Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Be kind....for Robin Williams.

I haven’t felt the need or even wanted to write in a really long time.  Until Robin Williams took his own life.  And now my fingers can’t seem to type fast enough.

What do I plan to say about it that – let’s face it – every magazine, newspaper and blog – hasn’t already said?  Nothing.  I mean nothing new at least.  I honestly have no idea what I want to say about it other than to say please be kind.  None of us really knows who is dealing with mental illness.
When I was 15, I lost the only man that mattered to me to suicide.  I swear to you that up until that point, I was a naïve enough kid to not even know that taking one’s own life was something that people could or would do.  Least of all this man that I loved.

I had never known such grief and then anger in all of my life.  I didn’t go one single day without crying for him.  I thought it would never end.  The pain.  The fury.  The questions.
But as my life went on, the pain subsided.  There were many months that I didn’t even think of him or the pain I felt over his death.  But then there are family get-togethers and too much alcohol – which then comes with usually thick walls coming down and emotions coming out and the topic of this man’s suicide always comes up. 

Nearly thirty f*cking years later and his siblings and loved ones still can’t get past it.  30 years later and some of them are still not sad.  They are still just pissed.  I myself, literally just learned more about his letter he left behind.  His state of mind.  The fact that he indeed planned it ahead of time.  And on and on. 
I think it hurts worse now than it did at 15 because now I understand it more.

People can be pissed instead of sad or understanding or empathetic – when never, ever in your life have you suffered from anxiety or depression.  You can judge and say insensitive things like, “Why didn’t he just ask me for help?” or “How could he leave me like this?”
You’ll never get it.  Hell – I didn’t get it.  I asked all those questions and more – every damn day.  I accused, hated, and judged until I was blue in the face.  Had I known that one day – I’d be in the exact same spot as my Uncle – I’d have shut up real quick.

It is inexplicable.  I have never, ever found a way to describe what severe depression feels like.  Had I been battling a drug or alcohol addiction in addition to severe depression….well…I wouldn’t be here today.  As it is – I am amazed I survived.
That’s the thing about addiction and mental illness.  You survive it, tolerate it, treat it and deal with it – but you never, ever cure it or get rid of it.  You can go months and years without a single symptom and then one day – find yourself literally bed-ridden.  Unable to shower.  Or comb your hair.  Or drink water.  Or eat.  Or even open your eyes.

And you spend every single second of your life begging God to kill you – because you don’t even have the energy or fight inside of you to take your own life – so you find yourself pleading with God to do it for you.
The pain is unbearable.  Excruciating.  And you can’t see a way out of the darkness – no matter how many flashlights people keep handing you.  It is worse than any physical pain I have ever felt and it is something I’m not even sure I’d wish on Satan.

Crazy pills and Xanax have become as normal as the word “the” in our society and we laugh about missing a dose or needing a straight jacket….and it’s funny – except it’s not.  Without “crazy pills” I am dead.  No longer breathing.  No longer a mother, sister, or wife.  I am gone from this world.  My own f*cking body will not let me live. 
The job I love, the house I love, the children, husband and family I’d give anything for – cease to exist.  Depression takes away the feeling I have for anyone else.  It turns me into a selfish asshole who literally can only thing of the next minute and how on Earth I’ll ever make it through it.  I can’t remember why I should eat.  What my passions are in life.  Who I love.  Bills I pay.  The car I drive.

Nothing.  Depression wipes it all out – in one swipe.  The next thing I know I’m laying in bed – unable to sleep, eat, move and sometimes even talk – and my mind cannot process anything but dying.  No matter how much you try to get me to eat, sleep, talk or drink – the only thing my mind can feel and say over and over is “PLEASE GOD – let me DIE.  Please.”
You know you’re hurting everyone who has ever loved you and you can’t do a damn thing about it – which only intensifies the need and want to die.

It is indescribable. All-consuming and life-altering.  To feel it and to watch someone else feel it.
So please – be kind.  Don’t ask questions about why he felt the need to end his life – because even Robin Williams doesn’t know the answer.  It only adds to the family’s pain.  I have always said and still believe that the grieving and after effects of suicide are worse than almost most kinds of death.  You go to your own grave still asking why – and that’s a heavy burden to carry.  It’s downright exhausting.

When people say what my Uncle did was selfish or he’ll got to Hell for taking his own life which wasn’t his to take….I have to walk away.  I know right then that the person mouthing those words has never been where my Uncle was.  Where I’ve been.  Where Robin Williams was.
Be kind to people.  And pray to any and every God out there that you never ever have to eat your misdirected words about suicide or mental illness because you suddenly find yourself in the depths of your own mind hell with no way out.

Robin Williams didn’t take his own life.  Depression stole his life.  If you want to be pissed at someone - be pissed at depression.  It took away his very breath and will to breathe.  Imagine such a pain.  And then remember to be kind.  You never know who is dealing with this.
RIP Robin Williams.  My heart aches for you and your family.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Are you important?

What is the definition of a person’s importance?  If you’re loved by one or loved by one million – does that make you important?  I mean – the fact is – we are all replaceable.  Even the people we think are most important – aren’t really.

The Pope, the President, rulers of countries and diplomats and celebrities – are all just who they are for a moment – until the next one comes along and slips right into their little slot that they thought was important.  There’s always someone waiting to take your spot when you’re done – and sometimes even when you’re not.
I struggle with “importance”.  I’m an accountant by nature and I’m good at my job but I’m not stupid enough to think there aren’t a bazillion other accountants out there who can do my job too if I was gone one day.  Quite a few of them would probably even do it better.

I don’t help anyone daily.  I don’t make a difference.  When I balance a general ledger, no one’s life suddenly gets better.  If I were to say I was quitting – no one would sit down in my office and beg me to stay…because I’m not that important.  It’s numbers people.  It ain’t rocket science and even if it were – there are plenty of other rocket scientists out there who could fill my place just the same.
I have a creative mind and a giving spirit but there’s no room for that in Accounting.  So what then?  Move on from a full-time job that I love that pays me well and offers me flexibility and a million other things?  Nah.

It’s the same with the 2 part time jobs.  Accounting.  Good money.  My terms, my way.  But do I make a difference or make anyone’s life better?  Nope.  Not even on a good day.
And even if I had every resource in the world and someone told me to go hand pick my dream job – I don’t know what it would be.  I’ve lived too long and become too cynical for those dreams.  As a kid I could have thought of plenty – writer, farmer, artist, therapist, etc etc.  Now the dream job is the job that pays the bills.  The dream job is the one that I love but could easily let go of.

It’s not important – the “what” that I do…and therefore it’s left me feeling unimportant as a human – career-wise.  I never set out to not be important or non-difference-making.  It just so happened that my skills and talents dealt with numbers and not choosing that path seemed like a silly move out of high school.
I don’t regret the path – I just wish I knew in my heart that I changed some lives or helped more or gave more – daily.

There’s always been a part of me that’s wanted to be more and do more but I can never figure out what that “more” is.  I’ve never had the balls to take the risk to find out.  And 99% of the time – these thoughts aren’t on my radar.  99% of the time I’m at peace and content and know full well that my life is indeed what I’ve made it. 
But 1% of the time something happens and it makes me question where I’m at and what I’ve done and haven’t done.  1% of the time I know that I’m not giving everything I can and I’m just letting life pass me by with the daily grind of jobs.  Good, responsible, stable jobs.  The kind I love but not the kind that make my heart soar.
During this 1% time, I have to take a step back.  Re-evaluate who and what I am and decide if I want to be something different.  I have to decide if I’ll have regrets if I do nothing and just keep going.  I have to decide what is enough for me.  What I’ll accept and what I won’t.

So while this inner turmoil feels kind of icky for lack of a better word – it is good.  Years ago I would have let these feelings just depress me and I would have spent my time just trying to rid myself of them.
Now?  I’m older and I can see the feelings have a purpose.  It’s good to re-evaluate your life and what it is or isn’t.  It’s good to feel a little inner angst because it can be the feeling that drives me to make changes. 

I’m trying to sit with the feelings and decide if they are worthy of action or just a passing thought or self- pity party.  I’m trying to decide if at my core I know my importance or if self-importance really even matters.
I think we all want to feel important though realistically we all know our importance isn’t forever and when we’re gone our space will be eventually get filled.  It’s a catch 22 for me – wanting it and knowing it doesn’t really exist.

I just am who I am – doing what I do – and I want that to be enough.  Though I’m not sure it is.
How do you feel important in a sea of people in your career and home and life?  Does your sense of importance come naturally or do you have to work at it?  Does it even cross your mind?

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Moments...either stolen or given.

Life is a shitstorm of crazy most days.  For nearly every single person I know.  Everyone you talk to these days is all like, “I need a vacation.”  “Work is swamped.”  “I can’t remember what my kids look like.”  There’s never enough time in a day is the understatement of the year.

So what’s a girl to do?
Steal moments.  That’s what.

Rambo has 4 jobs.  He’s the definition of busy with a side order of sleep deprivation.  When he works 15 hour shifts for days in a row at the prison and then hops in the semi for another 15 hour day and then goes and helps a friend after that because he’s too damn nice to say no – we miss him – terribly.
So we steal from him and we don't even feel bad about it.  Like last night – after the girls finally came inside from playing and after we ate supper way too late and after we finally sat down way past the girl’s bedtime…I told them they had to go straight to bed in 5 minutes.  And then I saw both of them piled up in Rambo’s lap. 

Yah.  5 minutes my ass.  20 more minutes won’t kill anyone.  Stay where you are because I’m going to pretend that I can’t tell time.
Later it was my bed time and I knew Rambo had to stay up so he could sleep all day in preparation for the night shift so I stole another 10 minutes from him.  I said I was going to bed.  Kissed him goodnight and said, “Tuck me in?”

I went to bed and waited.  I knew he’d be in.  He crawled in beside me, wrapped me in a blanket and squeezed me tight.  For a good 10 minutes we just laid there and talked and laughed – and held on.  It might be all I have for about 3 or 4 days – but it’s enough.  It’s more than some have after all.
Stolen moments keep the world turning for me but you have to be open to them.  Like when my friend out of the blue texted me a simple, “I love you”…I knew it wasn’t simple or random.  I know that right now her heart is breaking and she needs me and she needs to say I love you to someone because right now – she needs to hear it back.  She needs to say “I love you” to someone in the middle of a Tuesday out of the blue without that someone asking why.  She needs to know she’s not alone…even when she feels like she is.  I can’t be with her physically – but we had a moment – and she’s holding on to that.

I can’t always be the Mom that I want to be but I can give moments to my kids that they aren’t expecting….like this week when I texted my teenager and simply said, “I luh you pookie butt.”   When she responded immediately I knew she’d keep that text forever and that I made her day.  5 words, less than 5 seconds.  A moment that lasts a lifetime.
When I put down the laptop Monday night so my 8 year old could wiggle into my lap and laugh with me about stealing my blanket – I gave her a moment.  When I whispered to her that it was bed time and she said back, “Awww – no Mama!”…I didn’t move.  I didn’t make her get up or insist she go to bed.  We both laid there until we fell asleep and I had to shake her awake.  In the morning when she hugged me and said, “I fell asleep on you last night, didn’t I?”….I knew – I had given her a moment.

Even at work this week – I gave someone a moment.  A guy I work with and respect walked past me and we greeted each other as normal except he was wearing an awesome purple dress shirt and tie and I loved it.  Without thinking I said, “Love your shirt.”  The look on his face was priceless.  He literally lit up.  I could tell I surprised him but he was ecstatic.  He just said, “Yah?  Thanks.”…and moved on with a smile plastered on his face.  I made his day….and it didn’t even take planning or money or time.  It just happened.
Every single one of these moments didn’t have to be what they were.  All of them could have overlooked or stopped or not given or received.  I could easily have not given a compliment or made my little girl get up and go to bed or not texted or gone to bed without asking to be tucked in. 

You have to look for, ask for and give moments – or life will swallow you up.  Moments exist all the time, everywhere for everyone.  And they’re important.  They are what makes sharing 7 jobs and kids and lives and families – worth it.  They remind you why you do what you do.
For me – they are the reason that peace exists in my soul when I close my eyes at night.  Because I have moments that become etched memories and they’re mine.  I’ll take them to my grave…and the rest of my life’s journey will stay behind.  Because the moments and memories are all that really matters.  The other stuff is just window dressing as they say.

How about you?  Have you stolen a moment lately?  Given one?  Received one you weren’t expecting?  Did you miss one that was right in front of you? 
Open your eyes…and your heart - because moments are there for the taking and memories are there for the making.  I promise you won’t regret it. 

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

Boots and puke. Yup. You read that right.

It’s become fairly obvious that I suck at this blogging thing.  I kinda used to be good at it and then I lost my “zing” for it…or actually I forgot how to write things that people want to read.  I’m still here though.  Still treading away at this blessed thing we call life.  Let’s try to catch up, ok?
My obsession with rain boots has grown.  I now own these mint green beauties. 
I didn’t even realize they had shiny blinged out buttons on the side until I opened the box!  Seriously – every single time I wear these - some random person stops me to say they love them.  That’d be fantastic if I didn’t hate random people speaking to or looking at me but I deal with it.
We’ve begun our garage building process.  The first step is cutting down three HUGE trees that are in the way.  Cutting wood and stacking brush takes me back to my days as a child when it felt like that’s all we ever did.  Except now as an adult – I wore my rainbow polka-dotted rain boots while I did it.  It’s so much more tolerable that way.
Rambo and I have gone on a few Harley rides already.  The first one was a 10 hour ride for charity and I had to be social for the entire 10 hours which is like being tortured by lions who have learned to shoot guns.  We were home by 10pm and at midnight I was yelling for Rambo.
As I sat in the bathroom.  On my knees.  Naked as the day I was born. 
Puking my guts out into the toilet. 
I needed a wet washcloth and I wasn’t moving to get one so I screamed for Rambo and he came running.  What a sight that must have been.  Nakedness, rolls of fat hanging out, and puke.  Yum-o.  Good God people – THAT right there is love. 
He didn’t seem to notice the grossness of the sitch but instead just held my hair and said, “Baby – this was a big first ride of the year for you.  It was too much.”

When I was done I was pissed.  I yelled, “So what?  Why can’t I be normal?  Normal people go out riding all day and don’t end up puking!?”
His reply?  “Because you’re not normal.  You’re special.  MY special.  That’s just how it is.”
I hate him.  I hate the toilet.  I hate puking.  I hate that’s he’s right.  I hate that my head has a great time while my body is in deep turmoil.
Beyond being social, it was a stressful ride that contributed to the midnight fun.  It was the first time that I could feel the wind pull the bike from Rambo’s hold and he’d have to move to right the bike.  The roads were all S curves AND at one point the speeds reached 100mph.  We were in the middle of a pack of 100 stupid ass dumb drinking bikers – and had little choice but to stay within the group.  Needles to say – we left after that debacle.  Bikes are dangerous as hell all on their own and that’s not the way we ride.
However, my body had already paid the price.  Or well – it would.  At midnight.
Other than that – we’ve been preparing for summer.  Getting the deck ready, trampoline up for the kids, weeding and planting and lawn mowing and all that stuff.  I love this time of year for that.  Everything is new and blooming and green. 
The summer is going to be the craziest one we’ve ever had now that Rambo has every other weekend off for the first time in 15 years.  We have camping, family outings, tons of bike rides, concerts and a billion other things planned and I’m excited for it all.
Let’s just hope my body can remain excited too. 
 
That whole puking thing – is seriously for the birds.
How have you been??  Do tell!

Friday, May 2, 2014

I was a fugitive. In rain boots.



You guys – weird shit is happening up in heyah these days. 

Listen.  I’ll tell you all about it.

First of all – you all know that I’m addicted to Mountain Dew.  In the mornings if I don’t have it – I swear my hands start to twitch and my anxiety shoots through the roof and I want to strangle anything within 5 feet of me.  Wait.  Scratch those last two things…those are just how I feel every day.  But the twitching is for real.

Now after saying all that – you’d think I drank a 12 pack a day or something.  I don’t.  I drink 1 can – sometimes just ½ can.  However – the addiction to the morning habit and caffeine is still strong.   
And I hate that I need it.

I never attempted not drinking the sweet nectar of the Gods because of the caffeine withdrawal headache I would get because as a chronic migraine sufferer – every headache for me – no matter what the cause – turns into a full blown migraine. (holy run on sentence Batman!)

Now that I have Botox injections that are controlling my migraines – I thought I’d give giving up the Dew a shot.  And yesterday?

I didn’t have a single drop of soda!  Did I get a headache?  NOPE!!

Holy shit on a stick people!  Can you believe it?  I – for one – cannot.

So there’s that and then there’s the fact that I worked out last night on the treadmill.  Two things in one day that probably haven’t happened in the history of me since I was 10 or so.

I also was a known criminal for about 24 hours.  I was begging Rambo that if I went to prison – that he would please bail my ass out.  I felt like a hunted fugitive.

You see- someone asked me for my driver’s license info and expiration date and when I looked at my license – it had EXPIRED!  Six freaking months ago!

You better believe I spent the day googling “how to prevent a double chin in your DL picture” after that.  The picture on my expired license was me – literally 9.5 months pregnant.  I gave birth 3 days after the picture.  My cheeks could not have gotten any puffier.  When people see my license – they think it’s a fake.  I even have glasses on it in it though now I don’t need them due to lasik surgery.   It looks so not like me now.

One dude who saw it said, “Whoa – you’ve lost a lot of weight since this picture.”  No sir.  I lost a human being from my womb, thereby losing the bloated cheeks and immense look of pain on my face as well.  Thanks for noticing.

Anyway – I got my license renewed.  All the research was for naught because I have a large, very noticeable double chin in my picture.  F*cking  great.

Lastly…do you want to know what my new favorite thing to wear is lately?  You can’t say no.  That was rhetorical.

It’s rain boots with designs.  OMG!  Right now I have on Victoria Secret bright pink socks that say PINK on the top sticking out just a bit of my rainbow POLKA-DOT rain boots.  I probably look ridiculous but I care not.  They make me happy.  So happy that I just ordered a MINT GREEN pair with silver embellishments on them.   

They make rain boots with bunnies on them.  Cupcakes on them.  Dogs on them.  Flowers.  Stripes.  You name it.  If I didn’t think they’d melt (and they were a little more badass) – I’d wear them on our Harley ride tomorrow.

PS – we’re going to freeze our ever-loving asses off on said ride.  Sigh.  Bring out the assless chaps!!

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Chinese Checkers and Frasier.

In an effort to become a better parent, I have decided to do something that good parents do all the time.  I’m going to buy a board game.  Chinese Checkers to be exact.  It’s checkers-ish with marbles and the reason I picked this game isn’t really about being a good parent…it’s about my memories. 

I played this game all the time as a kid with my Grandma.  I see a marble and instantly am flooded with memories of her – and I want that for my kids.  And I want to get their faces out of their electronic gadgets too.  That’s a bonus.

Rambo invited friends over to our house this weekend.  Nearly 25 years into this and still he does things like this that instantly cover me in hives.  I want to strangle him.  Why can’t he just allow me to be a hermit who never leaves the house?  Sooo – looks like I’ll be spending an entire afternoon trying to make my house look like a magazine vs a hoarder’s house.  Did I mention I hate Rambo?  Damn him and his social normal tendencies.
Sometimes I forget that I live in town.  Or maybe sometimes I just wish that I didn’t.  I grew up on a farm.  In the country.  If my brothers wanted to walk out the front door and write their names with their own pee on the sidewalk – they could.  Nobody gave a damn.

No – I have no idea where I’m going with this.  Oh wait – yes I do.  Last night I had a brilliant (according to me) idea.  I have a pretty big hosta garden with probably a good 50 varieties or more.  I plant new ones each year and last year I decided to plant about 6 of the mini variety.  Meaning tiny.  They never get very big but they are super cute.  I love the contrast between those and my extra large ones that are bigger than an arm span.
Anyway – they are small when they are full grown and even butt ass tinier when they are newly planted and I hate that things like rocks and leaves “crowd them”.  Sooo last night I gathered a bunch of old Tupperware and cut the bottoms off and decided I’d put them around my tiny babies to keep the landscaping rocks off of them.

It was raining.  I live in town.  I had on a tiny bright pink leopard tank with spaghetti straps.  And no bra. 
The girls were hanging out.
I went outside anyway.  I stood out there in the rain putting my little makeshift bowl fences around my precious babies and didn’t give a damn who saw me.  Isn’t that stupid and weird? 

I mean – shouldn’t I have more class than that?  Or something?
Don’t answer that.  I say the neighbors are damn lucky that I had pants on. 

Speaking of not having pants on…last night Rambo wanted to take a bath with me.  Not a big deal.  We do it probably 5 days a week but last night I didn’t want to.  I was crabby and wanted to stay my happy ass on the couch.
Next thing I know, he turns the TV off so that I’m now sitting in a dark, silent living room.  He bends down and looks me straight in the eyes and points like a coon dog to the bathroom and then says GO…and walks away. 

You can bet your sweet, feminine ass that I threw a fit that went something like this.
Did you just shut my show off and point at me and tell me where to go?  You did NOT just point your finger at me.  Did you?  I mean really.  Did you?”

Too bad he wasn’t listening.  His happy, naked ass was already sitting in the hot bath.
He knew I’d be there in a second.  I hate that he knew I’d be in there.  I hate that he knew I needed to lay there with his arms wrapped around me and talk to him about stupid life things that I was worried about. 

He just knew.  We stayed in there talking until the water got cold and then watched Frasier re-runs in bed – laughing so loud our girls yelled at us to be quiet.
My life might be boring as hell - filled with checkers and stupid tiny plants – but it’s perfect to me.

Monday, April 28, 2014

No rhyme or reason whatsoever.

This is going to be random beyond belief.  Just sayin’.

I’m going to make myself a fairy garden for sure this year.  I can’t not make one.  Fairy gardens are everything I stand for.  Make believe, fairy tales, pretty flowers and greenery, cottages and garden archways and colored mushrooms amuck.  And bird baths.  Seriously.  I’m making one and then I’m going to pretend I’m the fairy that lives there.         
For the next decade, I’m drinking smoothies for breakfast and lunch.  All because I saw myself in pictures this weekend and had that “Aha!” moment that goes something like, “Holy shit on a stick!  Can I look any chubbier? “  Kill.  Me.  Now.

I spent some parts of the weekend uncovering plants from the winter and getting the dead crap out.  Under all the leaves and old stuff from last year – were buds.  Big green and white buds – all dying to grow.  Every single time it was like opening a Cmas present…like I was surprised that each time there was GREEN underneath.  It was like treasure hunting for idiots.  I did lose a few hostas but for the most part – under the crap – I found new buds.  It’s the little things people.  Just go with it.
All of a sudden I give a shit about my interior house decorations.  It’s weird.  For years, I decorated like once and then left it that way for 10 years.  I cared not if my Terry Redlin pictures were from the 80s or if my grapevine wreath above those pictures was just as outdated.  I cared if my house was clean but cared so much less about décor.  And suddenly – I give a shit.  Like a real shit. 

I have single-handedly taken down 3 sets of vertical blinds that have hung in my house since we moved in.  They still look nice but come on – can you say old?  I put up real curtains.  Like with real curtain rods and tie-backs.  I had to use a real screw gun to do it.  That's a big deal and you know it.
Honestly – it’s like a whole new house.  I made pennants and words that go on my mantel that change out every month.  Painted some walls  an actual color that isn’t white.  Bought new décor like vintage birds and rustic apothecaries.  I made wreaths out of anything I could find and actually hung them.

It’s weird as shit.  I don’t understand where the “caring” is coming from but it’s fun.
My next project is new front doors.  Mine are both bright blue right now and I’m thinking the new ones may be bright yellow.  Fun!

Also, let’s discuss trees.  Trees are great.  I love trees.  However, Rambo and I spent an entire Saturday raking and burning leaves.  I don’t mean a few hours – I mean a whole damn day.  Jesus Lord.  Now I hate trees.
We sat on the picnic table after we were done and put up the girl’s trampoline and got out all our deck furniture and we sat.  And looked around and said to each other, “God we love it here.”  Once it’s all done – it’s fabulous and I love every single part of where we live.  The only thing left to do this year is get the slug bug and fill that sucker with flowers….and watch them grow!

We’re still building a garage.  Still waiting for quotes.  We even asked the Amish for a quote.  We’re getting desperate since the first quote was nearly $60k.  Mama wants a new bathroom AND a garage so I’ll ask damn near anyone for a lower quote. 
Rambo has a whole week off from the prison so he can “shoot a turkey in the face.”  There’s nothing better than having him home every single day when it’s supposed to be a rainy week.  The turkey hunting might suck due to the weather but the cuddling goes into overdrive when all it does is rain.

That’s it.  Told you it was going to be random.  I wasn’t kidding.
The end.

 

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Weekend recap minus Monday's donkey balls.

I was going to write a whole post yesterday but it was Monday and when I sat down to write – literally the only thing my brain could think to say was, “Mondays suck donkey balls.  Giant, hairy, nasty donkey balls with sugar on top.”  I couldn’t move past that sentiment into anything that anyone would want to read so I moved on to Tuesday.

My weekend was busy.  And by busy I mean me and a bunch of my redneck friends helped another friend move.  I kid you not.  At one point – one guy was in a skidloader on the ground while one guy was standing on a pallet that was on the skidloader and a honkin huge couch was dangling precariously on top of said pallet.  We raised that couch on that tiny pallet two stories and hoisted it over a deck and into the apartment.  At one point – I looked over and 5 people stood at the neighbor’s house watching – and pointing – and most importantly – laughing at us. 
Seriously – so dangerous.  A massive couch on a tiny pallet two stories up and a guy standing on the edge of the pallet.  We broke about 80 safety violations in five minutes.  Oh and did I mention there was beer involved?  Cuz there was.

When I said redneck friends – I wasn’t kidding.
Naturally, because I’m so out of shape – I was sore as hell the rest of the weekend from moving on Friday.  Somehow I found the strength to go shopping on Saturday though.

On Sunday – Rambo and I never departed from our bed until 11:30am.  Oopsie.  At 3pm, I was back in that blissful bed taking a nap until 6pm.  I literally slept the day away.  I did do some cleaning because Monday was house appraisal day and I had to at least pretend that our house looks like a catalog every single day for Mrs. Appraisor woman you know?
And that – my friends – is my weekend recap.  Try not to be jealous of my exciting life.  Maybe some day if you keep working hard – you too – can grow up to sleep entire Sundays away…but you must keep working hard. 

Cuz that shit don’t come easy.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

A new weight loss option. Sort of. Ish.

Last night I was laying in bed staring at the ceiling cursing the mother-f*cker that invented Doritoes when I had this weird thought.
In regards to weight loss surgery, why hasn’t anyone had their taste buds removed?  Now – don’t start throwing insults at me and tell me that there are zillions of taste buds in one mouth – because there could be.  I have no "medical" idea.  Let’s just say there are zillions or just a few and we'd figure that out later.  Why hasn’t someone invented a surgery to remove them or render them useless….like they can’t taste anymore?
Aren't taste buds like gall bladders?  Are they even necessary to our health and well-being?
Can you imagine?  A piece of broccoli would taste the exact same as ice cream or cake.  Asparagus the same as a swiss cake roll.  An apple the same as a chip. 
Do you think this would fix anything?  I wonder if I eat for the texture and the chew and the feeling of certain foods – regardless of taste.  I mean eating a piece of broccoli certainly feels way different than crunching down on a chip or letting ice cream melt on your tongue – but would I care if none of it had taste?  I seriously don’t know.
If I had never tasted food (like born with no taste buds), then I wouldn’t know what I was missing but if you took away my taste buds now – I’d have to have an all-out grief-fest over the loss of tasting things like pizza.
Literally – food (one would hope) would become just about being body fuel. 
No joy in cake or cookies or candy because you can’t taste it. 
Then I thought for someone like me who is a really picky eater – it could be even simpler than disabling my taste buds through an invasive surgery.  I need to invent a way to make every food taste the same on its own – via the food itself.
Like there’s a little machine you put cake in with broccoli and voila! – once they come out – they taste the same.  For picky people like me - this would be great.  The ONLY veggie I eat is broccoli.  I can't handle the taste of any others.  This would be a solution for me.  I'd eat shitloads of veggies because I wouldn't be able to "hate" the taste.
I do the absolute best at losing weight when I have little to no variety.  Even when not dieting – I eat the very same things over and over and over.  I rarely try new things.  Do you?
I know many, many diet gurus out there that scream -  “Mix it up!  Try something new!  Experiment!  Use different flavors and seasonings!” 
For me?  That is a gateway to wanting more.  If I literally have eggs for bfast and chicken, broccoli and brown rice for lunch and a rotation of a couple different meals for supper – I kick ass.  I know what I’m going to get and so do my mind and taste buds.  If you throw a piece of high-flavored anything in my mix – my tongue wakes up and realizes what it has been missing –
and WANTS MORE.
Consistency for me works.  Some call it boring as hell but variety just makes my brain want to try more variety, I guess. 
Sooooo – if I had a tiny machine like a microwave that I could throw everything I eat into and it made it all taste exactly the same….I wouldn’t care if it was Doritoes or carrots.  All the same to my mouth and mind.  Just very different for my health and weight.
Wouldn’t cravings disappear?  What would you crave when your head and mouth know that even if you get it – it tastes like everything else?  Wouldn’t you stop eating before you’re stuffed because it doesn’t keep tasting better and better?  And it’s boring so why keep eating when it’s just fuel?
People would go to grocery stores for health foods because why not?  They taste the same as junk food but your blood pressure and cholesterol go down.  People would go out to eat at restaurants for the ambience, the romance, the people, laughter and conversation….because the food wouldn’t be the focus anymore. Would that be such a bad thing?
Can you imagine it?  It could never happen.  Some grocery stores and restaurants would cease to exist because every restaurant’s food would taste the same.  Only the location and price and service would differ.  Chefs wouldn’t have jobs.  There wouldn’t be a point.
If you literally had the chance to stop tasting your food – would you?  Would you remove your taste buds if it was possible?  How life-changing would that be?  You could still smell and see and feel the differences in foods – but no taste difference.
These are just the stupid things that go through my head when I’m cursing junk food Gods.
Have no worries.  My ass will still be on the treadmill tonight running. 
Cuz I still got taste buds.  And I freaking use the shit out of them.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Lose weight or wear hot shoes?

Technology is great, isn’t it?

We have phones that can serve as TV remotes.  We can turn our dishwasher on and our lights off from 3 bajillion miles away.  We can see each other’s faces and chat with each other even though we are a bajillion more miles away.
I ask you then - why on Earth has no one invented a self-cleaning toilet?  Just why. 

No – my whole post isn’t about toilets again.  Shocker.  I was just thinking that technology can be amazing but it can be a pain in the ass sometimes.  Why?  Oh well – because I switched our checking account to a different bank that we’re using for our new garage.
Back in the old days, (like 5 days ago), you just moved your money out of one bank to the new bank and got new checks.  And donezo.

Now?  You have to get new debit cards.  New PIN numbers.  Figure out new websites to balance your checking and make new passwords. 
And then the real fun begins.  I pay everything online….electricity, water, mortgage, cars, insurance and on and on.  I made a full page list of places that I need to change my payment methods on.  A freaking full page.  Never mind that it was super fun because making lists is my favorite hobby…it was also annoying.  Just wow. 

It is a helluva process I tell you.
And just because that whole story was boring as hell – I’m going to continue with that theme.  You're welcome.

I want to note that I just ate tilapia and brown rice for lunch.  Dry as shit but listen – every day summer gets closer and my ass just keeps getting bigger.  Es no beuno.  In fact, it’s scary-as-hell-o. 

I mean the truth is that I don’t even own a one-piece swimming suit.  I own 8,000 bikinis.  Some could barely pass as dental floss.  Rambo is a huge sucker for my bikinis and if I stopped wearing them, he might need therapy – so the only solution is to lose weight.  Or poke Rambo’s eyes out so he only remembers how I looked in them when I was skinny.  Or something like that.
So this week, I’ve pre-made my dry as shit clean lunches and breakfasts too.  I nearly died from starvation last night and decided to have ONE serving of Doritoes.  Have you ever done that?  It’s 11 f*cking chips. 

What is the point?  I mean in my world the ratio is that one chip actually EQUALS 11 chips.  Ugh.  I did it though.  11 damn chips and put the bag away.  Who the hell needs waterboarding when this kind of torture exists?
Anyway – tracking my food and weight.  Working out.  Not eating 18 Milky Ways per day.  Drinking a liter of water per day.  No more baths in Skittles and eating them as I soak.  Blah blah blah. 

I’ll never understand why I kick ass in most aspects of my life but I can’t eat like a healthy person consistently.
Speaking of kicking ass…I have on 6 inch mint green wedges today with a lace mint bell-sleeved tunic.  If I don’t lose weight – there’s always the “wear hot shoes” trick to distract everyone. 

Yes?  Yes.

I would know.  I’ve been doing it for years. 
What muffin top?  See these snake-skin stillettos? 

Works every time.