Thursday, September 30, 2010

I think I'll declare this day "Stupid Day". Come say stupid stuff in my comments section...

Today is clearly stupid day. But for little reasons...


  • I woke up at 4:30 and realized I had slept through the night without getting up. That somehow became a "sign" that I was supposed to sleep more instead of going to work out. Don't ask me why. (I blame Stupid Day! Clearly, that was the kickoff point.)

  • Leo suggested we get a bottle of wine for tonight as I was leaving the house. I looked at him like he was crazy (it's the BSC in me...I can't help it sometimes!), and said, "I need to pack and go to bed early tonight! I have to go see my trainer tomorrow morning at 5, so I will not be drinking any wine, thanks." He admitted it was a silly idea, and I kissed him goodbye and left. (He's pretty much done for the week, since we're leaving for a mini-vaca tomorrow, and he gets to take Friday and Monday off from school, and doesn't have school today. So he had one more homework project to finish and turn in, and then he was free! Yeah, I'M NOT YET.)

  • I had to go to the bank to get more check registers today, because I'm down to the last page in mine. I don't know about everyone else's bank, but at BofA, they have a greeter standing in the lobby to see what everyone needs as they walk in the door. It's a little annoying, but I can see the helpfulness behind it from time to time. Today, no other customers were there, so I was able to just walk right up to the teller and ask for more registers. She gave them to me right away, and I headed out. But the greeter wasn't done with me, apparently. She must've been bored. "Don't you have online banking?" she smilingly asked as I passed her on my way to the door. "Yes, I do. But I write everything down as I spend it. That way, I know that the $25 check I wrote to my neighbor's kid's school a month ago for a fundraiser that hasn't been cashed yet? Yeah, I know that money is gone. But it's NOT gone from my online banking list yet, since they haven't cashed it." And then I walked out. (Neat how technology isn't the answer in every. single. instance., now, isn't it?)

  • There are work examples, too, but I don't feel like getting into them now. It wouldn't be interesting to anyone the way I'd have to describe it, so meh. They suck - just a lil' bit, though - and that's all there is to that.

  • I almost forgot the stupidest point of all! Tony Curtis died last night, as we all know by now (and if you didn't already, then there ya go!), and I'm sad. I'm sad because I went to college my freshman year with his son, Ben. Ben was an awesome guy. He was kind, and funny, and quiet, and handsome, and we all really liked him a lot. It was a small school, so we all knew each other relatively well, and Ben wasn't a stuck up douche or anything that you might expect the son of a Hollywood legend of sorts to be. I doubt he'd remember me at all, but remember him, and I feel sorry for him right now. In looking up some stuff today, I came across the news that his older brother, Nicholas, died of an overdose in 1994. That would've been the year after I left the college we went to together and moved on to Pepperdine, so I had no idea. I just feel bad for the guy. He really liked his dad. And I think it's stupid that I feel so bad about it all. It's perplexing. I haven't seen Ben since I was 19 years old...why does my brain even care at all about what happened? I guess I can chalk it up to the whole degree of separation thing, maybe. I'm only 1 degree from Tony, since I knew his son, right? I dunno. It's stupid...RIP, Mr. Curtis.

So tomorrow Leo and I leave for California, where we're spending the weekend with my family, and going to a wedding in Malibu, and all that good stuff. I'll be away from my computah the entire time, so try not to miss me too much. That'd be stupid, anyway.

Hey! ;)

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

I'm just sayin'...if those were MY initials? I wouldn't use them to sign emails.

I woke up on the absolute, 100%, certifiable WRONG SIDE of the bed this morning.

Actually, it seemed ok, at first. I snuggled with Jake-Jake, and managed to pull myself away without too much time getting away from me, so I could get in the bathroom and change into workout clothes. But as I was changing, I heard Leo make one of his super-loud, obnoxious wake up noises that he's started doing since he began taking Lunesta. He was having sleeping problems. Poor guy. (/sarcasm) Now that he takes Lunesta, apparently I get to have all the sleeping problems. Namely having to get up with the dogs in the middle of the night when they ate dinner too late, and/or being awoken with a LOUD *YAAAAWWWNNNN* at 6:45 a.m. on a day when I get to finally fucking sleep in. He doesn't just wake up anymore. He wakes up WITH NOISE. You know, in case I hadn't already made that clear enough.

I generally have a hard time getting back to sleep after getting startled out of a deep slumber, so on Saturday, after The Great Yawn of 6:45 A.M., I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. He'd also gotten up and gone into the office and shut the door, leaving the now awake and very excited to go outside dogs to dance around my side of the motherfucking bed all expectant-like and hyper, until I finally just got the fuck up, and let them out.

Assholes. The lot of them...ASS. HOLES.

I mean, I love them all, of course. But still...GOD.

So anyway...this morning. I hear the Wake Up Noise from the bedroom as I was putting in my contacts, and next thing I know, Leo is standing in the bathroom door, scratching himself and looking all awake, and shit. And I'm like, "The fuck? Go away." (I really, really like my alone time in the morning, especially when it begins at 4-fucking-30 a.m.) So he went away, but only into the closet to put on clothes, and I finished getting ready and headed in to get my flipflops (which is what I wear to the living room, where I put on my workout shoes...it's a routine. I don't like to fuck with the routine...), and run into Leo who is standing and staring at his shirts. Apparently pondering which one he'd like to wear today. So I say, "MOVE." I mean, really, why does he mess with The Beast that early in the day, anyway? I don't even like The Beast! I certainly didn't want it woken up like that, dammit! He moved, and I got my flipflops on, and headed out of the damned closet to the living room. Where my workout shoes were no longer hanging out waiting for me. UGH! Leo moved them into the closet on Sunday when he vacuumed! I mean, yay! for the vacuuming! I'm a very lucky bitch, etc, etc,...but still, why can't he leave my workout shoes alooone? That is where they are kept. Under the right hand side of the coffee table. Waiting for my fat ass to put them on and use them. Don't. Touch. Them.

So I head back into the bedroom to get my shoes out of the closet, and there's Leo, sitting on the edge of the bathtub surround, putting on socks. He already had on one of the new sweaters we picked up from Macy's last weekend (ridiculously good sale over the weekend...it was INSANE) and his jeans and everything, and now he was putting on socks, and I was all, "It's FOUR FORTY FIVE. Why are you even UP?" He couldn't sleep anymore, he said. "You didn't even try. You made your crazy yawn noise, and just got up right away! Why not roll over and sleep some more if you don't have to be anywhere until 9???" He did try, he says. He wasn't tired anymore. All of this is said with a fucking GRIN on his face. UGH! Ugh, ugh, uuuggghhh!!!

Mind you, I HAVE TO get up at 4:30 to get to the gym before I go to work every day. (Well, not every day. Just on the days I decide to do it. But you know what I mean....if I wanna go to the gym, I have to get up at 4:30 to do it.) He doesn't have to workout until 2 or 3 today, because that's when he sees his trainer. Prior to that, he gets to hang out around the house, and do homework, and he was having some stitches removed at the dermatologist this morning, so that was what the early appointment was about.

Anyway, it just pissed me off, apparently. And the day just keeps chipping away at me ever since. And even stories of shittier days aren't helping me much, so you KNOW I'm in a pretty deep funk, if that's the case.

Maybe a walk will help. ::sigh:: I'll try that...so pretty out...

Anyway, I got an email today from someone who's not even on my team asking me for something they should get from their own admin, but none of that really matters. Because this person signs her emails with her initials. Which happen to be "BSC". You just tell me...is that how YOU would sign your emails if those were your initials? Think I should give her the link to the Urban Dictionary definition of "BSC"? Shit, work doesn't even allow us access to the Urban Dictionary! So I guess that passive-aggressive route is out.

I should totally be signing all my emails with those initials today, I guess! Maybe she wouldn't mind if I borrowed them...

Friday, September 24, 2010

Is it bad when the neurologist forgets about you in the exam room?

I had an annual visit with my neurologist this week. It went well. He had some good suggestions for how to deal with my mild anxiety I've been experiencing, and he was pleased that the treatment for my cluster headaches is doing well. (Not as pleased as I am, but still! It's nice when things are working, so I'd imagine he'd prefer to hear that a patient is happy vs. getting all kids of other random patient issues thrown at him, a la Dr. Grumpy.)

I also took the opportunity to ask him WTF the little evil-looking satan guy in my brain was, because I'd forgotten to do it last year when I was in the middle of a neurologist shuffle in his office (my original doctor left the practice before I was fully diagnosed and medicated, so I had to switch to this current one instead, and it was all a little bit much, thanks to the severe pain in my head that accompanied everything at the time), so I pulled up the photos on my phone, and showed him saying, "What IS this, do you know? It showed up in one of my MRI pictures from last May..."

I don't know who's new around here, and who isn't, so here are the photos again for your viewing pleasure:
The doctor was all, "What? I don't see..." And so I was all, "Um, the little devil dude in the middle?" I zoomed in a bit for him.
And he just started laughing, and then got a confused look on his face, and he said, "I don't know!" I asked him if that was in everyone's brain, or if it was just a random part of mine, because it actually explained a lot if it's just my brain. Which made him laugh again. "It's probably fluid, really. It just must've caught it at an odd time in the MRI."

That the fluid would reflect in a manner that looks so devilish is absolutely fascinating to me. And I still prefer my own satan-lives-in-my-brain theory, to be honest. Really, he's not so bad. Could be worse, I'd think. ::shrugs::

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Are you a knuckle-cracker?

I have a friend online who's apparently in close proximity to a person at work who cracks everything on her body...knuckles, neck, back, etc., all day long. It's driving my friend up a WALL, understandably. (She's asked the person to stop it, but the person doesn't even notice when she does it anymore, it's become such second nature to her.)

It got me to wondering, how/why does someone start to crack their joints like that? I told my friend that I actually remember a friend of mine when I was a kid that was able to do it, and I tried once or twice, but couldn't make it happen. And then my mom advised against it anyway (she told me that once I started, I'd always have to do it from then on), and that was enough to get me to quit trying, I guess.

I have to pop my knees from time to time, because of my stupid plicas I have. Pressure builds up in there, due to no fault of my own, and if I don't pop them, it hurts. The more exercise I do, and strength I build around my knees, though, the better, and they haven't bugged me too much since my diagnosis and initial physical therapy, thanks to that. But still...I have to pop them now and again, and I never thought about how the noise might bother someone around me, so I can kind of see how a consumate knuckle-cracker wouldn't really notice how annoying their habit can be to people around them.

Are you a knuckle-cracker? If you are, has anyone ever said anything to you about it, and have you tried to stop because of that? Or do you just crack away, since there's not much you can do to stop it?

Monday, September 20, 2010

News Junkie Alert!

I'm a news freak. I watch the news in the morning for local info. And then I watch the 1st half hour of GMA as I get ready for work, so I can get informed on the top national topics for the day. While at work, I check both local and national news sites frequently throughout the day to stay informed and up to date.

I like to be on top of things, I guess.

But how sad is it that just a little while ago, I saw an update on a story I saw this morning on GMA (the girl in Charlotte that was killed last week, and who's body was found in a storage facility on Sunday? They caught the guy they think did it...yay!), but as I started to click on the link, I also noticed that Lindsay Lohan's probation was revoked, and I was all, "Oh dude...what'd she do???" and clicked that link first?

I was disgusted by my choice, so I felt writing about it would help make me a better person. We'll see how that turns out...

Something I would love to hear from everyone on is that sports reporter chick (Ines Sainz - that's a Google link to stories and photos of her, in case you've never heard anything about her) from Mexico who works for TV Azteca, who was all over the news last week. There's a kind of follow-up story today on MSN that's basically saying that women get the shaft either way when it comes to how they dress for work these days, and it's tiresome, apparently, for some.

While I have to agree that choosing an outfit in the morning would be much easier if I were male and had either a suit or khakis and a polo to choose from, I don't think it's all that hard to figure out (a) how to be age-appropriate in selecting proper work clothes, (b) how to dress so my boobs aren't hanging out all over, creating a distraction for EVERYONE who comes into contact with me, male and female alike, or (c) how to wear something that is more office friendly than it is weekend friendly. The flip flops work for my Sunday trips to the grocery store...NOT for my daily work grind, thanks. (One exception to flip-flop wearers: pregnant ladies. Sometimes, there just isn't any other good option when your feet swell to a size that you have no other way to deal with. Totally understandable. All the rest of the people wearing flip flops to the office? Unless it's something like a sanctioned "beach day" or something, just don't do it. Even if they have a heel on them...still flip-flops! DUH.)

I disagree whole-heartedly with anyone who says Ines was dressed appropriately for her job. Over the weekend, there was a clip floating around somewhere - maybe on the Soup? - of her saying that her incredibly tight pants fit, and that's why she wears them. But that doesn't mean they're appropriate. They're fucking ridiculously tight. Painfully so, it seems. But, to each her own. If she wants to wear pants like that (with her low-cut and revealing halter tops, mind you...::raises eyebrow::) out on a Friday night after a rough week of interviewing on the sidelines, then more power to her. Do it.

But they just aren't appropriate for any kind of professional environment, is the thing. I don't think my opinion varies greatly from too many other folks, but I could be wrong, so that's why I'm bringing it up. I really like dressing in a classy, feminine, professional manner at work. I also try to keep my weekend outfits in a similar classy, feminine arrangement, but loosen things up with flip flops, and a maxi dress here and there. (There are women in my office that can pass off the maxi dress look at work...I can't do it, no matter how hard I try. I just cannot make those things look professional! I wonder what their secret is?)

I have a coworker who just turned 51 and who wore a sweater to work a couple of weeks ago that wasn't long enough, and her belly button was sticking out all day long. I just cannot STAND that kind of shit. She frequently wears things that I might've had in my closet when I was 20, btw...so that's also an issue for her. She's a teeny little thing, so she can wear all kinds of stuff, but still...it should be appropriate for the workplace.

And it's not about outfits being suggestive. It's about them being vulgar. Just like I try to keep my cussing buttoned up in the workplace (my boss has been apologizing for saying "shit" around me lately, if that gives you any clue as to how buttoned-up I keep it!), I also think that vulgar clothing choices should be left to non-work related events and activities. If used at all, really. Hell, I think that if given the option, a lot of johns would stop and ask the classily-dressed prostitute-on-the-corner type girl to get in his car, vs. the girl wearing undies and ripped tights with a bra. But maybe that's just the idealist in me...who knows?

I still think that lewd commentary based on the way a person is dressed is as inappropriate as a vulgar choice in clothing, so don't get me wrong on that part of this story...I firmly believe that even though Ines was wearing pants that left very little to the imagination, it didn't deserve any kind of cat-calling or anything like that from the people she was around.

But what do you guys think? Am I a crazy kook on this? Should I go out and get myself the tightest pants I can "fit" into, and start wearing them to the office? Or do you think that people should stick to a stricter dress code when it comes to their place of work, or even just out in public in general, for that matter? Share your thoughts with me!

Friday, September 17, 2010

Jealousy and rage do not become you, Whole Foods...just to warn!

So I stopped through Whole Foods this afternoon, grabbing a little salad from the salad bar to accompany my lunch (which, as usual, actually became my lunch after I finished it and wound up not being hungry for my real lunch anymore) after I'd finished picking up my altered dress from the tailor for my friend's wedding in October. And as I checked out, I heard the increasingly common exclamation around these here parts from a girl behind me at another checkout counter...

"Yeah! Less than a mile from here. A Trader Joe's!"

The girl she was talking to sounded a bit excited as she replied, "Where???"

"At 119th and Roe. Right down the street! That's what they do, you know. They ALWAYS manage to put themselves within a mile of a Whole Foods. It's how they work." She was sounding more and more angry as she discussed it, so I decided to interject, "That's not true, though. Trader Joe's has been in more markets than Whole Foods for much longer. So, in many cases, your company put their store near Trader Joe's, probably," as I shrugged my shoulders to show that it really isn't that big of a deal.

And maybe it IS a big deal. Like, maybe Trader Joe's will provide a little more competition than the Walmart Groceries and HyVee's that Whole Foods has had to compete with in the area for the last 5 years. I get that it might be tough at first, for sure.

Seeing the real annoyance in this salesperson's countenance, I told her, "I'll still have to shop here for my buffalo meat. And Trader Joe's has very little produce in their stores...they focus more on packaged foods. It's really a totally different store, when it comes down to it." That didn't calm her down, though. And as she found yet another coworker to spew her anger over the impending eeeviiiil Trader Joe's invasion at, I shook my head, and left the store with my salad in hand.

See, she shoulda kept that discussion to the break room, or something. Because it was a really unattractive display of behavior, and it kinda pissed me off. Competition is a good thing, dammit. But if you display ugliness and bitter anger regarding your competitors within earshot of your customers? You're likely to push some right out the door and into the soon-to-be-waiting arms of those you hate the most. Tsk tsk!

Hole in Your FACE!

Can you lose weight in your ankles, and no place else? Because my shoes are loose on my ankles, and they weren't this loose when I wore them 2 weeks ago. O_o

My favorite thing that keeps happening now and then lately is when I'm working out with my trainer, and we're chatting while I'm doing something evil to my arms, and I notice in the mirror that my left nipple is saying, "Oh, HELLO!" Just the left one, though. And it's always in an impossibly high spot thanks to the way it's shifted in my sports bra, so it's like I have a nipple on the upper part of my boob instead of in a normal, middle of the boob locale.

I shoulda just had them removed while the doctor was at it in June. Just lop 'em right off. And then I'd be all monster boobish with my all boob/no nipple boobs, but I'd never ever have to worry about randomly hard nipples again! Seems like a relatively even trade to me, in the long run. ::shrugs::

I just got off the phone with my brother, after asking him for some help with a football pick 'em game we're doing this year for NFL on Yahoo. When we were finishing up, he was talking about trying to find a good donut place in LA. I told him we have good donuts here in KC, but I can't help him with LA. He said, "What about 'Perfect Donut'? Would you go there for donuts?" I told him no...I wouldn't go to a place like that for donuts. "Why not? What about 'Tasty Donuts'? Should I try that?" I asked him if it was spelled weird, like "tastee" instead of the right way...he said it was spelled normally. I said I'd go there, then. "Why would you pick 'Tasty' over 'Perfect', though?" I told him that it was an ego thing. Striving for perfection is one thing, but just out and out calling yourself perfect? That's just asking for trouble. Then he saw that someone had said that they had the best buttermilk donut they'd ever had there, and he loves buttermilk donuts, so off to Tasty he went!

Which one would you guys pick? And if you had a donut place, what would you call it? I think I'd do something that was more of a play on words, like "Hole in the Wall" or something corny like that. (I'd really love to call it "Hole in Your FACE" but think people might take that wrong. But think about it! You're putting the hole in your face. :D No? C'mon!!!)

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

It's like Disneyland, but replace the screaming kids and rides with drunk dumbasses and hick-ish ex-frat boys. WOOHOO!

Leo told me last night that he thinks that we'll have to find someplace to watch the Notre Dame game this week, as it's on ABC at the same time that a Texas/Texas Tech game will be on.

"Ooh! We get to go to Buffalo Wild Wings? YAY! I LOVE Buffalo Wild Wings!"

Leo, remembering the last time we had to go to BWW for a game, allows a smile to spread across his face. "Oh yeah...I'd forgotten about that place! Let's definitely go there!"

And if you haven't been to the Buffalo Wild Wings a 103rd and Metcalf to watch a late game or two on a Saturday night? Let me assure you: it is nothing but a peoplewatching treat, my friends. I wonder if I'd get in trouble for taking pictures of random strangers while I'm there...I'll definitely give it a try! Because that really would have helped me describe our experience better the last time we were there. Which I just checked for, and apparently I never even wrote about our last experience there...which is ridiculousness! So this time, I promise, I will be taking notes. Woo woo!

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

One of those weird religious things...come see!

Last week, I was talking to the Twin on the phone, telling her that Jeffers hadn't been around lately*. It makes me sad. I can't remember how it came up in that conversation - I think we were talking about my weird picture that I believe is of Jeffers, or something - but she was talking about her rose petal that she has that has a face on it. She sent me a better picture of it, and I swear, I don't remember seeing this before. Do you guys see a face?


A little backstory: Our mom was a religious fanatic. Not in the most extreme sense of the word, but pretty darned far off the deep end. She believed the world was going to end in 2000. She was preparing us all for the apocolypse, or whatever the hell it is that those "left behind" folks were preparing for, and the only way I could get her to stop talking to me about it was to tell her that if God came to clear the earth of all the baddies? I wouldn't be one of the ones "left behind" to repopulate or whatever the fuck it is that would happen next. Somehow, that worked! She stopped bringing it up when we talked, and we were able to have relatively reasonable conversations from that point on. Awesome.

Anyway, the Twin went along with her once to see this Carmelo dude at a church somewhere in SoCal back in 1997. If you don't want to check out that link, that's fine...I'll try to paraphrase. He's one of those people that has visits from the Virgin Mary. It's fine if you don't believe in that kind of stuff...but his story is still an interesting one, as he has been given some sort of "gift", it seems, that involves his being able to put images onto rose petals through prayer. Or something.

Here's the Twin's story about her experience with him: "Mom and I went to see him at some random church (none of the local catholic churches wanted to host him for some reason) in Dana Point some time in 1997 or so. I remember his story as its told in the link.

During his time with us he had people bring their own roses from their own gardens and had two people go to a sink to get regular tap water- one to fill and one to witness it was from the tap.

He then took the water and prayed over it. As he prayed the room started filling with the scent of roses... he then went around and had each of us touch the water- which had turned into oil that smelled like roses.

He eventually asked us all to stand side by side, one person took the roses from those who had brought them and handed out petals. We each got one that he instructed us to hold to our hearts. He walked to each one of us spending about 20 or 30 seconds praying silently while he held his hand over our hands at our hearts. He told us to take the rose petals home and put them into our bibles, leave them there for about 2 weeks (I think?) and then look and see if we get an image.

MY image (and several others in the room) appeared instantly... the minute he walked away from me, I held it up and there was the face developing, starting with that eye. Other people got what looked like Mary and Baby Jesus, some Jesus, etc. Mom was bummed because her petal never produced a face.

My bible smelled like roses for YEARS after. I finally put the petal into the little bag it's in because it was starting to break down."

I think it's an interesting story, even though the rose petal didn't have any healing powers in our family's case at all.

Wait! Maybe the rose petal is what helped you finally throw those damned candelabra things away, twin! It really WAS a miracle!

:P

*The same day that I lamented the lack of Jeffers activity to the Twin on the phone, I went home and found a quarter sitting in the exact same place that I last found one that I assume was from him. This one was more recent...it was from 1967. So it's not silver. But still, it was funny! And nice. And I'm wondering when he's gonna start giving me, like, old stock certificates for Coca-Cola, or Disney or some shit. That would really make me feel much closer to him, I'd think. :D

Friday, September 10, 2010

The bears. The bears are kinda boring, y’all. Booo!

Leo went to the dermatologist again this last week, had some stitches removed and another mole taken out. And then they found some on his head, because I guess it just slipped their minds to look at it before now, and there are 3 she wants to take from there…

I had told him a while back that it IS his body, and he can tell her when he needs a break, if that’s the case. Because having 7 moles removed over the course of 8 or 9 weeks…it’s not the holiday jubilee it might sound like in your dreams. You know?

So she started talking about wanting to remove these 3 moles FROM HIS SKULL, and they’d have to shave his head and everything, and he finally put his foot down. He said, “Not right now, thanks!” He apparently talked her into letting him wait until next spring or summer. Because winter without hair is probably hard to adjust to for someone who’s never been bald before. Just guessing.

Also, it all sucks. A lot. Good god, the poor boy!

And he has managed to live these 32 years with the moles thus far, so he thinks that another 5 months likely won’t make a huge difference. She didn’t like it, but she agreed, apparently.

And then he said, “I asked her about the bear thing, too.”

“Ooh! YAY! So what the fuck is the deal?”

“Well, she has some friends from Africa that…”

“There are bears in Africa? Hmm...I dunno why I never thought about that before, but it seems odd that there would be bears there at all.”

“No, the friends from Africa live in Virginia. And they have a bear sanctuary. She goes to visit from time to time. She likes the bears.”

::blank stare:: “That’s it? That’s all there is to the bears?”

“Yep. At least, that’s all she said.”

“Oh. Well that’s a shitty story. I don’t want to tell that one!”

“Well, it’s the reason for the bear pictures all over. That’s all.” ::shrugs::

So there you have it, guys. She has friends who have a bear sanctuary (why they need a sanctuary is beyond me, but whatevs), and she visits now and then. Apparently, bears in a sanctuary don’t mind closeness to human beings. Or something. :/

They also kill the sick ones and cook them up and eat them.



Nah! I’m kidding…they don’t do that to the bears. This story just sucks, so I wanted to make it more fun somehow. ::sigh:: Blame Leo. I don’t think he asks things right.

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

Anxiety about my anxiety about flying. Oof...

This month is the last "quiet" one that Leo and I will have before we kick our holiday season into high gear, starting early with a wedding in California in October.

After that, we'll head to his parents' house in Indiana for Thanksgiving.

And then we'll be in California again with my family for Christmas.

It's the nature of the beast, when it comes to the holidays. Would I prefer to spend them here in KC? Yes and no. It's been a long time since we've been up to Leo's home town, and have had a chance to visit with family and friends there. Because of my dad's health issues in his last year, we spent much of my vacation time on trips to California. Bless Leo's heart for being so awesome about that...

And in that same regard, the fact that I've been able to spend a little time here and there with my siblings since dad passed has been wonderful. I honestly don't want to be away from them at Christmas this year. I'm having a hard enough time driving to work some days, because it's the same route I was on the last time I spoke to dad. Every time...every stinking time!...I sit at the signal at 91st and Nall, I remember how I laughed at his suggestion that I needed to warn Leo to treat me right, or he was going to have to answer to him! "Dad! I think you have that backwards, though. Poor Leo is STUCK with me!" And we laughed together and he told me he was proud of me one last time.

::holds back tears by sipping Diet Coke::

Anyway, I need to spend Christmas with my family. I'm really looking forward to it.

I'm looking forward to ALL of it!

Except...the flying.

I used to fly for work back in 1998, going back and forth to Chicago from LA every week for a couple of months until my job got reassigned and I only had to do it once a month for a bit, working the rest of the time from my little crappy computer desk in my apartment in Carlsbad. Then I started flying all over the country as my company rolled out a new payroll system to their branch offices, and I was one of 8 trainers that was deployed to watch over everything while the systems were implemented. For around 8 or 9 months, I was a professional traveler, and I'd had to come to terms with my deep dislike for flying. Thankfully, around that time was when certain airlines started providing a link to the chatter between the cockpit and the towers on the ground. I became really familiar with what different levels of chop felt like, and how the pilots dealt with the turbulence when they encountered it. I also got really used to timing how long it would last, based on their conversations with the tower folks. It was very little to go by, but it helped.

And then I met that pilot a while back who told me that turbulence really isn't all that big of a deal when it comes to flying a plane. They don't lose control, really...it's just uncomfortable to fly the plane under those conditions. Like driving a big truck off-road without any shocks, was how he put it.

That helped a little, too.

But it isn't just about the unsettled air, or the possibility of birds being sucked into the engine, or whatever. It's all the people. Nothing can take that issue away! Aside from a private jet, and I'm just not near that tax bracket, is all. (Also, little planes scare me more than big ones! So fuck that!) All the people...all of the strangers that are involved in the process of flying from point A to point B really suck the energy out of me. And flying during the holiday season just exponentially compounds that issue by about a gazillion percent, is all.

Someone hand me a paper bag before I pass out just thinking about it!

So I need to do something to help combat not just the travel and the additional human beings I'll have to come into the proximity of throughout all this flying...I need help with the anxiety of just preparing for it, it seems. I've tried to set up travel for October 3 times now, and something has always come up to interrupt it, and then I just move on with my day. La la la...

I also think it wouldn't be so bad to be medicated for at least the trip to the in-laws for Thanksgiving. Alcohol can only do so much, and sometimes, I'm just not in the mood for it, to be honest.

I need xanax, I think. How do I get some xanax? Just call my doctor and ask for it? Do I have to go through a psychiatrist to get some? Could I get it through my neurologist, maybe? I have to see him soon, anyway, so why not kill two birds with one stone?

Anyone who knows the answer to this query, please let me know. I'm about ready to make some phone calls, but just thinking about it is making me nauseous for some reason. Good lord, I'm a mess...

Thursday, September 02, 2010

I like to make s'mores on the stove top, personally...

I don’t do well around wildlife.

I’m not a camper for a reason…it’s just a thin veil of material between me and the ground, or the air, or the trees that might be housing a lion of some sort or a bear just waiting for me to fall asleep so it can come grab me by the arm and drag me off to eat me behind a rock.

I’m very plump and I’d be hard to pass up, I’d think, when it comes to a bear and what it likes to eat.

So at 4:30 this morning, when the dogs had been dancing their little “outside, outside, OUTSIDE MUTHERFUCKER!!!” dance for a good 25 minutes or so, I finally got up to let them out. I was awake. Why torture them, I figured?

Jake did seem really excited about something, though. Usually, when it comes to shitting, he doesn’t get that way. Usually, he gets like that because he’s magically managed to ascertain that there is an animal of some sort creeping about in our back yard, and he wants to go welcome them in his own fabulous way. (I.e. by snapping their neck, and playing with their carcass.)

So I opened the door, and Jake and Izzy ran outside to sit at the edge of the deck and look over the yard before they made their respective moves. I was pretty sure there was something out there Jake wanted to play with, but Izzy clearly needed to go to the bathroom, so I decided to head back in the bedroom and lie down to wait for them. But I didn’t get the chance. As I headed back to the bedroom, I heard them both barking MADLY at something. Like, the crazy-ass barking had been broken out, and they usually save that for the mailman. I doubted that the mailman was in our backyard at 4:30 a.m., so I went back to the door immediately, and opened it a teeny bit (MOTHS!) and yell-whispered, “HEY! Heeeey! Stop it! Jake, Izzy, get back in here!

Surprisingly, that didn’t work. So I went to grab my robe (I was in undies and a sleep bra, so the robe was necessary if I was gonna have to actually go outside), and ran back to the back door to try again. “JAKE. Jaaake! HEY!” He wasn’t listening. Dude was BALLISTIC. And then I heard growling accompanying the barking. I went out on the deck and saw that Jake was at the corner of the addition barking madly at something behind the potted plants we have alongside the deck. Izzy was barking too, but she was being efficient, at least…she was also going to the bathroom. Puppy multi-tasking at it’s finest!

But the frightening thing was there was something else there, growling and hissing at Jake, and snapping at his little head! AUGH! I fah-reaked out, ran back in the house screaming, “LEO! LEO, THERE’S SOMETHING ATTACKING JAKE, AND HE WON’T COME INSIDE OHMYGOD PLEASE COME AND HELP HE’S GOING TO GET EATEN BY IT! I THINK IT’S A POSSUM OR A RACCOON, AND IT’S HUGE! HELP!!!!”

Leo is a heavy sleeper, but when I scream in terror, I actually sound like a girl instead of the bitchy robot I sound like when I scream in anger, and he was out of bed in a flash. (Now I know how to deal with that kind of thing in the future, I guess…handy!) He ran out of the bedroom with me chasing him down the hall with a robe saying, “Wait, you can’t go out there in your underwear! Put on a robe! Oh my god…” But he was already out the door. And a second later, the dogs were back inside, and he followed close behind. So hopefully, if anyone was woken and drawn to look out their window at the barking dogs, the screaming woman, and happened to catch the scantily-clad husband, they enjoyed the show. (He has nice legs, so maybe?)

Jake looked terrified. He was absolutely stunned by what had happened. I calmed him down, and dried his little paws (his fur soaks up water like a sponge when he goes out after rain, or when the grass is dewy, so we’re used to just drying him off when he comes back in) and gave him hugs, and he looked at me with a “WTF just HAPPENED?” kind of look. And then I dried Izzy, and we all went back to bed together and he was ok again.

I really think it had to be terrible for the little guy! He’s so used to either chasing a squirrel up a tree and not being able to catch it, or grabbing a bunny, whipping it quickly and snapping it’s neck (or having it play dead and ignore him trying to “play” with it), that having something actually snap at him and attack back? It just wasn’t in his playbook up till now.

And to be honest, it wasn’t in mine, either. I still don’t know what the fuck that thing was, but had it actually bitten my dog? Whatever it was, heads would be rolling right now.

Ugh…it’s not like we have trash in our backyard! I hope that if Leo gets rid of his rotten tomato plant, it will take care of the problem. I can’t imagine what else it might’ve been attracted to. Anyone know what a raccoon or a possum might be looking for around a backyard? We have the dead tomato plant (don't ask me why, srsly), a couple of pepper plants (like spicy peppers, not sweet ones), and lots of herbs. But that’s about it. So, wtf???

Wednesday, September 01, 2010

Hey, yeah...have you guys ever heard of this?

My friend Stefi posted today about something that was brought up on our message board about a week ago. I'd love to hear everyone's opinion on the topic, whether you post in her comments or mine.

Here's the link to her post: "On Domestic Discipline"

I read the blog that was originally linked in our message board discussion of this topic in order to learn what DD was, but Stefi is right...all you have to do is Google "domestic discipline" if you don't know what it is, and you'll find a fair amount of examples. A frightening amount, I might add. Check it out. Let us know what you think. I'd never heard of it before I read the blog we discussed in our message board, and it pretty much disgusts me, of course. Just my 2 cents.