Bad blogger

I am such a bad blogger. I get busy, and then lazy, and then busy.

H and I are going to Fredericksburg, Tx for Thanksgiving. I bet I'll have some super exciting news after. We always have a great time with the in-laws.

Gray Badge of Courage

I have been coloring my hair since 6th grade when my mom first let me use sun-in to lighten my hair and eventually we moved up to real highlights. In high school, my hair was a different color every month. Hair color is the fastest way to make a dramatic change. When you couldn't lose 10 lbs overnight, and your body thought it should be a fat, wooden plank, hair color could make the change you so desperately wanted.
When I met me husband nearly eight years ago I was a red head, of sorts. Since then I've been a ditsy blond, brainy brunette and an enigma rolled in black hair. I haven't colored my hair in over 6 months. I just couldn't decide who I wanted to be. In this time of self discovery I have discovered I am gray. There is a substantial gray patch at my right temple and several announcing there arrival at my crown.
Tonight dear husband declared his love for my red hair. It's not really red; just fading maple over blond highlights. I'd really love to go back to dark brown or black, but then I'd lose the gray, and I really kind of like it.

Biggest waste of money

Oh my. I haven't composed a post in quite some time. I'm battling organic chemistry and microbiology college classes right now and blogging is far down on my to do list, just beneath laundry. But, something happened today I just had to share.
First, the confession. I am a fat person. Fat, fat, fat. I don't feel morbidly obese, but a psychiatrist told me once I was grotesque. I'll take that xanax now and ask you never to call me again. Anyway, there are two people in my life that have had life altering surgery to renew their own battle of the bulge. This is not an option for me, within these United States, because I am not fat enough. True.
I admire these women and their courage. The thought of anesthesia scares the bejesus out of me. Their results are remarkable but their journeys are polar opposites.
I work with "Darla" at the hospital. She was almost 300lbs and opted to have the gastric bypass. Darla lost 15lbs in a little over a week and her weight loss is steady. Unfortunately her lifestyle habits have not changed. Only that it takes her 5 hours to eat a piece of chicken is any different.
Lu and I are in organic chemistry together and have had other classes together in the distant past. When I first saw her in September, she was as large as I remember her, although I was larger than before. Lu was very heavy; heavier than 300lbs. I haven't asked what her starting weight was, yet. She opted to have the lap band procedure. She is the incredible shrinking woman. Lu spends hours a day at the local YMCA enjoying water aerobics and the treadmill. She is even looking into a sports conditioning class. Lu is still very large but her clothes giver away her secret. To me, she is a real inspiration. "Darla" is just a source of jealousy. I wish I had surgery and couldn't eat.
This week I have taken a page out of Lu's book and started to exercise again. I spend some time in the gym in the mornings after work just moving.
This week is national pharmacy week and our pharmacy celebrated with an ice cream social. "Darla" was lamenting her desire for ice cream and declaring how bad the sugar would be for her system. "The sugar would make me feel all . . ." she lolled out her tongue and rolled her head back. This was the end.
So I thought. When I walked by her 5 minutes later she had a scoop of ice cream in a cup covered in caramel sauce. I don't know why she showed me. I took it from her and threw it in the trash. I know this upset her. "I can have a little sugar, my system needs sugar," she said. I just walked off. Folks, she is officially lighter than me as of a month ago.
I told her of my exercise exploits and how my butt hurts from the stationary bike. Even when I was exhausted this week, I dragged myself into the gym and zoned out on the treadmill in front of the television. Her encouraging words: "I'm just so tired. My doctor told me to start taking the stairs. I live on the third floor so I do take the stairs."
Listen, I've lived on the third floor for three years and still managed to pack on 50 pounds people. This isn't exercise. Ugh.
What a waste of money!

Ike

Ike was a rather large part of my life for the past week so the stories will take days to tell. These stories might take days to learn composing a blog because I want to link to a previous post (to me, the most devastating). For now, let's start at the beginning and the end.

I am on the "A-Team" or the ride out team at work. According to the Storm Prepardness Guide, I am to report to work 48 hours before landfall, be dismissed 24 hours after landfall and I may bring my spouse. Totally didn't happen this way.

Ike was scheduled to make landfall Saturday morning around 01:00 and my husband was suppose to come to the hospital with me.

Because department management, who knows, maybe hospital management, couldn't figure out the guide, I reported to work Friday 11:00am. Because my husband was "too stupid to be scared" (his words) he stayed at the apartment. I stayed at the hospital for 72 hours; I slept there, sort of, ate there, sort of, and did not shower there because we lost clean water. Oh, and the pharmacy was without air conditioning from Saturday 04:00 until . . . after I finally went home. I was so pretty, bed head is the style now, right! I hope eau d'pits is still the scent of the season.

So more to the end of the story. As I stood in the closet peeling off 3 day old scrubs my husband confesses to me.

Husband: First I have decided we need more insurance and the next time I won't be staying here.

Me: **

For some time I thought he would be going to the hospital with me and at the last minute, really as I am picking up my bags, he changes his mind and begs to stay at the apartment. You know, sometimes you reach a point where you are tired of arguing. So yup, I let him stay. In the end I am so glad I did.

Hurricane My Ass

Well for a week the news stations covered the storm that may or may not head our way. Having grown up in Houston, I could care less. Tell me where the storm is, where it will land and when. I'll take it from there thank you. You can keep you incessant drama bullshit circus.
I work for a hospital and am on the "A" team. This means should there be a disaster or hurricane, I am to report to work 48 hours before landfall and I'll stay there until it is all over, and the flood waters recede and I can get home. I drive a baby car and live by the mantra "Turn around, don't drown." Just to piss off my husband I'll yell this out just because. My intentional form of Tourett's Syndrome.
So Friday last, I debate whether or not to stop at the bank on the way home from work. I'd have to wait an hour for it to open or I could go home and sleep. As soon as I walk in the door hubby catches me.

Hub: Didn't you get my email?

Me: What email?

Hub: Don't you check your email?

Me: I check it when I get to work and then that's it. I saw there was a message in my box but I assumed it was a shift report. Why?

Hub: I wanted you to go to the credit union and get $100 for hurricane supplies

So I slept for 6 hours (I am a 9 hour girl) before hitting the credit union, looking quite lovely I must say. Bed Head is still in right?

You should eat them when they're still young.

My brother, mother and a fuck load of people are going to Aruba on vacation August 30,(bastards). This conversation took place August 29, 2008 after 10:00pm.

Brother: Guess what I am taking on the plane?

Me: No idea.

Brother: Captain Morgan's. The TSB says you can take alcohol on the plane in 3 ounce bottles.

Me: Actually, the TS__A says 3-1-1 for carry ons; 3 ounces or less in 1 quart zip loc (I know things).

Brother: Sweet. I can fit, like 12 in there.

Me: Do you know how big a quart is? The sandwich sized one.

Brother: No, sandwich bags are smaller and the box says quart. Bitchin.' I'm gettin' my drunk on for free.

Me: You know they'll turn the plane around.

Life was Good

Okay, so the majority of our recent vacation was wonderful. There were aspects that really traumatized us though. This fairytale story is from the wonderful time we spent alone together on the island.

Dear Husband and I went back to the island Tuesday during the hurricane that wasn't and checked into a hotel. Eager to resume the party, we enjoyed a few long necks in the room before dinner. The hotel offered a free shuttle which was terrific. We could enjoy all the perks of vacation (getting drunk) and still go out to eat! I decided I wanted to go to Hooters. I never want to go to Hooter's. Face it, it may be a family restaurant but it just isn't for fat girls me.

The restaurant in Galveston is on a pier over the water. We opted to eat on the patio in the back. How many times could you enjoy a beautiful sunset and balmy weather in the storm of the century? The birds behaved themselves, even though DH made the mistake of throwing food off the patio. I guess the birds didn't see it because we weren't attacked. However, after I chastised Dear Husband for this stupid, stupid mistake, he suddenly became a germ-a-phobe. Sorry, that is my bag. He noticed birds standing on tables that hadn't been bused, eating left overs. Well, if they were on those tables that meant they were probably on ours before we got there. Looking DH straight in the eyes, I put my hands palm down on the tables and then ate a fried pickle. Normally my OCD prevents me from finishing a nearly full cup of coffee if a gnat falls in. I have tried pouring out a sufficient amount along with the bug, but I can't shake the vision of the bug landing on poopy trash in the bathroom and then flying into the pharmacy and into my coffee. I digress. At my lack of germ fear, DH was free to finish his meal in peace.

Our pitcher of beer was gone in half an hour and so was our food, which was delicious. At this point, honestly, we were drunk, and I guess that is why DH decided we could walk back to the hotel. Um, what? That's a good thing you say? Psh. Hooters is at 23rd and the hotel is at 61st!! It was still early and the shuttle was still running. There was no need to walk
38 blocks.

Murdoch's (an island treasure) was next door. I thought if we walked around in there for a while to window shop, DH might change his mind. We had a great time in the store; we laughed at the shirts, touched all the shells and toys. We even put a quarter into one of the viewers that lets you see the rigs in the gulf. Yeah, it was nearly 9:00pm so there wasn't much to see, but it was great. Unfortunately, it didn't shake DH's desire to walk back.

All right, we're adults and 38 blocks isn't bad. The weather was nice, but we were in flip flops and parts of the sea wall aren't well lit. Remembering my "Women's Safety" training I kept scanning the horizon. At one point DH asked what I was doing. Checking my six and keeping my head on a swivel of course! He loves it when I talk nerdy. At block 45, he was done. He needed to pee and had blisters on his feet. Not me. We had come this far, we were going to go the distance so after stopping so he could pee on the beach, we kept humping it.

It really was a lovely night and you forget how wonderful the sea breeze can be. I loved licking my lips a tasting the sea salt. For a moment we were further from home and real life than ever and completely relaxed. We made it back to the hotel before 10:00pm, hand in hand.