Friday, August 31, 2007

It's Friday.

Need I say more?

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Perfect! That's just lovely...

Well, I went to an urgent care sicne my dermatologist thought it would be ok to put me off until next TUESDAY to see me for my very painful and irritating rash that has suddenly developed over the past 24 hours. Yeah, that was nice of them, I thought. Assholes.

Fine by me, though. $15 later, I've seen a doctor that was able to ID the rash as a very early stage of shingles, and gotten a prescription for the antivirals that should help it stay this way without developing into a worse case of shingles.

See, apparently, shingles is usually easier identified because of the ugly, red pustules that come with the itching and burning sensation on the skin. I have somehow managed to avoid getting the pustules, but everything else is consistent with the's around my waistline, it's getting gradually worse over time, and it's located on one side of my torso. I'm sure lots of people already know this, but it's the chicken-pox virus that lurks deep within you once you've had it...and it can come out and play later on at certain times, if it wants to.

Apparently, one of the causes of the re-activation of the virus is emotional stress. Uh-huh...haven't had any of THAT lately!

So, anyway, I have my anti-viral meds (he prescribed the acyclovir for me, which I have to take 5 times a day! But it'll be worth it if it gets this shit knocked out of me, dammit), and I have been given the ok to keep putting Benadryl cream on it, taking Benadryl pills when necessary (at night, so I can sleep), and then I'll go back and see them next week to make sure it's progressing properly. Or that it's gone. Whatever.

I'm really hoping it doesn't get worse. Or that I get any pustules. BLEH.

Witches are wood.

Ok, I've had a couple of questions on my mind that I'd like to ask Dr. Oz if I could, but I can't. So I've decided to put them out here on the blog instead, and see if anyone can help me.

1. Why does some poop float and some sinks? (I have a theory based on something my older sister told me years ago, but I don't know if it's the truth, so I'd like to know what actually makes it happen. If possible.)

2. When one stores fat in the belly, is that actually due to stress? Really? If so, how does one STOP storing fat in their belly even though they still get stressed? Because stress is gonna yeah. What to do? (My trainer suggested I go on valium. I'm sure LOTS of people I encounter day to day wish I would do that. I'm not gonna, though. Mwahahahahaha!)

There was another question I had, but I can't remember that right now. Probably due to the stress.

See, this week has just gotten so low for me, I want nothing more to do with it. Today, I got to the gym and started unpacking my bag, and got to the point where I was unloading all my clothes and found that I had forgotten to put my underwear and bra in there that I needed to wear today. So I repacked the bag and went and pounded out a good, hard 20 minutes on the elliptical, and then worked out with my trainer, and went back home. Where I had a whole 1/2 hour to get ready. Yeah, my hair is still wet and it's back in ponytails again. Like it's been allll weeeeek loooonnng. Beautiful!

Again, the trainer had the most useful advice for me, saying I should just "go commando." Ok, that's all well and good in the underpants arena, but the girls? CanNOT go commando. Nuh-uh. (He thinks he's funny. I don't tend to agree a lot of the time.)

I'm feelin' pretty good now, though, since I've finished a hearty breakfast of english muffin with egg and ham, and am currently drinking a V8 (because starting the day off with the proper over-balance of sodium is juuust the way I like it), and the workout was a good one. I needed it bad!

While I was working with the trainer, moving from set to set of weight-lifting mixed with stomach exercises, there was a mother and daughter team working out in the weight area next to us. After one particularly grueling set of V-crunches (I sit on the edge of a bench with my legs straight out in front of me, leaning back on my hands behind me, and then I crunch together into the shape of a "V" as I move my upper body upward and lift my legs even further into the air), the mother said, "I want to clap every time you do those!" And I don't even remember exactly what I responded with, but I think it was something like, "AUGH! It SUUUCKS!" But my trainer said, "See, you're an inspiration." But at the time, I was moving back into another set of tricep curls, so I didn't really think about it all that much.

But you know what? It's really nice to think back on it now. My trainer even said at one point that my abs are really strong. And while I've always known them to be really resilient little muscles in there, which are relatively easy to build strength in for some unknown reason, they are still covered in a layer of fat that pisses my shit off. And that V-crunch? It really emphasizes the bulging lower ab area when I do it, so it doesn't make me happy.

But the fact that that lady thought I was doing something worthy of cheering for once I completed it? Well, that makes me feel a bit better. It's not that the trainer doesn't give me enough praise, or whatever. It's not that at all. He and I get along really well, and have a good time together. (I think...) I just feel bad that my progress sucks so majorly when it comes to the pure measurement of it all.

We'll be measuring things again next week, so we'll find out just how much progress I have made, if any. I'm really hoping I dropped a couple of percentages in body fat. Really, really.

As for the stress, well, it's manifesting itself in ways other than just belly fat. I have a significant rash building up on my upper left hip, which is bruised now from all the scratching I did to it yesterday. Also, my face is twitching. It used to just be an eye thing...when I get stressed, one or both of my eyes twitch. But now? It's my entire face. The Twin thinks I could be developing Tourette Syndrome, which could help explain a LOT about me. But that Wiki entry says that it is a childhood-onset disease, and is characterized by not only the facial "tics" but also at least one vocal "tic." And as much as I do like to cuss and yell, I have to say that it is something I can control if absolutely necessary, so I'm afraid that doesn't explain the twitching for me. (Or anything else, for that matter...) So I'll just chalk it up to stress, too, like I have been, and move on with things.

How's everybody else doin'? Good? I hope you're good...

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

In case it wasn't obvious...

I got nothin' today. Sorry...the last couple of days just took everything right out of me, and I'm finding it hard to focus, really.

Plus, I have this really itchy spot on my side/back that's right at my waistline, and it is DRIVING ME ABSOLUTELY NUTS!!!! So there's that for me to think about. Makes my day...

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Update on the dreary night/day...

I'm home from everything now. The fiance's appointment took about 3 hours instead of 2 and a half, so I got to the DMV later than expected, and had to wait a little over an hour to register the car. Sitting next to a woman who decided it was a good place to take her sneakers off, no less. And the guy that didn't have anything else to do while he waited except flip his registration renewal letter back and forth, back and forth, back and fucking-forth, over and over again while we sat there. He was a big guy, but had I eaten lunch before I went there? I'm sure I coulda taken him.

BUT. I didn't eat lunch before I went there. No, I wanted to get there, and get it done with so I could swing by the vet's to pick up the special food they recommend for Izzy, since she has indeed started throwing up today. (Started just before I left for the DMV. I cleaned it all up and called the vet and got their advice, so we're good to go for now. And even though the fiance said that she hadn't thrown up while I was gone, I went ahead and did a quick scan of the room anyway, and found out that she had, of course, thrown up while I was gone (two more bits of pen came out! Woo!). Right behind his head, no less. He's just that out of it!) So by the time I was done at the DMV, and then at the vet, it was 2:15. And bloodsugars were at an all time loooow.

But I feel better now. And I'm not going back to work, because there isn't any point, and someone has to watch the bleeder and the vomiter. Since they can't apparently look after each other. *sigh!* Being a grown up sucks!

Here's a picture of what was left of the pen, by the way. She's only thrown up about 6 little bits thus far, so I'm sure we have a little while to go. Hopefully, the special food they gave me at the vet will help her actually send it out a different way. Poor thing...

Jeezy, when I look at it here, it becomes clear just how much of the pen she swallowed. Sheeeit...

Not wounded, sir, but dead.

So. The fiance is at the dentist this morning for his third round of necessary work he has to have done to get his teeth to a somewhat healthy jumping-off point. This is a good thing.

What's not such a good thing is the fact that he takes some drugs to prepare himself for the's called Triazolam, which is the generic form of Halcion. I didn't realize that I needed to be more careful than I had been when it came to him taking this drug, and last night was a nice illustration of why.

I was getting ready for bed at about 9:30. Then my dad and step mom called and we chatted for a bit. The fiance had already taken the Triazolam for the night (he takes one the night before and then one a half hour before the dentist appointment to help him with his fear of getting there in the first place and to keep his anxiety level low so he can get a full night's rest the night before the appointment), and we chatted for a little while about his day at work until I kicked him out at 10:30 so I could go to sleep. I should have known something was up then...he wasn't leaving the room, even though he knew I needed to get to sleep. He was just kind of...hovering. Which wasn't normal, but I just thought he was being a smartass (as was evidenced by his farting as he got up off the bed after we were done chatting - jerk), and chalked it up to that, really.

When I woke up around 12:30-ish to go to the bathroom and noticed he wasn't in bed yet, I knew I'd have a task of trying to get him in the room and off the couch. We were supposed to go work out together this morning, so we needed to get up at 4:30, and that wouldn't be pretty if he was still on the couch at 12:30 or 1, even if he was sleeping out there.

So I peed, and then went to check if the dog was in her crate (which she was, so I closed it up and said goodnight to her again), and then went to try to rouse the fiance into a slumbering walk to the bedroom.

He wouldn't wake up, which was what I expected. But then I noticed a blurry container lying next to his thigh on the couch. (I didn't have my glasses on...) I picked it up, and realized it was the Triazolam container. There were only 3 left in it. And we had started with 6.

I tried to wake him up to ask him what had happened. But he wasn't responding well...this is normal for him when he's in a deep sleep, but I didn't know if things were worse off because of the drugs, or what. So I got online after grabbing my glasses and my robe, and looked up "too much Triazolam." One of the first things I saw said that I needed to either contact the doctor or get my fiance to the hospital. That seemed a bit rash, but hey, there it was in the internet's black and white.

I instead decided to call my sister in California. She's a pharmacist, and would be able to tell me if going to the hospital was truly a necessity. I felt bad since it was late, but it was really only about 11 there, so I was hoping she might still be awake. She sounded groggy, but she told me that he should be fine once she was able to understand what we were dealing with. She told me, "The drug is like an amnesia drug. It makes them forgetful when they take it." This made sense. I figured he must have dozed off and then woken up at some point worried that he had forgotten to take the meds. So he took more than he needed to.

She also told me that as long as he was responding (which he was at that point...he had started calling to me from the couch - I was in the office - saying he was fine, which was helpful), and he hadn't had any alcohol to go with the Triazolam, since he's a big guy and he's in relatively good health, it shouldn't be a problem. I thanked her, apologized again for calling so late, and promised to get her an update today on the situation.

In the meantime, the fiance had walked into the bedroom and climbed into bed. Buggar...

One would think that all would be well after that. Of course, I was still a bit worried, but I tried to stay mellow so I could go back to sleep and see how things were in the morning.

But while I was finishing up with my sister on the phone, I noticed something weird on the ground. Looked like a quill from a porcupine, or perhaps a weird body from a bug or something. I poked it with the dog's bone (like ya do), and couldn't figure out what the fuck it was. After I hung up, I saw something that brought it together. The end of a click pen was on the dog's floor cushion under the table. But it was just half of the pen. The top half of the pen was GONE. The quill-looking thing was the half of the ink insert that she had failed to eat along with the rest of the pen. And the metal spring thing that makes the click pen what it is? It was lying near the bottom half of the pen on the cushion.

AWESOME! Not only did the fiance overdose on his tranquilizer-thingies, but the dog had gone ahead and eaten a pen. All in the course of the 2 and a half hours that I had been asleep.

So I got the dog out of her crate (she was ready to get out anyway, since she'd heard me freaking out about the fiance taking the pills), and tried to get her to drink some water, and then called Mission Med Vet to see if I needed to do anything for my pen-eating dog.

They assured me that the ink shouldn't be toxic to her, and suggested that since half of the pen was missing, we would just want to watch her closely for the next few days, as it should pass but she might have some trouble doing so. They warned me about lethargy, and things that shouldn't be runny but might wind up as such, and possible vomiting issues, and said that if any of that happened, go ahead and take her to the vet.

After that, I sat down on the couch with her, and I cried. I don't know why I cried so hard, but I guess it was out of sheer tiredness, maybe? Anyway, I watched some of a movie that we have recorded, and then tried to go to bed (letting the puppy sleep with us so I could keep an ear on her), but wasn't able to fall asleep until about 3:30 or so. I got up at 4:30 to text my trainer and tell him I wasn't coming in today, and I'd call him later. He had a dead battery on his car, anyway, so it worked out alright in the end.

So I am tired today. Oh, and the fiance is fine, and doesn't remember taking 3 pills. He did admit, however, that he started out taking 2. He thought he was supposed to take 2 the night before. Even though he's done this 2 other times, and has only taken ONE the night before on both occassions...*sigh!* He's got ADD. I chalk it up to that and the fact that apparently, this shit causes amnesia anyway, so that doesn't help. I hid the pills after I took them from him last night, and then gave him one this morning since he seemed ok enough for it. He swears he doesn't remember taking the 3rd one. I told him I found the bottle lying next to his leg on the couch. That surprised him. He doesn't remember anything after leaving me in the bedroom after we talked last night. Powerful shit...

The dog seems fine, too. I'm glad I can check on her today a couple of times, when I take the fiance home after his appointment, and again after I register the new car. But it worries me that the fiance is the one that will need to watch her, since he's usually pretty out of it after his dental appointments. (He just goes to sleep on the couch for a few hours, is the thing. I don't think he'd notice if she threw up or anything.) I was planning on staying at work late today to make up for time lost for all this shit I have to do outside of it today, but that won't be possible now.

Anyone else have a fun Monday night/Tuesday morning? Share away in the comments, if you wanna.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Both hands are most effective...

On my way home last Friday, I went to the supermarket near work to grab some dinner stuff and snack stuff for the weekend. It was a bit rainy and weird out, and had started pouring on the way over there, but I didn't care much...I didn't have any plans, and my hair looked like shit anyway, so I popped my hoodie on my head, climbed out of my car and headed inside.

While walking toward the store, I noticed a minivan that was just sitting at the end of the row, as though it was waiting for traffic to clear before it could pull out to go left or right. Except there wasn't any traffic, it had been sitting there since I'd parked my car, and it wasn't moving at all. This rubbed me the wrong way, if for no other reason than I just hate an asshole who doesn't know how to drive, and this was clearly a situation like that. So I started talking to myself (really at the minivan, but we know how effective that sort of thing can be, right fellow road-ragers?), as I had been wont to do throughout the day on Friday, and said out loud, "Jeezus christ, dude. Move your fucking car out of the way, retard. Fuckin' a!" Or something of that variety of exclamations.

Apparently the woman that was waiting for a car to pull out of a spot nearer to the store, and who was sort of parked opposite of the minivan in the same driveway (thereby rendering the entire entrance/exit to that lane completely impassable, of course), decided it was her duty to show me the error of my cussing ways. She actually took the time to open her window (in the pouring rain, no less) to yell at me, "Nice language!"

My immediate reaction was to offer her some hand signals that go along pretty well with the language I'd been using and telling her, "If you liked that, then you'll LOVE this!" But I thought twice about it, figuring there might've been kids in the car, and that wouldn't have been an appropriate reaction for them to witness to their mother's uncalled-for outburst by any means. Instead, I just said, "Whatever!" and kept walking toward the store.

It bothered me, though, this uneccessary vigilante justice being slapped on my use of language, when the woman couldn't even HEAR me saying what I was saying! She was just reading my goddammed lips!

It crossed a line, and has been hanging in there with me since then, is the thing. People should keep to themselves, dammit. Just my opinion, of course...

Friday, August 24, 2007

Sign me up!

I'm totally sitting at my desk talking to myself right now. I've been doing it for about the last hour.

This isn't a good sign, I'm sure.

You know, it's just not the same anymore.

Does anyone else have a hard time listening to Amy Winehouse's "Rehab" now? You know, since she's in rehab and all? I was listening to it on the way in today, and it's sort of fucking with my head. I don't know really doesn't effect my life in any way, really. Hm.

I've entered hyperventalation stage with the wedding shtuff. Yesterday, I was writing in the appointment for the fiance at the dentist next Tuesday, and noticed that Monday is the day that the other half of the money is due to be paid to the reception venue. I literally started to FREAK out. Granted, I'd had a relatively interesting day and was probably pretty tired from that, but all I wanted to do was go home, climb into bed, and lay there under the covers. All nice and cool and calm-like. Maybe read a bit of the book I'm in right now. I dunno...basically, get away from it all.

Taking it day by day is getting harder and harder, is the thing. I don't know how people do this for a living, seriously. But I suppose that if one is planning a party for someone other than themselves, it might be a bit less stressful, right?

Ooh! I just noticed an "add video" button on the Blogger template! Neat!

Ok, so I've also hit the wall with trying to lose weight at this point. With the exception of last week, and all the beauty it brought with it to my body and psyche, I've been working out consistently for many, many weeks now at a 4 - 5 day rate per week. I bust a nut when I'm at the gym,'s not just the lollygagging around the weight machines like I see some people doing while I'm there. I'm working hard with cardio for 35 - 45 minutes, and then doing my weight stuff either on my own or with the trainer. And I think it was Janet that was interested in the stats on what I burn each week vs. what I take in, and I looked into the BodyBug stats this week since she sparked my curiosity.

Basically, since I started wearing the thing, I burn an average of 2587 calories per day, and consume an average of 1880 calories per day. That leaves an average of just over 700 calorie deficit each day. Which is 4900 per week. So you'd think some weight would be coming off, really. And to be honest, today is the first day that I've noticed a skirt I wear on a weekly basis is loose, so maybe something has snapped. But I doubt it.

My diet consists of about 33% fat, 45% carbs, and 22% protein on average as well. We want it to be below 25% fat, so I'm still working on that one. No more "white dressing" my trainer says. "At least until October is over. You can do that, Faith," he said to me yesterday morning. I thought about it, and felt it was, indeed, doable.

Another problem for me is alcohol. I don't drink much...pretty well not at all during the week (excepting for weeks when friends are in town, and meet ups are happening, of course...but even those nights weren't bad, per se. 2 beers were consumed when we went out with the friend on Wednesday night, and I think I had 3 or 4 at the meet up. Not a terrible amount, comparatively...), and on the weekends, I'm working on limiting it to less than 4 beers on Saturday, and that's it. But those calories are so wasted! Last night, I had a beer when I got home and was pulling dinner together. Between that beer and the dried papaya I had after dinner was done, I went well over 350 calories above the limit I have for the day. And that? SUCKS.

But the worry for me is this: when I get married, I'd like to have some champagne, and maybe a beer or two, and some other stuff the fiance and I like to drink called Lambic Framboise. I don't want to get trashed just because I've been abstaining from alcohol for the 2 months leading up to the wedding so I can lose some weight and look extra-pretty in the dress. Or less poofy, anyway.

*sigh* Being fat sucks.

I'm gonna go work now. Buh-bye.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

My letter for the day...

Dear bitch who was in line with me this morning at Einstein Bros.,

I realize you were in some sort of hurry to get that box o' bagels and the two different kinds of toppings that you were probably going to be taking in to work with you to help feed some of your coworkers. And my, isn't that a nice gesture for you to make towards them?

But what wasn't nice of you was when you apparently felt you were entitled to move in front of the other 5 customers that were in front of you in line, who were also waiting to pay and leave the store with their stuff. That was a fucked up move right there, and kills any and all karma points you might've been trying to earn by buying the box o' bagels for your coworkers, or whatever the fuck you were planning on doing with them. In fact, I think it made you slip below the good karma line for at least the day, so you might wanna watch your back on that one.

In the future, wait your fucking turn. Apparently, the store personnel weren't interested in enforcing any kind of waiting-in-line rules for the rest of us this morning, and my comments about it didn't seem to make them feel very apologetic for their oversight, so we can't rely on them to help you keep in a good place with the rest of society. The burden is on you. You fucking loser.

Hope those bagels go STRAIGHT to your thighs! Oh, and that dress you were wearing hasn't been a popular style since 1982...might wanna clean your closet out soon.


Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Barry Bonds' Balls

Ok, the guy that caught the Barry Bonds 756th home run ball a couple of weeks ago? Who is 21, and apparently is what he considers too young to have a bank account that can cover the cost of keeping such a fabulously wonderful "piece" of history? Who was on his way to Australia when he stopped in town, paid money for tickets to a game that might give him such an opportunity to catch said ball, and then caught it in a seemingly GIANT (heh) stroke of luck before then putting the ball into a safe place at a bank in town and then hopped onto his flight to Australia where he spent a week doing whatever it was he went there to do?

Yeah, gimme a break. He has no choice but to sell the ball...AS IF! Dude went to that game probably HOPING he would catch it, so he could sell it and possibly make a million dollars off of it. I don't begrudge him that...I really don't! But don't give us some cock and bullshit story about not being able to afford keeping it. You took a random trip to Australia, asshole. Last I checked, Southwest wasn't exactly flying $99 flights to that part of the world from San Fran, ok? (Or Oakland, rather, since they don't fly in and out of San Fran.) You have some money somewhere, I'm sure. And just because "several people told [you] [you] would be taxed for the souvenir just for holding on to it" I think I'd check that out for sure before just coming out into the public with this bullshit story and nothing to back the bullshit story with.

Can one really be taxed for catching a ball at the ballpark? WTF? That's nuts.

Anyway, you're a douche. You weren't before this, really, but you are now. Had you just come out and said that you were gonna sell the ball, and that's all you were gonna say on the topic, you would have been waaaaay less douchey.

Follow up to the meet up...

Last night’s meet up was what I would consider to be a relative success. I know that any meet up where people actually show up is considered a success, but still…we had a couple of new faces, and many of the same from the last meet up, and it was great to see everyone again! (We missed you Heather…I don’t know if you came in later after I left, but hopefully we’ll get to see you at the next one for sure! I wanted to hear more about this brother of yours and his willingness to put a cicada in his mouth for just a buck.)

I’d feel kind of like an episode of Romper Room if I did a whole magic mirror-type run down…(“I saw Janet and Cara and M-toast , and Kristin and XO was there, and Emaw , and the D …”) So I won’t. (But they were all there…) And while I was really hoping to get some time to chat with Jessi from they pay to kiss your feet , I think her concerns about whether any of us are weirdos or not won out, and she didn’t wind up coming for fear of what said weirdos might do to her. (Actually, I’m pretty sure she had a work thing she had to go to. Or she had one on Monday night that wiped her out, or something. I dunno for sure. Maybe we’ll see her at the next one? I hope?)

Dan was there, too. As was Spyder , of course. And a newbie to the group named Waldo Oiseau.(Her real name was…holy crap, I forgot! See, that’s what happens in this world o’ blogs, though. Once I identify you with your real-life blogger profile, chances are, nothing else will take. Sorry!)
There’s a full run-down over at Spyder’s blog, so you can check any names that I might’ve missed of course. I try to be as social as possible at these things, but I wind up getting caught up in one or two convos, and then I have to go home, and all is lost. Also, I don’t think I had a chance to say goodbye to everyone. Sorry! I had to pee…

See y’all at the next one, I hope!

In other news, I certainly hope that this guy gets to move to a place of his own after his ex-wife set his penis on fire. He said he didn’t know what he did to deserve it, but I can say for sure that I’d be none too pleased to find the fiancé hanging out watching t.v. while naked and swilling vodka on OUR couch. And while I can honestly say that I probably wouldn’t mind too much the first couple of times, after that, he’d be lucky if something didn’t happen to him as a byproduct of such lovely behavior.

Is it so hard to just slip on a pair of shorts? Huh? Might be tougher for him now that he’s got the charred penis, and all. Oh well! I’m betting that wasn’t the only issue there, but the story doesn’t elaborate past his musings on what he did to deserve being lit on fire that way. That was enough for me, though. Had to post it.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

This is how I feel today...

Looking forward to the meet up. And the end of the day. Jeeezuus.

Reminder: Meet up Tonight!

Just a quick reminder about the meet up that's happening tonight at Hooper's in Brookside starting at about 5 p.m.

I won't be there until about 5:45, but I will be there! Looking forward to seeing a bunch of you again...

Monday, August 20, 2007


The soup I'm eating for lunch has WAY too much celery in it. Way, WA-HAAAY too much. It's not celery soup, asshole* should just be in there for a bit o' flavor at the beginning, and then that's it!

I hate celery, and the only acceptable way to eat it, for me anyway, is in a soup. Because it becomes mooshy and flavorless. Thereby rendering it unable to activate my gag reflex. Because that's what the flavor and normal texture of celery does to me, for some reason. Makes me throw up. Lovely, right?

Anyway, whomever prepared this soup also didn't cook it long enough for the celery to get as mooshy as it needs to be, IMO. So I'm now spending half of my lunch "hour" taking the time to remove the fucking celery piece by piece from my bowl of veggie beef soup.

This, in turn, will keep me from getting the veggie beef soup again for a good long time. Because that's how my brain works.

*For the record, I have no idea who I'm talking to here. The person that made the soup? Anyone who thinks a substantial amount of celery should be expected in any kind of soup? I dunno.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Remember the hot tub in the bathroom?

Ok, things are sour around the Smith/fiance house right now, and I'm not in the mood to watch something the fiance wants to watch on t.v., but he's gonna be a pain about me wanting to watch anything else, and so I came in to tool around on the computer ya do.

Anyway, I was looking at houses again, as I am getting somewhat obsessed about finding a new house and moving on already (perhaps a place with a second t.v. in it? So we can watch different stuff at the same time in different rooms? I dunno...) and I stumbled across the infamous Hot Tub in the Bathroom house again! It's in the "historic" Roanoke area (north of 39th/west of SW Trafficway), and it's going for $409,000.

So here's the house...

Pretty, right? Looks nice and well-kept, and even has a 3-car garage in the back! Lovely...
Ah, the foyer is painted yellow, but you know what? It kinda works for this house, so I'm willing to let that go. Look at the double entry front door! I love those things.
Holy shit, this kitchen makes me drool a little bit. You could spread out and then some in a kitchen like this! Needs some stainless appliances, but could probably cook Thanksgiving dinner in here for 15 while a circus takes place in the middle of the room. Awesome space.

So, why the hot tub in bathroom? It just ruins the whole fucking thing for me, really. They should put one of those sex swing things in the middle of the kitchen, just to round it all out.

And I know we all discussed this already, and whomever made the suggestion that it was probably a hot tub used for therapeutic purposes was right. But I just thought I'd post pics of the rest of the house since I found it. I thought it was interesting. And I'm bored. So there ya have it.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Welcome, end of the week. You come to me, now...

I'm not kidding when I say that the last two times I've had to pee, it's been a somewhat pressing need, but it wasn't like I needed to run to the restroom, or what have you. But when I get there, it's like I haven't pee'd in over 3 days, or something. I don't think I'd be exaggerating if I said it seems like I could fill the 52 ounce cup I drink out of all day long with each trip to the toilet I've made.

And yes, I drink from a 52 ounce cup of water. It's called a "Bubba Keg" and I got it at Target, and it is awesome because instead of being the 32 ounce styrofoam cup I have to refill over and over and over, I just need to fill it twice throughout the day. (Maybe a little more than twice, like right now when I need to fill it about half way to get me through the last 40 minutes without getting too parched.) What can I say? I'm a thirsty girl, and I like my water.

I'm feeling worlds better today. The Period From Hell has settled in and gotten used to my body, and so the headache has subsided and I can open my eyes all the way again, thank goodness. I still slept in today, for good measure (and out of sheer laziness as well), and feel like next week will be a good week to get back on the workout horse again. This week isn't a complete loss...I'll still get in 3 days of activity at the gym after I go tomorrow and Sunday. And I was planning on getting in a workout tonight, too, but at this point I feel like asking who I'm kidding with that plan, because seriously? Not gon' happen.

So I'll see you (literally in some cases!) next week, and wish you all happy, period-free weekends...

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Monthly Meetup Info!

What: Monthly Blogger Meetup
When: Tuesday, August 21st - 5 p.m. till whenever you wanna leave!
Where: Charlie Hooper's in Brookside (12 W. 63rd Street, KC, MO 64113)
Goodies: $1 domestic draws & $1, $2, and $3 appetizers from 3 - 7 p.m. (Stuff like pizzas, spin dip, and jalapeno poppers...yum!)
Hooper's is ready to give us several tables in the "back section" (really, it's the west side of the restaurant...), and as more people show up they'll give us more tables, and if some leave and they need the tables for other people, we just have to be willing to share, is all. I was assured that we would not be given dirty looks for our comings and goings on, and that the server would be prepared for all of our separate check needs. (Be sure to mention it to them when you arrive, too, though. Just to be nice. :)

Hooper's is on the corner of Main St and 63rd St in the heart of Brookside. Just go down Wornall from whichever direction you'll be coming from, head east on 63rd, and turn left on Main. There's a big parking lot behind the strip the bar is located in, so you can park there if you'd like.
I'll be there around 5:30 or 5:45, so if you get there and they're looking for me (I gave them my real name, like a dope, but just mention that you're a KC Blogger, and they'll know what's up), just tell them I'll be there as soon as I can. I mean, $1 draws? You kiddin' me? I think next Wednesday might be a rough one...
See ya there! (Spread the word, please...)

I think it was just a warning for this week...

I think my dream about saying goodbye that I had earlier this week was just a warning for how tough this week was going to be for me. I'm getting through it, day by day, but I am sincerely looking forward to the downtime on the weekend right now. Of which there won't be much, but it'll be better than having to come to work and expose my coworkers to this nastiness that is me this week.

The cricket took last night off. Which was a good thing, because I think the fiance and I were ready to get the saw out and cut a hole in the floor to find his little ass and kick it if he showed up again. Lets hope this is the beginning of a new trend.

My head hurts too much to think today. I'm off...

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Must shut it up.

These have been a busy past couple of days. So busy, it's hard to think of things that need posting, as I don't have much time to spend thinking about what's happened, and therefore have very little time to process it into a post.

So I post today a question about a problem: How does one go about taking care of a cricket (or crickets, as the case may be...) that likes to chirp - very loudly, I might add - all through the night? It appears to have chosen a spot under the bedroom wall for it's mating call process, or whatever the fuck it's doing, and while I would be just fiiine with it had it chosen to bed in under the bathroom, it's not under the bathroom. And its much louder than you might think. Like, louder than the fan that provides a breeze as well as white noise all night long, and even the AC when its running to cool things down throughout the night.

It's maddening. It must go. But how does one take care of that sort of thing? A cricket in a crawlspace, I mean? A fogger of some sort? Or, if we just try to live with it for a couple more days, will it just go away on its own? It was there on Sunday night, and then Monday was quiet, and then last night it was back in full force...louder than ever, making me want to pull my ears off and stick them in a drawer in the kitchen.

How do I get rid of it? Please help me. Please.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Death, death, death, death...lunch.

Thanks to those of you who took the opportunity to mock my maybe-about-death-dream I posted about yesterday. I think there's a warm place in hell for people that make fun of those of us that have been warned by the universe. As I'll be there hanging out at the bar, I'll be sure to save a stool for y'all.

Today is bollocks. If you live somewhere in the middle, like moi, stay inside. Just trust me on that. Outside SUCKS right now. I didn't like it at all, and I blame my female craving bullshit for making me go out there in the first place. I'm sorry for barraging you with tales from mah bellay yesterday all day long, but believe's much, MUCH worse to actually be me right now, so just thank your lucky stars that you aren't, in fact, me. We're on Day 4 of the stomach-fun at this point, and while there have been general improvements in certain cases (I don't seem to be experiencing the same level of nausea today that I did yesterday and the day before, which is nice), there haven't been in other cases. It's grown tiresome.

Tonight the fiance and I have our 4th dance lesson in preparation for the Big First Dance at the wedding, and to be honest, I'm so not in the mood. We haven't practiced at all since our last lesson, and while I do find that I have a good time once I'm there, it's the getting there that makes me a bit whiney, and while I wish that wasn't the case, it is just that. I've always been a bit like that, though. Once I'm home for the day, it's tough to get me motivated to head back out the door again. But again, once I'm there, all is usually well. But just thinking of it right now makes my stomach turn. I roll my eyes at myself, dammit. This drama is getting on my fucking nerves.

Monday, August 13, 2007

At least this doesn't have to do with my ass...

By the way, I forgot to mention this earlier as I had planned to do when I was on my way to work. I had a dream last night that involved me having a lovely dinner with my family in a nice restaurant. Everyone was sisters and brother, in-laws, dad and step mom. We had a great time, and then I took a moment to go around the table to each one of them to say my goodbyes. It was emotional (more emotional than I usually am, anyways, which means that I was slightly warmer toward them than my standard "heart like a rock" tendency allows me to be), and then I went off to catch a flight.

Now, I haven't any clue what any of it meant. But in case it's the universe's way of saying I have limited time and need to take care of business accordingly, let me just say goodbye now and have it last for as long as it needs to, ok? I love all my readers (except the idiot trolls, of course), and the people I've met through this here blog have been so, sooo much fun to get to know!

I hope I don't die anytime soon, of course, but if I do, refer back to this post and acknowledge my awesome (and yet so stupid) clairvoyant dream and maybe be a bit more respectful of any messages the universe tries to send you in the future as well.

It's probably a good healthy mix of The Hormones and The Wedding Stress, I'd think. But I thought I'd cover things just in case. I'm sick like that...

Siriusly? (:P)

Ok, my stomach needs to get the fuck over itself already. I get hungry, I eat, I shit it all out about a half hour later.

This. SUCKS.

I wanna go home, dammit...

Now the question is, would Alka-Seltzer help me, or will it just make things worse? It's all I have at my disposal here at work. But I'm thinking the aspirin-base of it will only serve to make my stomach even more upset. And it hurts enough as it is, I think...doesn't need any help. I feel like shit, though. I can't imagine just sitting here and doing nothing about it.

Although I can say that talking about it isn't helping. So I'll just mosey along now...

Dogs really like these days, huh?

Why do people refer to these end of summer days as being the "dog days of summer"? Are these even the days they're referring to? Is it because of the heat, and after even just 10 minutes of being out in it, we all smell like dogs that haven't been bathed in over a week and who spend a majority of their time outside?

By the way, feeling very sorry for those puppies that DO have to spend all their time outside right about now. Poor things.

Anyway, I have a MAJOR case of PMS, as I'm on the only-four-periods-per-year plan and all, so I got 3 months' worth built up in me right about now, hence the response to the comments on my post from Saturday, and hence all the lovely backlash the fiance has been having to deal with for the past two days. (But he did admit that he knows when he's pushing those buttons, and sometimes he does it just for fun, apparently. I don't see how that's fun for anyone, but to each their own. Men are weird...)

Last night, we had our first very, very unsuccessful experience cooking with the crockpot. We followed a recipe for paella that was in the little manual that came with the crockpot, and it was horrendous. Rice shouldn't be cooked for that long, seriously. It was all a mushy, gross mess when it was done, and after the fiance and I tried to eat a little of it, we gave up, threw it all out, and had sammiches instead. We're going to attempt another recipe tomorrow. Hopefully that will work better...there's no rice involved, thank goodness.

But then I got sick, anyway. I was kind of sick on Saturday night, too...just nauseous and generally feeling icky for whatever reason. (Could have been the fact that I sprayed some room spray into the air above the wine I was drinking, and a good amount of it settled in the to the point where it tasted like the room spray instead of the wine. I drank some anyway, and then I felt sick. Duh.) Last night was worse, as stomach stuff accompanied the nausea, and I'm not feeling too much better today. So I'm going to stay as still as possible, drink lots of water, stay inside, and try to work through it. Blech.

Could be all the hormones flowin' through me right now, I guess. That'd make sense.

Ok, I'm off to create a filing system for my boss. WOO! Later all...

Saturday, August 11, 2007

A little lesson for the idiots...(not that they read this.)

I just gotta get this off my chest.

When you're out shopping on a hot day, and you decide to drag the cart with you from the Target building into their parking lot, and you just leave it sitting there when you're done unloading it because your ass is too motherfucking lazy to even return the cart to a cart-park location even though you were parked right next to one...

Your actions have repurcussions, asshole.
Your cart might roll away, and although a lot of it is made of plastic, it's heavy plastic.
Heavy plastic on top of metal on top of wheels. So even a little bit of rolling will give it plenty of steam to run into a stopped object (i.e. a parked car, perhaps) with a good amount of force.
And when that parked car is a BMW? Who's headlight breaks due to the rolling, abandoned, motherfucking cart you were too fucking lazy to put into the cart-park, even though there was one RIGHT NEXT TO THE BMW? Yeah, fixing this costs the owner of the BMW a good amount of cash, you dipwad.

So, thanks.

Next time, take the extra 5 steps it takes to get to the cart-park, will ya?


Friday, August 10, 2007

Maybe the missing title is freaking Blogger out. Let's see!

If you guys haven't read Heather's latest post yet about Leta being a packrat of some sort, just go and do it's a small excerpt:

"Last night we read her books in our bed after her bath, and when we were done she looked over at Jon’s nightstand, pointed to his copy of Freakonomics, and said, “Oooh, apples! I want to sleep with that book.” And since he had finished it a couple of weeks ago we let her, tucked her into her toddlerbed and set Freakonomics next to her head. She rolled over, hugged it, and then looked back at both of us and said, “You guys are my friends.”"

I particularly loved the "Oooh, apples!" part, but then the way she ended the paragraph cracked me up, and makes me want to borrow Leta now and then so I can have some more interesting things to post about. That mini-chick's got it goin' on...

An afternoon nostalgia television show...

Today is a null day. Nothing is really going on…not much has happened yet, and I don’t expect anything to happen after this point, either. All’s quiet on the western front, as they say.

I hope I didn’t offend Janet yesterday with my comment response to her suggestion that I had the same “virus” that her 4 year old has, since I have heartburn and issues with the pooping this week. I was being snarky, and I feel it might’ve come off wrong, and I think Janet is sweet, so I don’t wanna come off nasty by any means. Just some good ol’ silly snark, is all. See, I need the snark right now. I’m being pushed in ways that I cannot really respond to as I’d like, and having to grin and bear it everywhere else in my life, it comes out in random fucked up ways like responses in comments, crying myself to sleep at night, discussions with my dead mother, and that sort of thing. It makes for an interesting home life.

Now that I’ve had my official First Review with my boss (yesterday afternoon), I feel much, much better about things. People actually like me here at this job, which was lovely to hear, and made me feel about 8 feet tall when we were done talking. It’s the first time in years that I enjoy coming to work each day AND I like my coworkers as well. Pretty much all of them. Which is crazy, and you know I’m knocking on all the wood I have around me as I say this right now. (Since I’m at work, and surrounded by nothing but fake man-made materials, I had to knock on my head, though. As usual…)

The fiancé had some issues at his initial restaurant location that he started training at a couple of weeks ago. The kitchen manager that was training him apparently has designs on managing the kitchen at the restaurant that the fiancé is supposed to be transferred to in order to run when it opens in a few months. So. The guy didn’t like him. He’s telling the management team for the restaurants that the fiancé has said things he absolutely didn’t say, and that he’s not a team player because he didn’t stay after a shift last Saturday to “learn how to fry chips” and instead wanted to take care of “learning” that task on Wednesday when he was back in the kitchen again. And while the chip thing was true, first of all, why the fuck did he wait until the end of the shift to ask the fiancé to do a task like that? And also? Learning how to make chips consists of pulling the pre-cut tortillas out of a bag and dumping them in a fryer. I learned how to do that when I was working at a Baja Fresh place when I was 17. I also had to cut the chips, as we made them fresh in the store. Somehow, I managed to wrap even my teenaged head around that task in a matter of about 5 minutes. Even though I’d never done it before! *gasp!* I’m incredibly talented. So is the fiancé. I think he’ll be able to figure out the chip thing when necessary.

So this guy he had been working with (who didn’t even speak to him the first two days he was in his kitchen…nice way to launch the training, dude) was a prick, and so they moved the fiancé to a different store to train under a different kitchen manager. And it’s going much, much better for him, which is nice. (And helps the heartburn a bit as well…why do I get heartburn over a situation that really doesn’t effect me much? I don’t know…ask my mom. Yes, she’s dead. But she might answer. Depends on how open-minded you are about that sort of thing.)

We also sold the big, horrid truck that the fiancé had bought last winter this week, and are working on getting things on the right page so we can get rid of the other car the fiancé has had sitting in the driveway for a while now, too. Just need to deal with some title issues on that, and we can move forward, and hopefully replenish the savings account a bit.

All of this has come together to make Friday a relatively good day. Although it still started out with some unhappy poo, and I do have heartburn right now, dammit. I’m sure I’ll be in the pink by the time 5 p.m. rolls around.

Here’s to hoping you have a rosy day, too.

Thursday, August 09, 2007


This week is giving me heartburn and the runs, dammit. I'd like it to be over, please.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Wait...that's all we get?

Apparently, an 8-foot tall Lego man was "rescued" from the ocean somewhere off the coast by a Dutch resort yesterday.

All the article says is that children were playing around it after it had been placed on shore (and which someone caught a picture of), and then that the toy was later placed in front of the snack shop area of the resort.

Apparently, the toy floated in from the direction of England.

But other than that teeny bit of info, we get nothing on where it came from, why it landed where it did, and why the hell it even exists!

Even the "shirt" on the front of the Lego man says "NO REAL THAN YOU ARE."

So it's an existential Lego man, hm? I mean, he doesn't make much sense, but to each their own, I s'pose. I'm just pissed the "article" on the find sucks as bad as it does. Seriously...tell us where the fuck the thing came from, at least.

Who lost their 8-foot Lego man? C'mon now...time to fess up.

A half of a birthday, indeed...

Today is mine and the Twin's half-birthday. My mother started the tradition of celebrating this usually silly "holiday" years ago, and I tend to carry on the tradition by making brownies or something for my coworkers, but today I feel a bit more somber and down than usual. I wound up going home and crying last night instead of making brownies for my coworkers.

The margarita that the fiance made for me helped that, though. :)

So, happy half-birthday, Twin! Some might think we're getting a bit too old to keep celebrating such a silly day in our lives, but I say they can buggar's fun. And fun stuff like this keeps ya young, dammit.

Maybe I'll make the brownies a day late...

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

On child abuse...

Due to some idiotic responses that are coming through about this post, let me make it more clear for the retards that apparently read this blog now and then: The fiance was BEATEN when he was a child. Not just given "whippings," which apparently are normal to some of you. He was punched with closed fists, slapped, belittled, yelled at, and thrown against walls until he was about 15 years old, and he finally hit his father back. His mother was once thrown so hard against the wall during an argument, she left a dent in the wall the size of her body. So you assholes that think that this sort of behavior is ok, let me uninvite you to my blog. Leave now...I don't appreciate you, I don't understand you, and I don't think you are normal in the head. Seek help, and don't procreate.

For the record, here is what I've found for you regarding the connection between child abuse victims and a somewhat irrational fear of the dentist:

"An adult patient's fear of dentists may also be a sign of trauma and may be linked to a history of childhood abuse. For example, a woman who was orally raped as a child found it extremely stressful to sit in the chair of a male dentist, with his face close to hers (Boston Globe. Jimenez R: Fear of dentist linked to child abuse. August 15, 1994:27). Anxiety is common in most dental patients, but practitioners who encounter profound reactions to treatment situations should not discount the possibility that they may be dealing with a patient who is suffering the psychological effects of abuse.

While there has not been a lot of research into the implications of abuse for dental practice, some issues have been identified that could help dentists in their treatment of abuse survivors. The dental experience may cause the patient to remember the powerlessness of past abuse and loss of control. Communication by the dentist about what makes the patient comfortable or uncomfortable is essential."

That was found in the section titled "Psychological injuries" of this Medscape article on domestic

Good luck with everything, trolls. Go find someone else to mock, because we don't want your brand of crazy around here...

Just one more time (for now, anyway...)

If I am traveling behind your car in my car, and I am a good 3 car lengths back, that does NOT give you enough room to wash your fucking windshield while moving forward at 50 MPH without hitting my car with your nasty, dirty, buggy and icky washer fluid as I travel behind you, you moron.


I understand the sun is now hitting your windshield in a way that makes it obvious that you got some spots on there that might bother you a bit and you want to clean them off. Do the rest of us a favor (particularly those of us that just washed their car a couple of days ago) and wait until you're (a) on the road without anyone behind you or (b) stopped at a stoplight before you run the fucking washer fluid all over the place, ok? Dumbass...

Monday, August 06, 2007

Some things we just can never understand

When people beat their children, they take their pride away from them with every smack of the hand or fist or foot, or whatever their weapon of choice may be. They instill a fear in them that makes it difficult for them to ever get past. They give them the "gift" of insecurity and inferiority complexes and a general inability to deal with even the tiniest confrontation-type situation with power or confidence of their own.

Those children may grow up to be pretty awesome individuals. But that fear stays with them, boy. And how. It makes them stay quiet in situations where they should speak up, and fear random everyday activities that might not be so pleasant for any of us to deal with, but certainly is made even more so for them.

It makes them lack the desire to take care of themselves in any way, because they don't feel they're worth it. They don't feel like they deserve to be healthy or happy or confident or strong.

People who beat their children and make them feel small and insignificant and worthless deserve to be beaten themselves. Maybe not so much with a fist or in any physical way whatsoever...but inside their heads. They should be beaten every day with their thoughts and doubts and fears. Their insecurity should come back and bite them in their own ass for once. (Or twice, or 50 times, even.)

Children are a gift to those who choose to take on the responsibility of caring for them. They are not something to have simply because your religion tells you its the right thing to do. They are not something to have so you can have a chance to feel like the person in charge all the time. They are not something to have so you can get those pent up feelings of frustration out on the table in a more productive manner than you've ever been able to express before, i.e. through your fist or a belt or whatever means you might feel is appropriate for the giving.

They do stupid things because they don't know better, or they have developmental issues (which, by the way, don't exactly get better when you beat the shit out of them on a weekly basis), or they simply don't focus and/or care the way adults sometimes do. If they lose their retainer once, twice, and even a third time, it's not like they did it on purpose. More than likely, the reason they lost it was because they just forgot about it for a bit. And when they remembered it, it was too late to get it back. Or they simply lost track and completely forgot about where they put it at all, so it's just gone. Or the waiter came around and thought it was a piece of trash that needed to be cleared off the table, since it was protectively wrapped in a napkin for safe-keeping, and it got thrown away. I lost a retainer once when I was a kid. I hadn't any idea where I'd left it, and to this day, I couldn't tell you what happened to it. Fortunately for me, when we went back to the orthodontist to get a new mold for a new retainer, I didn't need it teeth had moved quickly to where we needed them to be, and we were done with it. Thank GOD. (Ever had a mold made of your mouth? Gah. Worst dental experience EVER, hands down.) Did my parents beat the shit out of me for losing it and being as irresponsible with it as I had been? Noooo. I knew it wasn't a good thing that I'd lost it, but I also knew my parents didn't hate me because I'd lost it. I felt bad, and they knew they certainly didn't need to make me feel worse.

When the fiance was 10, he lost his third retainer when he left it wrapped in a napkin on the table next to his plate at Chuck E. Cheese, where I think they were at to celebrate one of his brothers' birthdays...I could be wrong about that though. Anyway, when his father learned what had happened, he actually made the fiance climb into a dumpster in the back alley of the Chuck E. Cheese, searching through all of the trash, being stung by bees and having to deal with the rot and stench of old food and other disgusting items, just to find the retainer that the fiance had so dutifully tried to protect by wrapping it and trying to keep it safe while he ate and then ran off to have fun with the boys.

He was 10. He was a little boy. And when he had gotten that last retainer, he remembers that he was told that if he lost that one, that was it. His parents would no longer take care of his teeth, and he would have to deal with the consequences of his actions on his own. They did take him to what the fiance calls a government dentist, or was basically free dental care, as I understand it. He had 2 teeth pulled by one of those dentists. They don't tend to give people, even little kids, any powerful amounts of sedative or even novocain when dealing with those who can't pay for the procedure in the first place, apparently. And if the fiance thought it was hard to deal with having 3 different molds made of his mouth for all his retainers, he hadn't seen anything yet until he had those teeth pulled.

Shockingly, he was afraid to see a dentist after those formative years dealing with that kind of care. I know...weird, huh?

This morning, the second of what looks to be 4 rather intense and time-consuming visits to a dentist who sedates overly-nervous patients like the fiance took place. All of his upper front teeth were filled and sealed, and they were able to get updated x-rays as well, and figure out what to do with the one molar that he has that causes him a good amount of trouble, and they also did a deep-cleaning on his teeth that they call "scaling" in one more section. Last time we were there, they had to pull a tooth, and they did some scaling, and started the process on a root canal that we're pretty sure can't be done now. (The decay goes too far to the root...there's no point in doing the root canal. The dentist advised us to consider just pulling that tooth as well. It'd be a waste of money otherwise, he said. I appreciated that, but it'll be up to the fiance, of course.)

We've now paid enough to this dentist for him to be able to take himself along with 3 other people on a nice domestic vacation for a week or so. And we're only half-way through.

The reason why I'm ok with doing this for him? Because I love him and want him to be as healthy as possible so we can live long lives together. Fuck if I'll be able to find anyone else who can put up with my shit the way he's able to!

Plus, I think that somehow, I'm helping him be that person he probably could have been all this time, had he not been treated the way he was when he was growing up.

And for those that think they can just walk all over him, and treat him like shit, and talk down to him and belittle him and make him think he has no power in any given situation? Yeah, I'm not controlling him, you asshole. I'm backing his shit up. And you do NOT want to fuck with me when it comes to you pushing him in the wrong direction. Because I am bigger, and stronger, and have more self-confidence than you could EVER imagine having, you fucktwat. And it's just rubbing off on him, is all. You try surrounding yourself with confident people instead of those that will simply bow down to you whenever you feel its necessary to raise your voice to get your point across...see how much better you feel about yourself when you're dealing with someone that respects you because you respect yourself, and who don't just feel like they'd best clam up for fear of being yelled at for any given reason.

Anyway, before this turns into a rambly mess, let me just finish this up by saying that my fiance is absolutely the best person I've ever been attached to. I love him more than anything in this world, and will stand by him whenever he needs me to do just that. He's a dear, sweet man who genuinely cares about me and his friends that have truly accepted him for who he is. And he's only getting better from here! No thanks to certain events that occurred earlier in his life, of course...

Not good strange...just strange strange

Just a quick question: is anyone able to see this post? Or is Blogger being a dick to more than just me? Moving along now...

The new gym has opened in Olathe. I started going there last Tuesday to see my trainer, who has promptly returned to his attempts to kill me outright with random exercise equipment (which might seem somewhat unsuspicious to the casual user, but which can most certainly be used as devices for torture, let me assure you), and have visited there a couple of other times now with the fiancé as well. We like the space it has, and the new machines it offers. We went there on Friday night, since we couldn’t get our lazy-asses out of bed that morning, and had a good workout, and then got in the Jacuzzi they have there for about 15 minutes before heading home and having some beers while watching Psych. We did the same thing again yesterday, but we followed up our dip in the Jacuzzi with a sit in the sauna as well…did me some good, I think. I had about 4 times the amount of sodium I should have had on Saturday, so sweating some of that crap out of my system was just plain sensible. If it was even possible, anyway. (I hope it was!)

While I was getting changed out of my bathing suit and into the comfy clothes I had brought along with me for the ride home, I heard a woman wandering from toilet stall to toilet stall flushing all the toilets. I figured it was someone doing some cleaning, and didn’t think anything else about it. Then she was in the sink area, washing her hands for a looooong time. Well, cleaning toilets is dirty business, sometimes. She was just being overly cautious, I think. Well done there.

When I was working my bra around my body, standing half-naked in my underwear covered only with the very wet towel I had used to dry off after my dip in the Jacuzzi and sit in the sauna, I heard this woman say, “Should I join?” I didn’t know if she was talking to someone else, or herself, or what. So I did what any other normal human being would do, and I ignored her. I was pulling my bra up over my boobs when I heard her again, a bit closer behind me this time. “Should I join?” I was all, “Um, huh?...” And as I turned to see if she was, indeed, talking to me, there she was right next to me, asking me if I liked working out there. “I’m sorry…I’m getting dressed right now,” I said, turning back toward the locker I had all my stuff in, as she wandered around the corner to the showers saying, “Oh, are these the showers?” No, nimrod…that’s where we wash all the vegetables we eat before we have our workouts on the shiny thingies out in the front section of the building. Idiot.

I left her to her own devices. She wandered through the hallway that lead to the Jacuzzi area, and I didn’t hear her again as I finished putting my clothes on.

Now, I’m all for having a convo while I’m getting ready in the morning. At the old gym, there were a few of us that had gotten used to seeing each other a few days of the week, and we would often chat a bit while we dried our hair and put on our makeup. I found my invitation vendor for the wedding through one of those girls, in fact. But we didn’t really stop and chat with each other while we were - you know - half-naked, attempting to wiggle into our undergarments, and all. That was generally looked down upon.

As I walked out into the gym to meet back up with the fiancé, I saw the woman had run into one of the lovely young guys that had been in the steam room when the fiancé and I had been in the sauna. She was talking to him about something as they walked to the front of the gym together. I stopped to get some water after that, and when I went to rendezvous with fiancé at the front door, I saw the guy walking back into the gym with a puzzled look on his face. Yeah…she weirded him out somehow, too. We saw her chatting with the front desk clerk as we walked out the front door, and I heard her asking something about trainers…

I can honestly say that no…no I don’t think she should join. She was a leeetle too overexcited for my taste, and the tactlessness of approaching me while I was getting dressed? Maybe she lives in a hole in the ground somewhere in town, and doesn’t get out much, but I’m not up to helping her figure out what is and what is not acceptable in general society when it comes to appropriate times to start a conversation. I know I might seem bitchy when it comes to this opinion I have, but I don’t care. My boobs were hanging out, yo. Not cool.

Friday, August 03, 2007

Dear little baby Jesus...

Holy crap. The Duggars had their latest kid. Her name is Jennifer.

Welcome to the world, Baby Duggar! Your parents are insane, so good luck with that.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Found this on Weddingbee...

I had to share this. Even for people note dealing with wedding bullshit, its funny. (I think. I dunno, let me know, ok?)


Why does my bodybugg advise me not to upload my data via USB cable while I'm wearing it, do you suppose? What could happen?

I'm intrigued...

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

No exclamation points were harmed in the making of this post.

We bought a car last night. One of those mini-SUV thingies that are so popular with the kids these days. It's pretty awesome.This is a pic of the car/SUV-thingy from their's a similar color to this, too. So, yeah...that's the new car.

It was an exhausting experience, though. Hence the lack of excitement. I've never financed a car before, and it took forevahhh to wait for them to do. Probly would have helped if 18 gazillion other people weren't there at the same time, waiting to get their new car or SUV-thing financed. To be honest, I would have prefered to have just written the check and gotten the heck out of there. But they offered an additional $500 back to us if we financed through them, for some reason. So I'll pay it off in a couple weeks when we get the final paperwork. (We also got another $1500 rebate with the purchase which we applied toward the cost of the car/SUV-thing, of course. I don't know why they were offering that...just to launch the cars off their lot in a more efficient manner, I s'pose? The salesguy told us they upped it from $1,000 mid-month, and so we're just lucky we waited until yesterday to buy, it seems.)

When I bought the beautiful BMW almost 5 years ago, I paid in full with a check. So after the picking and choosing of options, and then ordering of the car, I didn't really have a long period of wait/down-time in the dealership where I was hanging around with nothing to do. I remember when I met with the finance guy there.
"We have plenty of financing options that will work for you."
"I won't be financing, thanks, just buying it outright."
"But we could get you a great deal on a 2003, even!"
*sigh.* "No...I'm good. Just gonna buy it, thanks."

And that was that. When I went back to buy the car, I handed the check to the finance guy, signed a couple of things, and then I drove away in my lovely car built just for me.

But last night? Ugh. We started at Honda, as my fiance had narrowed the list down to two options, and that one was the first choice until 2 things occurred: the sales manager there was an uptight retarded prick who wouldn't budge on the price of the 2007 CRV we were looking at. Not an inch. Not a dime. Complete and utter asshat. Then we went for a test drive, and I HATED the way it felt when fiance was in charge of that thing. It was all jerky and felt a bit rough. Bleh.

But we liked the salesguy, and we figured we'd just look at the Hyundai down the street...just in case. Plus, we didn't want to be pressured into anything, and we wanted to explore all our options, so there was that, too. The salesman tried to keep us there and convince us to buy with him, but we assured him that we needed to be sure of all our options before a purchase like that, and he understood.

So down to Hyundai we went. And we chatted with the salesguy there, who was very nice. Then we drove the Tucson, and the fiance's knees weren't in his face, and the rear seats even recline a bit, and the radio has 6 speakers instead of 4, and even though there isn't an MP3 plug-in option, there is a tape deck, which I didn't even think they MADE anymore, and the engine is a V-6, but the car still has pretty good MPG and all...

And it was even in the color the fiance liked.

And so we bought it.

And it was good.

Until we had to wait for 4 other people who had made their decision circa 7:45 p.m. like us as well to get financed. And then I met with the finance guy, and signed my life away for the next 10 minutes, and THEN we were able to go home.

And I don't want to do that again for a long, loo-hooooong time, so it better be a good fucking car, dammit.