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.

Hopless Romantic I am Not.

We very recently went to Galveston on vacation. It was a traumatic event to say the least. I really can't even talk about it. Seriously!
However, we had a lovely evening for my dear husband's 40th birthday. We ate at very nice restaurant and drank $40 worth of alcohol. Afterward, DH wanted to take a walk on the beach.

DH: Let's take a romantic walk on the beach under the moon.

Me: No

DH: When will we have this opportunity again and look at the moon. Let's go.

Me: No. I don't want to get dirty.

DH: ??

Me: I have already had two showers today. Let's go back to the room and go to bed.

DH: ?

Me: Look, I don't want to go for a walk in the sand because I'll get covered in sand, and I don't want to get dirty.

There is nothing suggestive in that "Let's go to bed." I really wanted to go to sleep. Probably a decision I will live to regret. Not sure how many husbands want to take that romantic stroll on the sand, hand in hand with their wife. And I said no.

Fightin' Dirty

This is a bit of a long story but it reminded me of the fighting rules of marriage.

1. Avoid "You"
2. Do not bring up old arguments
3. Nothing "always" happens
4. No name calling
5. Don't bring your baggage into the argument

We are currently experiencing a financial "retrofit." A ton of money goes into a savings account for the down payment on a home, more money goes to a bank loan we used to consolidate credit card debt and the rest goes to bills. We are fine, but the belt has been tightened. Due to our compliance with the new rules we often end up digging for change just before the next payday.

So . . .Saturday, DH was was emptying all of my bags and purses looking for change. He needed a coke and didn't have any money. We have a big jar of pennies but you know coke machines. Lucky for him, he came up with enough for one soda.
I found out he emptied every bag I own before I left for work Saturday night. I emptied my wallet of change plus my secret dollar bill so he could buy another soda Sunday. As I began to turn my bag upside down he said "There isn't anything left in there except pennies, I already took everything out."

This is fine with me. Instead of women's stuff, I normally have a purse full of change and money. I have a wallet and keep some money there of course, but if I throw some in my bag, which ever one I am carrying at the time, I always get a surprise when I / we need it most.

Well, having given all my change to Husband, I wasn't able to buy a soda for myself at work Saturday. It was a weird feeling having no money. THREE CENTS is all I had.

**We are trying to kick soda out or else we would save the money and buy a 12 pack. We buy cokes only when we just can't make it another minute.

Sunday night I pulled out an "emergency" backpack. It is a bag I use for light school days because who wants to carry a ginormous bag if you only need a notebook and pencil?

Jackpot.

The bag had a wide variety of silver in the bottom including a Susan B Anthony. Luck.

DH: How much is there?

Me: $6.30

DH: You better split that evenly.

Me: It's mine. It was in my bag.

DH: Split it.

Me: I am selfish.

DH: Yeah I know. I remember that year we first moved here, you drove my car and I drove your P.O.S and you blew your entire year's salary on food, clothes and junk.

Me: ??

A very small disagreement arose because I don't remember this. Yes, I drove his car for a year and he drove my P.O.S. I don't recall not paying any bills.

Me: Well, (rubbing his belly) you benefited from the food.

DH: Yeah and I supported your ass while you wasted $32,000.

I was shot right through the heart. I AM selfish; a nasty trait that was passed from my mother. I was so awful that I spent an entire year's salary on myself and didn't contribute one iota. I sat on the bed and just felt . . . this immense sadness. It hurt me.

I REALLY don't remember not contributing anything. I DO remember getting an End of Fiscal Year statement from my employer stating how much they paid me. I DO remember looking at it with him and being stunned. I made $32,000 and had nothing to show for it except $500 in credit card debt. I had no savings, no nothing. I keep thinking he is confusing this moment with reality. I just don't know.

Some how though, I didn't turn this into an argument. I took the bitter pill and just let it be. He is not without a serious transgression himself. A very recent, financial transgression that boils my blood. This was not thrown in is face or EVEN mentioned.

The lesson in all of this is a combination of several of the rules. We're calling it Rule #6.
6. Don't bring up the past, especially if your partner has changed her / his ways.

Kudos to me too for not taking the argument to another level.

So Far, The Reason Why Marriage Sucks

Well, DH and I were sitting on the sofa the other day enjoying our time. I had just shaved, so I propped my legs into his lap.

DH: Your legs are so smooth. Why can't you shave every day?

Me: Why don't you shave every day? Besides, look at the area I have to cover and it takes so much time.

DH: Well . . . you're right. Do you want me to shave every day? Does this bother you?

Me: No, I like it when you don't shave.

It's not like I don't shave ever. I shave on average twice a week. Day one and two are fine; I'm not embarassed to wear shorts. Day three is a jeans day. I can already hear some of you, "eww, gross." But listen, I have a full time job, a part time job, I take 2 classes at the college and volunteer. The way I look at it, he can either have dinner or shaved legs. Since I benefit from dinner, dinner wins.

Now the rat bastard has changed the game. He is willing to shave his face every day to get me to keep my legs shaved.

Maybe I ought to make him shave his legs. Then every time I shave mine, he has to shave his and we'll see how long this "keep your legs shaved" thing lasts.

Rat Bastard!

It came and went

Last night was my 10 year high school reunion, out of state. I spent it here, at work. Oh I was snippy and grouchy because I had to be here instead of there having a blast.
This morning as I left work my cell phone alerted me there was a message. My mother called.
Bitch Mom: It's me. I just went to your reunion at "Granny's Attic" and a lot, a lot of people asked about you.

One: Granny's attic isn't her hang out, so she went on purpose.
Two: If I couldn't go, why do I want to hear about it.

I didn't go because I COULD NOT, not because I didn't want to. Her phone call pushed me over the "woe is me" line. I drove home from work with the windows down and the music blaring, trying to drown out my . . . frustration? Then I took a pill and went to bed.

Not So Clued In

Generation X is not mine, nor for that matter am I generation Y. I am going with E-Mail Junkyard and calling myself a Kool Kid (http://www.chainletters.net/?item=208).

I remember we had a Tandy when I was very young and the floppies were, well, floppy. Eventually we got a newer computer in my tweens. It was black screen with yellow text and the commands were on slips of paper above the function keys. I can’t forget our dot matrix printer. I was kind of a cool kid in school because my English assignments were typed.

Remember when you had the option to hand write or type?

I bought my first computer 2 years ago, a pretty MacBook. There are a few iPods (4) in my collection also. Admittedly, I let my husband fool with the big iPods; I only know how to load the shuffles.

Two years ago, at the behest of a long lost friend I created a Myspace page (it’s pretty cool), and now I have my own blog. I rock!

The other day I was showing the Myspace page to my husband and he began to look at my friends. There are four. One of them is a boy named Tom. When I began to explain to my husband that I had no idea who this person was he started to laugh. Big laughing. I went on to add that I did not give this boy permission to be my friend. Why was DH laughing at me?

Do you know?

Yeah, I do now.

So Totally Not Over It

Okay, so more reunion reminiscing.
All through high school, I was sort of a wall flower. I had my friends, but I wasn't the girl you noticed or pined for from afar. Not me.

And then . . . Senior year this football player asked me to prom. No one had ever asked me out, ever. (I know we saw part of this story already, I need to share another angle). I sat next to his sister in band and I guess that is where he noticed me and began pinning (whether you pined or not, this is my story jerk rat bastard). One day he approached with his virile, jock, manliness and asked me to prom. What? You know my name? Yes I'll go to prom because I know who you are and you're kinda cute.

We were suppose to be dating but he never called, and we never went anywhere. I think I went to visit him one day while he worked, maybe. Nothing. Maybe a week after he asked me to prom and one week BEFORE prom he said he didn't want to go with me anymore. I was heartbroken. Maybe he heard I rumor that I put out (I did from time to time) and was upset that we hadn't even gone to first base, seriously! I'm not sayin' I wouldn't have kissed this boy, but how can you if you are never together?

So, I paid for my own prom ticket and went with a group of girls just like me . . . dateless. Of course football player was there with another girl that looked eerily similar to myself and they danced and had a good time. I think she was a sure bet to put out on prom night while I wasn't.

Although this was painful, it was probably a good thing because I went to a fraternity party after prom and had a hell of a good time with people that really liked me and were upset that I didn't ask them to prom. I didn't think college boys wanted to go to a high school prom. Sometimes you underestimate how much people REALLY like you and REALLY like being your friend.

Now, lets back up. We know why football player rejected dumped me. Supposed best friend that can now be seen as the jealous best friend, was planting lies in football players ears.

I ask you rat bastard, why you believed her?

Moving on. A few months out of high school football player and I ran into each other crusin' the strip. We flirted and road around in the back of a friends truck. The butterflies were there, however, again there was no physical contact. Eventually, the novelty wore off and the whole thing fizzled. In the end football player accused me of being a pretentious bitch, not his words. From his point of view I thought I was too good for him because he worked at McDonald's.

NOT TRUE. I am not like that. He had a job, he had some ambition, McDonald's wasn't his life's calling and I knew that. We all have to eat shit sometimes and when you're young, as we were, you tend to eat more than most. Again, I say, if you have no contact, there is no relationship. He called maybe once and we never saw each other. Through my fraternity friends, boys were there. They came to visit if they wanted to see you, made the first move if they wanted something, I never had to work for anything. Football player wanted me to work. Uh-huh.

I am married to the best man ever and we are so blissfully happy. Sometimes it makes me want to throw up we are so happy. But, I bare a wound of rejection (and betrayal). Normally, it doesn't bother me, truly. However, seeing his name and his RSVP makes the wound sensitive again.

I think I'll go call my husband.

Don't get your hopes up

Sunday I had to be at work at 7:00pm. This means I get up at 5:00p, shower, compose, and leave. There is rarely time for dinner at home unless DH (dear husband) has helped with pizza, spaghetti, or lasagna.
I had just stepped out of the shower and was trying to tweeze a whisker (28 and a whisker, really?) when DH opened the bathroom door. Of course I was a little mortified and turned quickly and "guiltily."

DH: What's for dinner?

Me:

DH: There is nothing here

Me: I know (really I did, not even bread for a PB&J).

DH: Do you want me to go get something?

Me: Would you. (oh the excitement, he is so wonderful).

DH: You have to be at work at 7:00pm? I'm going now.

I ironed my scrubs, dried my hair and even started my make-up. Where in the world was he? Oh, crap, my phone is on silent. What if he has been in an accident?

45 minutes after he left he came home with groceries.

DH: I got pizza (looking at the clock) do you have time?

Me: No

DH: Do you need money?

Me: Yes.

I felt like crying. What is wrong with me? I may have had to eat out tonight, but there is pizza for tomorrow or bread and lunchmeat for sandwiches. He even bought straws. This man did so much more than most and yet I was disappointed.

What attitude!

Oh heaven help me, I just treated a nurse like a three year old.

I work for a remote pharmacy system. That means I sit at one hospital and answer phone calls from other hospitals about medication orders and locations of drugs. A very nice and dear nurse called looking for an intravenous medication.

Me: According to our records, the Acme pharmacist sent three doses up today at noon.

Nurse: It isn't in the Pyxis. Do I have to override?

Me: No it came from the pharmacy. It is in a foil bag.

Nurse: It isn't in the refrigerator. Where is it?

Me: No it isn't refrigerated. Where do you keep the IV's they send?

Nurse: I looked in the fridge and it isn't there. I am looking on the MAR and in the Pyxis it isn't there.

Me: (pushed too far) No - it - isn't - in - the - Pyxis. They - sent - it - from - the - pharmacy. (Realizing I went to far) I think my phone is not working, it's broken.

Nurse: Okay. Okay. Bye.

Crap.

They say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. What about your frenemies?

With my 10 year High school Reunion looming, I can't seem to get old friends and enemies out of my head. In today's overly connected society, people can find you easily, and it is your fault.
Two years ago I created a MySpace page because I friend asked me to. Now with the reunion, old classmates are finding me. Well, not only through MySpace, but also through classmates.com. Again, something I did to myself.
I was really surprised when a classmate I wasn't really friends with contacted me through myspace. It was a pleasant surprise. She married her high school sweetheart and moved out of state. Very nice story for a very nice girl. Adding her to my friends list opened a door I'm not sure I was ready to open.
My family moved to Oklahoma when I was a freshman in high school. My association with Band brought me instant friendships, however, there was an outcast. Everyone told my to stay away from this girl. Rebel is my middle name and I took her to be my bosom buddy. For 4 years we were inseparable sisters and then . . . who knows.
A boy I didn't know, but liked, asked me to prom. What?! Someone asked me to a dance, on a date? Doin' a little jig here folks.
I had been "seeing" a boy who attended the local college, but we were not exclusive. I stopped talking to college boy when this young man asked me to prom. For reasons I still don't understand my best friend told my prom date that I was seeing a college boy. My prom date dumped me. It still hurts me when I think of this. I was incredibly disappointed and stunned. If he liked me, why would he do this? I didn't have a reason for a few days. Then college boy called. Apparently my B.F.F. told college boy that I was seeing high school boy. College boy wanted me to know he wasn't upset by her news but thought I ought to be concerned with her behavior. I was. By the way, still fondly reminisce of the college boy and his roommate. Two finer gentleman you will never find. They were so . . . thoughtful and concerned for me when my best friend turned. Until my husband, I never knew such fine men.
I digress. After my "best friend" ruined prom, I didn't talk to her for a while, but we pseudo patched things. Eventually, our relationship couldn't withstand the strain of betrayal and it withered away.
She has made contact with me through my stupid MySpace account. At first, I was excited. She is twice married and her current husband is a looker, just as she has turned out to be. The more I think about it, I wonder, why do I want her back in my life? Do I want to let this person back in? For now, yes. I made many stupid, horrific mistakes in high school. Some make me flush to even think about, stupid, stupid, stupid. I don't know what to think. For now minimal contact is fine. Besides, she is over 400 miles away. Oh crap. Not helping me relax. 400 miles makes damage control very difficult.