Category Archive
The following is a list of all entries from the Life is crazy category.
Oh! I Forgot!
The stupid bitch suing me settled her case less than 24 hours before we were supposed to go to trial! So there was…no trial!
AND she settled for LESS than the medical bills she racked up AND she still has to pay her lawyer AND it was my deposition that made the difference and showed her lawyer what a skeezy, lying person she way!
So…YAY!
FedEx and Neosporin
So this post might or might not get actually posted because WordPress is being dumb and my blog and dashboard aren’t even showing up and whatthefuck? because they were just there like two seconds ago? I think it happened because I stopped by The Bloggess and some of her karma decided to fuck with me. Seriously, folks. This chick just used eyelash glue to brush her teeth. Something is going on over there. Plus, she’s from Texas.
The exciting news is that I HAVE A NEW COMPUTER! The non-exciting news is that FEDEX WON’T FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME! I have been dreaming and dreaming of a netbook so I can consolidate ALL my writing from like twelve different computers and then just slip this slim, light little computer in my purse and take it with me everywhere! The WHN decided he needs a new laptop and they had a Deal where he could get a netbook with it for pretty cheap. So the netbook took like .014 seconds to get here but it’s in the clutches of FedEx! They don’t deliver in our neighborhood after 5 and we don’t get home until six. Or we can just sign the slip and then they will leave my new computer on the front porch. I don’t think so! Firstly, our neighbors are weird in that creepy homeowner’s association way and someone just might think the computer unsightly and decide to remove it! (Remind me to tell you about the time someone left a bottle of weed killer on our front porch. Oh, I just did. Well, we had just moved in and someone left a bottle of fucking weed killer on our front porch!) Or one of the many swarthy construction workers currently surrounding our house might just decide they need a new netbook for their blog about health care reform and Nigerian dwarf goats. Or I have to drive like a MILLION miles away to the scary FedEx warehouse in the scary neighborhood where I can see the interstate but can never get to it!
Freedom is within reach…aaaaargh if I can just get that computer!
In other news, I’ve got Neosporin in places I didn’t even know I had. Well, I guess I knew I had them but I never really considered them Neosporin-accepting locations.
Running when one is not a stick figure pretty much sucks. Ass. I’m running in my first race EVAR this weekend, a 10k, and have been training for quite a while. At a “husky” 5’8” and about 185 pounds, I’m not exactly a featherweight. While I’m in good shape and love working out, I’ve never spent so much time just simply running.
We’ll start with the plantar fasciitis, which is not in fact a botanical face fungus but this Thing Where your Heel Hurts a Lot. Then, there’s this rubbed red, raw area right under my boobs where my sports bras have apparently been irritating the CRAP out of me. And (and this is gross) my ass is irritated! My butt cheeks are rubbing and…there’s a big red irritated spot in the inner part of one cheek and it hurts like hell!
AND yesterday I ran outside and had to take my keys with me, so I hooked them over my pants and tucked them inside the waistband so they wouldn’t flop about. I’m allergic to metals so I either had an allergic reaction or a key was poking and scratching me because now I have the BIG red welt right on my upper panty line and it HURT like freakin Hell! I put some hydrogen peroxide on it last night and nearly fainted from pain.
So, after my bath last night I put on big cushy socks for my heels, the neosporined my boobs, my ass and my bikini line and put on a big t-shirt, comfy pants and NO UNDERWEAR! If you knew me you would gasp because I am a BIG underwear person and change mine like twice a day and NEVER do not have a pair on! And then I SLEPT without them on!
WHN (currently suffering from a head cold) mustered the strength to gaze at me somewhat inquisitively as I climbed into bed, and I gave him my best “in pain and have Neosporin in my ASS” glare and he wisely turned over and began whuffling.
Big race this weekend. Wish me luck!
Naked People!
The first time I saw WHN naked was, oh, seven years ago or so. I am pretty much used to naked man by now.
Maybe it’s the same driving force that compels men to stare at boobs, stare long and hard, even if they are tiny boobs or saggy boobs or boobs they can see whenever they want.
Last night as WHN was getting out of the shower, I stuck my head around the bathroom door just as he was wrapping a towel around himself. My eyes were immediately drawn to his…you know. I couldn’t help it.
As I retreated, for some reason I shouted out, “Ha! I saw your thingy!”
There was a brief moment of silence while he processed this ridiculous statement.
It was the silence that did it.
I collapsed into hysterical giggles, falling down on the floor and clutching my stomach because I was laughing so hard.
I opened my eyes to find him standing above me, still slightly damp and with a very quizzical expression on his face.
It took me an hour to stop the random shouts of laughter.
And then I realized that WHN probably spends many, many hours of our marriage with a quizzical expression on his face.
He married a weirdo. Lucky him.
Stress and Sh*t
I sit here at the computer, sweaty and sticky, feeling that wonderful tightness and exhilaration that comes after a run.
It was a stress-relief run if ever there was one.
I don’t mean to whine, but…
Oh, Hell, let’s be honest here. The very purpose of a blog is to be able to bitch and moan as much as I want to and hope that someone out there somewhere finds it mildly amusing or entertaining.
It’s all Dancing with the Stars’ fault. That’s when it started. I had gone for a run and was all fresh and clean and showered, and settled in to watch the show. Seven o’clock rolled around, and the news promptly broke in with a LIVE 15 minute press conference about something that could have perfectly waited until the evening news.
I lost it.
Screaming, cursing, snarling at my husband when he came to see what was wrong.
Much later I apologized.
Yesterday, I burned FIVE HUNDRED CALORIES on my lunchtime interval run. I came home all proud of myself and ready to tell WHN. I am telling him about my intervals run – running really fast for three minutes and then fast walking for two minutes to recover.
WHN: How fast is really fast?
SN: Well, it’s not fast to you, but it was 6.5 miles per hour.
Then he gets this little “oh, how cute” SMIRK on his face.
WHN: Well, it’s not exactly a sprint, but…
SN: Silence.
I was so proud of myself for that run. I am training my ass off for race in April and he has not once shared in my enthusiasm.
I shut down.
Later, when he asked me what was wrong, I told him that he had hurt my feelings, dismissing my run in that “oh, how cute” fashion when I was really excited about it and proud of myself.
SN: I am just working so hard and it’s like you never congratulate me or say you’re proud of me. I need more support.
Then, in typical SN fashion, he gets all defensive and tries to turn it around to where everything is all MY fault and in MY head and I am just overreacting.
WHN: Well, since apparently I never support you…
(Scene 1: In which he over-generalizes and dramatizes everything, using words like “never” and “always” and trying to distract me from the issues at hand)
SN: I didn’t say you never support me, I just need MORE support.
WHN: And I do say I’m proud of you.
(Scene 2: In which he pulls things completely OUT OF HIS ASS because, NO, he NEVER says he is proud of me).
SN: WHAT?! When do you ever say you are proud of me? I am working my ass off and the only time you ever compliment me is when I DIG for it, as in: ‘Wow, I can’t believe I did that.” or “I’m really proud of myself.” or “I am so excited I did that.” I have to DIG and BEG you for attention and to say you’re proud of me!
WHN: (sulkily) Well, I’m sorry if I hurt your feeling.
(Scene 3: In which he sulkily apologizes in a way that makes sure I know that he is only apologizing because I want him to, and that he a. does not believe he did anything wrong and b. wants me to feel guilty about making such a big deal out of “nothing”).
SN: (silence)
Much later…
(Scene 4: In which he realizes that I am not, in fact, “over it” (perhaps my silence and lethargy are a clue-in) and comes sweetly over to snuggle, cuddle, and offer a much more genuine apology).
I don’t mind Scene 4 so much, I just wish the preceding scenes weren’t such pains in the ass! And I wish we didn’t have to repeat them over and over and over…
Because he is naturally slender AND naturally fit, he just doesn’t understand how HARD I work every single day to haul my large ass around. He is patronizing and dismissive without even realizing it, but it hurts every single time nonetheless. It makes me feel like a second-class citizen.
Then today, well, today just pretty much sucked balls, pardon the expression.
I come into work and a co-worker asks me if I’m getting there at 5 or 5:30 tomorrow morning.
What the fuh?
Turns out, my boss is sick so I am going to have to be at work at FIVE THIRTY IN THE MORNING tomorrow to do a media deal. FIVE FREAKING THIRTY. Which means I have to leave my house at 5 which means I have to get up at four thirty and does my alarm clock even have a four thirty because I’m not sure I’ve ever personally seen it before?
I have to work on Sunday, which means I get a comp day off within the same pay period. I am SO excited about taking next Friday off and having a nice three-day weekend and just relaxing and taking a break from the tedious monotony of it all. Then I am informed that I have to take that day off BEFORE Friday because of the way our work week is or else they would have to pay me time and a half and I’m all I will fucking work for FREE just give me a three-day weekend for once, you bastards! But no! So this means I am going to have PLENTY of one-day weekends but NO three-day weekends and how fucking unfair is that?
And, since I have RAGING PMS and pretty much have the temperament of a mountain troll, I cry when I realize there’s no beautiful, shining three-day weekend in my future.
Not in front of anyone, luckily, but I still hate myself for the tears in my eyes.
Then I find out that, no, my boss is better so I don’t ave to get up early, and I am perversely disappointed because I was going to get to leave work at like 2:30 tomorrow and that was going to be AWEsome.
Then. OH, then.
There’s an issue at my work, which is a major tourist attraction like a theme park. A lady was told once by Security to stop doing something, then she started doing again and trying to avoid Security whenever they were approaching her. So my Security friends stops a second time to tell her not to do that anymore and the lady physically TOUCHES my friend, who has to forcibly take actions to stop her from doing the naughty, not-allowed thing. So the Evil Lady comes to MY office to complain and even though I am able to show her the waiver that she signed that says she WILL NOT DO THIS SPECIFIC, NAUGHTY THING and that she has READ AND UNDERSTAND ALL THE TERMS AND CONDITIONS the stupid pansy-ass supervisors go ahead and refund her money for the ENTIRE DAY and THEN put her on another ride for free!
I’m sorry, people, but the customer is NOT always fucking right!
This lady was nasty, rude, stupid and practically ASSAULTED a staff member, and you are STILL kissing her ass?! NO!
So I stay calm while the supervisors are doing their ass-kicking, and once the guests have left the office and there is NO ONE else in there I start venting about how I don’t believe she should have gotten her money back and discussing this situation with my co-workers and one of the supervisors, who is NOT my supervisor and NOT very much older than me, actually YELLS at me and interrupts me completely.
Bitch say what?
First, DON’T yell at me. I am not one of your little lackeys you can bully around. This, my dear, is why everyone here hates you.
Second, DON’T interrupt me. It is incredibly rude and disrespectful. Hold your tongue until I’m finished.
Third, DON’T do either of the aforementioned things in front of a bunch of my other co-workers. Classless!
So she leaves and my Security friend (the one who was hit by the lady) comes in and there are no guests in the office and we are very quietly and calmly discussing things when my supervisor comes out and says we need to “let it go.”
At this point, I was more angry about being yelled at than anything.
So I called and friend and went for a walk. Luckily, by the time we were done it was time to leave. With great relief I gathered up my stuff and headed for my car.
I fell on my ass.
Yep, slid while walking down a hill and slid down on my palms and fresh, clean khakis.
FuckfuckFUCKthis day!
So I came home, went for a run and am blogging with rock music blaring in my ears. Next, I will go escape to the bathtub with a trashy romance novel and a BIG glass of wine.
SO. That was my day and my week, O Blogosphere. Writing this has been incredibly therapeutic, although I was pressing the keys so hard my wrists are beginning to hurt.
If you have time, please, tell me the suckiest thing that happened to you this week. It will make me feel that I am not alone in my life of sucking balls-ness.
Oh, fuckit. Tomorrow I’m going to see some FABulous drag queens strut their stuff. Nothing better to cheer me up!
Self loathing and gluttony
He’s gone and the response it automatic. It has been years since I let the haze take over me but it suddenly returns with a vicious kick to my gut.
I try to distract myself, renting fun movies as a treat and avoiding the candy stacked up at the register.
I try to distract myself, visiting the a friend’s new puppy and oohing and aahing over the cuteness.
But as soon as I leave her house, it takes over.
Fill me up make me happy comfort me pleasure me wrap me in fullness no more emptiness I want to feel full fill me up make me happy.
My car practically drives itself to the grocery store. I grab a basket and my endorphines are already pumping and I am excited and anticipating the pleasure.
I breeze up and down the aisles, gravitating to my favorites, my old friends who have always been there for me when I am fighting the aching loneliness.
I burn with embarassment as the cashier rings up my purchases, trying to tell myself that she thinks I am having a party or something because after all, who shops like this?
I get home and I should take the dogs, who have been shut up all day, for a walk but I don’t want to because I don’t care about anything but my fix. I rip open the two large bags of Doritos and start munching happily away. After the first few handfuls I start to feel a little twinge in my stomach, like this greasy, salty food might not be entirely welcome, so I push the bags away.
Two minutes later, I am back for another handful. And another. I finally manage to put them away only by distracting myself with a cookie – one of those soft, buttery iced confections from the grocery store bakery that melts in your mouth and sends sparks of pleasure radiating through your body.
I collapse on the couch, ignoring the sad dog faces with toys held hopefully in mouths. My dogs are like people – they sigh when they are unhappy. My sweet, sweet spaniel heaves a huge sigh as she climbs into my lap for a reluctant snuggle. After a few minutes, she gives up.
I’m full but in a couple of hours it’s time for dinner. The fish sticks (8 of them) and fries (half a bag) go into the oven and somehow I manage to slightly burn the fries but I eat them anyway, drowning them in ketchup. I’m on my second “chick beer” of the night.
Fries mostly eaten and they are sitting like a big, slightly-burned congealed lump in my stomach. To rid my mouth of the burned taste, I reach for another cookie. I wash it down with the remains of that second chick beer.
It’s midnight and my eyes are aching. I put one dog in his kennel and stumble off to bed.
I feel miserable. My stomach is full of CRAP and I am too full, way too full. My stomach is not happy with me and I feel sluggish and in desperate need of some water. I collapse into bed but can’t make myself turn off the T.V.
If I turn off the T.V., I’ll hear the silence of the empty house. And my own guilt and self-loathing will rise up and overwhelm me.
Back when I was first married and struggling to find a job, and trip out of town for WHN was a celebration for me. As soon as he left I made a beeline for the grocery store to stock up on my fatty, sugary friends.
It was the freedom of being able to eat whatever I wanted and not be judged that drove me, exhilarated me. I could eat cheese sticks and Oreos for dinner and no one would know.
Which is how, when I finally started my first job 6 months later, I would up at a hefty 203 pounds.
I got better. I promise. Plus, WHN stopped traveling so the temptation wasn’t there as much. I worked out a lot last summer at got down to 176. (!!) I looked good and I felt good and I didn’t feel that need to fill myself up with junk.
However, the holidays and severe depression hit me hard this year, and I know I gained at least 10 pounds back. I say at least. I haven’t had the courage to weigh myself because I am afraid it will send me into a deep chasm.
I feel horrible. My clothes aren’t fitting me well anymore. Jeans that I could slip off without unbuttoning last summer are feeling tight and that is more terrifying than anything.
I bought groceries before WHN left so I could control myself, knowing that he would see my purchases. I bought baked chips and a thin crust pizza and fruit cups and guacamole and Lean Cuisines, trying to treat myself without going overboard.
But yesterday the need took over and I fell off the wagon, if I was ever even back on it.
Today I’m reeling from my own weakness, determined to make healthy choices and to go for a run on my lunch break.
I really, really want that fit, lean, smiling girl from last summer back.
But lying in wait for me at home are my frenemies: ice cream, pizza, chips, cookies….
I disgust myself sometimes, for being so incredibly weak.
Dancing and dreaming.
As I was driving home last night I noticed a man on a bridge. This bridge crosses a major interstate in my suburban town.
First he caught my eye simply because he was moving. I then noticed that he was wearing jeans, but no shirt and no shoes. An armband holding an MP3 player adorned his arm and the cords from his headphones dangled in the wind.
As I drove past, he pumped his fist vigorously in the air. I couldn’t tell if he was reacting to the music or trying to catch the attention of a passing motorist.
A stoplight at the bottom of the bridge caught me, and I looked into the rearview mirror to see what the shirtless man was up to.
He was dancing.
Right there, on the side of this major roadway, on a bridge over a major interstate.
And when I say dancing, I mean dancing. Arms flailing, feet flying, head bobbing, hair whipping around in the wind. Dropping down and jumping up, sinuously writhing.
I was enthralled and, for some reason, filled with joy.
I don’t know what this man’s reasons for dancing are. Maybe he does this every day for a little pick-me-up. Maybe he does it for the attention. Maybe he’s hoping to be “discovered” by someone and made famous. Maybe he is angry and sad and is acting out the only way he knows how.
But the thought remained in my head the whole way home, and has stuck with me ever since:
“You just dance, dancing man. Go ahead and dance and dream.”
Quiet and dark.
When I was younger, I once went to the movies by myself. I had no one to go with and desperately needed to see “Wild America” just one more time (having already seen it twice). I told my mother I was meeting a friend and she dropped me off at the theatre. I bought my ticket and went inside furtively, sitting in the back corner of the theatre where I was the least visible.
I was embarassed – only losers go to movies by themselves – losers who no one likes.
Today as I walked in the mall on my lunch break, I passed the darkened, empty movie theatre and was suddenly struck with the urge to go inside, buy a ticket and some popcorn and just sit.
In quiet. In dark. Alone with my thoughts. Immersed in the story. Not mad at WHN for being a jerk in the car. Not guilty for my friends judging me on the amount of popcorn I ate. Not angry at the stupid teens texting and and giggling during the show.
Quiet, dark and alone. Safe.
I walked on past, still fighting the tearing longing to escape.
On a side note: This is why my grandmother is the most amazing person in the world.
I’m struggling lately, as you can tell if you visit my earlier blog entries.
Today at lunch I headed to my favorite mall just for an “out,” with no real purpose or shopping list. I called mygrandmother, who knows about my “issues”, and talked to her on my drive over.
As we were saying goodbye, she gave me this advice:
Grandma: “Go buy something you want, just because it’s there and you like it. Treat yourself.”
Me: “Okay.”
*beat*
Me: Can I put in on our (mine/WHN’s) joint account?
*beat*
Grandmother: Well, of course!
This is why she is awesome.
I did treat myself to two dresses (both 50% off). Of course, I chickened out at the last minute and put them on my checking account.
But still. My grandma = awesome.
Today I started on the cover page of my Sketch Book. So far I have “Sketch Book” written in big outlined letters, one letter filled in with green and magenta polka dots and one with blue and orange wavy lines. It’s not exactly “Art” yet – but I will get there.
Clumsy and convoluted.
Yesterday I went to Hobby Lobby and spent a fabulous hour wandering up and down the aisled while listening to the saccharine Christian musac playing over the loudspeakers.
I became distracted by a number of things (namely a big old-fashioned map of the world and a stick with a hand pointing a finger on the end of it) but managed to get out the door with:
1 sketch book
1 package of pastel crayons
4 charcoal drawing sticks
4 graphite penicls in varying degrees of hardness
There we go, art therapy for only $26.15!
Today I happily unwrapped everything and then stared at the first blank page in the book. I swallowed. Quickly I flipped to the very back of the book and cheerfully started scribbling and doodling where no one (who? I think to myself now) could see it.
Did you know that charcoal sticks turn your fingers black? Seriously.
So. My first art challenge to myself is to make a title page that says “Sketch Book” so when you open the book you have no doubt that it is, in fact, a Sketch Book of a Serious Artist.
Maybe I’ll tackle that tomorrow.
Oh, I also attempted to draw my hand. It looked like a bunch of swollen, wrinkly sausages.
Omigod what if my hand really looks like that?
*studies hand intently*
Okay, I think I’m safe.
Oh, and yesterday I started the ball in motion to see a therapist. If you’re wondering why, check out my previous entry entitled “I hate him.” Have been checking email all day to see if person recommending said therapist would respond. He hasn’t yet.
I’m anxious because I want to start NOW. Or better yet, yesterday.
Or best, seven years ago when those dreadful three words fell from my doctor’s lips: You have cancer.
Aw, screw it. With my family history, I should have started as soon as I learned to speak.
But I digress.
OH. You might find this interesting. Today, in the span of 15 minutes, I managed to:
1. Drop my debit card down in between the drive through window and my car, then had to back up my car and contort my body to retrieve said card, all the while blushing bright red and attempting to pretend that I wasn’t. Also strained my neck while attempting said contortion,
2. Dropped my wedding ring into the trash in the ladies room. Luckily the trash wasn’t full and it mostly consisted of paper towels. Or I might have thrown up. Said ring has had a Lysol bath now.
3. Managed to take 10 minutes to create labels for two file folders, attach labels, and put the files in my drawer. It was ridiculous and convoluted, like most things in my life.
That’s all there is. There isn’t any more.
Sticky Nickel Blog 