I rode my bike last night. Only for 20 minutes or so, but my butt is sore this morning, so it totally counts for something. It felt so nice outside, and feeling that breeze on my face as I pedal along - I really love that feeling. I told Jimi last night I wanted to get up and go to the gym this morning - some mornings he stays in bed while I get up with the girls, and I wanted to make sure he knew I had a plan for the morning and it required him to be up and at 'em. (He's so good to me, I am trying really hard to not set him up for failure, and I know that if I hadn't said anything, and he tried to catch a few more minutes of sleep, I'd end up pissed at him for ruining my plans I made in my head and never shared with him. That's not very fair, and he never does that crap to me but I do it to him all the time. So I'm working on it.) Cora had us all up by 6, and she and I were both super congested and coughy. I nearly talked myself into skipping the workout, but dammit, that's what I do every other day. If I want to feel better, to do the things I enjoy, like working out, I have to stop making excuses and skipping shit all the time. I'm 37 and I've never stuck with anything I've started except this marriage and parenting these girls and I'm probably only sticking to these things because Jimi is just amazing and parenting isn't one of those things you can just quit doing. So I went to the gym. I walked Finn first, even. And then I went to the gym, and it was as awesome as I remember. I felt strong and got sweaty and my muscles got that awesome shaky feeling - I love everything about working out except trying to get myself to go do it.
The girls are sweet today. Loving and laughing and playing together without fighting and not whining. I bought mini ice cream sandwiches and some fruit snacks at the grocery yesterday - they are a hot topic of conversation today. Geneva has been asking for fruit snacks and trying to negotiate her way into some all day - the final agreement is she can have some with snack, at 10 a.m. She has to eat her carrots first, though. (She chose carrots - the other options were broccoli and cauliflower, but carrots won out.) That's good - she eats carrots by themselves. Broccoli and cauliflower require Olive Garden Italian Dressing for dipping, as does salad. But they eat veggies, dammit.
Looks like we have a Costco trip in our future today; Cora needs more Claritin. I still need to address that laundry. Oooo! Tonight is Game of Thrones. I love Sundays. I love today. I love this silly little life.
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Monday, January 2, 2017
Even just a few words counts as something.
Melinda. She always tells me to come here, to say things. I should, I tell her, I need to. I always mean it. I always have the best of intentions. Right now, my laptop is dead and so is my 90 wpm typing skill without an actual keyboard. Forgive brevity until the issue is resolved, I ask of you.
But I will come here, and say some things. Because she said so, and because it is good for my soul.
Resolution time! I'm going to finish some of the things that I start. I'm going to stop putting the opinions of others before my own. (Except for doctors and other professionals, of course. Be reasonable.) I'm going to follow my happy. I'm going to grow things. I'm going to be an awesome mom. I'm going to be the best wife.
I'm going to live the fuck out of life, that's what I'm going to do.
How about you? What will 2017 bring for you?
Monday, May 23, 2011
Today is the greatest...
The shit? You know, from my house? It's all gone and on its way to you. And it didn't even cost $100, which really surprised me and made my checking account happy. And Jimi's going to be so happy to see the living room again!
I was a bitch to Jimi all day yesterday. As a token of his appreciation, he laid out my clothes for today, including socks that match each other AND match my shirt. (That never happens - who has time to find socks that match their outfit? Finding socks that match each other is hard enough.) And my panties and bra match too! I feel like I should get a gold star for being so fucking fashionable. Jimi probably has earned a blowjob. (Don't tell him I said that, okay? Don't tell my mom I said that either.)
I found a semi-Christian fiction romance novel that I really, really like. It's fluff, but it's so easy to read fluff. Sometimes fluff is all you need.
I've only chewed off one of my fingernails in the last seven days; that's almost a record. The problem is, now they're long enough where I can feel them - they're not bitten down even with the skin on my fingertips any longer. This is the danger zone; this is when I feel the tips of my nails over and over again, and I worry the edges incessantly until, finally, one little edge gives and then the entire growth is history, chewed upon and spat out.
Our grass won't stop growing. It just gets taller and taller and taller and taller.
I just realized I didn't put any notes or cute little cards or anything inside the packages I mailed. So, if you get a random package from Natalie in Kentucky and you're all "WTF?", it's from me. Kari, you got the leftover crap. :) And someone's husband is going to be very confused.
Life is peaches and cream and strawberries with sugar.
It's about to storm like a motherfucker. We had a nasty squall roll through early this morning, but this one's a bit more slow-moving. It's been creeping in for an hour, and the first drops are just starting to fall.
I'm gonna go back out on the porch and watch.
Happy Monday, Friends!
I was a bitch to Jimi all day yesterday. As a token of his appreciation, he laid out my clothes for today, including socks that match each other AND match my shirt. (That never happens - who has time to find socks that match their outfit? Finding socks that match each other is hard enough.) And my panties and bra match too! I feel like I should get a gold star for being so fucking fashionable. Jimi probably has earned a blowjob. (Don't tell him I said that, okay? Don't tell my mom I said that either.)
I found a semi-Christian fiction romance novel that I really, really like. It's fluff, but it's so easy to read fluff. Sometimes fluff is all you need.
I've only chewed off one of my fingernails in the last seven days; that's almost a record. The problem is, now they're long enough where I can feel them - they're not bitten down even with the skin on my fingertips any longer. This is the danger zone; this is when I feel the tips of my nails over and over again, and I worry the edges incessantly until, finally, one little edge gives and then the entire growth is history, chewed upon and spat out.
Our grass won't stop growing. It just gets taller and taller and taller and taller.
I just realized I didn't put any notes or cute little cards or anything inside the packages I mailed. So, if you get a random package from Natalie in Kentucky and you're all "WTF?", it's from me. Kari, you got the leftover crap. :) And someone's husband is going to be very confused.
Life is peaches and cream and strawberries with sugar.
It's about to storm like a motherfucker. We had a nasty squall roll through early this morning, but this one's a bit more slow-moving. It's been creeping in for an hour, and the first drops are just starting to fall.
I'm gonna go back out on the porch and watch.
Happy Monday, Friends!
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Natalie For Congress!!!
I'm starting my own political party. It's called the NAT Party - the National Alliance for Truth.
It's a no bullshit club - you join if you're tired of dirty old men who cheat on their wives telling you that Planned Parenthood is America's Enemy Number One, what with all their affordable HPV screenings and Pap smears and low-cost birth control distribution and (legal!) abortion-providing. You're a NAT Party-member if you want to know why in the fuck our treasury gave billions of dollars in back-door loans to European nations while our government officials directed our attention to the bail-outs of Wall Street tycoons. You're a NAT Party member if you want to know why it's okay for you and your friends to lose your jobs while the people who created this grandfuckery got to keep theirs - and they got bonuses?! WTF?!
I'm just so sick of it all. The people running this country are fucking it up royally, and we, the masses, are such good blind little sheep that we allow them to systematically steal our rights under the guise of restoring family values and protecting us from terrorists.
And about those terrorists. We lost 3000 people on September 11, 2001. Ten years later, how many hundreds of thousands have died in their names? Who're really the terrorists in this scenario? The only difference is we do it under the banner of justice. You know what? There's no such thing as justice when a woman's child is blown to bits because she happens to be unlucky enough to live in a place where someone thought some bad guys were living. We've destroyed countless lives, on all sides. Osama ain't got nothing on our pal George.
Here are some things the NAT Party supports:
Constitutional-ism - Specifically, those parts about equality for all and separation of church and state.
Fiscal Responsibility - if elected President, I would fill my Treasury department with stay-at-home mothers who've managed shoestring household budgets. Fuck your PhDs, I want life experience. Ain't no Momma in the world that'd buy a $600 toilet seat. Give me a few hundred moms and 100 days, I'll give you a balanced budget.
Healthcare for All - I propose an immediate cancellation of all government-sponsored medical programs for all elected government officials - they must find and pay for medical coverage for themselves and their families, same way you and I do. This would remain in effect until they were able to pass a healthcare bill that would provide medical coverage for ALL Americans, and then they would be covered under the terms of that plan. I honestly believe this catalyst would bring swift, effective results. (This would end Medicare and Medicaid, too. And I'd find a way to force pharmaceutical companies to play ball, too, and the days of "I can't afford my medicine" would be fucking over.)
Education - Nothing pisses me off more than hearing a politician scream "Think of our grandchildren!" right before he proposes a bill that cuts education spending. Hey George - you know how much college those bombs could've paid for?! Anyhow, our system is in dire condition these days, and needs some money and common sense thrown its way. (The Moms will find the money, I'm sure of it!)
I'm just so fucking sick of the bullshit. Have you ever had a job where they threw that teamwork stuff at you and reminded you "You're only as strong as your weakest link"? There's some validity to that little cliche' - how can we claim to be the "land of the free and the home of the brave" when our people are chained by debt and unemployment, and terrified because their government tells them to be so?
/soapbox rant
It's a no bullshit club - you join if you're tired of dirty old men who cheat on their wives telling you that Planned Parenthood is America's Enemy Number One, what with all their affordable HPV screenings and Pap smears and low-cost birth control distribution and (legal!) abortion-providing. You're a NAT Party-member if you want to know why in the fuck our treasury gave billions of dollars in back-door loans to European nations while our government officials directed our attention to the bail-outs of Wall Street tycoons. You're a NAT Party member if you want to know why it's okay for you and your friends to lose your jobs while the people who created this grandfuckery got to keep theirs - and they got bonuses?! WTF?!
I'm just so sick of it all. The people running this country are fucking it up royally, and we, the masses, are such good blind little sheep that we allow them to systematically steal our rights under the guise of restoring family values and protecting us from terrorists.
And about those terrorists. We lost 3000 people on September 11, 2001. Ten years later, how many hundreds of thousands have died in their names? Who're really the terrorists in this scenario? The only difference is we do it under the banner of justice. You know what? There's no such thing as justice when a woman's child is blown to bits because she happens to be unlucky enough to live in a place where someone thought some bad guys were living. We've destroyed countless lives, on all sides. Osama ain't got nothing on our pal George.
Here are some things the NAT Party supports:
Constitutional-ism - Specifically, those parts about equality for all and separation of church and state.
Fiscal Responsibility - if elected President, I would fill my Treasury department with stay-at-home mothers who've managed shoestring household budgets. Fuck your PhDs, I want life experience. Ain't no Momma in the world that'd buy a $600 toilet seat. Give me a few hundred moms and 100 days, I'll give you a balanced budget.
Healthcare for All - I propose an immediate cancellation of all government-sponsored medical programs for all elected government officials - they must find and pay for medical coverage for themselves and their families, same way you and I do. This would remain in effect until they were able to pass a healthcare bill that would provide medical coverage for ALL Americans, and then they would be covered under the terms of that plan. I honestly believe this catalyst would bring swift, effective results. (This would end Medicare and Medicaid, too. And I'd find a way to force pharmaceutical companies to play ball, too, and the days of "I can't afford my medicine" would be fucking over.)
Education - Nothing pisses me off more than hearing a politician scream "Think of our grandchildren!" right before he proposes a bill that cuts education spending. Hey George - you know how much college those bombs could've paid for?! Anyhow, our system is in dire condition these days, and needs some money and common sense thrown its way. (The Moms will find the money, I'm sure of it!)
I'm just so fucking sick of the bullshit. Have you ever had a job where they threw that teamwork stuff at you and reminded you "You're only as strong as your weakest link"? There's some validity to that little cliche' - how can we claim to be the "land of the free and the home of the brave" when our people are chained by debt and unemployment, and terrified because their government tells them to be so?
/soapbox rant
Monday, May 16, 2011
I'm Rich!!! I'm Rich!!!
The mail today tells me that my paycheck will be $152 fatter next Friday, and every Friday thereafter. YAY!!!
No, I didn't get a raise. I got a garnishment. YAY! Wait, no. You're not supposed to YAY! for that. BOO!!! HISS!!! That's what goes there.
I got divorced once upon a time. Divorce brings bad things, mostly debt and tears and moving and new jobs. The debt part? That's the worst - especially when going from a comfortable $80K dual income to a lowly $24K single income. It took a while to get back on my feet, and shit fell behind. Later, when I finally found gainful employment, I was so afraid of how big the problem had become that I did what I usually do - I ignored it completely and hoped it would go away. And it did, sorta, for a while. And then it caught up with me, in the form of a $1300 garnishment that wiped out my savings and checking accounts last summer, followed up by a garnishment order that sent $152 of my paycheck each week to people who needed the money worse than me (a bank, of course).
It's been less than a year, and it's all paid off. I couldn't imagine trying to put more than $5K into savings, but in less than a year, I managed to whittle away a $6K+ debt, and I didn't end up on the streets because of it! Of course, it helps that I have very few living expenses; Jimi and I split the bills 50/50, my car is paid off, my company pays for my cell phone. But still - $600 a month is a fucking lot of money. It's more than my half of the mortgage. And I survived!
I think now the best thing to do would be to put that $152 a week into my savings account, because if I can live without that $600 each month, then I probably should try to continue to do so. That'll pay for one hell of a vacation next summer. Or an awesome gift for Jimi's 40th birthday. Or both!
Take this as a lesson, kids: Pay your fucking bills on time. They will find your ass, and they will make you pay. Oh yes, they will. And you will be ashamed and embarrassed and will forever regret those four beers at Petrus that you charged on your Visa because you only had 57 cents in your checking account. And then, when you're older and wiser and more sober, you'll think "What the Fuck was I thinking?! I could've gone to Europe!!!"
In case you're wondering, yes, I learned my lesson. I pay cash for everything I buy - if I don't have the money in the bank, I can't buy it. For 4 years, that's been my way of life. I can't remember how I ever lived any other way. (I wish I didn't have to state the obvious, but yeah, my credit is shit. This cash-only lifestyle began from necessity, not because I had a vision or anything.)
I seriously question the wisdom of putting this out there for the world to know, because it's pretty fucking personal and really, it's the single most embarrassing thing ever in my whole entire life. I'm ashamed of the financial mistakes I've made, mostly because I absolutely was not raised that way. My parents preached to me the importance of good credit and honoring my word by paying my bills on time - but somehow I became one of THOSE people anyhow. But that's why I have to write this, because getting that letter saying my debt was cleared, it's a really big deal for me.
I've come a long way in the last 5 years - my life is so much more than I ever could've dreamed. Clearing the books, wiping the slate clean, it feels like I'm shedding the last pieces of my "before" life, and it reminds me to fully embrace everything that's good and wonderful about this, my "after" life.
Please don't make fun of me or be mean, okay?
No, I didn't get a raise. I got a garnishment. YAY! Wait, no. You're not supposed to YAY! for that. BOO!!! HISS!!! That's what goes there.
I got divorced once upon a time. Divorce brings bad things, mostly debt and tears and moving and new jobs. The debt part? That's the worst - especially when going from a comfortable $80K dual income to a lowly $24K single income. It took a while to get back on my feet, and shit fell behind. Later, when I finally found gainful employment, I was so afraid of how big the problem had become that I did what I usually do - I ignored it completely and hoped it would go away. And it did, sorta, for a while. And then it caught up with me, in the form of a $1300 garnishment that wiped out my savings and checking accounts last summer, followed up by a garnishment order that sent $152 of my paycheck each week to people who needed the money worse than me (a bank, of course).
It's been less than a year, and it's all paid off. I couldn't imagine trying to put more than $5K into savings, but in less than a year, I managed to whittle away a $6K+ debt, and I didn't end up on the streets because of it! Of course, it helps that I have very few living expenses; Jimi and I split the bills 50/50, my car is paid off, my company pays for my cell phone. But still - $600 a month is a fucking lot of money. It's more than my half of the mortgage. And I survived!
I think now the best thing to do would be to put that $152 a week into my savings account, because if I can live without that $600 each month, then I probably should try to continue to do so. That'll pay for one hell of a vacation next summer. Or an awesome gift for Jimi's 40th birthday. Or both!
Take this as a lesson, kids: Pay your fucking bills on time. They will find your ass, and they will make you pay. Oh yes, they will. And you will be ashamed and embarrassed and will forever regret those four beers at Petrus that you charged on your Visa because you only had 57 cents in your checking account. And then, when you're older and wiser and more sober, you'll think "What the Fuck was I thinking?! I could've gone to Europe!!!"
In case you're wondering, yes, I learned my lesson. I pay cash for everything I buy - if I don't have the money in the bank, I can't buy it. For 4 years, that's been my way of life. I can't remember how I ever lived any other way. (I wish I didn't have to state the obvious, but yeah, my credit is shit. This cash-only lifestyle began from necessity, not because I had a vision or anything.)
I seriously question the wisdom of putting this out there for the world to know, because it's pretty fucking personal and really, it's the single most embarrassing thing ever in my whole entire life. I'm ashamed of the financial mistakes I've made, mostly because I absolutely was not raised that way. My parents preached to me the importance of good credit and honoring my word by paying my bills on time - but somehow I became one of THOSE people anyhow. But that's why I have to write this, because getting that letter saying my debt was cleared, it's a really big deal for me.
I've come a long way in the last 5 years - my life is so much more than I ever could've dreamed. Clearing the books, wiping the slate clean, it feels like I'm shedding the last pieces of my "before" life, and it reminds me to fully embrace everything that's good and wonderful about this, my "after" life.
Please don't make fun of me or be mean, okay?
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Pamper me, please. I'll pay you.
I met Momma at Le Bliss tonight for facials and haircuts and it was awesome.
Sarah cut my hair, and she was funny and talkative - in that "they told me to avoid awkward silences" sort of way. She was genuine, though, so it was easy to follow her lead and play along. What in the hell are you supposed to talk about when you're getting your hair cut, anyhow? It's always so weird to me to try to have a conversation with a person I've never met before - with whom I've entrusted a major feature and all I can think is "please don't mess up". I'm so freakin' bad at small talk. I'm more of a "Let's get this done!" sort of gal. I guess the problem could be solved by going to a stylist more than once, and then more than once every two years - get to see the person semi-regularly, develop a relationship - that probably makes it easier to come up with topics of discussion that aren't too personal or too deep or too political. I don't know - I imagine other women have solved this problem long before the age of 30; perhaps I'm a slow developer. I don't think I'll ever be an every-six-weeks sort of gal, but I can aim for every three months, maybe. I'll try it this year and see how it goes.
Toward the end of my haircut, the power went out. Sarah had a swath of hair pulled away from the back of my head, held between the fingers of one hand while the other moved in with the open shears. When the lights suddenly blinked out, we all froze - the human version of that old "deer in headlights" adage - and I could only think one thing, so I said it out loud:
"Don't. Cut."
The salon burst out in laughter. Ever notice how your voice is louder when everything else is silent? No? Just me huh? Awesome.
The electricity was back within minutes - a blown breaker or something - and Sarah finished my cut and style without incident or bloodshed. I liked her a lot, and when I go back, I'll book my appointment with her.
Then it was time for the facial! YAY! I want my world to smell like the facial room. Eucalyptus and spearmint and lemon and awesome. And I need a hot towel machine. And a heated bed. And someone to rub my shoulders and temples and throat like that.
Okay, but as awesome as the facial was, my crazy, of course, had to crop up. During the exfoliation, she used these little brushes - I didn't see them, but I figured out what they were after a few seconds - to rub the cream off my face, and I rationally understand that the point was to remove dead skin cells. But it felt like she was trying to brush the little hairs on my face. And I imagined myself a dog or cat, lying there on the table, being brushed. And I had to fight SO HARD not to laugh out loud. And then I pictured this slim young woman looking at my fat 30 year old face and two chins and fat arms, brushing my face hair, and it was easy not to LOL. And then I started thinking about all the dozens (hundreds?) of other women who'd had their face hairs brushed with the face brushes, and suddenly I KNEW I was covered in dead face skin cells from all those other women and suddenly I was totally skeeved out and itching and had to take a deep breath and talk myself out of jumping off the table and demanding a warm towel to wipe all the other people off of me. But then the brushing was over and (Rationally) I understand that she saw a little spot of cream left on my cheek and was removing it with her dry finger - in my head, though, she had licked her finger and was trying to smooth a face hair cowlick. And then it was hard not to laugh again. This shit was supposed to be relaxing, dammit!!!
Then came the eye and lip cream (which I imagined to be blood red - in my head she was giving me a clown face) and the painting-on of the mask. I like things to be put on my face with a paintbrush. But then I saw myself with blue or purple or tie-dye colors to accent the blood red lips and eyes, and I waited for the click of the camera that would lead to "Look what I did at work today" pictures on Facebook. And then there was steam and an awesome sigh-inducing shoulder massage that made me not care, and then it was time for another hot towel. Too soon, my face was being wiped off and she was unpinning the towel from around my hair.
"I need more hot towel time, please" I croaked. "And an hour or so to nap."
They think I'm a real riot up in there.
Abbey did my facial and she was wonderful and professional and made me feel relaxed and at ease when I wasn't being crazy. It's not her fault I'm crazy.
I met Momma back in the lobby, paid our bill, and we walked over to the Ice Cream and Pie Kitchen. We decided against dinner - Momma was tired - but she bought us each a cupcake and then we hugged and kissed and parted ways.
Next time, we're getting massages. Momma's treat.
Consider this my mental note to not wait two years before I treat myself again. I waste ridiculous amounts of money eating out and buying things I don't need - I need to make myself, my physical self, a priority more often. There's no drug that could make me feel as relaxed and at peace as I feel when I raise up from that table after a relatively short stretch of pampering. And the ego boost that comes from a new haircut? We all need to feel pretty every now and then.
So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to try, at least three times this year, to get my hair cut, my face pampered, and my back massaged. I deserve it. I'm worth it.
And I'll forget about all of this in 6 weeks. :)
Sarah cut my hair, and she was funny and talkative - in that "they told me to avoid awkward silences" sort of way. She was genuine, though, so it was easy to follow her lead and play along. What in the hell are you supposed to talk about when you're getting your hair cut, anyhow? It's always so weird to me to try to have a conversation with a person I've never met before - with whom I've entrusted a major feature and all I can think is "please don't mess up". I'm so freakin' bad at small talk. I'm more of a "Let's get this done!" sort of gal. I guess the problem could be solved by going to a stylist more than once, and then more than once every two years - get to see the person semi-regularly, develop a relationship - that probably makes it easier to come up with topics of discussion that aren't too personal or too deep or too political. I don't know - I imagine other women have solved this problem long before the age of 30; perhaps I'm a slow developer. I don't think I'll ever be an every-six-weeks sort of gal, but I can aim for every three months, maybe. I'll try it this year and see how it goes.
Toward the end of my haircut, the power went out. Sarah had a swath of hair pulled away from the back of my head, held between the fingers of one hand while the other moved in with the open shears. When the lights suddenly blinked out, we all froze - the human version of that old "deer in headlights" adage - and I could only think one thing, so I said it out loud:
"Don't. Cut."
The salon burst out in laughter. Ever notice how your voice is louder when everything else is silent? No? Just me huh? Awesome.
The electricity was back within minutes - a blown breaker or something - and Sarah finished my cut and style without incident or bloodshed. I liked her a lot, and when I go back, I'll book my appointment with her.
Then it was time for the facial! YAY! I want my world to smell like the facial room. Eucalyptus and spearmint and lemon and awesome. And I need a hot towel machine. And a heated bed. And someone to rub my shoulders and temples and throat like that.
Okay, but as awesome as the facial was, my crazy, of course, had to crop up. During the exfoliation, she used these little brushes - I didn't see them, but I figured out what they were after a few seconds - to rub the cream off my face, and I rationally understand that the point was to remove dead skin cells. But it felt like she was trying to brush the little hairs on my face. And I imagined myself a dog or cat, lying there on the table, being brushed. And I had to fight SO HARD not to laugh out loud. And then I pictured this slim young woman looking at my fat 30 year old face and two chins and fat arms, brushing my face hair, and it was easy not to LOL. And then I started thinking about all the dozens (hundreds?) of other women who'd had their face hairs brushed with the face brushes, and suddenly I KNEW I was covered in dead face skin cells from all those other women and suddenly I was totally skeeved out and itching and had to take a deep breath and talk myself out of jumping off the table and demanding a warm towel to wipe all the other people off of me. But then the brushing was over and (Rationally) I understand that she saw a little spot of cream left on my cheek and was removing it with her dry finger - in my head, though, she had licked her finger and was trying to smooth a face hair cowlick. And then it was hard not to laugh again. This shit was supposed to be relaxing, dammit!!!
Then came the eye and lip cream (which I imagined to be blood red - in my head she was giving me a clown face) and the painting-on of the mask. I like things to be put on my face with a paintbrush. But then I saw myself with blue or purple or tie-dye colors to accent the blood red lips and eyes, and I waited for the click of the camera that would lead to "Look what I did at work today" pictures on Facebook. And then there was steam and an awesome sigh-inducing shoulder massage that made me not care, and then it was time for another hot towel. Too soon, my face was being wiped off and she was unpinning the towel from around my hair.
"I need more hot towel time, please" I croaked. "And an hour or so to nap."
They think I'm a real riot up in there.
Abbey did my facial and she was wonderful and professional and made me feel relaxed and at ease when I wasn't being crazy. It's not her fault I'm crazy.
I met Momma back in the lobby, paid our bill, and we walked over to the Ice Cream and Pie Kitchen. We decided against dinner - Momma was tired - but she bought us each a cupcake and then we hugged and kissed and parted ways.
Next time, we're getting massages. Momma's treat.
Consider this my mental note to not wait two years before I treat myself again. I waste ridiculous amounts of money eating out and buying things I don't need - I need to make myself, my physical self, a priority more often. There's no drug that could make me feel as relaxed and at peace as I feel when I raise up from that table after a relatively short stretch of pampering. And the ego boost that comes from a new haircut? We all need to feel pretty every now and then.
So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to try, at least three times this year, to get my hair cut, my face pampered, and my back massaged. I deserve it. I'm worth it.
And I'll forget about all of this in 6 weeks. :)
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Weekend Update
Can you read it?
I ♥ Jimi
On our way to Rick's Friday night, we had this great view of the moon just coming up behind some steam stacks over by UofL, so we pulled into the parking lot of this corner/liquor store to try to get a picture or two. The moon pictures didn't come out so good (I still haven't read my manual or used the CD that came with the camera, so I still don't know how to use it too good), but I thought this panoramic shot of my high-school-flashback snow art was pretty cool.
(The least crappy two of the 50 or so moon photos we attempted.) 
Yesterday, I picked up Megan and we met Melinda and Gary at Iceland for part of Gary's birthday weekend celebration. Ice skating is so much fun, but OMG it's so hard. My toes were numb almost immediately upon lacing my skates, but I figured it was from the cold and dealt with it. It's not like I expected a trip to the ice rink for the first time in ?a half dozen? years to be painless. I did pretty good on the ice - I only fell once, and that was when I was showing off my ~sometimes/sorta~ ability to spin around fast in a really sloppy version of that finishing move you see the professionals make look easy, so I deserved the bruised knees. We skated for an hour or so, and I counted that as my exercise for Friday and Saturday, as I did nothing remotely physical on Friday. Here's a picture of my butt:
I thought the numbness in my toes was from the cold, but within moments of unlacing and removing my skates, pins and needles were coursing through the outsides of my feet - the parts that had been numb, not from cold, it appears, but because the skate was too effing tight. My socks were too thick. Or the skate needed to be a bigger size. Or my feet have gotten super wide, when they've always been super narrow. Or I have developed diabetes. (I shouldn't joke about that. I'm pretty sure it's in the cards for my future.)
This morning we woke up early and went into cleaning mode, Jimi in the kitchen, me in the TV room - the bedroom was mostly done once the laundry was carted to the basement. (My laundry room is still picked up and stuff - promise. We're doing a good job keeping up with the washing, and things are getting folded/hung up as soon as it comes from the dryer. Simple things, I know, but it's an improvement in our world. :) ) After the largest portion of our chores had been knocked out, we went out for lunch and to pick up necessities at the Sam's Club. I got some fancy mixed nuts with no peanuts. That makes me happy.
I've kept up with the exercising for a few days now, and it's not much, but it's better than normal, and that's a good start. It feels good. It's easy to breathe. I like the way my skin looks after I've been sweating and exerting myself. I watched my feet as I ran on the treadmill tonight, and I couldn't help getting a good look at my belly. It is what kept me going even after I started to get tired and knew I could stop five minutes short, or when I started thinking I could skip that part at the end where I took Finn outside for a short jaunt. I'm going to lose this shit, and the next time I see my stomach sticking out like that better be because there's a baby in there. I'm just sayin'. Oh, and I'm not wearing that bright pink fleece to exercise in anymore until i lose the fat - it works like an effing highlighter on my pudge.
With that said, we're having fried chicken for dinner tonight. I've obviously not put myself on a diet, and for now, I won't. I'm trying to make healthier choices more often, and to add more fruits and vegetables to my diet (like the edamame that will accompany my keel tonight), but I haven't gotten to the point where I'm willing to count calories or deny myself things too terribly often. I understand that the Natalie in this paragraph sounds different from the Natalie in that last one, but hey, welcome to my world! At least I exercised.
I'm talking about food because I'm starving. Jimi has to go get the dinner, though, and he's watching Afro Samurai. I'm not sure of the full gist of the story, but this dude has a sword and kills a whole bunch of people and smokes dope and it's got foul language and lots of gore - basically, it's not my sort of thing at all, and I pretty much hate it. But, household rule is whoever doesn't have the computer controls the remote, so we watch a lot of crazy shit that I'd never know exists if it weren't for that dear sweet man of mine.
That's all I've got. Have a great night, and I hope your week doesn't suck.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
I fail at resolving things.
We're, what?, 21 hours? into the New Year and I've already messed up several of my resolutions: I've not started the budget working, I smoked half a cigarette I bummed from Momma on the way home from the jail, and I haven't done a bit of exercise today. No one is more surprised by this development than I.
On the bright side, I did put $200 into savings on Thursday when my check hit the bank, and two days later, I've not moved that money back into checking, so that's gotta count for something, right? (Of course, I've not gone anywhere where I'd be tempted to spend money, but still...)
Our New Year was exactly as I'd predicted, but with the added bonus of a half hour spent dancing together in the living room. I'm a horrible dancer, but as with the painting, I've decided I'll never get better by NOT doing it, so what the hell? If I can't dance comfortably in my living room, I'll never be able to dance anywhere. And Jimi's a great dancer; maybe he can teach me a thing or two eventually.
So we danced. And I got my kiss at midnight. And then we went outside to share the last cigarette EVER, and the cold rain had arrived just on time and we were glad we had stayed home and didn't have to drive anywhere. And then we had hot monkey sex. (TMI? Sorry.)
Today we'd planned to go visit Brother, and Momma called around noon to ask if she could go along too, so the three of us made the drive down, the visit, the drive home. It was a good day. It was good to spend the time with Momma, and it was good to see Brother face to face, to hug his skinny little waist, to touch his long bony cold fingers and know that he was in front of me, real and okay, not terrified or miserable or hurting. It was good to have a conversation with him where I not only recognized the words he spoke as being English (which was hard to do a time or two in the last four years or so), but also understood those words fit together to form coherent sentences and phrases and paragraphs of thought (which didn't happen much in the last four years or so). Off the shit, my brother is funny and clever and a great story-teller and sincere. He's a different person.
We're all praying that this version will stick around.
At some point tonight, I'm going to feel guilty about the no exercise thing and I'm going to either go for a walk or I'll spend thirty minutes on the balance ball trying to sit-up and crunch my way to a less-fat belly. I won't see results immediately and I'll be pissed off and assume I'm not doing it right. I'm guessing I'll end up on the ball because it's freakin' cold outside - down to 25, I think is what the bank clock said when we passed it on the way home an hour ago. 25! from 60-something yesterday! It's so much easier to make working-out resolutions when the weather is mild.
Oh, and the smoking thing. Eff My Life, I suck at having will-power. I rationalized that I deserved it because it was a long road trip and going to see Brother was stressful and it would make me feel better. And then the angel on my other shoulder was all "Shut the eff up dumbass, you know you're just making excuses and that you'll never actually quit if you keep rationalizing that cheating doesn't count, that you're still somehow 'quitting' if you're puffing along on 'just one'." I hate it when that bitch talks sense. So I smoked half a cigarette of Momma's. It didn't even taste good. There was no pleasant head-rush. And then I felt like an asshole.
And I'm scared of the budget thing. Let's just call a spade a spade; I'm scared to see the mess I've made and I don't want to face it and if I just bury my head in the sand and pretend it's no big deal eventually it won't be, right? Right. Jimi's going to the Gun Show tomorrow (with Steve!), so I guess I'll spend my alone-time tackling this long-standing member of the "things that scare me" list. Conquering fears and all that jazz. Yeah. Something like that. Growing up and facing the music, more like it.
But personal growth is supposed to hurt, isn't it? Isn't that how it goes - you do a bunch of shit that's miserable and unpleasant, be it working out or sticking to a budget or suffering through nicotine withdrawals, for what seems like an eternity at first, until it doesn't suck quite so much and then one day you look around and you're thinner and working out isn't so miserable and you've got all kinds of money in savings and you've raised your credit score a hundred points and you can breathe and taste and smell better. Years of not doing the right things pile on top of each other and eventually the world is going to demand a reality check and some punitive damages. I'm 30; losing weight, stopping smoking, getting my finances in order like a big girl - these are things that will only be harder to accomplish and cause more damage the longer I ignore them. No time like the present.
On that note, if I exercise for an hour tomorrow, can I skip it tonight?
On the bright side, I did put $200 into savings on Thursday when my check hit the bank, and two days later, I've not moved that money back into checking, so that's gotta count for something, right? (Of course, I've not gone anywhere where I'd be tempted to spend money, but still...)
Our New Year was exactly as I'd predicted, but with the added bonus of a half hour spent dancing together in the living room. I'm a horrible dancer, but as with the painting, I've decided I'll never get better by NOT doing it, so what the hell? If I can't dance comfortably in my living room, I'll never be able to dance anywhere. And Jimi's a great dancer; maybe he can teach me a thing or two eventually.
So we danced. And I got my kiss at midnight. And then we went outside to share the last cigarette EVER, and the cold rain had arrived just on time and we were glad we had stayed home and didn't have to drive anywhere. And then we had hot monkey sex. (TMI? Sorry.)
Today we'd planned to go visit Brother, and Momma called around noon to ask if she could go along too, so the three of us made the drive down, the visit, the drive home. It was a good day. It was good to spend the time with Momma, and it was good to see Brother face to face, to hug his skinny little waist, to touch his long bony cold fingers and know that he was in front of me, real and okay, not terrified or miserable or hurting. It was good to have a conversation with him where I not only recognized the words he spoke as being English (which was hard to do a time or two in the last four years or so), but also understood those words fit together to form coherent sentences and phrases and paragraphs of thought (which didn't happen much in the last four years or so). Off the shit, my brother is funny and clever and a great story-teller and sincere. He's a different person.
We're all praying that this version will stick around.
At some point tonight, I'm going to feel guilty about the no exercise thing and I'm going to either go for a walk or I'll spend thirty minutes on the balance ball trying to sit-up and crunch my way to a less-fat belly. I won't see results immediately and I'll be pissed off and assume I'm not doing it right. I'm guessing I'll end up on the ball because it's freakin' cold outside - down to 25, I think is what the bank clock said when we passed it on the way home an hour ago. 25! from 60-something yesterday! It's so much easier to make working-out resolutions when the weather is mild.
Oh, and the smoking thing. Eff My Life, I suck at having will-power. I rationalized that I deserved it because it was a long road trip and going to see Brother was stressful and it would make me feel better. And then the angel on my other shoulder was all "Shut the eff up dumbass, you know you're just making excuses and that you'll never actually quit if you keep rationalizing that cheating doesn't count, that you're still somehow 'quitting' if you're puffing along on 'just one'." I hate it when that bitch talks sense. So I smoked half a cigarette of Momma's. It didn't even taste good. There was no pleasant head-rush. And then I felt like an asshole.
And I'm scared of the budget thing. Let's just call a spade a spade; I'm scared to see the mess I've made and I don't want to face it and if I just bury my head in the sand and pretend it's no big deal eventually it won't be, right? Right. Jimi's going to the Gun Show tomorrow (with Steve!), so I guess I'll spend my alone-time tackling this long-standing member of the "things that scare me" list. Conquering fears and all that jazz. Yeah. Something like that. Growing up and facing the music, more like it.
But personal growth is supposed to hurt, isn't it? Isn't that how it goes - you do a bunch of shit that's miserable and unpleasant, be it working out or sticking to a budget or suffering through nicotine withdrawals, for what seems like an eternity at first, until it doesn't suck quite so much and then one day you look around and you're thinner and working out isn't so miserable and you've got all kinds of money in savings and you've raised your credit score a hundred points and you can breathe and taste and smell better. Years of not doing the right things pile on top of each other and eventually the world is going to demand a reality check and some punitive damages. I'm 30; losing weight, stopping smoking, getting my finances in order like a big girl - these are things that will only be harder to accomplish and cause more damage the longer I ignore them. No time like the present.
On that note, if I exercise for an hour tomorrow, can I skip it tonight?
Friday, December 31, 2010
One last word before the year is finished...
We didn't go to the gun show. (SCORE! - oops, did I say that out loud?) Truthfully, though, I've only managed to postpone the inevitable - we're going on Sunday.
It was beautiful today - the temps got up over 60! We decided to take advantage of the unseasonal warmth and took Finn to the dog park to run and play. (I took pictures, but I'm still not used to my camera and so none of them are worth posting.)
See?
When we got home, Jimi went down for a nap and Finn and I took a nice long walk down Southern Parkway. (Finn had gotten his exercise, but I'd not yet gotten mine.) It sprinkled briefly a few times, but nothing substantial; the weather mostly just stayed awesome. It still is.
Our party plans for the evening have been scrapped, as well. (Act surprised, I dare ya!) There was already one strike against the idea: the simple fact of driving around on New Year's Night. People are dumb and do dumb things a lot, but on nights like tonight, there's an extra dose of dumb in the air and on the roads. Next, looks like Jimi's starting to get a cold, so there's strike two. The beautiful weather is supposed to turn to shit right about the time we'd be leaving for home, so there's strike three. And so I picked up some mixers and we'll have our own little celebration* at home. Jimi apologized for letting me down. I told him to stop being stupid; when given a choice, I'll always go for the option that allows me to not wear a bra. Besides, I'll still get my kiss at midnight.
Tomorrow we're ringing in the new year with a visit to my brother. I missed out last week, lame as it may be, because I was hung over and honestly didn't feel that I could make the 8 hour trip. (3 hours down, 2 hours to visit, 3 hours home - too many hours) I miss my brother. It will be good to see him again, though I wish the circumstances were better. His head seems to be in a good place, though, so perhaps things WILL work out for the best this time around.
I painted yesterday. I'm going to do it again, maybe even tonight. My problem is I don't know what in the hell to paint. I'm not good enough to paint actual "things" - my pictures need to be abstract, or at the very least, an intentionally vague representation of the thing from which they're modeled. Since I can't figure out what to paint, I decided I'll just paint anything. Whatever shows up when I put the brush to the paper. I'll figure out where I'm going with it eventually. Right? If not, I've already paid for all the supplies, years ago, so it's not like failure would actually cost me anything.
I think I mentioned I want things to put on the walls. I've gotten on a kick, and the end result is going to mean me taking pictures of lots of things, having large prints made, then sticky-ing them up on the walls all over the house. Who needs frames? No frames means I can change them out more frequently. (I'm sorry I'm so tacky. I can't help it; it's part of the fabric of my being.)
I realized I left off my list of 2011 resolutions the biggest resolution of them all: I'm really, actually, finally going to stop smoking, starting midnight tonight. I've got 4 cigarettes left in my last pack, and they'll be gone by midnight, even if it means breaking them in half at the stroke of midnight. I'm done with this monkey on my back; I'm done with the coughing, I'm done with spending the money, I'm done with stinking, I'm done with upping my risks of heart disease, heart attack, stroke, cancer, emphysema, infertility. I never meant to start smoking in the first place, and for the first - oh, I don't know, 5 years? - I convinced myself I could quit at any time. Then I started trying to quit and learned otherwise. It's been 12 years. That's too many years, and I don't want to spend another day as a smoker.
So there ya go. I'll tattle on myself if I cheat, and I expect (please?!) that you will all give me holy hell each and every time I slip up. I need to do this for me, but a little encouragement never hurt, you know?
I'm going to go fix another drink and smoke one of those last 4 smokes and watch this Trailer Park Boys movie Jimi's got on. (Have you seen this shit? It's ridiculous.)
*celebration = Sitting in front of the TV, watching Twilight Zone or something on Netflix, me on the computer, him curled up with the dog, the cat in front of the space heater. But our cups will be full. And love and happy will be in the air. And then we'll set off bottle rockets at midnight and hopefully not set our neighbors' houses on fire.
It was beautiful today - the temps got up over 60! We decided to take advantage of the unseasonal warmth and took Finn to the dog park to run and play. (I took pictures, but I'm still not used to my camera and so none of them are worth posting.)
See? When we got home, Jimi went down for a nap and Finn and I took a nice long walk down Southern Parkway. (Finn had gotten his exercise, but I'd not yet gotten mine.) It sprinkled briefly a few times, but nothing substantial; the weather mostly just stayed awesome. It still is.
Our party plans for the evening have been scrapped, as well. (Act surprised, I dare ya!) There was already one strike against the idea: the simple fact of driving around on New Year's Night. People are dumb and do dumb things a lot, but on nights like tonight, there's an extra dose of dumb in the air and on the roads. Next, looks like Jimi's starting to get a cold, so there's strike two. The beautiful weather is supposed to turn to shit right about the time we'd be leaving for home, so there's strike three. And so I picked up some mixers and we'll have our own little celebration* at home. Jimi apologized for letting me down. I told him to stop being stupid; when given a choice, I'll always go for the option that allows me to not wear a bra. Besides, I'll still get my kiss at midnight.
Tomorrow we're ringing in the new year with a visit to my brother. I missed out last week, lame as it may be, because I was hung over and honestly didn't feel that I could make the 8 hour trip. (3 hours down, 2 hours to visit, 3 hours home - too many hours) I miss my brother. It will be good to see him again, though I wish the circumstances were better. His head seems to be in a good place, though, so perhaps things WILL work out for the best this time around.
I'll forever be the optimist.
I painted yesterday. I'm going to do it again, maybe even tonight. My problem is I don't know what in the hell to paint. I'm not good enough to paint actual "things" - my pictures need to be abstract, or at the very least, an intentionally vague representation of the thing from which they're modeled. Since I can't figure out what to paint, I decided I'll just paint anything. Whatever shows up when I put the brush to the paper. I'll figure out where I'm going with it eventually. Right? If not, I've already paid for all the supplies, years ago, so it's not like failure would actually cost me anything.
I think I mentioned I want things to put on the walls. I've gotten on a kick, and the end result is going to mean me taking pictures of lots of things, having large prints made, then sticky-ing them up on the walls all over the house. Who needs frames? No frames means I can change them out more frequently. (I'm sorry I'm so tacky. I can't help it; it's part of the fabric of my being.)
I realized I left off my list of 2011 resolutions the biggest resolution of them all: I'm really, actually, finally going to stop smoking, starting midnight tonight. I've got 4 cigarettes left in my last pack, and they'll be gone by midnight, even if it means breaking them in half at the stroke of midnight. I'm done with this monkey on my back; I'm done with the coughing, I'm done with spending the money, I'm done with stinking, I'm done with upping my risks of heart disease, heart attack, stroke, cancer, emphysema, infertility. I never meant to start smoking in the first place, and for the first - oh, I don't know, 5 years? - I convinced myself I could quit at any time. Then I started trying to quit and learned otherwise. It's been 12 years. That's too many years, and I don't want to spend another day as a smoker.
So there ya go. I'll tattle on myself if I cheat, and I expect (please?!) that you will all give me holy hell each and every time I slip up. I need to do this for me, but a little encouragement never hurt, you know?
I'm going to go fix another drink and smoke one of those last 4 smokes and watch this Trailer Park Boys movie Jimi's got on. (Have you seen this shit? It's ridiculous.)
Happy New Year, Friends!
I hope 2011 is kind to you and yours,
and brings you happiness and fulfillment in all things.
*celebration = Sitting in front of the TV, watching Twilight Zone or something on Netflix, me on the computer, him curled up with the dog, the cat in front of the space heater. But our cups will be full. And love and happy will be in the air. And then we'll set off bottle rockets at midnight and hopefully not set our neighbors' houses on fire.
You say you want a revolution?
Well, you know, all you're going to get is a few resolutions.
Next year, at this time, these are the things I hope to have accomplished:
1. Set and live by a budget. (GASP! The Horror!) Seriously, though, I need to get a handle on my finances and figure out exactly what's coming in and better monitor what's going out. Maggie sent me her spreadsheets forever ago and I've not done a thing with them yet. That changes this weekend.
2. Build up savings. Eventually, I'd like to have at least 6 months worth of expenses saved, but that's not realistically going to happen in 2011, unless I encounter some awesome unforeseen windfall. I'll settle for adding at least $50 a week to my coffers for now. (And that does NOT mean putting in $50 on Friday and taking out $100 on Monday, Little Miss Spendthrift!)
3. Get a handle on that laundry mess. Grown people don't pile their clean clothes on a table. Grown people fold their clothes and hang their clothes and match up their socks and put their clothes away so they can easily find their clothes so they don't have a fucking meltdown each morning as they're trying to figure out what they're going to wear for work. I need to handle that.
4. Speaking of household chores - keeping your rooms clean isn't too much to ask, really, is it? RoomS, as in, all of them. There's no reason I can't keep the house neat and tidy. Again, grown people....
5. I want to have a baby. If I could pregnant right away and get the baby here by the end of 2011, that'd be great, but if not, could I at least by this time next year be pregnant with a baby I'll carry to term? I won't mind if it takes a while for us to get one that's going to stick, just so long as we don't have to go through that horrible loss again; just so long as we can have one successful pregnancy. Just one. That's all I'm asking here.
6. I want to be a better manager. I want to be a better employee. I want to make myself more valuable to my company, and in return, I want to make more money.
7. I'm going to lose 50 pounds in 2011. Unless I get pregnant, in which case, God help me, I'll probably gain 50 pounds, so my 2012 goal will be to lose 100 pounds. How about I forget the number game and just vow to eat better and get at least 30 minutes of exercise every day? That's gotta count for something.
8. I will take a picture every day. What I'll do with those pictures remains to be seen, but I want them.
9. More crafts. I need things to hang on the walls. And to occupy my time.
10. Volunteering - I'm going to do it. I don't know what or where, but I have so much and I need to give back and I don't have any money so my time will have to do.
That's a lot of goals, right? Not really, I guess. I wonder how many I'll have forgotten about this time next week?
Next year, at this time, these are the things I hope to have accomplished:
1. Set and live by a budget. (GASP! The Horror!) Seriously, though, I need to get a handle on my finances and figure out exactly what's coming in and better monitor what's going out. Maggie sent me her spreadsheets forever ago and I've not done a thing with them yet. That changes this weekend.
2. Build up savings. Eventually, I'd like to have at least 6 months worth of expenses saved, but that's not realistically going to happen in 2011, unless I encounter some awesome unforeseen windfall. I'll settle for adding at least $50 a week to my coffers for now. (And that does NOT mean putting in $50 on Friday and taking out $100 on Monday, Little Miss Spendthrift!)
3. Get a handle on that laundry mess. Grown people don't pile their clean clothes on a table. Grown people fold their clothes and hang their clothes and match up their socks and put their clothes away so they can easily find their clothes so they don't have a fucking meltdown each morning as they're trying to figure out what they're going to wear for work. I need to handle that.
4. Speaking of household chores - keeping your rooms clean isn't too much to ask, really, is it? RoomS, as in, all of them. There's no reason I can't keep the house neat and tidy. Again, grown people....
5. I want to have a baby. If I could pregnant right away and get the baby here by the end of 2011, that'd be great, but if not, could I at least by this time next year be pregnant with a baby I'll carry to term? I won't mind if it takes a while for us to get one that's going to stick, just so long as we don't have to go through that horrible loss again; just so long as we can have one successful pregnancy. Just one. That's all I'm asking here.
6. I want to be a better manager. I want to be a better employee. I want to make myself more valuable to my company, and in return, I want to make more money.
7. I'm going to lose 50 pounds in 2011. Unless I get pregnant, in which case, God help me, I'll probably gain 50 pounds, so my 2012 goal will be to lose 100 pounds. How about I forget the number game and just vow to eat better and get at least 30 minutes of exercise every day? That's gotta count for something.
8. I will take a picture every day. What I'll do with those pictures remains to be seen, but I want them.
9. More crafts. I need things to hang on the walls. And to occupy my time.
10. Volunteering - I'm going to do it. I don't know what or where, but I have so much and I need to give back and I don't have any money so my time will have to do.
That's a lot of goals, right? Not really, I guess. I wonder how many I'll have forgotten about this time next week?
Friday, September 17, 2010
What I meant to say was...
I meant to say that the OB nurse called me back yesterday and told me that my hcg levels on Monday were 164 and on Wednesday they were 41. Miscarriage officially confirmed. BUT! Oh yes, there is a but. But, I have to go back for a THIRD blood draw one day next week so they can confirm that my levels are negative (zero? it seems like they should be zero. how do you get negative hormone levels?), and oh, by the way, don't have intercourse until after we've confirmed those negative(?) levels.
WTF?
Come on, lady, I'm finally done bleeding out what I thought was going to be our first, our only, child, and you're telling me now I can't even get some of that good ol' fashioned comfort for another week? After what has been the most emotionally traumatic, the most horrifically gross, the saddest experience of my life, I can't fuck out some frustrations? Damn, you're mean. And your stupid lab tech will probably have to stick me twice to find the vein. Again. This shit sucks. You could at least offer me a 2 week script for some xanax or something.
Shit.
But seriously, despite that little rant, I'm good. I'm finding the silver lining. One is that I was able to finish off that bag I bought right before I found out I was pregnant. (HA! Lame stoner humor is funny.)
On a more serious note, Jimi reconnecting with his sister is an awesome repercussion of this pregnancy. I discovered that quitting smoking and drinking is pretty freakin' easy when you have to. And to get ready to try to do this baby-making thing again, I'm going to have to quit my substance-abusing ways. That can only be a good thing. Jimi's motivated to get his ass moving, and he motivates me like nothing else can, so that will be a brilliant plus for us both, and for our future. We have time now to focus on paying off our debts and getting more money stashed away, and we have a focus to keep us on target and help us reach our goals. This feels like it's woken us up to a new level of what we want from our lives, from our life together. And as ridiculous as it may sound, it does give me some comfort to know that if our timing is right, we can totally get pregnant. I'd been unsure. It happened once, though...we can do it again. And we'll be ready next time. We'll do it right. And we'll live happily ever after.
I was only consciously pregnant for seven days. The sadness is more of a whisper already. Jimi's love, my family's love, the love from my friends, the understanding from my work family...it reminds me of how much good there is in my life. I have so much already, anything more is just icing on the cake. I only like a little icing on my cake. Just a little. Maybe a rose or two.
So there ya go. I'm pretty sure this is going to be my last miscarriage post. I'm totally returning to my regularly scheduled boring blogging. Of course, this is probably pretty boring to most anyone who reads it, so I guess I'm still true to my title. Either way, I never made any promises.
WTF?
Come on, lady, I'm finally done bleeding out what I thought was going to be our first, our only, child, and you're telling me now I can't even get some of that good ol' fashioned comfort for another week? After what has been the most emotionally traumatic, the most horrifically gross, the saddest experience of my life, I can't fuck out some frustrations? Damn, you're mean. And your stupid lab tech will probably have to stick me twice to find the vein. Again. This shit sucks. You could at least offer me a 2 week script for some xanax or something.
Shit.
But seriously, despite that little rant, I'm good. I'm finding the silver lining. One is that I was able to finish off that bag I bought right before I found out I was pregnant. (HA! Lame stoner humor is funny.)
On a more serious note, Jimi reconnecting with his sister is an awesome repercussion of this pregnancy. I discovered that quitting smoking and drinking is pretty freakin' easy when you have to. And to get ready to try to do this baby-making thing again, I'm going to have to quit my substance-abusing ways. That can only be a good thing. Jimi's motivated to get his ass moving, and he motivates me like nothing else can, so that will be a brilliant plus for us both, and for our future. We have time now to focus on paying off our debts and getting more money stashed away, and we have a focus to keep us on target and help us reach our goals. This feels like it's woken us up to a new level of what we want from our lives, from our life together. And as ridiculous as it may sound, it does give me some comfort to know that if our timing is right, we can totally get pregnant. I'd been unsure. It happened once, though...we can do it again. And we'll be ready next time. We'll do it right. And we'll live happily ever after.
I was only consciously pregnant for seven days. The sadness is more of a whisper already. Jimi's love, my family's love, the love from my friends, the understanding from my work family...it reminds me of how much good there is in my life. I have so much already, anything more is just icing on the cake. I only like a little icing on my cake. Just a little. Maybe a rose or two.
So there ya go. I'm pretty sure this is going to be my last miscarriage post. I'm totally returning to my regularly scheduled boring blogging. Of course, this is probably pretty boring to most anyone who reads it, so I guess I'm still true to my title. Either way, I never made any promises.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
What a difference a day makes.
A few hours, even.
I'm hanging out at the "laundromat". "Laundromat" is in quotations because i'm in my basement. The washer is going full speed in what would be (if there were walls down here instead of just support beams) the next room over. Jimi and I are lounging in the "living room" section of this level - the room next to the laundry room, where he's established a guitar practice area. He's got his big amp, his guitars, a little iron/wood table he got from a co-worker for $15, and the two folding chairs that started their lives as my $30 Meijer specials that were the seating spaces in my "den" when I was living in Kimmie's upstairs. In their lifetimes, they've also been the sweet outdoor chairs that went perfectly around the cut drum that was the fire pit in the backyard we adored over on Camp Street. Now they're the downstairs chairs, and they're perfect. I'm lounged back, with my feet propped on the table, my fruity vodka drink next to me (and it's totally okay if I spill it...the floor is concrete!).
On this side of two drinks, the world is much rosier.
And I talked to my Momma. For almost an hour, but then my phone died. Again. I ordered a new battery today, but it'll probably be weeks before I get it. Oh well. Maybe i'll miss a few 2 a.m. phone calls.
I'm not going to quit my job. Obviously. I can't. I can't make this much money somewhere else, not in this economy, not without a college degree. I won't have these benefits. I won't have this much vacation time (not that I get to take any amount of vacation time at any one time - two days, max, and that should be around a weekend, if possible, so the person who has to cover for me has the least amount of work possible to contend with.) I won't have these awesome co-workers, or this awesome dress code, or that fantastic office dog, or the ability to take my puppy to work when the boss's dog isn't there.
i can't quit my job.
That fact makes my stomach hurt.
But I have a job. A damn good one. With great benefits and amazing perks.
Maybe the problem isn't the job. Maybe it's my attitude.
Maybe I should have to work 60 hours a week. Maybe if I do, I'll not have to do it forever. Maybe if I work in the evenings or go in earlier or maybe put in a few hours on a Saturday (gasp!), maybe my job won't suck quite so much. Maybe I'll get some shit caught up and maybe it'll make things easier in the long run.
And maybe if I stop trying to be everyone's fucking BFF, I'll get some good managing in, too. Maybe people will start to respect me when they understand i'm not fucking around anymore and this is what i need and this is what i'll make happen for you in return. Maybe if I put in a few extra hours here and there, and didn't bitch about it the entire time, maybe I could arrange to finally have that stupid effing driver's meeting i've been talking about for an effing year, and maybe then, at that time, i'd be able to look these guys in the face and say THIS IS WHAT I NEED FROM YOU, DO IT OR GO AWAY and maybe my voice would shake a little, but i know i could do it, i could say those words and stand firm. i could be a leader.
And maybe then they'd turn in their paperwork on time and not bitch when i tell them they have to live load this next pickup and maybe i'd finally feel like i'm doing my fucking job.
I'm sorry if you're offended by the "F" word. Sometimes it just feels better to use it. Sometimes it's just the only word that can get my point across. Yes, I really am just that passionate about certain ridiculous things.
So yeah. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to work tomorrow, at 7, with a new attitude. The attitude that a 10 hour day is what it takes to get it done. The attitude that I can do my job, and do it well, if only i make the time. Even if that means cutting into my personal time now. It will mean more personal time in the future, and that future will be sooner rather than later if I choose this new path over my current "bitch about it and hope something changes" strategy, which is failing me miserably and making me crazy with hate for my job.
And again, having a job, right now, today, is no small thing. It's kind of a big deal. And my salary? Did I mention I don't have a college degree?
Anyone who's ever heard me bitch about my job should probably have smacked my face.
So that's what I'm going to do.
Thanks, Vodka!
(Oh, and Jimi, of course, for making this awesome laundromat in the basement. If we get a Police Trainer video game and bring down the TV, it'll be the best laundromat ever.)
I'm hanging out at the "laundromat". "Laundromat" is in quotations because i'm in my basement. The washer is going full speed in what would be (if there were walls down here instead of just support beams) the next room over. Jimi and I are lounging in the "living room" section of this level - the room next to the laundry room, where he's established a guitar practice area. He's got his big amp, his guitars, a little iron/wood table he got from a co-worker for $15, and the two folding chairs that started their lives as my $30 Meijer specials that were the seating spaces in my "den" when I was living in Kimmie's upstairs. In their lifetimes, they've also been the sweet outdoor chairs that went perfectly around the cut drum that was the fire pit in the backyard we adored over on Camp Street. Now they're the downstairs chairs, and they're perfect. I'm lounged back, with my feet propped on the table, my fruity vodka drink next to me (and it's totally okay if I spill it...the floor is concrete!).
On this side of two drinks, the world is much rosier.
And I talked to my Momma. For almost an hour, but then my phone died. Again. I ordered a new battery today, but it'll probably be weeks before I get it. Oh well. Maybe i'll miss a few 2 a.m. phone calls.
I'm not going to quit my job. Obviously. I can't. I can't make this much money somewhere else, not in this economy, not without a college degree. I won't have these benefits. I won't have this much vacation time (not that I get to take any amount of vacation time at any one time - two days, max, and that should be around a weekend, if possible, so the person who has to cover for me has the least amount of work possible to contend with.) I won't have these awesome co-workers, or this awesome dress code, or that fantastic office dog, or the ability to take my puppy to work when the boss's dog isn't there.
i can't quit my job.
That fact makes my stomach hurt.
But I have a job. A damn good one. With great benefits and amazing perks.
Maybe the problem isn't the job. Maybe it's my attitude.
Maybe I should have to work 60 hours a week. Maybe if I do, I'll not have to do it forever. Maybe if I work in the evenings or go in earlier or maybe put in a few hours on a Saturday (gasp!), maybe my job won't suck quite so much. Maybe I'll get some shit caught up and maybe it'll make things easier in the long run.
And maybe if I stop trying to be everyone's fucking BFF, I'll get some good managing in, too. Maybe people will start to respect me when they understand i'm not fucking around anymore and this is what i need and this is what i'll make happen for you in return. Maybe if I put in a few extra hours here and there, and didn't bitch about it the entire time, maybe I could arrange to finally have that stupid effing driver's meeting i've been talking about for an effing year, and maybe then, at that time, i'd be able to look these guys in the face and say THIS IS WHAT I NEED FROM YOU, DO IT OR GO AWAY and maybe my voice would shake a little, but i know i could do it, i could say those words and stand firm. i could be a leader.
And maybe then they'd turn in their paperwork on time and not bitch when i tell them they have to live load this next pickup and maybe i'd finally feel like i'm doing my fucking job.
I'm sorry if you're offended by the "F" word. Sometimes it just feels better to use it. Sometimes it's just the only word that can get my point across. Yes, I really am just that passionate about certain ridiculous things.
So yeah. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to work tomorrow, at 7, with a new attitude. The attitude that a 10 hour day is what it takes to get it done. The attitude that I can do my job, and do it well, if only i make the time. Even if that means cutting into my personal time now. It will mean more personal time in the future, and that future will be sooner rather than later if I choose this new path over my current "bitch about it and hope something changes" strategy, which is failing me miserably and making me crazy with hate for my job.
And again, having a job, right now, today, is no small thing. It's kind of a big deal. And my salary? Did I mention I don't have a college degree?
Anyone who's ever heard me bitch about my job should probably have smacked my face.
So that's what I'm going to do.
Thanks, Vodka!
(Oh, and Jimi, of course, for making this awesome laundromat in the basement. If we get a Police Trainer video game and bring down the TV, it'll be the best laundromat ever.)
Monday, August 23, 2010
Hi ho, hi ho, it's back to Ohio I go.
I have to attend a meeting in Columbus on Wednesday. Thinking about it makes my stomach hurt. I'm fearing the worst. (Not getting fired or anything crazy like that - I'm afraid they're going to be mean to me or yell at me or confuse me and make me look dumb and feel dumb.) But I've got two cute outfits to choose from for that morning, so maybe if I look good I'll feel good. Confidence is key, right?
I'm pretty sure this is the first time Jimi and I will be spending the night apart since we moved in together in July '07. That's jacked up, isn't it? Co-dependent much? (Me, not him. Though he's not too far behind me.) I'm not happy about this aspect of the trip, either.
I need to remember to take my book, plus a spare, since I'm almost finished with this one. And I already packed a sleeping pill, in case I'm just bored out of my mind and ready to give in and go to sleep at 8 p.m.
I feel unprepared and inadequate. I hate this feeling. Dumb work. If only I could win the lottery. All my problems would be solved. Except for the new problems the sudden windfall created. But I could take just as much as I needed and then give the rest away and all those problems could disappear too.
I like to daydream about winning the lottery. I don't buy tickets, though. I don't think about it.
I'm hoping I'll at least get a steak dinner out of this. I mean, if Maggie will buy me a filet, my boss should certainly be willing to.
This trip will be a dry one. My boss doesn't drink, and while it can be fun to get drunk on overnight trips with coworkers, laughing at the Applebee's bar until they close and then giggling in someone's room till 3 in the morning, splitting a six-pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade and Hostess Fruit Pies - well, my boss doesn't drink, and I certainly won't be showing my inner-alcoholic to him first-hand, alone, with no one else to help take the heat off me when the front desk calls a third time asking you to please keep it down, the guest next door has an early meeting tomorrow morning, in just a few hours, in fact.
At least, this is my goal. DON'T GET DRUNK AND SHOW YOUR ASS WHILE ON A ROAD TRIP WITH YOUR BOSS. A good goal to have. Everyone needs goals.
I'm pretty sure this is the first time Jimi and I will be spending the night apart since we moved in together in July '07. That's jacked up, isn't it? Co-dependent much? (Me, not him. Though he's not too far behind me.) I'm not happy about this aspect of the trip, either.
I need to remember to take my book, plus a spare, since I'm almost finished with this one. And I already packed a sleeping pill, in case I'm just bored out of my mind and ready to give in and go to sleep at 8 p.m.
I feel unprepared and inadequate. I hate this feeling. Dumb work. If only I could win the lottery. All my problems would be solved. Except for the new problems the sudden windfall created. But I could take just as much as I needed and then give the rest away and all those problems could disappear too.
I like to daydream about winning the lottery. I don't buy tickets, though. I don't think about it.
I'm hoping I'll at least get a steak dinner out of this. I mean, if Maggie will buy me a filet, my boss should certainly be willing to.
This trip will be a dry one. My boss doesn't drink, and while it can be fun to get drunk on overnight trips with coworkers, laughing at the Applebee's bar until they close and then giggling in someone's room till 3 in the morning, splitting a six-pack of Mike's Hard Lemonade and Hostess Fruit Pies - well, my boss doesn't drink, and I certainly won't be showing my inner-alcoholic to him first-hand, alone, with no one else to help take the heat off me when the front desk calls a third time asking you to please keep it down, the guest next door has an early meeting tomorrow morning, in just a few hours, in fact.
At least, this is my goal. DON'T GET DRUNK AND SHOW YOUR ASS WHILE ON A ROAD TRIP WITH YOUR BOSS. A good goal to have. Everyone needs goals.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Goals are important
My goals for today:
1. Don't kill any co-workers.
2. Leave an hour early. (I came in an hour early. This makes it okay.)
3. Get replacement bulbs for my plant lights. Make those emmeffers who sold me the ones that burned out in 3 weeks replace them for free.
4. Don't have a melt-down at work.
5. Eat leftover tuna casserole for dinner.
Goals. They're important.
1. Don't kill any co-workers.
2. Leave an hour early. (I came in an hour early. This makes it okay.)
3. Get replacement bulbs for my plant lights. Make those emmeffers who sold me the ones that burned out in 3 weeks replace them for free.
4. Don't have a melt-down at work.
5. Eat leftover tuna casserole for dinner.
Goals. They're important.
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