's see if I still feel like that in 4 hours, shall we?

Happy weekend to you!

*tempting though it may be, Beekeeper's room/bathroom are safe.  I'm trying VERY hard not to let my crazy invade on my roommate's territory.  So no- I'm not going to try to sell his Chessboard collection on Craigslist nor convince him that his Concrete Blonde bootleg CD collection should be burned to a hard drive then given to the YoungStarvingEmos charity organization.  You can feel free to taunt him with the belief that any of those things are going to happen, though, because it will be entertaining to watch the twitching.


**Since making this determination, I did buy new bathmats.  And a replacement DVD of Fight Club because mine died.  Both of these were replacement purchases, though, and the thing being replaced was immediately disposed of.  I also bought a new fancy schmancy bathroom scale, but justified that as being the same thing as other health equipment like running shoes.  I'm not going all crazy on this and I won't be trolling Freecycle if I need a shower curtain. I'm going to go buy a damn shower curtain.  Yes, this makes me a lesser person. I'm perfectly fine with that.


***I don't have a ballgown.

Day 13 — A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days.

Dear Fred, John Thomas, Matt, Cassandra, Regina, Jonathan, Sonia, Paul, Vance, and everybody else who has ever gone through the revolving door that is Cowboy Mouth:

Yeah, you're my pick for this one.  It was a toss up, because I've surely been most loyal to Soul Asylum over the years (like, over half my life), but the assignment wasn't for "favorite."

"Life is too short to spend with somebody who doesn't think that you kick ass." - Fred LeBlanc

It's not just that you've got an anthem for every mood I have, from "Bad" to "Glad to Be Alive" to "Friends" and even "Jenny Says," which I've known for at least 12 years and I'm still not tired of.  Those things help, though.  You're diverse.  BUT- You're damned nice people, too. 

"Cause it's a long, long time for you to remember / and that's a lot to ask the things that I do / and it's a long, long time from May to December / any little bit, any little bit will do." - Any Little Bit

You probably don't remember the act of kindness you showed to me and some of my friends, most noticably Beth, when you pulled strings to let us see you at Rabb's, and you even offered her good seating next to the stage, if she wanted it.  Nor do you likely have a clue of how much you touched a group of 8 or so girls standing in your front row the following summer when you sent her a memorial shout-out.  It mattered, I promise.  Chances are that without those things I'd still be a fan but all things considered, I'm a pretty loyal fanatic-- even if you keep changing your damn supporting cast every 3 minutes. 

"Easy to bitch, easy to whine, easy to whine, easy to cry, easy to feel like there ain't nothin' in your life. Harder to work, harder to strive, harder to be glad to be alive, but it's really worth it if you give it a try." - Easy

I've seen you live at least 16 times and I'm still psyched for this Saturday night's show, even if I was supposed to be in Miami and not here. You're a mighty fine consolation prize, though, and I'm wholeheartedly looking forward to watching you burn the mother down at The Warehouse with Dash Rip Rock.

"I'm gonna be bad, and it's gonna feel good. I'm gonna do everything your mother said we never should. I'm gonna be bad, and I wanna be cruel.  I'm gonna try everything they taught me down in Catholic school." - Bad

Much love, and thanks for all the sanity!

Me



This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Challenge .  

NOT the dream I was planning on sharing.

Last night I went to bed at 8:30 and promptly passed the hell out.  I've gotten into the bad habit lately of banking sleep, and I guess my reserves had run out.  I did get a few things done before bed (3 kitchen drawers re-lined, the pantry cleaned out and divested of all expired items*, and a long, luxurious bubble bath) but I was just wiped out.  After I tried to catch a catnap at the kitchen table I decided that one of the perks of being a grownup is being able to act like an octogenarian sometimes. :)

So anywho- I crawl into bed, pass the hell out, and woke up at 10:00 PM in a hot, sweaty, confused ball of tears and angst.  I was all kinds of twisted in my bed.  My sheets and blankets were knotted up around me and both of my arms were out through one arm hole of my shirt.  I'd lost a sock.  My sleeping mask was around my neck and being pulled weirdly so that it did feel like I was choking a bit, and my right hand was cramping up to my shoulder from clenching a mouse that wasn't really there.  I got up and got myself some orange juice and in an effort to get it out of my head, went to the computer and wrote down what I'd dreamed about in a draft: 

I'm not letting myself edit this today, so you are hereby required to completely forgive anything that sounds like it was written by a panicked and half asleep person with a poor grasp on the English language.

Sabine called me and told me to check my email. She'd sent me a link to a Tumblr page where some anonymous somebody had set up a blog that was labeled "Beautiful Thing."

The "Beautiful Thing" blog had images of me. Some were from Facebook and some that looked like those unflattering back page of a fashion magazine pictures showing you what not to wear that are shot from a distance where you don't know your picture is being taken. And weapons- gory, rusty, unkept torture devices. Then all of a sudden a new post showed up with a picture of my house and my truck exactly where I park my truck, while I was looking at the page.  I reacted in a "not me" sort of fashion. I kept staring at the page and trying to call her back on my phone, which was "dead" even though it's a cell.  Real Me was trying to scream at Dream Me to step away from the computer and go grab a weapon- I have those, you know- and I woke up as my mouse's cord was being wrapped around my neck by some faceless intruder.

And no, you can't call me Sidney.

Let's investigate the things that SUCK about this dream, shall we?

1) Sabine wouldn't call me.  She'd call my roommate. Then she'd call Raymond, who lives 3 miles away and is scarier than Chuck Norris without coffee when he gets pissed off. Once those three had their plan, then I'd get clued in.  This is the way this scenario would work in real-time.  I'm perfectly fine with that. 

2) I absolutelyeffingHATE the word "beautiful" in that particular context (as in, being applied to me).  I don't like it and I am fairly infuriated with my psyche for planting it. 
 
3) Recently, I thought my home was being invaded when I was the only one home.  I wasn't- turned out, my roommate had a clock radio tuned to a talk station and the alarm was set for 5:00 AM, and the radio was on the back porch. Voices made me think I was being burglarized.  I grabbed my cell phone and a 5' spear specifically designed for boar hunting.  Yes, I could have grabbed a firearm but I had the presence of mind, even asleep, to think about what could be taken away from me and what I'd be more likely to be able to defend myself against and with.  I am apparently more comfortable stabbing than shooting... and that's ok. The point is, I had a plan that did not involve sitting there and waiting for the voices to make up their minds, so I'm a little bit angry about that, too.  Dream-Me had all the common sense of a blonde in a Nightmare on Elm Street movie.

4) I've spent hours and hours training for what to do if somebody sneaks up behind you to the degree that I think I could do ok in that scenario if it happened. Again, Dream-Me seemed to fail, even though I was telling her what to do... and then I woke up and didn't even get to kick any ass at all.  What a bummer.

--
As a general rule, I don't remember dreams. On the rare occasions, it is usually fun and whimsical, like the one I had where Samuel L. Jackson was accosting Daniel Radcliffe on an airplane screaming "Parseltongue, M*F'er, do you speak it?"  That was fun.  Or the stormtroopers and Golden Labradors on the gondola.  The only night terrors I can recall are years ago, and had things to trigger them- mostly horror movies.  As far as I know, there's nothing out there that seems likely to have set this one off. I don't think I have a stalker, and if I did, my psyche doesn't know about it any more than I do.  I've had a pretty calm week or so, and even if there has been some crazy it hasn't been MY crazy.  So even though this one definitely counts as a night terror, I'm choosing to believe that it was simply the result of an overactive imagination belonging to a girl who might spend a little more time than is healthy surfing the internet, and I'm lettin' it go.  I'm going to try to dedicate a little extra time tonight to calming my brain down rather than going from 60-to-zero in 3 minutes and hopefully if my subconscious decides to go explore it's dark side again, I can at least get a few licks in of my own.

*back to that pantry thing, which probably deserves an entire post to itself but won't get one now: I have no idea how this always happens to me. I swear, I have cleaned the pantry entirely within the last year and every year before that but I still managed to find a jar of Wheat Germ that expired in 2003. I didn't buy this house until 2005.  Who the hell is planting expired dry goods in my home?  It happens with medicines, too. Every winter I clean the medicine box and every winter I find shit that expired a full Congress term earlier. I liked it better when I was gonna get punked with garden gnomes. Just sayin'.

"Life is short. Live your dream, and wear your passion."

True Story:

So this morning, I'm Googlechatting with my EvilSara over whether or not something she did may have been a little bit catty (ruling: a little bit, but well within acceptable parameters) and I'm dorking around on Pinterest while reading her story.  I find this card, and link it to her.

Buy this card at holstee.com

The story wraps up, she has to go off to do honest-to-God RealWork, and I tell her that she should tell me what to write about today.  I've got about 5 GREAT questions in my inbox this morning but they're kind of like the really good holiday chocolates that you want to stretch out and savor and I don't want to use one up just yet.  She says that I should share the card.  I decide to turn it into an assignment.

"Ask the next person you see what their passion is, and share your inspiring dream with them."

The next person to enter my office is my favorite manager here at work.  I'm the Queen of All Things Paper and Office-Related and he is the King of Doing The Things That Bring In Money For Me To Spend. We have a great working relationship but we really aren't buddies. So I say, kind of randomly, "Hey, Hogeye (no, really, it's what he goes by), what's your passion?"

He gets a dreamy look on his face, and he sets his coffee down as he stares out the window at the sky for a minute.  This guy is apparently the Master of the Pregnant Pause- I realized I was literally holding my breath.  Finally he looks back at me, setting both hands on the desk and says with the sweetest little-boy voice I've ever heard come out of this huge, imposing manly man- "I just want to shoot deer. Every day. If I could go hunting every single day and bring home a 10-point buck, I'd be a happy guy."  And then he burped.

Due to work happening, I didn't have the chance to fulfill the second part of the assignment but I'm kind of okay with that. "Inspiring Dream?" I don't think I have one.  I can think of many things that I would be happy doing but the truth of it is, I'm really very happy where I am.  I want to end up being a lot of things- a more creative seamstress, a better skater, a more reliable leader- but those things are being cultivated at pretty much whatever pace I set and with as much effort as I choose to give them which is really all I get to ask for, right?  I have everything that I need- from tangible needs like shelter and food and clothing to intangible, like love and inspiration and support and people to yell at me when I need yelling at.  I have a lot of what I want, but I have enough wants left out there that I can try to acquire them.  As far as career passions go- I like my job.  I'm not necessarily doing Great Things and I should feel a little bit guilty about that... but I help run a company that keeps 13 families going, and we contribute to the local economy by hiring local subcontractors and using local materials and dealing with local entitled jackasses on a daily basis, so that's something.  I get to be useful, I get plenty of time to do my own thing when my usefulness is not required, and I work with amazing people, even if all they really want to do is shoot deer.  It probably looks a lot like settling from the outside but it doesn't feel that way from my bouncy-ball chair. 
I think my inspiring dream is to keep being happy, ya'll.

Thank you, Sara!

But nobody ever asks me how to set a table...

I freaking LOVE etiquette.  It saddens me that nobody learns how to set a table in Home-Ec (or finishing school) anymore. The thank-you note is practically dead and the RSVP card is following in it's wake. My friends who love me the most though know how much I like niceties, even if I'm a little bit crass most times.  I actually cried real fat crocodile tears when I discovered that Miss Manners' Guide to Domestic Tranquility was out of print, because then it was necessary for me to find another fallback wedding present and a blender is just overdone.  Every woman should have a book on their shelf that can make them aware of the proper thing to do in a given situation and then she can make an educated decision about whether or not she's going to pay attention. Right? Right.  Anyhow- sometimes, I get great "so what do I do now?" questions, and with permisison (but with identities withheld) I decided to share in the interest of not telling you what I had for lunch.


"A new friend left his toothbrush at my house. It kind of freaks me out. What do I do?"

There are three kinds of morning-after toothbrushes:

The one left on purpose,
The one left by accident,
and the one left "by accident."

If he asked you if he could leave his toothbrush there and you said yes, then congratulations! I'm pretty sure that that's kind of the same thing as having a boyfriend nowadays.  You should probably stop calling him your new friend and work on figuring out what his last name is... hopefully you've got his first one already.

Telling the toothbrush left "by accident" from the one legitimately forgotten is probably only going to be determined by actually saying "hey, you left your toothbrush here" and then gauging whether the response is more "oh, darn" or "oh, you caught me marking my territory."  But really- does it matter? I suggest you put it in a ziplock labeled with his name and drop it in a drawer so it won't be in your way.  That's the most hygienic option. If you end up with multiple toothbrushes in multiple ziplocks, then it might be time to consider your choices... or consider relegating some of those to the trash can.  Or maybe that's the way you roll and if that's the case- I won't judge you! Regardless, don't invite him to fish through the drawer to find his own ziplock. That reeks of lazy hostessing and is the unattractive kind of slutty.

Under no circumstances should you head to your local "paint your own pottery" joint and design him his very own special custom labeled toothbrush cup.  That just looks clingy.  Not that I've ever done that.

Please don't be this girl, either.

"Last year this guy said he liked me, then he spend the next few months ignoring me and hanging all over someone else. Now he's called me and wants to go out. What should I do?"

So last year, did you say "I like you, too?" Did you actually like him too?  In the year that has passed, have you seen him? Been friends? Has something changed about your dynamic? Are you more emotionally available than you were? Is he?

I suck at saying "I like you." Honestly, if I say that and it's not been very clearly solicited with a great big flashing sign with LED letters and possibly an instructional video like they have on big airplanes, then it is time for somebody to pry the bourbon out of my hand and put me to bed because I am just not a forward sort of girl when my wits are about me.  If your gentleman friend said "I like you" and you either:
a) blushed and giggled
b) mumbled "thank you" and changed the subject
or
c) pretended you did not hear him,

then you don't really get to have a complaint with him spending his time with somebody else.  Either grow a pair or miss out.  If this is the case and you botched it, then hey! Thank God for second chances, and go for it. Remember to be a little bit sweet since this guy has obviously been pining for a year and worked up the nerve to try again- and maybe if he says "I like you" try saying "I like you, too." I have it on good account that that has never actually killed anybody... and if it doesn't kill you, let me know. Maybe one day I'll try it, too.

On the other hand, if you owned the situation the first time and let it be known that you were interested, then he does not get a second swing at your pinata.  To quote one of my favorite musicians, "Life is too short to spend with somebody who doesn't think that you kick ass"(Fred LeBlanc).  People oops and make mistakes but if there was an understood "we dig one another" and you got no closure then it really doesn't warrant a second chance.  Sure, there could have been a weird situation there. Maybe he got back with an ex, or maybe somebody else threw themselves on his grenade before you did. It happens... but considerate people at least explain what's going on to their potential suitors.  He may not be a bad guy but if he left you hanging, he wasn't thinking of your feelings then and chances are, he's not going to start now.

 
So, that's me. Now I'm going to go back to inundating my derby girls with emails about the upcoming parade and about eleventybillion "Wouldn't it be cool if..." ideas that seem to be breeding like bunnies. Bunnies in fishnets!

Anything, anything, anything to avoid returning to the prompted posts.

YAYs:

• Last night's joint practice with the Texarkana Vixens was really good. I was super impressed with my own team's leadership and all the freakin' good attitudes.  Seriously.  It's like we'd freebased pixies and kindergartners with unicorns or something, everybody was just SO DAMN HAPPY to drive an hour + in the rain to meet a bunch of new girls.  I kind of feel like I've been hit by a bus wearing fishnets today.  It is a great feeling, at least when compared to what I imagine being hit by a real bus would be like. 

• You'd think that just openly asking all of the Alumni and former students of a College when they'd like to have their reunion would result in mass chaos. So far it hasn't, and it looks like the LSC reunion is likely to take place on Easter weekend.  I'm impressed with how almost everybody has said "well, this weekend would be best for me but I'll move mountains to make it whenever."  I'm just so eager for whenever it is to GET HERE.  I am also extremely grateful that nobody has tried to do the whole "this year, or this set of years reunites this weekend and then this other block goes on this other weekend."

•  My craft room is significantly more workable.  I can get to BOTH work tables, all the shelves, and even have an EMPTY shelf for works-in-progress.  All of the thread lives together, likewise the buttons and the applique material and the MAPP gas canisters and the 46 exacto blades.  It is lovely.  If anybody opens the closet, they might die, but if nobody opens the closet (which might require moving a 100 lb table that just happened to find itself in front of the door, and seriously, that'd just be rude anyway) I can continue to harbor the delusion that I'm an organized girl who has my shit together and I'd really like to maintain that for just a little while, k?

Seriously. Do NOT open the closet. Please.


UGHs:

• Situations have led to my canceling my Florida vacation this weekend.  It's a combination of feeling like I oughtn't be that far from my dad right now and not wanting to burn up vacation time I may need later for family stuff.  I feel like a bit of an ass for bailing on friends I really wanted to spend some time with.  Maybe in a month or so I can find someplace to burn up the airline credit but not today.  I have a few things I can look forward to instead of the trip, namely a Girls' Night Out this Friday and a Cowboy Mouth concert that will likely improve my disposition, but even as great as those things are,they are not a trip to Miami to spend time with an amazing old friend and a pretty fantastic newer one.    

• I was going to try to start on a specific silk project only to discover that it has been so long since I painted on silk that my materials had either separated (bad) or dried up (also bad).  Suck. My ass is growing (er, raising? Lifting? Reassigning her zip codes?). My waist is shrinking. This makes things like wearing clothes problematic.  Since October 1:

Calves are down 1"+.
Thighs are down 1.5".
Waist is down 2".
Hip - UP 1.5".
Bust- Down 2.5" (FML)
Underbust- down 1".

Please do not think that I'm saying that making accomplishments towards some of my fitness goals fall under bad. That- by itself- falls under AWESOME.  The "bad" part is that I am shaped weird and my boobs are going away and this makes things like wearing clothes kind of suck.  

• Seth Rogen is not nearly as hot now that he's lost so much weight.  I'm just throwing that out there.

•  The universe has been insistent in pointing out to me that there was a bus that I missed (not literally.  Figuratively, yo).  Dear Universe- I Get It.  Noted, and stuff.  I don't think that my job here is to fix the bus-missing, but to accept the bus-missing and make an effort to not do it again. Of course, I could be wrong. It happens often. Right or wrong, I'll leave you with this. If you're going to have a song stuck in your head on a Monday, this should totally be it.  

Lazy thoughts for a Lazy Friday

Weekend agenda:

Go through the 15 boxes or so of Dad's House that have come to live with me. Figure out what to do with said things.  The highlight? There is a box whose label says "2 bookends, powder keg" and I'm REALLY looking forward to seeing what is going on with that.  Possibly build some shelves. Or purchase some... something.  

Find some warmth. Give it to my toes. Seriously- my feet will NEVER BE WARM AGAIN, people.

Spend at least 2 hours in my craft/sewing room making it make sense again.

Get the remnants of Christmas back into it's permanent storage location.  Not as bad as it sounds- just has to be done.

Possibly see a movie. Or 2.  "Monsters", "I Love You Phillip Morris" and "Green Hornet" all sound good.

Not think too hard about a coincidence. Or not think at all about it, if it can be managed. I'm pretty sure it doesn't deserve the effort.

Head to T-town on Sunday for to deliver a rifle to Mouse - and do some skating with the Vixens! They're our opponents for our first bout of the season coming up in March, and it'll be great to meet them ahead of time and check out their strategies build camaraderie.

Just not in the mood today. Or maybe I am in the mood - just for the wrong things. *

I've been very anti-craft lately.

Not AntiCraft in the age inappropriate but fun goth sense, but "I'm not going to make a damn thing and you're not going to make me" sense. I guess I go through these spells now and then, but aside from a couple of skirts and 20 garters it has been since Aprilish since I really did anything creative, and that's just unheard of.  Signing up for the February challenge was a move to pull me out of that funk, but I haven't been very optimistic about that working. I've been envisioning 28 days of garters or something else very easy to do.

Yesterday, amidst my Very Bad Day of Sleep Deprivation and Stress, I had an idea that just kind of came to me while I was doing not much of anything while trying to look like I was busy.  It was a fairly easy to execute idea, as far as things I come up with go, but it both involved making things AND it got me excited.  I did go home and take a nap because I was pretty much wrecked, but as soon as I woke up I actually dove into my fabric closet and pulled out material and got a pattern worked out and started MAKING something.  Something REALLY COOL.  And not only is it something REALLY COOL, This REALLY COOL thing is going to need lots of REALLY COOL things to go with it. Accessories. Hair bows. And a belt to go with the belt buckle Sabine gave me as an early birthday present will just make it all work smashingly well.  And mah STOMPY boots.

So, here you go, mostly because if I post it here I'll finish the damn thing - here is step 1 of the Very Rockabilliest Derby Girl Not-Poodle Skirt ever to be born.  He's not done yet- his spikes and rhinestone eyes go on after he's on the bubblegum pink satin skirt and not on my ugly ironing board... but isn't he precious? 

That's a crappy cellphone picture of a cotton velvet rottweiler with a silk collar. He even FEELS puppy-like!

I can't wait for Valentine's Kamikaze Karaoke, the debut event for this stunning skirt. Now maybe some sweet Greaser boy will wanna take me to the Karaoke and my stunning ensemble will be complete. Or maybe I'll just get a Fonzie action figure.

Another thing I'm really looking forward to is that February challenge now.  I've got about EleventyBillion ideas now, and I even have something resembling a plan and a project list!

*- Title credit to my girl Lasair. I have a feeling "making dogs out of velvet" was not the wrong thing she had in mind, though.

Anxiety in Motion.

You know that feeling you get when you wonder if you're stuck on a Ferris Wheel that Just. Won't. Stop?   Maybe you're doing something and you're so busy thinking about what you want to be doing next that you just fly through the current thing.  You get to the next task all discombobulated and rushed and then halfway through, realize that you forgot something you were supposed to do back with that other thing... and nothing happens the way you want it to. Even if everything ends up being done you take no joy out of the processes and at the end you've got not nearly enough sense of completion... and you wonder what else you forgot.

Maybe you don't, and if that's the case, you're probably a lot smarter than I am. 


I've been making a concerted effort in the form of nightly meditation to slow down. This has little do with physically being dormant (I'm great at that) and everything to do with trying to make my mind shut down, if only for a little while.  Focusing on breathing and the rotation of the ceiling fan works for me.  Sometimes it works so well that I end up falling asleep, but my intent is to enjoy the comfort of a blank slate for just a little while, being relaxed enough to enjoy the peace while being aware enough to catch niggling little ideas that try to sneak in and put them away for later.  On nights that I can manage this for a little while before putting myself to sleep, I find that I'm a more sound sleeper. I wake up feeling more refreshed, less grumbly, and more peaceful, just because of a little bit of nothing before bed.  Since I've implemented this meditation in earnest, it's really been paying off...

and last night? It did not work At. All.  I tried. I even tried not trying... but being given Something Of Substance to worry about before bed completely shot all attempts to quiet my mind.  I'd rather not go into the gory details, as it isn't my story to share, but my 'wind-down' time was interrupted by a situation in the life of a beloved that spiked a lot of meters in quick succession. Fear. Anguish. Sadness. And good, old-fashioned Black Rage with a side of Righteous Indignation.  Efforts to relax the mind were futile. Attempts to put myself to sleep, likewise. I think I ended up sleeping for about 4 hours, but even then, it was bad sleep.  I woke up angsty, ill-equipped to be useful to anyone, and have had a massive headache for hours now and I feel like I have sandpaper in my eyes.  Everything I try to dedicate my attention to is suffering, because I'm falling into that pattern above. Rush. Forget. Panic. Fix. Forget where I was. Rush. Forget. Panic. Facebook. Fix. Rush.

I want to be better than that... not to trick my mind, but to be able to have enough discipline to tell myself "no, the thinking time for that is done" and have it really work that way.  I think I'm nearer to that than I was.  Today is just one remarkable day of dealing with the remnants of the stress of yesterday.  I will get a nap and maybe some ice cream for dinner, and be back to "normal" soon.

It'd be a lot easier if I had a wooby, though.

My feet are so cold. So, so cold.

I'm freezing. I've been freezing since about Halloween, I think.  My iron is fine. B12 is fine. Nothing medical should be making me cold, but I'm incapable of getting warm.  I think I may be part lizard. Maybe I just need a big electric rock to curl up on. If I don't find one, I'm just going to resign myself to never being warm again.

---
Sabine said very recently, about getting back into blogging:

" It is hard to get rolling again... but once you do it becomes sooooo much easier. Find some prompts to write about until prompted writing pisses you off, then your inspiration will come.

Worked for me."

I've got about 7 drafts of posts started, and none of them are based on the 30 Days of Truth prompt list. I wouldn't say that it is prompted writing that pisses me off so much as it's that list that pisses me off. There's an awful lot of Eeyore going on up in that list that wasn't apparent until it was my list to do.  I'm still going to finish some of them, but if anybody (like, all 1.4 of my readers) had any ideas about that list being finished up this month, well... get bent. It just ain't gonna happen.

Derby practice was good last night, for the most part. There was some weird energy (and I swear, there was a skunk in the building, somewhere), but it was good. I'm getting happier with my stamina but my speed still doesn't make me happy.  I blocked in 5-6 scrimmage jams and did ok.  I got a few hits on but despite my child-bearing hips, didn't have nearly enough power in them to do much.  One of the best ass-whackers on the team is going to give me some much-needed one on one time later this week in that arena, though, so maybe I'll get there.  We've got a busy month-or-so coming... a rules meeting, a parade, at least one bar fundraiser, an away practice, the normal practices, and our opening bout on March 12, which probably means that all that stuff I'm going to make in February is going to be Derby-specific.  OH. I decided I won't be buying any new materials for that challenge.  Those who have seen the contents of my sewing room won't be impressed at all by that statement, but hey- there it is.

Sometimes it's tough to be a CoolKid...

 

Fine.  I'll play.  I did get two Bedazzlers for Christmas, after all.

Random girl is random.

My dad has come home to my house.  His getting to my house this weekend involved some outright lying to me and recruiting some family members to get on that wagon.  There was this big long convoluted multi-player act involving a cousin who was going to drive my dad in my dad's truck to my house (it's an 8 hour drive from where he was) and the long story short is- my dad drove himself and said cousin is not answering his phone, even when I try to call him from other numbers because I want to yell at him just a little bit.  Dad made it just fine but was soooo exhausted.  He's also chosen to interpret "continuous oxygen" to mean "15 minutes or so of oxygen every 2-3 hours, or whenever you feel like you need it" and "no smoking, wear your patch" to mean "wear your patch and try not to smoke more than half a pack a day. Or so. Whatever, really."  I'm also pretty sure that he has absolutely no intention of being held hostage in my house and if I stole his keys, he'd just hotwire his truck. He knows how.  Soooo... I'm feeling very out of control and forced to roll along with what he wants even though absolutely none of his decisions settle well with me.  Those feelings, I suspect, have nothing to do with my wanting to be the Boss of the Situation and everything to do with my wanting my dad to take care of himself or let me do it for him.  I think that's a pretty basic reaction that any child would have, right? 

I will acknowledge, though, that his mental acuity seems to be more 'there' than it was before Christmas, even if he is weaker and has less stamina.  Maybe that's the oxygen doing something good? I can hope. 

---

I'm diverting my lack of control in this situation and the anguish that it causes because I'd very much like to be calling the shots into one where I can actually be useful.  I have ended up on the board of directors for the Derby team (and by "ended up" I do mean that I walked in willingly, as our nomination process is by self-nomination only).  I'm the treasurer as of last night and probably going to end up being that chick who has to at least speak her mind on everybody else's stuff, too, because we all know that I just can't keep my damn mouth shut when I'm in a leadership role. Or not in one.  Either way- I'm really looking forward to it. I get to be useful to a group of people who might actually need the skills that I can bring to the table, and that makes my inner Girl Scout squeal.  I'm like that on a normal day, but right now I feel like it's giving me an anchor and a reminder that even if my dad is choosing not to listen to me, it doesn't mean that it's because I'm useless it just means that he isn't going to listen to me.  Validation by any other name is just as sweet, right?  Right.

---

Due to the way that things worked out with my LyingAssFather's schedule, I was able to daytrip Winter Wonders and I have never been so happy for a rainy drizzly SCA event in my life! It was great because I got to hole up in a cabin with all the people I love and we spent the day doing the exact same thing we'd be doing if we were anywhere else... cracking jokes about bodily emissions, telling stories at one another's expenses, threatening one another, and discussing penises in great depth.  I never said we were grownups, I just said we loved each other.  I needed it. When I left that night to take my drunk and sleepy roommate home, I felt shored up and less angsty.  Having a tribe is so very valuable... even if their way of conveying love is sometimes by telling nutsack jokes, it's still love all the same and I wouldn't change it (though I could live without some of the visuals, I think).

Mysogony Says So.

Sometimes, when all my girls end up at their keyboards at the same time I find myself thinking of how nice it must be to have all your lady friends in such a place where you can do lunch... though I suspect, we'd probably be kicked out for lunching together.  Regardless, I love these little occasional virtual coffee breaks, and with implied consent from the ladies involved, I'm sharing this one:

From: Sarah

Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011

To: Sabine, EvilSara, OriginalSara, Peeps(Sara), Bri, Trixie, Charlotte

Subject: Mysogony says so.

<chat excerpt from Sabine and I>

me:  My conundrum that I was going to ask you about:  Platonic male friend meets you at a bar, downtown, at night, on a weeknight. You listen to some music and play some Uno.

The bar is in the center of a block. Your car is down the block and around one corner, his is in the other direction from the door.

You both leave the bar at the same time, not real late. It's well lit but the streets are pretty empty (and a bit slick). The guy IS still obligated to at least offer to walk the woman to her car, right?

Because I was thinking "there's no way John, or Raymond, or Squid, or Paul would let me walk to my car alone."

Sabine:  Absolutely, at the very least he should have walked with you to his car and driven you to yours.

me:  Gotcha. Yeah. Something there. Or caught a ride to his car with me. I follow. And I agree.

And I'm kind of ANNOYED that I agree, because were the two of us set upon by thugs, I'd be more useful than him. But it's the principle.

File under "sexism is alive and well, thank god."

Sabine: Filed.

What say the council o' brilliant wimmens?
 

From: Sabine
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011
To: , EvilSara, OriginalSara, Peeps(Sara), Bri, Trixie, Charlotte, Sarah 
Subject: Re: Mysogony says so.

We need more instances in life where we can use the phrase "set upon by thugs"

just sayin.'

From: Charlotte
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2002
To: , EvilSara, OriginalSara, Peeps(Sara), Bri, Trixie, Sarah, Sabine
Subject: Re: Re: Mysogony says so.
 

I have to agree.  As a friend, safety should be a concern.  While he may *think* you could take care of yourself in whatever situation presented itself, it would have been prudent, and thoughtful, for the two of you to walk to one vehicle together and then the drive the other person to theirs.  How would he have felt if something *did* happen?  Horrible.  That being said, in addition,  let's not forget we're in the South, and it would have been the gentlemanly thing to do and his GrandMaMere should beat him soundly about the ears for Not doing so.  Just sayin'.

From: Sarah
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011
To: Sabine, EvilSara, OriginalSara, Peeps(Sara), Bri, Trixie, Charlotte
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Mysogony says so.

Maybe that's the problem... He's from Not Here.

From: EvilSara
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011
To: OriginalSara, Peeps(Sara), Bri, Trixie, Sarah, Sabine, Charlotte
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Mysogony says so.
 

I do think it’s more expected in the South (and the SCA) to be a gentleman.  I’ve noticed most Yankees aren’t taught this behavior, and so in his defense, it prolly never crossed his mind.  That being said, you need to school him, cause he’s in the South now, and he needs to know the rules.

From: OriginalSara
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011
To:  EvilSara, Peeps(Sara), Bri, Trixie, Sarah, Sabine, Charlotte
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Mysogony says so.
 

There is also the possibility that he is not only lacking in a proper Southern woman's attentions to his raisin' but also lacking in ANY raisin' whatsoever.  It's pretty sad but some of my most joyful moments at Puppy's school are when a child actually acknowledges that I have held the door open for them with a thank you.  Even eye contact would be nice.  When (holy crap!) they held the door for me instead? It's so rare that I want to run into the parking lot and find their parent and hug them.  I'm afraid that basics of courtesies like these are going the way of RSVP skills.  Just lost . . .

From:Charlotte
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011
To:  EvilSara, Peeps(Sara), Bri, OriginalSara, Sarah, Sabine, Trixie

I can totally see that too.  For years I have tried to beat (figuratively speaking) the Yes Ma'am, No Ma'am, into my children's heads.  Most of their peers do not use this terminology, they aren't taught it by their parents.  I'm not tooting my own horn here, but many of the manners my children have, their friends do not, because their parents haven't taken the time to teach them properly.  Most of Britt's friends were handed cell phones years ago as a baby sitter and now they run amok and do and say whatever they please.  Britt is NOT allowed to do this....But I digress on the issue at hand.

If Friend A is not from the South, that is one thing.  Regardless, safety should still have been an issue with him and just plain common sense should have kicked in on that one.

From:  Trixie
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011
To:  EvilSara, Peeps(Sara), Bri, OriginalSara, Sarah, Sabine, Charlotte
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Mysogony says so.

I'm inclined to think its my responsibility, as in I should ask to be walked to the car if he doesn't offer and I think I need it.  Because people are pretty clueless sometimes and it may not occur to them to ask. I have to admit, I'm bad about asking. 

From:  EvilSara
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011
To:   Peeps(Sara), Bri, OriginalSara, Trixie, Sarah, Sabine, Charlotte
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Mysogony says so.

Southern misogyny says women don’t ask to be kept safe – it is given.  I would agree if this was a middle of the afternoon shopping trip, and the only problem is the number of bags you were carrying, if you need help with that then you have to ask.  This is a safety issue – after dark and downtown.

From:  Sabine
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011
To:   EvilSara,Peeps(Sara), Bri, OriginalSara, Trixie, Sarah,  Charlotte
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Mysogony says so.

Don't start with the RSVP skills. Cause then it is just a short jump to discussing Thank You cards and watching Sarah's head explode.  (And yes, Sarah, I know it has been 9 months. 9 MONTHS.)

From: Sarah
Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011
To:   EvilSara,Peeps(Sara), Bri, OriginalSara, Trixie,Sabine,  Charlotte

DAMMIT SABINE! And I was having SUCH a nice fucking day, too.....

From: Bri

Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011

To:   EvilSara,Peeps(Sara),Sarah , OriginalSara, Trixie,Sabine,  Charlotte

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Mysogony says so.

That's 'cause most of us Yankee gals are taught to mace suspicious strangers into submission immediately upon contact.

From: Peeps(Sara)

Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011

To:   EvilSara, Bri, Sarah , OriginalSara, Trixie,Sabine,  Charlotte

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Mysogony says so.

Lord, I have a meeting and lunch and you people blow up the interwebs...

I had a conversation about manners in the South versus up there in Yankeeland recently. People were talking about passing stuff onto their children, whether or not certain things were outmoded, etc. It comes down to that there are certain things that are indoctrinated into those of us who were Raised Right in the South because they show you're being respectful to your fellow man. Some of those things are an insult out of the South - like calling someone our age ma'am. How many times have you heard a parent call their child ma'am or sir down
here? "Nuh uh, no ma'am! You come back here!" All the gender politics and equality has changed is that I'll open the door first if I get there first.

Not getting an escort to the car is... not exactly disrespectful, but it's certainly not thoughtful, gender aside. Girls take each other to their cars. It's something you do as friends. In my case, it's probably because I'm about as threatening and effective as a tiny kitten, should I be set upon by hoodlums. It's not much of an issue - all the men I know are Southern, SCA, or ex-military and tend to be protective no matter how capable you are. What I don't understand is why some people insist on considering that protective instinct an insult. Why would you be mad that someone cares about your safety and well-being? Bless his heart if he flat-out doesn't know better, but he should learn if he has any designs on living down here. Of course, you can't break the ultimate rule of good manners and point out his bad manners...

I honestly feel surprised and kind of abandoned if I have something heavy or unwieldy and a man doesn't offer to help me carry it. But then I'm not exactly a paragon of equality between the genders...

From:  Sarah

Date: Thursday, January 12, 2011

To:   EvilSara,Peeps(Sara), Bri, OriginalSara, Trixie,Sabine,  Charlotte

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Mysogony says so. 

Personally, I'm just taken aback by the lack of etiquette moreso than the "OMG a boy may have put me in danger." True- a woman walking with a man is less of a 'target' than a woman walking alone.  Just mere presence, imposing or not, adds to the safety factor and I get that, but I'm also not really that paranoid about being tackled by a crank-head in that particular setting.  But... it's just a NEW experience for me.  I'm not angry or upset so much as newly exposed.  I guess it just goes to show that I spend a lot of time with knuckle-dragging neanderthals.... God love 'em. 

I don't feel the need to call my friend "out" but at least now I'm aware of the fact that I probably would have to ask for an escort if I felt like I needed one while in his company. No big deal.  I do agree with EvilSara in that I think that our cultural standards do imply it as a given.  And you guys proved it! (Well, Bri does make a good point about Yankee Girl vs. Delicate Flower of Southern Femininity.)

That was fun!  Somebody else can host the virtual Coffee Date next week... and then they'll have something to blog about, too. :D

Prompted: Day 10 — Something people seem to compliment you the most on.

I'm like Mr. Brownstone, you know, from that Guns n' Roses song, but without the heroin. 

I'd have to say that the thing I get compliments on the most is my ability to work my network effectively to fix a broken situation.  Broke down on the side of the road? I can find you a ride. And a mechanic.  And entertainment while you wait. And a pizza.  You're planning a major event and half of your major staff just got the flu? I got this.  If you end up in jail, you'll have to pay the bail back... but chances are good, I can find you somebody nearby who can help you with that situation. 

I have, more than once, gotten credit for being some magical entity that just knows how to find peoples' asses for them, but that's not always legit.  I know that I'm an effective leader and I'm great at organizing. Those aren't even really up for debate, but I'm still often not the one who is actually personally engaged in the act of finding your ass for you if you solicit my assistance.  EvilSara has referred to my ability to manage people in chaotic situations and convince them to do what I'm asking as my Jedi Mind Trick, and maybe it is... or maybe I'm just ok at figuring out who's good at what and assigning them thusly. Either way- that's what I've got.


This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Challenge .  

Prompted: Day 09 — Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.

I have a few people I could name here, and call out on my little chunk of the internet that they're not going to ever see, anyway.  There's a couple of asshole exes.  There's that boss that I had in Dallas who not only made me miserable, but made my dad lose a metric buttload of money.  There are bullies from my childhood and teen years, there are boys I crushed on that weren't bright enough to reciprocate, and there are girls who were friends I trusted but stabbed me in the back.  These people exist.  They exist, but they really don't matter anymore. They did, once, but I'm over them... and I don't want to give them power by calling attention to them again.

I could probably be a good recipient of this subject, too.  I fully know that I've long since been one of those "my own worst enemy" people, but I'm trying really hard to let go of beating myself up.

I've already said that I don't have anybody that I need to forgive... and if I drag up old shit just for the sake of meeting a challenge, I'm defying the nature of that statement, one that I really do hold to be true.

So.... pass.  I'm not doing this one.  Neener.


This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Challenge .  

Why You Love Us:

Alternate title: How Sabine and Sarah go about their normal workdays soliciting future husbands and medical advice on Facebook.

me:(11:44)  For you! http://www.someecards.com/2011/01/07/incredible-customer-service-from-austins-pizza-call-center

Sabine:(11:44)  I wish to marry Chad on Saturday at 2 pm.

 me:(11:45)  Chad is pretty awesome. And we can surely track down Austin's Pizza.... $5 if he's your Facebook friend by 5 PM.

Sabine:(11:45)  Hell, I will give you $10.

me:(11:45)  Ok, cool.  Be his friend by 5 and you can give me $10.

Sabine:(11:46)  ...I'll get right on that.

me:(11:46)  excellent.

Sabine:(11:50:01)  bogus? <FacebookLinkDeleted>

me: (11:50:02) <SameFacebookLinkDeleted>

(11:50)Oh, damn.

(11:50)Lots of friends to be bogus.

(11:51)I sent a request.

Sabine:(11:52)  Yeah but you could change your pic and make Chad Frierson your secondary name.

me:(11:52)  So I'll wait for a few minutes before I write the comments box at Austin Pizza requesting a friends' request for you so you can propose.

(11:52)Which is already in drafts.

(11:52)Just so you know.

(11:52)I'll BCC you.

(11:52)And a hand full of other people.

Sabine:(11:53)  Please do.

me: (11:55)  HA! LEGIT PROFILE and he accepted me.

Sabine:(11:59)  you tagged me a post I can't see

me:(11:59)"Thanks for the ad! By the way, my friend Sabine would like to propose to you, if you've got a few minutes. The power of the Unicorn and the Bear is strong."

Sabine:(12:00)  oh dear...on that note... I'm going to lunch.

me: (12:01) accept his request first....

 

me:(1:36)  Stuck on the phone with my uncle who is sooooooo stoned on Oxycontin.

Sabine:(1:36)  I wish Oxycontin got me stoned like that.

me:(1:37)  HIGH. Like, kept telling me "hold on" so he could talk to the cat.

(1:38)The problem with the world is the french fries, btw.

(1:38)If you were wondering.

(1:38)Those goddamned french fries.

(1:39)And also- SURE! Your dad can fly in a non-pressurized plane with his O2 tanks. No problem.  And french fries.

(1:39)My only on-hand respiratory therapist is stoned off his ass.

Sabine:(1:40)  You might want to get a 2nd opinion... just sayin'

me:(1:42) The doctor said call the oxygen supplier. The oxygen supplier said call a resp. therapist. The resp. therapist is feeding cheetos to his cat.

 me: (1:45) My uncle just called his friiiiiiiend who said the flying would be fine.

(1:45) And he loves me.

(1:45) I think he meant he (my uncle) and not his friend.

(1:45) But I'm not positive there.

(1:46) I found you a fiancee... you wanna find me a respiratory therapist willing to offer free advice that I won't bind them to legally?

(1:48) We can call it even on that ten bucks....

Sabine:(1:49)  On it.

And yes, dear readers... she found me an answer by 1:51, which just goes to prove that really, she and I combined can track down anything in the world. And yes- I'm going to actually make a real live Medical Professional give me some real answers before I put my dad on a plane with oxygen tanks.

Prompted: Day 08 — Something you hope you never have to do.

I hope I never have to go on dialysis.

Having a disease that doesn't do much of anything is weird. Granted, I'm HAPPY that my PKD is not up to anything lately, but it's a strange place to be.  Two years ago, I got the reality check of "if you do not do something drastically different, you're going to end up needing a transplant. It won't be today, or tomorrow, and it might not be for 20 years, but it will happen."  So, with that as one of my primary motivations, I've done a passable job of trying to get my act together.  I've lost weight and gotten active.  Some of my vices haven't made much progress, but as of my last visit with my nephrologist, I'm 110% better than I was.  And now? My evaluation is "well, you could still end up needing a transplant. This is a funny disease, and there's just not any way to tell if it is going to get you or not, but you're doing everything you should be. Have a great day!"

Soooo... lose weight. Don't have kids. Don't eat meat as much as I'd like to, and it MIGHT do some good. Or it might not.  The good news is, if I ever did need a transplant, I'm in way better shape now which makes me a better candidate.  My system is healthier, my muscles are stronger, my kidneys are easier to get to (I can feel them when I poke! It's creepy!).  I have every reason to believe that things are better than they were. Where I was having cysts rupture every month or so, that's tapered way down and seems to have more to do with when I get worked up and my blood pressure fluctuates as a result than to do with the fact that I'm not a healthy person.  It's good.  Really good, even.  Where a few years ago my physician was trying to figure out what clinical trials he could get me into, now he's not worried about it, because I'm at 100% renal function with no failure evident whatsoever.  That could change, though, and for no reason other than it's an unpredictable disease and sometimes it just decides to progress and usually when you're in middle age... and hey, look! I'm kinda sorta there now, aren't I?

I know, logically, that my life with this disease is not going to be the same as my mom's was. She didn't know she had it until renal failure was already so far along that it couldn't be undone, and she still had another 10 years after that, despite being in poor health to start with. Despite having had two kids. Despite being over 100 lbs overweight... so I have no real reason to be afraid that I'm going to end up where she did.  I'm being monitored annually.  If I even start declining a little bit, there are things that could be done to make it slower, make it better.  Even in a worst-case scenario world, dialysis technology has gotten better, and it's not nearly as bad as it was 10 years ago... but the fear is still there.  I do not want to be tethered to a clinic or a machine that I rely on to stay alive.  I don't want to actually take in all of the offers of "sure, you can have my kidney."  And really, right now, I don't have to worry about those things because all of my data says that I am just as healthy right now as anybody without the same condition but the fear is still there.


This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Challenge .  

Prompted: Day 07 — Someone who has made your life worth living for.

Damn.  This is hard.

I thought about going with an author or philosopher, somebody good and noble, like Mother Theresa or Ghandi... but that's not very fair.  There are lots of words and books and songs out there that have made my life a lot better, but "worth living for"?  That's a stretch.  But I have a lot of humans in my life that really have, at some point or another (or many) made my life worth living for... too many, in fact, to list them all.  I'm lucky like that.

So, by virtue of Time Served- I'm goin' with Squid.

In the 4th Grade, I came home from school one day and informed my mom that I'd met the boy I was going to marry one day.  True story.  He was tall and lanky and smelled good, and had shaggy bangs, and I didn't know much about him at all other than his name was Jonathan.  Didn't matter- I was smitten.  I think I remained that way for all of about 2 weeks, and then we became friends of sorts.  As the middle school years passed into the teenage years, we evolved and evolved and evolved.  I'm pretty sure he was my first "stay up all night talking on the phone" buddy.  He introduced me to D&D. I taught him how to drive.  Embarrassingly, I still have the notes that we passed in class the day after I lost my virginity, and he still has the ones that were written after his, a few months later.  There was some awkwardness around the time we were 16 where we decided that we were going to be a couple ourselves, and there was an amazing summer when we both worked at the same McDonald's and we were dating a brother and sister that lived in the next town down the highway.  We listened to the Lost Boys Soundtrack nonstop for at least 2 months, and I'm positive that we both still know all the words to everything Bon Jovi did before 1996.  We drank a case of Boones' Farm and woke up in a scary place.  We joined the SCA at the same time, and we were road-trip buddies for years.  Our minds were so in sync that he knew when to grab the wheel because I had a phobia of bridges I couldn't see the end of.  He dated my college roommate for a few years, and then my suitemate, and a year-and-change ago, when he got married- well, of course it wasn't to me. That's not the niche we're supposed to fit into with one another, and I was honored to be one of his attendants. 

Squid and I have gone months without talking to one another, and we fall back into sync without a falter.  And yes, when Shit Got Real- we have had one another's backs.  We've nursed each other through heartbreaks, deaths, hangovers, and Bad Personal Decisions, and we don't keep score... at least, I don't. He probably has the right to, because I'm sure he's fixed me more than I've fixed him, but that's ok.   

I can't explain how very comforting it is to have somebody that has seen me at my worst... my "bad 90s hair days" and my "flannel as a fashion statement" era, my "I'm sooooo in love" and my "emo as hell" and still love me pretty much unconditionally.  And that level of comfort, of knowing that somebody has always had your back and by virtue of habit, loyalty, and sometimes blind faith always will, it's something that makes you brave, and with the kind of bravery that gives you the confidence to do what you have to do even when you can't think it through as thoroughly as you should first.  I can't imagine having made it this far without my most reliable of all of my safety nets... and I figure that if you can't imagine living without someone, then they have surely made your life worth living for.


This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Challenge .  

Prompted: Day 6 — The reason you believe you’re still alive today.

I told you I was gonna go out of order.  I wanted something a little bit happy, so I decided to go with this one today.

I am certain that I'm alive today because of medical technology.  Better Living Through Chemistry is not a joke in my world, for sure.  Had I been born 100 years before, or even 50 years before I was, I strongly suspect I wouldn't have made it out of my childhood.  If I did, I doubt I'd be healthy at all.

First off- I was a C-section baby, both for my own good and my mom's... so there you go. That's one.

When I was 3, my eyes had to be corrected multiple times.  While my vision isn't great and never will be (in fact I'm DamnNearBlind without my contacts in), I'd have been blind were it not for surgical procedures that fixed unconnected nerve tissue in my eyes. I'd also be cross-eyed, as any photo taken of me before that time can attest.

I've had tubes in my ears 6 times.  Given how very susceptible to ear infections I am now, I can only imagine how much worse it could have been. My ears are just such that they're chronically screwed up, and even though we've abandoned tubes and other surgical options, if I didn't have my hit of antibiotics every time they act up (something like 8 times a year, or so), I'd probably be deaf.

I've had my tonsils and adenoids removed, because I used to get tonsillitis to the point that I'd have serious trouble breathing.  My childhood and teen years were full of allergy shots because I was allergic to every part of nature you could find.  I had a recurring issue with staph (we named him Cletus) that required 4 surgeries to get rid of for good, and while I'm not thrilled with the most unbecoming scars left from that ordeal, that would have killed me in my 20s.

Ultrasounds, blood workups, and other testing have let me keep an eye on my kidney disease, too. Would it have killed me by now if I didn't know about it? Maybe.  Maybe not.  It's hard to say, but I'm certain that it helps a lot. 

I have no doubt that on my own, I'm on the losing side of Natural Selection.  I'm the one that Darwin was talking about... and even if it's cheating, I'm thrilled that science and medicine have kept me going even if I wasn't programmed for survival in the first place.  How awesome is that?


This post is part of the 30 Days of Truth Challenge .  

Welcome to the Epiphany.

The Epiphany has begun, in so many ways.

On the Calendar, it's the beginning of the Carnival/ Mardi Gras season.  Twelfth Night celebrations, King Cake baking, the Krewes are doing their Krewish thing, and the parade season will be upon us soon.  Get your party on, for soon enough it will be Lent, and if you're obedient, you'll be expected to abstain from something, or everything, depending on how you roll (or at least do it in private).

In my life- well, it's been a crazy few days, and "Epiphany" is a good word for that, too.

My dad is sick.  You probably got that from an earlier posting and from Facebook updates, but he's really sick. He already was, truthfully.  He's older, and had already been diagnosed with COPD and Emphysema, as well as Alzheimer's. Of course, being that breed of Southern Gentleman who doesn't take criticism lightly, there have been few lifestyle changes since these diagnoses came about, but now we're at a turning point and a big case of pneumonia is our catalyst. Something has got to give, or my father will cease to breathe.  There is no sugarcoating his current situation.  We're talking round-clock oxygen.  A new, more forceful BiPap machine.  An end to the vices that he loves so well, if either of these are going to do any good... and ideally, we're talking about him living with me because he's just not going to be strong enough to live on his own and while both of his other alternative locations for living are fine enough, neither of them can offer reliable supervision and assistance at the level that his doctors want, or at the level that I want.  My dad is surrounded by people that love him and want him to be happy, but if what he wants defies what his doctors say he needs, he will still get what he wants.  That's tough- what matters more, happiness or health?  My dad is 71, and feels that his "good days" are all well behind him.  I won't say he's ready to die but I don't think he has a lot left that he's looking forward to, and he's feeling pretty bleak.  I will say, however, that I am just about the only person in his life who can out-stubborn him; I get it from him, and neither one of us back down lightly but I have more endurance.  So, regardless of convenience and what I want to be doing with my own life, I really truly want him to just settle the hell down and take up bird watching, preferably on my back porch where I can keep tabs on him. 

Of course, everything kind of hinges on the idea that my father is going to actually do what I ask of him, which isn't always going to be the case.  He's still got his license and his truck and people in both Mississippi and Texas that will cater to his wants rather than his needs, and the chances that he's going to prefer to take those routes when I'm cooking without bacon and hiding his cigarettes is high.  Before long, I suspect that I'm going to have the option of either letting him do what he wants to do or beating my head against the wall, and if he makes up his mind the end result will likely be the same.  I'm frustrated by that. I'm annoyed that my own stress and sleep deprivation probably made me be a bit angsty with him when I should have found the way to the high road while I was with him this week... and I'm frustrated that due to the nature of my job I'm back in Louisiana rather than there.  Juggling priorities sucks, especially when other people depend on you.

So, I'm coming to terms with a lot of things this week.  My father's mortality being front and center, but also my own weak ability to adapt to the changes going on.  The fact that my life may be changing drastically but that it depends upon the cooperation of somebody else to see where those changes go. 

Within all this chaos I am feeling extremely blessed, though.  I have good people who offered to drop their own lives to lend me support and even though it wasn't necessary, it's nice to be able to see your safety net when you think you might need it.  I have friends who were able to sense when I needed to talk about it and when I just needed a distraction and who didn't take it personally when I just didn't feel like anything.  I'd hoped that my siblings would step up and be strong for me- and I don't want to talk about how that played out- but once again, I'm shown that my chosen family takes their role so seriously that it isn't a big deal when the one I was given by blood doesn't necessarily do what I'd like for them to do.

So, on my immediate forecast- I'm back home. I'll be staying here, getting caught up on work and trying to stay sane until the hospital discharges my dad. His brothers and sister are capable of keeping him company and now that we're out of the woods, that's the main goal- keep him entertained and hear what the doctors say.  Sometime next week he should be discharged and I'm planning on going to fetch him and bring him home with me to rest and recover, and then after that, we'll just have to see what the cards hold for us.


A final thought...