Dear 2008,
We had so many plans together! Remember? You were going to encourage me buy sexy clothes and wear make-up everyday. You told me that I was beautiful and wanted to bring me out of my shell. You promised that you would be the year I would lose at least 50 pounds with your awesome 2008 help. Do you remember that you promised we would travel during your year? I believe you said our destination would be somewhere hot and tropical. You even hinted that we might visit New York this year. 2008, you said that we would throw lavish dinner parties so I could show you off to all of my friends, and maybe with your inspiration I would make some new friends. Why did I believe you? You made a lot promises that you failed to keep. Shame on you 2008!
The thing is I believed you. Yes it was true I was drunk when we first met, but in my defence we did meet at a New Year’s Eve party. And you looked so handsome and promising; I even dumped 2007 for you! He took it pretty hard; in fact no one has seen him since. Do you remember that night we met? I told you my hopes and dreams, and you told me that they would all come true as long as I stayed with you. What a fool I was! I waited month after month for the airlines to call and give me the good news that I was going to Mexico, or Hawaii. I even looked in my closet for new designer clothes; only to find my same old clothes that I got from 2007. (At least 2007 bought clothes for me.) Finally I would get on the scale only to be disappointed that I didn't lose the weight you promised that I would lose during your year. I was so despondent that I could not think about dolling myself up by putting on make-up! I waited a whole year for you to change my life, and it was a year that I wasted.
It is with regret that I have to give you the awful news that we are breaking it off. I can’t help it 2008, you were too good to be true. (I should have known better when you didn't called the next morning.) I can’t believe that you made me believe that I was going to accomplish so much if I just stuck it out with you. I had no idea that I had to commit and work to get these for- mentioned tasks completed. I thought that you, 2008 would arrange for me to travel and see the world. (It is true my suitcases were empty, but that is because you were supposed to buy expensive clothes.)(I am sorry I rant when I get upset.)
2008 we are totally done!
With dashed hopes,
Amy
I have some good news; I am meeting someone new tomorrow night. His name is 2009. I think I learned some valuable lessons from my relationship with dumb old 2008. One: Don’t hook up with someone when you’re drinking. Two: Don’t start planning dreams together after only seconds of making their acquaintance. Three: Don’t expect them to do all the work; you have to give a little too.
This year I am not going to drink when I meet 2009, as I will need a clear head to size him up with. I will not make any plans right away. (I don’t want to get my hopes up. I also don’t want to scare 2009 away.) Finally if I do ask 2009 to accommodate a few things for me; I will do my part to make sure that 2009 stays on top of everything. (You can’t let these years get away from you- they will just run amuck if you let them.) I won’t lie and say that I don’t hold high hopes for 2009; I do, I really do.
In fact 2009 better kick some serious ass!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
There Goes Santa Claus...
I am waving a big goodbye to Christmas. I have been sleeping for four days straight; in fact I am still in my jammies. I do plan on getting dressed sooner or later, but I haven’t gotten enough energy yet. Recovery is hard.
I de-trimmed the house today- in my jammies of course. How come it took me twelve hours to trim the house, and only fifteen minutes to take it down? (That is a head scratcher for sure.) It feels so good to have my house back to normal. The Christmas thing was nice, but my home didn’t feel the same. You have to understand that I love my home. I wish I could have you over for tea and cookies, because my house is so cozy and relaxing. My decorating taste is very eclectic. For example my mantle is home to three sparkly pinwheels in a Waterford crystal vase. I have a bubble gum dispenser in my living room, which serves a double purpose. First it is a décor item and a savings account. Don’t get me started on my kitchen.
Ahem, back to Christmas…
Christmas was interesting this year. Due to the weather we lost power for at least twelve hours on Christmas. We had a white Christmas; the problem was that the price of the fairy tale came in blizzard form. In the power outage I was freezing because it was cold in every room. It got dark early, and there didn’t seem to be enough candles to light the house. The worse part was we were not allowed to flush the toilets. You see we live on a septic field and therefore we have a pump, and if we run out of water something bad will happen. (Did I mention there were five of us, the power was out for over twelve hours, and there were just three bathrooms?) (By the way we were allowed to wash our hands, but that was all we were allowed to do with the water.) I ended up eating digestive cookies all day, because we could not open the fridge or cook. (That part was awesome!) In the end *we ended up cooking the turkey on the barbecue in a middle of the snow blizzard. *We used a Coleman stove to prepare the potatoes and veggies. The best part was *we didn’t have to do the dishes because of the water shortage situation. It was the best Christmas ever, because we were all together and nobody had to do anything but hang out together.
*When I say “we” in regards to cooking I mean my mother and father-in-law.
I bet you are wondering what I received for Christmas. Let’s just say I got everything on my list, except for the thousand dollar espresso machine… maybe next year.
I de-trimmed the house today- in my jammies of course. How come it took me twelve hours to trim the house, and only fifteen minutes to take it down? (That is a head scratcher for sure.) It feels so good to have my house back to normal. The Christmas thing was nice, but my home didn’t feel the same. You have to understand that I love my home. I wish I could have you over for tea and cookies, because my house is so cozy and relaxing. My decorating taste is very eclectic. For example my mantle is home to three sparkly pinwheels in a Waterford crystal vase. I have a bubble gum dispenser in my living room, which serves a double purpose. First it is a décor item and a savings account. Don’t get me started on my kitchen.
Ahem, back to Christmas…
Christmas was interesting this year. Due to the weather we lost power for at least twelve hours on Christmas. We had a white Christmas; the problem was that the price of the fairy tale came in blizzard form. In the power outage I was freezing because it was cold in every room. It got dark early, and there didn’t seem to be enough candles to light the house. The worse part was we were not allowed to flush the toilets. You see we live on a septic field and therefore we have a pump, and if we run out of water something bad will happen. (Did I mention there were five of us, the power was out for over twelve hours, and there were just three bathrooms?) (By the way we were allowed to wash our hands, but that was all we were allowed to do with the water.) I ended up eating digestive cookies all day, because we could not open the fridge or cook. (That part was awesome!) In the end *we ended up cooking the turkey on the barbecue in a middle of the snow blizzard. *We used a Coleman stove to prepare the potatoes and veggies. The best part was *we didn’t have to do the dishes because of the water shortage situation. It was the best Christmas ever, because we were all together and nobody had to do anything but hang out together.
*When I say “we” in regards to cooking I mean my mother and father-in-law.
I bet you are wondering what I received for Christmas. Let’s just say I got everything on my list, except for the thousand dollar espresso machine… maybe next year.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Santa Simon
My Christmas shopping is completed; thanks to online shopping. See I didn’t need a car, and the best thing was I didn’t have to “shark” around the parking lot looking for a parking spot. Nope, my comfortable chair was always available; with the exception of times when my cat was online shopping. At least that is what he told me. (It looked like he was curled up sleeping, but what do I know? Cats are very complicated creatures.) I shared the chair and the computer with him because he promised to pay his own shipping and handling charges, and buy me something really good for Christmas. I booked marked pages for him. I hope he gets me the $3,000 espresso machine!
My dog actually goes out shopping. He fights with the crowds, and given the fact that he is only about a foot tall I worry about his safety. My puppy Simon loves to shop. He likes to go to the historical part of our town. This part of town is where time has stood still. The storefronts and sidewalks shift you back in time at least 50 years. However the stores are filled with overpriced giftware, trendy cookware, and home décor items. It is a browsers paradise. My dog loves going there. I think it is because getting there requires a walk from our home to this historical time treasure. Not to mention he gets a lot of, “Oh, look at that cute puppy! Can I pet him?”
Here is how my dog goes shopping:
I tell Simon what I want, and then David and Simon go searching for an item on my wish list. Simon even has a pouch that is filled with money that attaches to his collar. He looks really proud when he is walking with his pouch of cash. His head is high, his smile is wide, and his tail wags for the whole walk. On a side note he does not carry home the gifts; he just carries home the change.
When he gets home he tells me what he bought me, but because I don’t speak dog I have no clue. Holly usually wraps his gift, because of the whole: “I have no thumbs” issue. (By the way she wraps on behalf of the cat as well, but that is due to the cat’s “I don’t give a damn” issue.)
As far as the cat goes I don’t think he online shops. I think we shop on his behalf, because when we open the gifts that he gives us; he looks as surprised too! Plus I have yet to see the UPS man; what is t
hat all about?
My dog actually goes out shopping. He fights with the crowds, and given the fact that he is only about a foot tall I worry about his safety. My puppy Simon loves to shop. He likes to go to the historical part of our town. This part of town is where time has stood still. The storefronts and sidewalks shift you back in time at least 50 years. However the stores are filled with overpriced giftware, trendy cookware, and home décor items. It is a browsers paradise. My dog loves going there. I think it is because getting there requires a walk from our home to this historical time treasure. Not to mention he gets a lot of, “Oh, look at that cute puppy! Can I pet him?”
Here is how my dog goes shopping:
I tell Simon what I want, and then David and Simon go searching for an item on my wish list. Simon even has a pouch that is filled with money that attaches to his collar. He looks really proud when he is walking with his pouch of cash. His head is high, his smile is wide, and his tail wags for the whole walk. On a side note he does not carry home the gifts; he just carries home the change.
When he gets home he tells me what he bought me, but because I don’t speak dog I have no clue. Holly usually wraps his gift, because of the whole: “I have no thumbs” issue. (By the way she wraps on behalf of the cat as well, but that is due to the cat’s “I don’t give a damn” issue.)
As far as the cat goes I don’t think he online shops. I think we shop on his behalf, because when we open the gifts that he gives us; he looks as surprised too! Plus I have yet to see the UPS man; what is t
hat all about?
Monday, December 8, 2008
A Lil" Bit Country
Eighteen months or so ago I moved to the “country”. I live in a town which has approximately 70,000 folks in it.
There are downsides to living in the outskirts of the big city. For instance our Wal-Mart does not believe that it needs to keep up with the times. It was built when our town had a population of 20,000 or so. The buyers for our Wal-Mart must have been kept in the dark about the steady increase of population; as a result our Wal-Mart shelves are bare. Our mall, if you can call it that; is a sad little mall just doing it’s best to help residents with their shopping needs. (The mall’s motto is: Please we beg you; don’t have a lot of needs, because we can’t help you, and we feel really bad about that!) As for our dining choices they are limited, and if you do find a restaurant- eat early, because most close before sunset. I would not say I live in a hick town. I would say I live in a town that has not grown up yet.
Having slammed my new town; I want to share the many perks of living here:
First and foremost there are THREE Starbucks within one mile of my home. If there was nothing else positive to say about my town; this fact alone would make it heads-and-shoulders above anywhere else. (They built the third one just after my arrival. My reputation preceded me. I think Starbuck’s is following me. Bo-Yah!)
Besides the Starbucks thing the other best thing about my town is the fact that traffic is very light. There is no such thing as bumper-to-bumper, or rush hour. We just mosey along in our cars; taking for granted how well we have it. When David and I moved here we were shocked by the lack of traffic; it was heaven. But as time went on we too have become blasé, and the lack of traffic has become common and inconsequential
Our retail shopping is the heart of the city, and the residential area branches out around it. Most residents can walk to Starbucks, shopping, drugstores, and other important necessities.
Sometimes we are forced out of our small town bubble to either go shopping or to visit family. (I don’t understand why our family won’t move out here with us. After all there is so much golfing. Yes this statement was directed straight at you guys. You know who you are!)
Now I would be the first to admit that I love shopping in the city. The city has all the cool stores. What Sears isn’t cool enough for me? When I am shopping at the cool stores in the city what I would like to know is:Where did all these other shoppers come from? Is everybody out shopping today? Why are these lines so long?
“HELLO, can anyone open another register? This is ridiculous! Do you see this? This is an outrage! Where is the manager? For goodness sakes go to Sears; Lord knows they need the business.” I am testy because back at home we have no lines!
Then there is walking through the mall. I have to navigate; because either I am bumping into other people’s shoulders or trying not to step on someone’s wondering child. (I will have you know that my record for knocking over toddlers is: four.)
Then there is the traffic! Holy Cow! I know I used to sit in this very traffic for an hour to go to work, but what I want to know is: Why did I do that? As you know I can not drive, but you know what is worse than driving in grid-lock? Being with a pissed-off-because-we-are-not-moving passenger in grid-lock!
“Why are the so many people on the roads? I thought they were all in the mall! How come it takes us three green lights before we can actually make our left turn? How do people live like this?”
To calm me down David suggests we grab a bite. Great idea! Let’s pick one of our old favourites that we can’t get at home. We get to the restaurant around 8pm. It is fab to be able to eat late! We notice there is a large group of people standing outside the restaurant. (This is not a good sign.) We make our way to the door and up to the hostess desk. We are advised that is it going to be a three hour wait. The good news is that the restaurant is open late, so they will have no trouble accommodating us! (Of course we will not need a starter course because we will have gnawed off our arms waiting for a table.)
We decide to screw it and go home, as we make our way home through the I-want-to-pull-out-my-hair-traffic, past the entire fine dining establishments with each of them having line-ups, past the huge mall with all the chic shops. It is at that very moment I decide that on-line shopping is the way to go, and maybe just maybe hometown cooking at 6:00pm isn’t so bad after all. The things that I wanted like the shopping and dining came at too high of a price, which was my time.
So as I write this entry I am sipping my coffee from Starbucks, and waiting on the UPS guy to bring me the shops that I couldn’t live without. (Let that dude suffer through traffic. I am going to stay in my bubble thank you very much.) The only downer to living here is the absence of family. For them and only them I will endure bumper-to-bumper traffic.
I am going to sign off so I can go and visit my neighbour. Yes it is true I do know all my neighbours names!
There are downsides to living in the outskirts of the big city. For instance our Wal-Mart does not believe that it needs to keep up with the times. It was built when our town had a population of 20,000 or so. The buyers for our Wal-Mart must have been kept in the dark about the steady increase of population; as a result our Wal-Mart shelves are bare. Our mall, if you can call it that; is a sad little mall just doing it’s best to help residents with their shopping needs. (The mall’s motto is: Please we beg you; don’t have a lot of needs, because we can’t help you, and we feel really bad about that!) As for our dining choices they are limited, and if you do find a restaurant- eat early, because most close before sunset. I would not say I live in a hick town. I would say I live in a town that has not grown up yet.
Having slammed my new town; I want to share the many perks of living here:
First and foremost there are THREE Starbucks within one mile of my home. If there was nothing else positive to say about my town; this fact alone would make it heads-and-shoulders above anywhere else. (They built the third one just after my arrival. My reputation preceded me. I think Starbuck’s is following me. Bo-Yah!)
Besides the Starbucks thing the other best thing about my town is the fact that traffic is very light. There is no such thing as bumper-to-bumper, or rush hour. We just mosey along in our cars; taking for granted how well we have it. When David and I moved here we were shocked by the lack of traffic; it was heaven. But as time went on we too have become blasé, and the lack of traffic has become common and inconsequential
Our retail shopping is the heart of the city, and the residential area branches out around it. Most residents can walk to Starbucks, shopping, drugstores, and other important necessities.
Sometimes we are forced out of our small town bubble to either go shopping or to visit family. (I don’t understand why our family won’t move out here with us. After all there is so much golfing. Yes this statement was directed straight at you guys. You know who you are!)
Now I would be the first to admit that I love shopping in the city. The city has all the cool stores. What Sears isn’t cool enough for me? When I am shopping at the cool stores in the city what I would like to know is:Where did all these other shoppers come from? Is everybody out shopping today? Why are these lines so long?
“HELLO, can anyone open another register? This is ridiculous! Do you see this? This is an outrage! Where is the manager? For goodness sakes go to Sears; Lord knows they need the business.” I am testy because back at home we have no lines!
Then there is walking through the mall. I have to navigate; because either I am bumping into other people’s shoulders or trying not to step on someone’s wondering child. (I will have you know that my record for knocking over toddlers is: four.)
Then there is the traffic! Holy Cow! I know I used to sit in this very traffic for an hour to go to work, but what I want to know is: Why did I do that? As you know I can not drive, but you know what is worse than driving in grid-lock? Being with a pissed-off-because-we-are-not-moving passenger in grid-lock!
“Why are the so many people on the roads? I thought they were all in the mall! How come it takes us three green lights before we can actually make our left turn? How do people live like this?”
To calm me down David suggests we grab a bite. Great idea! Let’s pick one of our old favourites that we can’t get at home. We get to the restaurant around 8pm. It is fab to be able to eat late! We notice there is a large group of people standing outside the restaurant. (This is not a good sign.) We make our way to the door and up to the hostess desk. We are advised that is it going to be a three hour wait. The good news is that the restaurant is open late, so they will have no trouble accommodating us! (Of course we will not need a starter course because we will have gnawed off our arms waiting for a table.)
We decide to screw it and go home, as we make our way home through the I-want-to-pull-out-my-hair-traffic, past the entire fine dining establishments with each of them having line-ups, past the huge mall with all the chic shops. It is at that very moment I decide that on-line shopping is the way to go, and maybe just maybe hometown cooking at 6:00pm isn’t so bad after all. The things that I wanted like the shopping and dining came at too high of a price, which was my time.
So as I write this entry I am sipping my coffee from Starbucks, and waiting on the UPS guy to bring me the shops that I couldn’t live without. (Let that dude suffer through traffic. I am going to stay in my bubble thank you very much.) The only downer to living here is the absence of family. For them and only them I will endure bumper-to-bumper traffic.
I am going to sign off so I can go and visit my neighbour. Yes it is true I do know all my neighbours names!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
I Promise to Tell the Truth Even if it Kills the Easter Bunny!
At the age of four my daughter’s illusion of Santa Claus being real was shattered. I wish that I could tell you that she saw mommy kissing Santa Claus, but that would be a lie. Here is what really happened:
It was March 2001 around Easter, and I was driving my daughter home from preschool. She was unusually quiet in the backseat, so I asked her, “Is there anything on your mind?”
We were stopped at a red light at the time, so I watched her from my rear view mirror as she finally piped up.
Holly: Mom I have a question
Me: What is it?
Holly: Will you tell me the truth?
Me: Of course
Holly: Promise?
Me: Yes.
Holly: Is there really an Easter bunny, because it doesn’t make sense to me. How can a bunny deliver baskets of candy when all he does is hop? I am so confused!
The light turned green. I pondered what to tell her, but at that moment I couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation. How does a bunny deliver baskets? Maybe if I hadn’t been driving I could have come up with something brilliant to tell her to cover up the fib we have been telling our children about this magical bunny.
Me: Well…(I promised to tell the truth. God looking back that is such a lame excuse. Don’t do it. Please DON’T DO IT!)
Mommy and daddy are the Easter bunnies, and we hide the basket for you.
You moron- You could have told her that you hid the basket where the Easter bunny told you to hide it. You could have told her anything but that. Come on she is four! (I hate after-the-fact-eight-years-later-internal-dialogue.)
She was very quiet and I suspected that she was digesting the holiday blow in her mind. Then she started with the questions again:
Holly: Mom?
Me: Yes, honey.
Holly: If there is no Easter bunny does that mean there is no Santa Claus too? Are you and daddy Santa?
Me: Yes baby we are…SHIIIIT!…. (That was even worse.)
Holly: That is terrible news.
At four! How could I have done that to her at four! After reading this entry if you decide that you want to stop reading my blog altogether I completely understand. (I can feel the hate mail coming in right now.) I will let you know that I do feed and clothe her, so I am not that bad of a mother.
I did manage to salvage some of the Christmas magic for her. At her grandparents house you can see a red blinking light in the distance. Her grandfather had told her that that was Santa’s workshop. (Bless his heart.) So when we got home I had a serious talk with her. I told her that her grandfather still believed that Santa was real. I asked her to not to let on that she knew Santa wasn’t real. She promised that she would never ever let him know that she knew our special secret. Cross her heart. At least one of us can keep a secret.
We spend Christmas Eve, and Christmas morning with my in-laws, so that helped my scheme. True to her word she put out the cookies, and she acted like she was surprised on Christmas morning when she received her stocking from “Santa”. When her grandfather pointed out the red blinking light she agreed that it indeed was Santa’s workshop, and that Santa’s elves must be hard at work.
I think she figured out that her grandfather “maybe” doesn’t really believe in Santa, but she has never asked him. She learned THAT lesson well when she was four. However she still does things to make her grandfather believe Santa is real. She will tell him that she heard Santa’s Reindeers on the roof. She may even point out the blinking red light from time-to-time. One thing I know for sure is I am so happy that “Farfar” (That is grandfather in Danish.) saved Christmas for Holly.
P.S.
By the way Holly never asked me if there was a tooth fairy. Good for her. I will let you know that her tooth fairy feels that she has to make up for all the other magical beings lost. As a result the fairy leaves Holly $5.00 a tooth. When Holly lost her top two front teeth she got $20.00 per tooth. Guilt can be very expensive.
It was March 2001 around Easter, and I was driving my daughter home from preschool. She was unusually quiet in the backseat, so I asked her, “Is there anything on your mind?”
We were stopped at a red light at the time, so I watched her from my rear view mirror as she finally piped up.
Holly: Mom I have a question
Me: What is it?
Holly: Will you tell me the truth?
Me: Of course
Holly: Promise?
Me: Yes.
Holly: Is there really an Easter bunny, because it doesn’t make sense to me. How can a bunny deliver baskets of candy when all he does is hop? I am so confused!
The light turned green. I pondered what to tell her, but at that moment I couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation. How does a bunny deliver baskets? Maybe if I hadn’t been driving I could have come up with something brilliant to tell her to cover up the fib we have been telling our children about this magical bunny.
Me: Well…(I promised to tell the truth. God looking back that is such a lame excuse. Don’t do it. Please DON’T DO IT!)
Mommy and daddy are the Easter bunnies, and we hide the basket for you.
You moron- You could have told her that you hid the basket where the Easter bunny told you to hide it. You could have told her anything but that. Come on she is four! (I hate after-the-fact-eight-years-later-internal-dialogue.)
She was very quiet and I suspected that she was digesting the holiday blow in her mind. Then she started with the questions again:
Holly: Mom?
Me: Yes, honey.
Holly: If there is no Easter bunny does that mean there is no Santa Claus too? Are you and daddy Santa?
Me: Yes baby we are…SHIIIIT!…. (That was even worse.)
Holly: That is terrible news.
At four! How could I have done that to her at four! After reading this entry if you decide that you want to stop reading my blog altogether I completely understand. (I can feel the hate mail coming in right now.) I will let you know that I do feed and clothe her, so I am not that bad of a mother.
I did manage to salvage some of the Christmas magic for her. At her grandparents house you can see a red blinking light in the distance. Her grandfather had told her that that was Santa’s workshop. (Bless his heart.) So when we got home I had a serious talk with her. I told her that her grandfather still believed that Santa was real. I asked her to not to let on that she knew Santa wasn’t real. She promised that she would never ever let him know that she knew our special secret. Cross her heart. At least one of us can keep a secret.
We spend Christmas Eve, and Christmas morning with my in-laws, so that helped my scheme. True to her word she put out the cookies, and she acted like she was surprised on Christmas morning when she received her stocking from “Santa”. When her grandfather pointed out the red blinking light she agreed that it indeed was Santa’s workshop, and that Santa’s elves must be hard at work.
I think she figured out that her grandfather “maybe” doesn’t really believe in Santa, but she has never asked him. She learned THAT lesson well when she was four. However she still does things to make her grandfather believe Santa is real. She will tell him that she heard Santa’s Reindeers on the roof. She may even point out the blinking red light from time-to-time. One thing I know for sure is I am so happy that “Farfar” (That is grandfather in Danish.) saved Christmas for Holly.
P.S.
By the way Holly never asked me if there was a tooth fairy. Good for her. I will let you know that her tooth fairy feels that she has to make up for all the other magical beings lost. As a result the fairy leaves Holly $5.00 a tooth. When Holly lost her top two front teeth she got $20.00 per tooth. Guilt can be very expensive.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Oh Tannenbaum!
Ah Christmas is here! What a lovely time to spend money we don’t have and eat food we shouldn’t eat. I like Christmas, and by no means am I the Grinch. I just happen to look like the guy when I wake up in the morning!
My least favorite past-time of the season is trimming our Christmas tree. To be more specific I don’t especially enjoy the setting up of the Christmas tree. We have a twelve year old artificial tree, which we bought when we were of lesser means. At the time we paid $140.00 with 60% off; which was a sweet deal even then. Being that our tree is older I have to do a lot more “spiffing” up to make it look like an actual tree. First I have to flatten out the branches, dust them, and add 800 lights- each branch has to have two or more lights on it. (I figure if I add more bling to our tree no one will mistaken it for Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree.) Then I have to clean the tree with a Christmas tree perfume which I created to make it smell like an actual outdoor tree, and last but not least I have to fluff each and every branch to make it look like a real tree. (You should see my hands and arms right now; they are all scratched up from the stupid pokey tree branches.) After eight hours of intensive labour I created a Christmas tree worthy of The New York Macy’s Christmas tree windows. Guess What? My tree really does twinkle; no kidding it is true. I will admit there is one flaw with our tree that we can not fix: It is crooked. We have tried almost everything, but our tree seems to insist on leaning to the right. We have even changed our tree stands, but we have had no luck.
Speaking of tree stands, have I got a story for you:
It all started when my daughter was at her grandmother’s house this weekend. I thought that with her being gone it would be a great opportunity for me to set-up the tree and put the lights on it. (We don’t decorate the tree or trim the house without her.) Like I said before it takes me forever to get my tree ready the decorating. If she is at home she is bouncing off the walls, because she can't wait hours for the tree to be worthy of “any window”. Her attitude is: take the tree out of the box, put it up, and throw some lights on it. Done; 10 minutes flat!
David and I went down to our garage where our storage room is located and pulled out our two tubs labelled “Christmas”, and our old tree. Fine enough. It was my job to put the tree together, and it was David's job to find our Christmas tree stand, which was located in one of our Christmas totes.
This part is totally my fault, and I take full responsibility; I left the television on. My sweetheart started to mindlessly pull out the Christmas items while “looking” for the Christmas tree stand. Apparently a deodorant commercial caught his fancy, and caused him to zone out while doing his one and only job. (Now I have to stop here and tell you that we have the coolest stand in the universe, because it rotates!)
Me: (Barking at him.) Hello? David, quit watching TV and look for the stand!
David: I did, and it is not here.
Me: Did you look in both totes?
David: Yes.! (He was a tiny bit defensive when he said “yes”.)
Me: Did you pull all the items out of both totes?
David: Yes. (He was a tiny bit more defensive this time when he said “yes”.)
Seeing that all the items from one tote were on the floor I was satisfied with his answer.
Me: Well then where are they?
David: Hmm…They should be here. (He said it as if someone came in our home and stole our precious rotating tree stand.)
I wouldn’t blame them if they did, because it is THAT cool.
We live in a newer house, and the downside to that is the builders forgot one very important feature of our home. It is what I like to call: storage. We have one coat closet, a pantry, each of our bedrooms has a closet, and we have a tiny storage room under our stairs in our garage. That is it; I just doubled checked. To live comfortably in a newer home you must be an organized family, which we are, thank goodness. You also must be a minimalist, which I happen to be. Holly and David are “working” on it. Being so organized I can tell you where anything in my home is located; seriously feel free to come here and test me. That being said I was shocked when there was no tree stand in the totes labelled “Christmas”. To make a long story short; we spent at least two hours tearing apart our storage room and garage looking for the now stupid tree stand. We could not find it; the stand just disappeared. Did we throw it out? Oh lovely. Now we will have to buy another one, because rotating or not; we had no tree stand. Unless we found someone who was willing hold our tree up for us during the holidays; we were going to be toast. There were no takers. Off to the big box stores we went.
Our mission was to find a rotating tree stand. Sadly there were none. Surprisely rotating tree stands are not a hot commodity this season. Retails did not order any. (I apologize to anybody who had their coats on, and were ready to go and buy a rotating tree stand based on my recommendations.) Sadly, on our quest to replace our stand we were not made aware of the store’s oversights until we were in too deep. We spent at least five hours and a lot of gas going store-to-store in search for a tree stand that rotates. I could have bought one online, but I would have had to wait at least two weeks, and what good what that have done?
We picked up our daughter and came home to a house in shambles. We found out that our cat peed on our daughter’s bed. I am not even going to talk about that… David and I came to the conclusion that we should have never gotten out of bed that day. It was just “one of those days”.
Yesterday I was still frustrated about the missing tree stand, but I knew it was nowhere in our home. David decided it was time to throw in the towel and go and buy a crappy regular tree stand that did not rotate. As he was getting ready to leave I decided to check the Christmas totes one last time; without the TV on. THE DAMN TREE STAND WAS IN THERE THE WHOLE TIME!
David: (In a happy voice; however his voice had a hint of: “See you found what YOU lost." Good for you.) Oh there it is.
Me: YAY, OMG I can’t believe it was in the tote the whole time.
(My voice had no blame tone. I was just thrilled I had found the stand.)
David: I checked that box and everything. Oh look, the stand box is the same height as the Christmas light boxes. I just figured that all the boxes on the bottom of that tote were all lights; I didn’t check that side. But Good Job Amy.
This was my inner dialogue:
Good job? If you had done your job properly instead of watching dumb commercials we would not have had to spend a whole day tearing up the house, driving around looking for a spinning stand, putting the house back together, and finally trying to buy a stand online at 2:30 in the morning as a last ditch effort! And don't forget I kept asking you, “Is it in the boxes?” To which you replied, “No.” Good job, my ass.
This year when it is time to take down the tree we are not going to. We are just going to buy one of those fancy-dancy tree covers and leave it wrapped until next year. I have no idea where we are going to put it, but I will make that David’s issue. David will be in big trouble if he loses an entire tree in coming year, so help me… and more importantly I am not going to be turning on the TV during the all-important Christmas tree set-up next year.
Good job…AHHHH!
My least favorite past-time of the season is trimming our Christmas tree. To be more specific I don’t especially enjoy the setting up of the Christmas tree. We have a twelve year old artificial tree, which we bought when we were of lesser means. At the time we paid $140.00 with 60% off; which was a sweet deal even then. Being that our tree is older I have to do a lot more “spiffing” up to make it look like an actual tree. First I have to flatten out the branches, dust them, and add 800 lights- each branch has to have two or more lights on it. (I figure if I add more bling to our tree no one will mistaken it for Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree.) Then I have to clean the tree with a Christmas tree perfume which I created to make it smell like an actual outdoor tree, and last but not least I have to fluff each and every branch to make it look like a real tree. (You should see my hands and arms right now; they are all scratched up from the stupid pokey tree branches.) After eight hours of intensive labour I created a Christmas tree worthy of The New York Macy’s Christmas tree windows. Guess What? My tree really does twinkle; no kidding it is true. I will admit there is one flaw with our tree that we can not fix: It is crooked. We have tried almost everything, but our tree seems to insist on leaning to the right. We have even changed our tree stands, but we have had no luck.
Speaking of tree stands, have I got a story for you:
It all started when my daughter was at her grandmother’s house this weekend. I thought that with her being gone it would be a great opportunity for me to set-up the tree and put the lights on it. (We don’t decorate the tree or trim the house without her.) Like I said before it takes me forever to get my tree ready the decorating. If she is at home she is bouncing off the walls, because she can't wait hours for the tree to be worthy of “any window”. Her attitude is: take the tree out of the box, put it up, and throw some lights on it. Done; 10 minutes flat!
David and I went down to our garage where our storage room is located and pulled out our two tubs labelled “Christmas”, and our old tree. Fine enough. It was my job to put the tree together, and it was David's job to find our Christmas tree stand, which was located in one of our Christmas totes.
This part is totally my fault, and I take full responsibility; I left the television on. My sweetheart started to mindlessly pull out the Christmas items while “looking” for the Christmas tree stand. Apparently a deodorant commercial caught his fancy, and caused him to zone out while doing his one and only job. (Now I have to stop here and tell you that we have the coolest stand in the universe, because it rotates!)
Me: (Barking at him.) Hello? David, quit watching TV and look for the stand!
David: I did, and it is not here.
Me: Did you look in both totes?
David: Yes.! (He was a tiny bit defensive when he said “yes”.)
Me: Did you pull all the items out of both totes?
David: Yes. (He was a tiny bit more defensive this time when he said “yes”.)
Seeing that all the items from one tote were on the floor I was satisfied with his answer.
Me: Well then where are they?
David: Hmm…They should be here. (He said it as if someone came in our home and stole our precious rotating tree stand.)
I wouldn’t blame them if they did, because it is THAT cool.
We live in a newer house, and the downside to that is the builders forgot one very important feature of our home. It is what I like to call: storage. We have one coat closet, a pantry, each of our bedrooms has a closet, and we have a tiny storage room under our stairs in our garage. That is it; I just doubled checked. To live comfortably in a newer home you must be an organized family, which we are, thank goodness. You also must be a minimalist, which I happen to be. Holly and David are “working” on it. Being so organized I can tell you where anything in my home is located; seriously feel free to come here and test me. That being said I was shocked when there was no tree stand in the totes labelled “Christmas”. To make a long story short; we spent at least two hours tearing apart our storage room and garage looking for the now stupid tree stand. We could not find it; the stand just disappeared. Did we throw it out? Oh lovely. Now we will have to buy another one, because rotating or not; we had no tree stand. Unless we found someone who was willing hold our tree up for us during the holidays; we were going to be toast. There were no takers. Off to the big box stores we went.
Our mission was to find a rotating tree stand. Sadly there were none. Surprisely rotating tree stands are not a hot commodity this season. Retails did not order any. (I apologize to anybody who had their coats on, and were ready to go and buy a rotating tree stand based on my recommendations.) Sadly, on our quest to replace our stand we were not made aware of the store’s oversights until we were in too deep. We spent at least five hours and a lot of gas going store-to-store in search for a tree stand that rotates. I could have bought one online, but I would have had to wait at least two weeks, and what good what that have done?
We picked up our daughter and came home to a house in shambles. We found out that our cat peed on our daughter’s bed. I am not even going to talk about that… David and I came to the conclusion that we should have never gotten out of bed that day. It was just “one of those days”.
Yesterday I was still frustrated about the missing tree stand, but I knew it was nowhere in our home. David decided it was time to throw in the towel and go and buy a crappy regular tree stand that did not rotate. As he was getting ready to leave I decided to check the Christmas totes one last time; without the TV on. THE DAMN TREE STAND WAS IN THERE THE WHOLE TIME!
David: (In a happy voice; however his voice had a hint of: “See you found what YOU lost." Good for you.) Oh there it is.
Me: YAY, OMG I can’t believe it was in the tote the whole time.
(My voice had no blame tone. I was just thrilled I had found the stand.)
David: I checked that box and everything. Oh look, the stand box is the same height as the Christmas light boxes. I just figured that all the boxes on the bottom of that tote were all lights; I didn’t check that side. But Good Job Amy.
This was my inner dialogue:
Good job? If you had done your job properly instead of watching dumb commercials we would not have had to spend a whole day tearing up the house, driving around looking for a spinning stand, putting the house back together, and finally trying to buy a stand online at 2:30 in the morning as a last ditch effort! And don't forget I kept asking you, “Is it in the boxes?” To which you replied, “No.” Good job, my ass.
This year when it is time to take down the tree we are not going to. We are just going to buy one of those fancy-dancy tree covers and leave it wrapped until next year. I have no idea where we are going to put it, but I will make that David’s issue. David will be in big trouble if he loses an entire tree in coming year, so help me… and more importantly I am not going to be turning on the TV during the all-important Christmas tree set-up next year.
Good job…AHHHH!
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Shake Rattle and Roll, but Mostly Shake!
This blog is turning into a “Bitching Session”. I am terribly sorry about that.
In my previous post I wrote that I wasn’t feeling well, because I had stupidly taken myself off of my stabilizing med due to its side-effects. A few days ago it was my moment of truth. I told my doctor that I had assigned myself to be an “Arm-Chair-Prescription-Dispensing-I-Know-What-is-Better-for-Me-Even-Though-I-Did Not go to Med-School” pharmacist. I found that confessing was a tough pill to swallow.
My Doctor: How are you feeling?
Me: Not so good.
MD: Why?
Me: Because I hate the mood stabilizing pill that I have take.
(In my head I was thinking that YOU MAKE me take, but I wanted to be invited back to my next session.) I continued…
The drug has too many side effects. I really hate taking those nasty pills, so instead of taking them I put them down my garbage disposable.
MD: I see.
Me: I don’t see why I have to take so many pills anyway.
(* Besides this stupid mood stabilizer I am also on 6 other pills. It is quite a cocktail.)
MD: ….
She gives me nothing but a stare.
At this point I should have tried to stare her down. I could have given her a cold icy glare. (I just asked David and he said that I can’t do an icy glare. I guess that will be something I’ll work on.) Instead I fidgeted in my seat and looked out the window. I knew that I had I lost; there was nothing left to say. I would be taking ALL of my meds. Still she was kind, and gave me a chance to plead my case anyway.
MD: What side-effects are you having?
Here was my chance! I started listing the side-effects. I gave some examples, and I might have exaggerated just a tiny bit; you know for dramatics. .
MD: I am sorry but you have no other options at this point.
In my previous post I wrote that I wasn’t feeling well, because I had stupidly taken myself off of my stabilizing med due to its side-effects. A few days ago it was my moment of truth. I told my doctor that I had assigned myself to be an “Arm-Chair-Prescription-Dispensing-I-Know-What-is-Better-for-Me-Even-Though-I-Did Not go to Med-School” pharmacist. I found that confessing was a tough pill to swallow.
My Doctor: How are you feeling?
Me: Not so good.
MD: Why?
Me: Because I hate the mood stabilizing pill that I have take.
(In my head I was thinking that YOU MAKE me take, but I wanted to be invited back to my next session.) I continued…
The drug has too many side effects. I really hate taking those nasty pills, so instead of taking them I put them down my garbage disposable.
MD: I see.
Me: I don’t see why I have to take so many pills anyway.
(* Besides this stupid mood stabilizer I am also on 6 other pills. It is quite a cocktail.)
MD: ….
She gives me nothing but a stare.
At this point I should have tried to stare her down. I could have given her a cold icy glare. (I just asked David and he said that I can’t do an icy glare. I guess that will be something I’ll work on.) Instead I fidgeted in my seat and looked out the window. I knew that I had I lost; there was nothing left to say. I would be taking ALL of my meds. Still she was kind, and gave me a chance to plead my case anyway.
MD: What side-effects are you having?
Here was my chance! I started listing the side-effects. I gave some examples, and I might have exaggerated just a tiny bit; you know for dramatics. .
MD: I am sorry but you have no other options at this point.
I never believed that I would actually get away with my crime. I knew that I was guilty. I was pretty certain that I was destined to take this particular med. I think all I wanted to get is absolution for throwing my meds down the garbage disposal.
But wait I forgot one side-effect!
This was my back-up, “only to be used in case of an emergency” side effect. I had to play this card very carefully. I had to be clear, concise, and very accurate, no dramatics this time.
I had never shared this particular side effect with anyone in the medical community. I was afraid that I would be labelled “C-R-A-Z-Y”- too late. I really did think it was just a side-effect; I put up with so many already it was hard to distinguish side-effects from real issues!
Me: I have these seizer like episodes.
I will tell you guys what happens:
1.) A split second before the seizer happens I feel it coming.
2.)I don’t roll around on the ground. The seizers happen mainly in my upper body. I jerk my head and torso back and forth, and my arms go flying.
3.)I do feel like I am going to fall, but my feet manage to keep planted on the ground.
4.)The seizers last for 10 to 15 seconds.
5.)These episodes seem to happen when I am overly stimulated, and in certain lighted areas
6.)I don’t lose consciousness.
7.)I think the “after-seizers” are the worst. It feels like someone stuck a battery up my bum, and volts of electricity goes through my body. These seizers last for one or two seconds. I find these episodes quite annoying.
She started looking at my chart.
Please be the meds, please be the meds, or even be the bipolar.Today I am not so lucky.
MD: Sounds like epilepsy to me; I am quite sure of it.
Me: ... (Now it was my turn to stare. Take that!)
MD: We will have to run test.
(Of course we always have to run test!)
Me: Is it the drugs? Is it the bipolar?
MD: None of the drugs I am giving you would cause this to happen.
Me: Could I be faking this? Is it psychosomatic?
MD: No what you described is epilepsy. The fact that you know the seizure is going to happen just a second or two before it happens is called an epileptic aura. Many epileptics know that they are going to have a seizer moments before the seizure happens
Epileptic aura- Say what? - I thought the fact that I knew it was going to happen meant that it was psychosomatic!
OMG, you have got to be kidding me. I have had enough. I would like to talk to the management, or whoever is in charge of fairness. I have been diagnosed with bipolar, which has given me other mental illnesses. Talk about “free with purchase gifts!” I was born with Cerebral Palsy and now this Epilepsy thing! Forgive me but I just have to say it: “F word, F word, F word”! (At this point I feel I am entitled to drop a few F bombs.)
I was advised to stop driving. Duh! Yes, definitely, I don’t want to cause harm. But now my freedom is severly limited. Oh stop it. That is why you have rain boots; see it was fate. The good news is: when the doctors figure this mess out they will be able to medicate me with MORE drugs, and then I will be able to drive. (Clap, clap, clap!)
UPDATE
We found out what is possibly causing the seizers: It is my Cerebral Palsy. Apparently 1 in 3 children get it, but then they grow out of it. Then there are adults who get it; sadly they don’t grow out of it. At least it is nothing too dramatic. The doctors will be able to medicate me. I still have to do the tests. They are going to induce some episodes and study them. I wish them luck with that, because I mainly get seizures in my kitchen. HA!
You know that saying: “At least I have my health.”
I changed it: to:
“At least I have a sexy husband, a wonderful daughter, a nice home filled with my favorite things; I am surrounded by tons of people that love me, and three Starbucks within walking distance.”
Monday, November 24, 2008
Beauty is Only Skin Deep...
My next quest for beauty is to have a tummy tuck. I am going to lipo my muffin top. I wish I could also get rid of my bat wings and give lift to my “merchandise” a.k.a. “The Girls”.
However the thought of the pain scares me badly. I am not a big fan of discomfort. If I get a hangnail I bitch about it for days on end. Can you imagine what I’ll be like when I get a tummy tuck, lipo, and maybe some lifts? I already feel sorry for those around me. Let me give David and Holly some advice: Hire “stand-ins” for a month and go to Hawaii.
I had my lapband surgery in October of 2007. I thought it was only going to hurt a little bit, because the pamphlet said, “Minimally Invasive.” - Minimally invasive my butt. I was in so much pain. I woke up the day after surgery and thought to myself, “What the hell did I just do?” Getting better was very time consuming. My stomach muscles took months to heal. Minimally invasive…false advertising is what I call it.
The surgeons who are performing the tummy tucks are a little more honest, because they tell you that the tummy tuck is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Ouch! They tell you that moving around for the first week is going to be as uncomfortable as pulling off your toenails with pliers. They also recommend that you limit moving as much as possible. No problem there, Doc. The surgeons even send you home with a fanny pack full of pain meds that go straight to your tummy. (How bad can the pain be if they have to send you home with a fanny pack? Uh… pretty eff-ing bad if you get a fanny pack as your take home gift.) They tell you that you will need around the clock care for one week. (Run David, run.) They warn you that you may have drains. What the hell are drains? All I know is that drains sound painful.
“Hey what’s that coming out of the side of your body?”
“Oh those things; don’t pay any attention to those. Those are just my drains. Yeah they come free with every tummy tuck. Just like the free toy that comes with every Happy Meal. Really I am thrilled to have them. Look I can see how much fluid is coming out of my stomach. They’re cool huh? Hey where are you going?”
I feel sorry for you guys, because when my pain crisis hits all I am going to do is complain and moan in my blog entries. I will have to change my blog title to: I Really Want Pain Meds, and a Cookie.
The good news is that I have to wait for a while before I can hop on the operating table. I have to lose about more 20 pounds. The doctors want me to be at my target weight, before they operate. I set my target weight at 135, but because I was never 135 as a teenager or as an adult we picked 150, which is, I feel is the best weight for me.
I am on a mission to lose 20 pounds. (Insert Mission Impossible theme song.) I am going to lose a pound a week. I need a cheering squad, determination, and a loan
However the thought of the pain scares me badly. I am not a big fan of discomfort. If I get a hangnail I bitch about it for days on end. Can you imagine what I’ll be like when I get a tummy tuck, lipo, and maybe some lifts? I already feel sorry for those around me. Let me give David and Holly some advice: Hire “stand-ins” for a month and go to Hawaii.
I had my lapband surgery in October of 2007. I thought it was only going to hurt a little bit, because the pamphlet said, “Minimally Invasive.” - Minimally invasive my butt. I was in so much pain. I woke up the day after surgery and thought to myself, “What the hell did I just do?” Getting better was very time consuming. My stomach muscles took months to heal. Minimally invasive…false advertising is what I call it.
The surgeons who are performing the tummy tucks are a little more honest, because they tell you that the tummy tuck is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Ouch! They tell you that moving around for the first week is going to be as uncomfortable as pulling off your toenails with pliers. They also recommend that you limit moving as much as possible. No problem there, Doc. The surgeons even send you home with a fanny pack full of pain meds that go straight to your tummy. (How bad can the pain be if they have to send you home with a fanny pack? Uh… pretty eff-ing bad if you get a fanny pack as your take home gift.) They tell you that you will need around the clock care for one week. (Run David, run.) They warn you that you may have drains. What the hell are drains? All I know is that drains sound painful.
“Hey what’s that coming out of the side of your body?”
“Oh those things; don’t pay any attention to those. Those are just my drains. Yeah they come free with every tummy tuck. Just like the free toy that comes with every Happy Meal. Really I am thrilled to have them. Look I can see how much fluid is coming out of my stomach. They’re cool huh? Hey where are you going?”
I feel sorry for you guys, because when my pain crisis hits all I am going to do is complain and moan in my blog entries. I will have to change my blog title to: I Really Want Pain Meds, and a Cookie.
The good news is that I have to wait for a while before I can hop on the operating table. I have to lose about more 20 pounds. The doctors want me to be at my target weight, before they operate. I set my target weight at 135, but because I was never 135 as a teenager or as an adult we picked 150, which is, I feel is the best weight for me.
I am on a mission to lose 20 pounds. (Insert Mission Impossible theme song.) I am going to lose a pound a week. I need a cheering squad, determination, and a loan
Friday, November 21, 2008
I Wish This Was Just the Flu.
I have never shared while I have been in the throws of my mental illness until now. This entry is difficult to write due to how I am feeling.
Very recently I have been non-compliant with my medication. This has been the only time since I was diagnosed as a bi-polar that I have veered off of my medications. I have a whole list of reasons why I did what I did. The main reasons I took myself off of my stabilizing medication was: The drug caused me to shake and twitch. It caused word aphasia, which was very frustrating. The best way I can describe word aphasia is like this; English became a second language to me. I would be talking about our dishwasher and I could not say the word dishwasher. I knew what the dishwasher was, but I didn’t know the word for dishwasher. After a few agonizing seconds it would come to me, and sadly sometimes it wouldn’t. I would have to do a lot of pointing and someone would have to say the word for me. On average this happened 5 to 10 times a day. (Which is too much.) I could still write the words I was just unable to say the words. Sometimes I gaited instead of walked. I did tell my doctor, but I have already tried the other drugs that are available and I any had very little success or worse yet it caused massive weight gain. (Massive weight gain has caused me deep depression that in the past I have found myself admitted into a hospital.) So taking this medication seems like the lesser of the evils. I should also mention that I have cerebral palsy, and so the doctors have to be extra careful about what meds they prescribe. I hate the meds that I have to take, but I am a rapid cycle bipolar, which means without proper meds I can go up and down several times per day. I have tried to “get off” of my meds, and try more holistic approaches, but that just landed me in the hospital again.
The medication greatly improves the quality of my mental conditions. However, the downsides are the side effects. I feel tired, stupid, unfocused, sleepy, and nauseous. When it was time to take The evil drug I would put it down the garbage disposable when no one was looking. The nasty drug’s side effects mimicked the Parkinson’s side effects. I am back on it as of this morning. Do I feel hopeless and lost? No. For I understand that the way things are; is just part of my current reality.
Just so you know I did not try to do anything stupid last night. I was just on a reckless high, which I recognized to be a problem before it actually got to be a bigger problem. As a result I was medicated with drugs to bring me back down, and that is why I am in a hazy state.
*This blog will not be edited for content, grammar, or flow.
Very recently I have been non-compliant with my medication. This has been the only time since I was diagnosed as a bi-polar that I have veered off of my medications. I have a whole list of reasons why I did what I did. The main reasons I took myself off of my stabilizing medication was: The drug caused me to shake and twitch. It caused word aphasia, which was very frustrating. The best way I can describe word aphasia is like this; English became a second language to me. I would be talking about our dishwasher and I could not say the word dishwasher. I knew what the dishwasher was, but I didn’t know the word for dishwasher. After a few agonizing seconds it would come to me, and sadly sometimes it wouldn’t. I would have to do a lot of pointing and someone would have to say the word for me. On average this happened 5 to 10 times a day. (Which is too much.) I could still write the words I was just unable to say the words. Sometimes I gaited instead of walked. I did tell my doctor, but I have already tried the other drugs that are available and I any had very little success or worse yet it caused massive weight gain. (Massive weight gain has caused me deep depression that in the past I have found myself admitted into a hospital.) So taking this medication seems like the lesser of the evils. I should also mention that I have cerebral palsy, and so the doctors have to be extra careful about what meds they prescribe. I hate the meds that I have to take, but I am a rapid cycle bipolar, which means without proper meds I can go up and down several times per day. I have tried to “get off” of my meds, and try more holistic approaches, but that just landed me in the hospital again.
The medication greatly improves the quality of my mental conditions. However, the downsides are the side effects. I feel tired, stupid, unfocused, sleepy, and nauseous. When it was time to take The evil drug I would put it down the garbage disposable when no one was looking. The nasty drug’s side effects mimicked the Parkinson’s side effects. I am back on it as of this morning. Do I feel hopeless and lost? No. For I understand that the way things are; is just part of my current reality.
Just so you know I did not try to do anything stupid last night. I was just on a reckless high, which I recognized to be a problem before it actually got to be a bigger problem. As a result I was medicated with drugs to bring me back down, and that is why I am in a hazy state.
*This blog will not be edited for content, grammar, or flow.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
22..20...18...16...
It has been eluding me for over ten years now, but I knew it couldn’t stay away forever. SIZE 14 REG is back in town. The important part is the REG, which means it isn’t a plus size. Right now there are balloons and confetti falling from the ceiling of my walk-in-closet. It does make it more challenging to get dressed in, but it is totally worth it. I am not wearing any plus size clothing today-nope not a stitch; even my panties are REG size. Uh-oh here comes more confetti bye, bye granny panties.
The day of my surgery I waddled into the hospital wearing a size 22 everything. Wow, was I really that big? For me it has been a gradual weight loss, so I really haven’t noticed REALLY big changes. That being said, it is hard to ignore having to buy 4 pant sizes smaller.
“Excuse me miss where do you keep the regular size clothing? You see I haven’t been out of the plus size department in over ten years, so I don’t know where to find it. Is it by fragrances or handbags?”
The first time I ventured into a non-plus size store I was so nervous. I felt as if I was committing a crime of some sort. My heart was beating rapidly, my palms were sweating, and the store’s bright lights were making me feel dizzy. Why such a serve reaction? It was simple, and yet very twisted thinking. I thought that the salespeople were going to ask me to leave. I just knew they were going to tell me that I was too fat and I would have to go back to a plus size store. It was so bad that the first time I went in to a store that was not plus size I could not bring myself to try on any clothing. (I only lasted two minutes inside.) The second time I did try on some clothing, but I only tried on the biggest sizes they had. I wasn’t ready to make a commitment to smaller sizes just yet.
After more therapy and a lot of Starbucks liquid courage I did go into stores and I claimed the clothing sizes that belonged to me.
I went to Macy’s last week and I was walking by the plus size department, which is at the back of this particular Macy’s store. I remember thinking that, “I will never have to shop at the back of this store again. Now I get to shop in the whole damn store, and that is the way it should be.”
I also passed by a Lane Bryant store in the mall. I looked in and saw my former self going through the racks, looking for a size 22/24. Then I caught a glimpse of my size 14 self in the refection from the store front window, and I couldn’t help but smile and think: You Look Marvellous Darling! The Best Is Yet To Come!
The day of my surgery I waddled into the hospital wearing a size 22 everything. Wow, was I really that big? For me it has been a gradual weight loss, so I really haven’t noticed REALLY big changes. That being said, it is hard to ignore having to buy 4 pant sizes smaller.
“Excuse me miss where do you keep the regular size clothing? You see I haven’t been out of the plus size department in over ten years, so I don’t know where to find it. Is it by fragrances or handbags?”
The first time I ventured into a non-plus size store I was so nervous. I felt as if I was committing a crime of some sort. My heart was beating rapidly, my palms were sweating, and the store’s bright lights were making me feel dizzy. Why such a serve reaction? It was simple, and yet very twisted thinking. I thought that the salespeople were going to ask me to leave. I just knew they were going to tell me that I was too fat and I would have to go back to a plus size store. It was so bad that the first time I went in to a store that was not plus size I could not bring myself to try on any clothing. (I only lasted two minutes inside.) The second time I did try on some clothing, but I only tried on the biggest sizes they had. I wasn’t ready to make a commitment to smaller sizes just yet.
After more therapy and a lot of Starbucks liquid courage I did go into stores and I claimed the clothing sizes that belonged to me.
I went to Macy’s last week and I was walking by the plus size department, which is at the back of this particular Macy’s store. I remember thinking that, “I will never have to shop at the back of this store again. Now I get to shop in the whole damn store, and that is the way it should be.”
I also passed by a Lane Bryant store in the mall. I looked in and saw my former self going through the racks, looking for a size 22/24. Then I caught a glimpse of my size 14 self in the refection from the store front window, and I couldn’t help but smile and think: You Look Marvellous Darling! The Best Is Yet To Come!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Running on my Nerves
I went shopping today. Bob is happy. I am happy. David is sort of happy; the sort of part is because he is our financial advisor, and he doesn’t like to buy stuff. The dog is not happy. We bought a treadmill. (See why the dog is not happy.)
We had to go from store-to-store to find the perfect treadmill. I swear if I just stayed on my quest to find the treadmill; I would have needed one, because I would have burned enough calories just looking for the damn thing!
We went to this one store. I won’t say the name expect to say it starts with an S and ends with an S and has ears in between. They have a bazillion treadmills; okay well maybe twelve.
My method was to examine each one individually. I would get up on the sides of the treadmill and study the console. I was doing absolutely fabulous until I tripped. With much regret I caused an unplugged treadmill’s belt to move. (It was a horrible moment in my life.) The old bat…Err I mean the nice sales lady from behind the counter (Where she had parked herself for the whole time we had been looking at treadmills. “No, we don’t need any help. You just go on about your day of doing nothing. We will sell ourselves a treadmill. Thank you very much.” The nice sales lady in her not-so-nice customer service voice screamed from across the sporting goods section, “Get off that treadmill!” Whoa! Then she decided a lecture would be a good idea in order to explain to me why I should get off the treadmill.
One: If she had been anywhere near me she would have known that my feet were now firmly planted on the sides of her precious piece of machinery. Two: I am not twelve, so she did’t need to lecture me. I gave her an indication that I understood her. (I replied back in my sarcastic now-your-pissing-me-off customer voice which kind of sounded like a twelve year old.) “I understand” But she couldn’t stop with her lecture. “Blah..blah…belt…blah..ruin…you…know…why…blah…blah…break…”
“I understand.”
But she had to have the last word. Now she became an expert. It was like she had seen my picture in the employee lunch room, and it had said, “Watch out! This Woman Will Break Treadmills at Will! She Must be Stopped at Any Cost!” She just would not let the subject drop. Gosh.
“I get it; enough already!” I thought that was a great comeback. I should mention here that I kind of yelled it at her. She got the point. Needless to say we did not purchase our treadmill from S***S. Come on, they have a hard time stopping people from walking on treadmills; what if we got a broken one?
To make a long story short we did buy a treadmill-in the box; we just couldn’t leave it to chance that someone “horsed around” on my investment. Good thing I listened to Miss Grumpy Pants.
David and I had “together” time putting my new toy together. It was very challenging, but we didn’t even consider divorcing. (We almost divorced when we put the barbecue together. Now we get most things pre-assembled; we figure it is cheaper than divorce attorneys.) When it was done I went to my “gym” and had an excellent workout.
We had to go from store-to-store to find the perfect treadmill. I swear if I just stayed on my quest to find the treadmill; I would have needed one, because I would have burned enough calories just looking for the damn thing!
We went to this one store. I won’t say the name expect to say it starts with an S and ends with an S and has ears in between. They have a bazillion treadmills; okay well maybe twelve.
My method was to examine each one individually. I would get up on the sides of the treadmill and study the console. I was doing absolutely fabulous until I tripped. With much regret I caused an unplugged treadmill’s belt to move. (It was a horrible moment in my life.) The old bat…Err I mean the nice sales lady from behind the counter (Where she had parked herself for the whole time we had been looking at treadmills. “No, we don’t need any help. You just go on about your day of doing nothing. We will sell ourselves a treadmill. Thank you very much.” The nice sales lady in her not-so-nice customer service voice screamed from across the sporting goods section, “Get off that treadmill!” Whoa! Then she decided a lecture would be a good idea in order to explain to me why I should get off the treadmill.
One: If she had been anywhere near me she would have known that my feet were now firmly planted on the sides of her precious piece of machinery. Two: I am not twelve, so she did’t need to lecture me. I gave her an indication that I understood her. (I replied back in my sarcastic now-your-pissing-me-off customer voice which kind of sounded like a twelve year old.) “I understand” But she couldn’t stop with her lecture. “Blah..blah…belt…blah..ruin…you…know…why…blah…blah…break…”
“I understand.”
But she had to have the last word. Now she became an expert. It was like she had seen my picture in the employee lunch room, and it had said, “Watch out! This Woman Will Break Treadmills at Will! She Must be Stopped at Any Cost!” She just would not let the subject drop. Gosh.
“I get it; enough already!” I thought that was a great comeback. I should mention here that I kind of yelled it at her. She got the point. Needless to say we did not purchase our treadmill from S***S. Come on, they have a hard time stopping people from walking on treadmills; what if we got a broken one?
To make a long story short we did buy a treadmill-in the box; we just couldn’t leave it to chance that someone “horsed around” on my investment. Good thing I listened to Miss Grumpy Pants.
David and I had “together” time putting my new toy together. It was very challenging, but we didn’t even consider divorcing. (We almost divorced when we put the barbecue together. Now we get most things pre-assembled; we figure it is cheaper than divorce attorneys.) When it was done I went to my “gym” and had an excellent workout.
I am Going Out with Bob.
My dearest friend “Bob” is urging me to buy myself a present today. That is one thing I like about the guy is he is always looking out for my best interest, and sometimes my best interest is shopping.
I wish we were going to shop in a quaint cozy shopping district. Instead we are shopping for treadmills. Bob, Bob, Bob…wouldn’t you rather go pick out overpriced country themed home accessories? I didn’t think so.
So wish me luck. Here’s hoping I buy the right one; while keeping my piggy bank intact. I will keep you updated, and let you know how my shopping experience goes.
I wish we were going to shop in a quaint cozy shopping district. Instead we are shopping for treadmills. Bob, Bob, Bob…wouldn’t you rather go pick out overpriced country themed home accessories? I didn’t think so.
So wish me luck. Here’s hoping I buy the right one; while keeping my piggy bank intact. I will keep you updated, and let you know how my shopping experience goes.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Smile For the Camera!
Is it Time magazine or People that does a “Year in Pictures”? As a celebration to me I thought I would put together a few "before" and “during” pictures. The process is far from over, but I have come a long way. I was 250 pounds, which you probably know from reading my aqua-green side bar on the right hand side.
This is how I have been changing over the last year. The pictures in this blog entry really exposes me to the world. This entry was a daunting emotional task for me. I never considered myself to be a "big girl", instead I was "larger than life". Now looking back on these pictures I am force to reflect on the pain I actually felt. As I take a deep breathe I give you me, all of me, the pained, the lucky, the thrilled, and the happy.
This is how I have been changing over the last year. The pictures in this blog entry really exposes me to the world. This entry was a daunting emotional task for me. I never considered myself to be a "big girl", instead I was "larger than life". Now looking back on these pictures I am force to reflect on the pain I actually felt. As I take a deep breathe I give you me, all of me, the pained, the lucky, the thrilled, and the happy.
.
This is a picture of me taken two years ago. I was at my heaviest, and the things I find interesting are: At the time this picture was taken I didn’t see myself as this large. (I was probably heavier than 250, but I didn't weigh myself.) I look older and tired. And where did my eyes go? (I also regret buying that sweater; the color looks gross on me.)
"I Like Big Butts!"
This is my daughter Holly and I in August of 2007. I am sitting slanted so I can hide my body. But honey the camera still gets ya. I needed help, and it was coming. Thank goodness! I could not have walked this road without my daughter and my husband.
This is David and me in Las Vegas. I made him take this photo with me. I asked a very attractive couple to take our photo, which they kindly did. This stood out to me because I did not feel worthy to be around ultra-attractive persons. We had been walking around Vegas for about nine hours and you can see that David is tuckered out. What I am also noticing is the water stain on the front of my shirt. When I was heavier I seemed to attract water, soda, juice, food, and crumbs to my tops. It was rare to find a shirt that did not have some kind of mark on it. I thought I was a freak of nature, but now I realize it was just my girth getting in the way. My fork and cup had further to travel to get to my mouth. I could not hold a plate close enough to prevent crumbs from falling; and I also ate much faster then. I must tell you that when I walk away from a meal with a clean shirt I am very proud of my accomplishment. Check out my stain free top sans bib!
These are more pictures of me before I went in for my lapband! One thing is for sure I was, and always will be a "ham"! No I was not on the Price is Right. I went to a show in Vegas.
These are my "before" pictures. I look so beaten down. Pictures were taken October 2, 2007. My surgery was on October 3, 2007.
*Warning: the next picture contains content that is not suitable for younger viewers. Parental discretion is advised. Or those with weak stomachs should skip this next one.*
"I'm Bringing Sexy Back!"
This photo was taken the night I got home from the hospital. Apparently we wanted to capture this moment for eternity. I must have been really drugged up at the time, but I don't know what to say about the person who took the photo. How did they think this was a good idea?
Here I am a week later with my swollen post-op belly. I thought it is funny because I thought I looked preggers. I went to the mall and pretended to waddle to see if people would ask me when I was due. No one did. Oh well, it was for the best. My tummy’s swelling did go away.
This is a picture of me in a pink top taken 2 weeks after surgery.
This picture was taken one month after my lapband was put in. (Still looking tired.)
This picture was taken two months after surgery. Oooo... I am starting to see a space between my arms and my side! And I also have a neck coming. Amy you're looking good! (Not so tired.)
This picture was taken the same month. Isn't it funny how we look better with clothes on?
"Merry Christmas!" Here I am showcasing a present from Leslie Ann. She made me slippers in my favorite guy: Cookie Monster. I still have them, expect my cat ate one of the eyes off one of the slippers. Maybe next year she will make me a blue hat...Hmmm...I wonder if she reads my blog?
To the right is a camera phone photo.
I think this photo was taken in March. I am actually smaller. I don't have a shirt that fits. It was the best I could do at the time. But I sure felt sexy. Now I am really "Bringing Sexy Back!"
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! It has been 7 months since I was banded. This is the first time I think I look good in a picture.
Remember how David looked in Vegas? He was overweight and tired. (I am sorry darling, but you were.) When I got banded he supported me so much that he followed my diet, ate off of my small plates, exercised with me everyday, and lost a ton of weight. How many people can say that they have somebody that devoted to them? (I love you David. Oh yeah and you look hot!)
My daughter Holly took me out for a fancy tea party. We are dressed up in our best dresses, and we are wearing my grandmother’s tea gloves. In our purses we are carrying David’s grandmother’s handkerchiefs. Both grand
mothers have passed, so it is important that we take a piece of them with us when we go out for these special occasions. In this picture we are “hamming it up”; what else is new?
This is my grandpa and me. Let me tell you a little bit about my grandfather: He was slated to play baseball in the major league as a pitcher, but it was during the time of the Korean War. As luck would have it- he was drafted. He was loyal to his country so he went without question; figuring that he could return to baseball when his service to his country was over. However, during combat one of his eyes was badly injured making it impossible for him to retu
rn to the sport he loved so much. I asked him if he regretted going to war. He said, “No, because I met your grandma at an USO dance, and if I didn’t go to war I would have never met her. And if I never met her, you wouldn’t be here.”
See why I love him so much?
This bathing suit photo was taken at the end of August. Now I am starting to pose. PLEASE...Oh gosh!!
Look at the size of those zucchinis! For once I am not the biggest thing in the picture!
You always in a picture montage with a black and white, so I decided to do the same. I don’t know when in the year this photo was snapped, but it really doesn’t matter.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Singing in the Rain!
Here is a little antidote about my weekend…
I live in British Columbia, and it is true that we walk around with umbrellas for a good part of the year. I don’t mind the rain for the most part. What I don’t like is walking in it. You know why? It is because I am a “kick-up-the-water-on-my-pants-no-matter-what” kind of person. I swear that if there is a tiny puddle I am going to find it, and it is inevitable that my pant legs will be soaking wet. And don’t even mention the “after rain” puddles. Plop, plop, plop, “Oh crap!” Now my pants and shoes are cold and wet. I have to hang up my pants to dry when I come home after a walk. The worse part is I don’t have pants to spare. I have to ask myself is it worth it to go get the mail? If it were not for David I would have a lot of unpaid bills during the rainy season. What is a girl to do? Wear shorts in the rain? No thank you!
The other day I was out shopping. I saw the most beautiful rain boots ever. My newest bestest friends are pink with sparkles. Now I know what you are thinking, and yes I agree that my choice is a little over the top, but come on how could I pass up sparkles? I just had to buy these “oh-so-great-because-they-are-going-to-save-my-pants-from-the-evil-puddles” boots! I looked at the price tag…”OMG! How do these people sleep at night?”
David said in his “I-know-everything” tone, “Sweetheart, of course their expensive they are made out of rubber. Rubber is made out of oil. Oil is expensive, therefore the boots are expensive.”
Uh-huh…
(That is what I call a “Dav-ism”: He truly believes it, but the rest of us know it is probably is not true.) I love Dav-isms.
At any rate he was giving me the green light to buy my boots. Hot damn! Now all I need is it to rain. As I said before I live in the rain country, so I didn’t wait long. I took my new boots out for some serious rain walking. The first puddle I saw I jumped. Wouldn’t you know it; my enthusiastic jumping caused the water to splash so high that came up and soaked the upper part of my jeans! That is what I called a learning curve.
I got used to my rain boots and now I am puddle jumping like a pro, and I couldn’t be happier. My jeans stay dry, and I am smiling in the rain. I am thankful for the little things
I live in British Columbia, and it is true that we walk around with umbrellas for a good part of the year. I don’t mind the rain for the most part. What I don’t like is walking in it. You know why? It is because I am a “kick-up-the-water-on-my-pants-no-matter-what” kind of person. I swear that if there is a tiny puddle I am going to find it, and it is inevitable that my pant legs will be soaking wet. And don’t even mention the “after rain” puddles. Plop, plop, plop, “Oh crap!” Now my pants and shoes are cold and wet. I have to hang up my pants to dry when I come home after a walk. The worse part is I don’t have pants to spare. I have to ask myself is it worth it to go get the mail? If it were not for David I would have a lot of unpaid bills during the rainy season. What is a girl to do? Wear shorts in the rain? No thank you!
The other day I was out shopping. I saw the most beautiful rain boots ever. My newest bestest friends are pink with sparkles. Now I know what you are thinking, and yes I agree that my choice is a little over the top, but come on how could I pass up sparkles? I just had to buy these “oh-so-great-because-they-are-going-to-save-my-pants-from-the-evil-puddles” boots! I looked at the price tag…”OMG! How do these people sleep at night?”
David said in his “I-know-everything” tone, “Sweetheart, of course their expensive they are made out of rubber. Rubber is made out of oil. Oil is expensive, therefore the boots are expensive.”
Uh-huh…
(That is what I call a “Dav-ism”: He truly believes it, but the rest of us know it is probably is not true.) I love Dav-isms.
At any rate he was giving me the green light to buy my boots. Hot damn! Now all I need is it to rain. As I said before I live in the rain country, so I didn’t wait long. I took my new boots out for some serious rain walking. The first puddle I saw I jumped. Wouldn’t you know it; my enthusiastic jumping caused the water to splash so high that came up and soaked the upper part of my jeans! That is what I called a learning curve.
I got used to my rain boots and now I am puddle jumping like a pro, and I couldn’t be happier. My jeans stay dry, and I am smiling in the rain. I am thankful for the little things
Sunday, November 2, 2008
I Have a New Friend!
Have you ever heard of the Body Bugg? Or as I like to call him “Bob”. I have him attached to the upper part of my right arm. We get along great just as long as I exercise my ass off and I keep my calories down. If I fail to complete these two tasks Bob gets a little testy with me.
Here is the deal with my friend Bob. I go to Bob’s website, log what I have eaten for the day, and then download the calories my body has burned for the day. (Thanks Bob for keeping track for me; let’s all give Bob a big round of applause!) The goal is simple: consume less calories then you burn. My goal is to have a deficit of 600 calories a day. That sounds easy! It is, as long as you don’t consume a 450 calorie Starbuck’s chocolate chip cookie! Damn! Damn! Damn! At 10:00 pm I load me and Bob’s information to my computer, and when I get the bad news I am 300 calories short of my goal it means I will have to go out and do what I call the “Bob walk”. It is what I like to call my one hour walk of shame to get to my goal. My neighbours see me out there at 10:30 walking with my head hung low; I imagine they are thinking to themselves; “What a crazy lady to be walking at this hour!” It’s all Bob’s fault; notice how I didn’t blame the cookie?
As luck would have it I met Leslie through Bob; Leslie Sansone that is. She tortures me with these high level walking DVDs “That burn a lot of calories. Doesn’t it feel good to get in shape? Don’t you just have a better day? Walk, walk, walk. Good for you!” as per Leslie. I do ten miles or 1 ½ hour three times a week of “walking” with Leslie. Curses to Bob! Can you keep a secret? No matter how annoying Leslie might be, I am getting in shape. I can even do swats! (Just like Horatio Caine; without the dead bodies of course. But if I see an unfortunate dead body I will be able to swat down and say something profound.)
The good news is, since I got my new friends I have lost seven beautiful pounds! I love Bob, but I am just mildly found of Leslie.
Here is the deal with my friend Bob. I go to Bob’s website, log what I have eaten for the day, and then download the calories my body has burned for the day. (Thanks Bob for keeping track for me; let’s all give Bob a big round of applause!) The goal is simple: consume less calories then you burn. My goal is to have a deficit of 600 calories a day. That sounds easy! It is, as long as you don’t consume a 450 calorie Starbuck’s chocolate chip cookie! Damn! Damn! Damn! At 10:00 pm I load me and Bob’s information to my computer, and when I get the bad news I am 300 calories short of my goal it means I will have to go out and do what I call the “Bob walk”. It is what I like to call my one hour walk of shame to get to my goal. My neighbours see me out there at 10:30 walking with my head hung low; I imagine they are thinking to themselves; “What a crazy lady to be walking at this hour!” It’s all Bob’s fault; notice how I didn’t blame the cookie?
As luck would have it I met Leslie through Bob; Leslie Sansone that is. She tortures me with these high level walking DVDs “That burn a lot of calories. Doesn’t it feel good to get in shape? Don’t you just have a better day? Walk, walk, walk. Good for you!” as per Leslie. I do ten miles or 1 ½ hour three times a week of “walking” with Leslie. Curses to Bob! Can you keep a secret? No matter how annoying Leslie might be, I am getting in shape. I can even do swats! (Just like Horatio Caine; without the dead bodies of course. But if I see an unfortunate dead body I will be able to swat down and say something profound.)
The good news is, since I got my new friends I have lost seven beautiful pounds! I love Bob, but I am just mildly found of Leslie.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Here I am. Are You Still There?
I am staring at the blank web page before me and wondering why I haven’t wrote a word in so long. It isn’t like I don’t think about it; it is just… I don’t know. I get caught up with trying to live, and then I get lost in the process. Do you know what I mean? I wish it were New Year’s so I could make a resolution to write in my blog!
I have so much to share with you but all the information is all jumbled up and stuck in the northern region of my body where my brain should be located. I should make a list, write about it, and then we will all feel better.
Here are the upcoming chapters in my blog: (In no particular order.)
Why I haven’t written in so long. (Hey, I can check that one off! I am doing so well!)
Exercise it’s a bitch and so am I! (I am making up these great titles as I go.)
How the economy has put a stop to my shopping, and now I am bummed (or a bitch- I will make that decision closer to the time of posting). (This one will be more of a rant.)
When the economy improves I am going to get plastic surgery. (This one will be about praying for miracles and buying lottery tickets. Oh and I am going to discuss my vanity issues.)
I am going to write something interesting on my husband David; stay tuned for that.
I am not going to B.S. you. I have not written due to a number of factors. One, my life is pretty boring and there hasn’t been much to report on. Two, I am getting hooked on daytime TV. (I am still waiting for Dr. Phil to put some verbs in his sentences.) Three, I am spending a lot of time with David. He has to go back to work soon, so I am taking advantage of our last precious moments together.
I have thought about blogging everyday, and I have been wondering how you have been doing? I have no idea who reads these tid-bits of my life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about you.
I am not discussing my weight loss, because my body is not doing what I want it to. Enough said. You will have to wait for another instalment (or rant as I like to call them) to find out what is going on in that department.
I missed you all and I will write on Friday. I am going to the Sunshine Coast to relax, and possibly something brilliant will come to me.
Amy
Friday, August 22, 2008
Why I Hate the Dollar Store!
Why did it happen to me? Why? Why? Why?
I am a traditional person. I don’t give into fads, especially expensive fads at that. But I underestimated the power of the addiction, and overestimated my ability to stay out of the danger zone.
It started innocently enough I was at the dollar store. Now let me digress here and say:
I hate dollar stores with a passion. Just the smell of the dollar store is enough to make me run for the door, or not even go in for that matter. My friends make fun of me for not shopping on the cheap, but I stand firm in my beliefs that if a store has a foul “packaged” smell to it; then you ought not be shopping there. I have never willingly entered a dollar store just to “check it out”.
However I was with a good friend of mine who was in need of beading supplies and she thought that paying retail was like pulling teeth out without the novocaine. We went down the crap isle; I mean the craft isle in search of her beading stuff. To make a long story short the magnificent almighty dollar store failed to carry what she was looking for. (If we had went to Michael’s liked I suggested she would have found it there. One for me, zero for the dollar store.) On our way back down the isle I turned my head ever so slightly to the right and I noticed scrapbooking supplies. I decided to pick up a few things for Holly’s birthday. I was there anyway enduring the smell; why not?
That was the moment the evil scrapbooking gods had me and my wallet in their gasp. Life as I knew it changed for ever; $20 to start, after that a million dollars and counting!
I gave Holly her token birthday gift a week before her birthday, and just as I suspected she absolutely went wild over it. But come on it was dollar store crap…I mean crafts. We had to get the “good stuff.” Immediately we jumped in my VW beetle and sped to our neighbourhood scrapbooking store-no crap there, just 5000sq feet of expensive retail supplies, to which I had no idea how to use. We filled our basket with what we figured the essentials to be: a cutter, some stickers, a few pens and paper, paper, paper. $125.00 later we were out of there. We made a promise to each other that we would not become one of those scrapbook people that buy and buy and buy just for the sake of buying. No we would only buy what we needed. We got home and we laid our treasure out on the living room floor.
This part is David’s fault…
David was sitting with us looking at the receipt and looking pale as he scanned the total. He noticed that the shop gave a 10% discount, and he asked if we had received our discount. We had not. It was an injustice that we had to fix at once. In a matter of two minutes we were back at the overwhelming-heaven-of-a-scrapbooking-supply-store. We broke our oath right then and there and dropped another $25 dollars, because everything was “just so adorable”.
I like to consider myself a smart woman and it did not make sense to me to pay retail prices for scrapbooking supplies, so I revved up my ebay account and started shopping for the goods from the comfort of my easy-chair. (*Notice the following statement is a plug for ebay.) If you love to scrapbook ebay is the way to go. You get name brand products at hell of a savings. Go and check it out.)
My obsession runs deeper than ebay. Now I am going to Michaels and I am walking through the scrapbooking isles. Most of the time I stand there trying to figure out what all the contraptions and dohickies are for.
At the present moment I have refrained from making anymore purchases, but I can’t tell you what tomorrow will hold. One thing I know for sure is: I am blaming my new found addiction on the dollar store! I hate those places.
I am a traditional person. I don’t give into fads, especially expensive fads at that. But I underestimated the power of the addiction, and overestimated my ability to stay out of the danger zone.
It started innocently enough I was at the dollar store. Now let me digress here and say:
I hate dollar stores with a passion. Just the smell of the dollar store is enough to make me run for the door, or not even go in for that matter. My friends make fun of me for not shopping on the cheap, but I stand firm in my beliefs that if a store has a foul “packaged” smell to it; then you ought not be shopping there. I have never willingly entered a dollar store just to “check it out”.
However I was with a good friend of mine who was in need of beading supplies and she thought that paying retail was like pulling teeth out without the novocaine. We went down the crap isle; I mean the craft isle in search of her beading stuff. To make a long story short the magnificent almighty dollar store failed to carry what she was looking for. (If we had went to Michael’s liked I suggested she would have found it there. One for me, zero for the dollar store.) On our way back down the isle I turned my head ever so slightly to the right and I noticed scrapbooking supplies. I decided to pick up a few things for Holly’s birthday. I was there anyway enduring the smell; why not?
That was the moment the evil scrapbooking gods had me and my wallet in their gasp. Life as I knew it changed for ever; $20 to start, after that a million dollars and counting!
I gave Holly her token birthday gift a week before her birthday, and just as I suspected she absolutely went wild over it. But come on it was dollar store crap…I mean crafts. We had to get the “good stuff.” Immediately we jumped in my VW beetle and sped to our neighbourhood scrapbooking store-no crap there, just 5000sq feet of expensive retail supplies, to which I had no idea how to use. We filled our basket with what we figured the essentials to be: a cutter, some stickers, a few pens and paper, paper, paper. $125.00 later we were out of there. We made a promise to each other that we would not become one of those scrapbook people that buy and buy and buy just for the sake of buying. No we would only buy what we needed. We got home and we laid our treasure out on the living room floor.
This part is David’s fault…
David was sitting with us looking at the receipt and looking pale as he scanned the total. He noticed that the shop gave a 10% discount, and he asked if we had received our discount. We had not. It was an injustice that we had to fix at once. In a matter of two minutes we were back at the overwhelming-heaven-of-a-scrapbooking-supply-store. We broke our oath right then and there and dropped another $25 dollars, because everything was “just so adorable”.
I like to consider myself a smart woman and it did not make sense to me to pay retail prices for scrapbooking supplies, so I revved up my ebay account and started shopping for the goods from the comfort of my easy-chair. (*Notice the following statement is a plug for ebay.) If you love to scrapbook ebay is the way to go. You get name brand products at hell of a savings. Go and check it out.)
My obsession runs deeper than ebay. Now I am going to Michaels and I am walking through the scrapbooking isles. Most of the time I stand there trying to figure out what all the contraptions and dohickies are for.
At the present moment I have refrained from making anymore purchases, but I can’t tell you what tomorrow will hold. One thing I know for sure is: I am blaming my new found addiction on the dollar store! I hate those places.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
All Good Things (and Bad) Must Come to an End
My second post was dedicated to my crazy scale, and this post will be the same. I actually spend quite a bit of time reflecting on my relationship with my scale. I must admit that I have a dysfunctional relationship with my scale. Whenever I stand on it in my bathroom I promise myself I will not weigh myself for at least a week. However when I wake up the next morning I hear the scale calling to me, “Amy…Amy…come weigh yourself. You have probably lost ten pounds. Come and see.” And like any addict I am back on the scale looking down at the numbers waiting for my fix for the day.
I swore to myself that I would never buy myself a scale, but my pusher (a.k.a. doctor) weighed me on his and his scale and it showed a weight loss of 16 pounds in ten days. From that point on I was hooked. I went out and bought my own, and ever since then I have been chasing that same high I got at the doctor’s office. It even got so bad I became a three times a day weigher. I was hopeless.
Then last week a miracle happened that would force me and my scale apart forever. That miracle was David. No, there was no dramatic intervention or such. It was much simpler. David got on the scale and broke it! (I am laughing…right now, because thank God it wasn’t me. I would have died right there on the spot.) The scale just plain gave out; it split down the center! (Again I am laughing…) Crack…big crack…you should have seen his face; it was priceless.
Thanks to David I have finally not weighed myself in 10 days. I probably will not go out and buy another scale. However I can’t make any promises because I am going to see my doctor (a.k.a. pusher.) in a few weeks and if his scale shows a great weight loss all bets are off. Next time I will buy a heavy-duty-industrial-strength-you-can-weigh-anything-on-it-kind!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Head Over Heals
I can't write that much because I got myself in a bit of a jam.
It all started with a goal to walk to over 100km by the end of August. So far I am 35km done. Yesterday I went out to complete another 10k and took David with me. We were busy talking and walking, which in hindsight may have been a problem for me.
We were in our local high school's parking lot on our way to the track when I tripped over a stone. I flew through the air and my face landed on the pavement. I used my left side of my face and shoulder to skid across the pavement. The good news was I could barely feel the pain, because of the throbbing pain in my neck and the back of my head. I had a sneaky suspicion that the pain was caused by the snap I heard in my neck as I hit the pavement. Normally when I fall I can get up, brush myself, and limp down the road. But this time I could not get up, in fact I could not move. We were afraid that I was seriously hurt, so David called an ambulance. OMG it was so much drama. They had to do the putting on of the neck brace thing, and it was unbearably painful when they moved me to the ambulance. To make matters worse I had to fall on a really hot day; I was so thirsty. They wouldn't even give me ice chips, so I had that gross glue pasty stuff stuck to my lips. To top it off the brace was digging into the back of my head where my migraine was, and they weren't in any particular rush to take it off. I thought this was the worse I have ever felt. I promised when I felt better I would start living life to the fullest. I would never take life for granted. (You know the pain must be bad if you start re-evaluating your life in an emergency room bed.) I finally got pain meds, which made me so sick I started to shake, and had a great desire to loose my cookies. They took a lot of x-rays, which was difficult because I couldn't stop shaking, and I was afraid I was going to barf on the x-ray table. How would that work? My x-rays came back with no neck injuries and I was free to return home.
Now it is the next day and I am feeling a lot better, but I am still feeling a little under the weather.
Only I could cause so much drama with one little rock…
It all started with a goal to walk to over 100km by the end of August. So far I am 35km done. Yesterday I went out to complete another 10k and took David with me. We were busy talking and walking, which in hindsight may have been a problem for me.
We were in our local high school's parking lot on our way to the track when I tripped over a stone. I flew through the air and my face landed on the pavement. I used my left side of my face and shoulder to skid across the pavement. The good news was I could barely feel the pain, because of the throbbing pain in my neck and the back of my head. I had a sneaky suspicion that the pain was caused by the snap I heard in my neck as I hit the pavement. Normally when I fall I can get up, brush myself, and limp down the road. But this time I could not get up, in fact I could not move. We were afraid that I was seriously hurt, so David called an ambulance. OMG it was so much drama. They had to do the putting on of the neck brace thing, and it was unbearably painful when they moved me to the ambulance. To make matters worse I had to fall on a really hot day; I was so thirsty. They wouldn't even give me ice chips, so I had that gross glue pasty stuff stuck to my lips. To top it off the brace was digging into the back of my head where my migraine was, and they weren't in any particular rush to take it off. I thought this was the worse I have ever felt. I promised when I felt better I would start living life to the fullest. I would never take life for granted. (You know the pain must be bad if you start re-evaluating your life in an emergency room bed.) I finally got pain meds, which made me so sick I started to shake, and had a great desire to loose my cookies. They took a lot of x-rays, which was difficult because I couldn't stop shaking, and I was afraid I was going to barf on the x-ray table. How would that work? My x-rays came back with no neck injuries and I was free to return home.
Now it is the next day and I am feeling a lot better, but I am still feeling a little under the weather.
Only I could cause so much drama with one little rock…
Friday, August 1, 2008
Wagons Ho!
Why do we call it “falling off the wagon”? I decided to internet sleuth, which means I used my normal method. I went to Google and browsed the first page. If the first page did not net results I changed my search words, because who wants to click on more than one page? After all I would be there all day going through page after page and I would never get on with my blog entry.
Let's get back to “falling off the wagon”. I am positive that most of you know where the phrase originated from, but for the very few who don’t I decided to cut and paste YAHOO’s answer:
In the late 1800s, many Americans campaigned for a government ban on liquor (crazy, we know). Those who chose to live the sober life were said to be "on the wagon." Maven’s Word of the Day explains that in this case, the "wagon" was actually a water cart used to hose down dusty roads on hot days. Basically, saying that a person was "on the wagon" was shorthand for "they would sooner climb aboard a water cart to quench their thirst" than have a drop of liquor. We doubt many demonstrated the vow by actually jumping up on carts, but the phrase makes their commitment clear.
Now that you know what falling off the wagon is I know you will understand how serious my situation is. I fell off the wagon. In essence I gave up hose water for a cookie. (I just filled in my addiction.) I have been bumping down a road lined with baked goods for four whole days without succumbing to one cookie. And then I was just looking over the side, and bam I did a face plant into a big chocolate chip cookie.
It was easier to stay away from temptation in the 1800’s then it is today. I am positive there were no on-board-wagon-TVs in the 1800’s, so those folks were not tempted by tantalizing alcohol commercials as they rode down the road getting splinters on their bums. I on the other hand sit in my comfortable chair in front of my television and I am accosted with commercial after commercial telling me to go and buy Pepperidge Farm cookies. (A person can only be so strong.) Another thing that made life easy on them guys back then was the the amount of bars they had to choose from. They probably only had one watering hole they could go to . I on the other hand have a hundred stores that I could drive to in thirty minutes and buy cookies from. You see how my life is so much more challenging? All my whining aside the fact remains I, like so many jumped out of the wagon and hit the ground with a thud.
I am proud of my accomplishment to resist my bakery frienemys for four days. I am shooting for seven this time around. I would be BSing you and myself to say that I am going to stay away from cookies forever. I am never going to be able to do that; unless the Girl Scouts stop selling cookies door-to-door. Instead I am trying to learn moderation.
Some of us are lucky enough to come back on board the water cart with bruises and new determination to stay put this time. For some of us we need all of the above plus a good friend and a rope.
I am going to sign out, go and clean up my bruises, put on some band-aids, and hoist myself back up into the cart. When the wagon stops in front of the bakery next Friday I will be the first one out. Maybe...Probably...Where is that rope?
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