He totally said "there will be snacks"

Well... farts. I don't write, don't call, don't blog, don't even talk that much these days. But I want to. Living all cooped up inside my head is cool and all, but lonely. And repetitive.

I've been baking (heh) more lately in hopes that I will eventually create something awesome that I can recreate for some holiday gathering, but my lack of kitchen confidence is sort of holding me back. I look at recipes all the time but then get all lazy and indignant - too many ingredients I don't have around, too many steps, eggs and egg substitute, WTF?! I've been all about baking cookies in previous years, then got into making quick bread type things. (While I feel pretty bleh about bananas, I cannot have banana bread around without snarfing it up. And it's around a lot. SNARF x 12.) So we'll see where this goes. I'm thinking maybe pie.

Sort of speaking of holiday gatherings (I know, I don't want to either), we're thinking of having Thanksgiving at our house again, if other parties are willing. The only problem with this is - oh wait, there's a kind of a bunch of problems, depending on how fretful I feel. The big one is that we have no dishwasher. What we do have is a formerly working dishwasher that is now dead and works as a big dish drying rack / playpen for the cats. I know you're probably saying "Hey dummy, why dontcha just get a new dishwasher?" Which we were going to. But then it appears that the old one is going to be a hassle to get out, as - I probably won't explain this well, but - the ceramic tile comes up higher than the part of floor the dishwasher is on without much of any wiggle room - which looks like it will cause a problem getting the old dishwasher out without breaking some tiles (and there are no extras to be found) or busting the countertop. I don't know. It looks like a pain in the ass, is what I'm trying to get at here. And the nice gentleman at Home Depot warned us that the delivery guys will hook up a new dishwasher, but they're not going to do a lot of screwing around if the old one doesn't come out easily, or if we don't know how to shut off our water before they get there, or if they don't feel like it or something. So we've said "Bah!" as we do a lot of things, and while I signed up for dishpan hands - I'm uh, not too good at keeping up with the dishes. All of this is to say that Thanksgiving generates a lot of dishes, and a lot of people hovering in the kitchen saying "why don't you use your dishwasher, dummies?" and a lot of well-intentioned "helping" which for some reason makes me want to shoo everyone out with a broom. Oh and we don't have a dining room either, so the table is in the kitchen too - and blah blah blah, we'll figure something out I guess.

Oh hey! We went out somewhat recently. To a show! We saw Andrew Bird and St. Vincent! Andrew Bird is... he's really talented, you guys. When I first heard people raving about him and checked out his music, I didn't see what the big deal was. But the more his songs popped up along with artists I liked on Pandora, the more I'd get his whistles stuck in my head or go back and say "Wait, who was that?" and I got hooked. He put on a good show, and I was actually a bit surprised at how down to earth he seemed. I somewhat expected him to be a bit of a stuck up hipster like "Twaah, behold my classical training and nuances..." But he was really cool - I liked how he spoke to the audience and even pointed out mistakes he made in this charming, absent-minded professor type of way. I liked St. Vincent too, and their band paired nicely with Andrew Bird for a few songs. Annie Clark (lead singer) is this beautiful doll of a woman who starts off singing in this soft, lilting almost Tori Amos style voice, and then by the end of the show she's cranking up the distortion and aiming her guitar at the speakers, giving the audience seat-rumblers and making our ears ring. It was pretty sweet all around.

In I Can Never Go Long Without Mentioning the Cats news: they're doing very well, and we are really glad we ended up adopting two. When they're not chasing each other around and knocking shit over while wrestling, they'll pull out one of these and overwhelm us with cuteness.

Shake us free

Lately, all I seem to feel is mad and sad. Tired when I shouldn't be. Unable to explain myself properly. Frustrated. Lonely, yet needing lots of alone time. I should've written the other morning when I was the "up" side of me and not the more commonly seen glum side.

I feel enormously guilty for some of the thoughts I have about my family... That I love them but sometimes find it too painful and/or exhausting to be around them. That I wish I had a few more happy times with my siblings to think of rather than just replaying the fucked-up ones in my mind. That maybe we all have some degree of mental illness or personality disorder. That it could be passed on to the next generation. That my mom tried so hard to prevent her kids from turning out fucked-up, and we still pretty much did anyway. That I used to feel like I could somehow be the one that could make things alright, and now I just feel distant and useless.

This will get too long and late if I get into all of it now, so I'm cutting it short in favor of sleep. Pardon the nighttime sads.

Dude, bro - not cool

So, I know that calling your employer a dick is generally frowned upon, but oops. Sometimes I forget that even if he talks to me like he'd talk to one of his buddies, I should maintain a certain level of well, appropriateness when responding.

BUT.

He was all "Oh, Patrick Swayze died. Pfft, I never liked the guy. Always thought he was gay after that dancin movie."

And I thought that was a shitty thing to say. Shitty in the same way as when Heath Ledger died, and he said "Aww, boo-hoo. Heath Ledger died. What was it, AIDS? He was in that movie about the queers you know."

Ugh. And also, RARRRGH.

But then again, I think he mostly likes to say things to get my goat. (Done!) Being one of those liberals and all, and him being one of those "Hey, aren't I so politically incorrect it is hilarious?" types.

I shouldn't have let it slip, but we were on the phone so he couldn't appreciate my disapproving look or extreme rolling of the eyes.

Divert and repeat

I still feel things, obviously I do. Sometimes more than I'd like to or more than would seem necessary. I've always been labeled as sensitive, but usually in a negative way - too sensitive, overly-sensitive, see also: crybaby, get a grip. But what I've noticed is that I seem to have developed some sort of selective numbness that at times seems more of a reflex than something within my control. Like, I'll be having a conversation with someone, and then I get knocked off guard by them telling me something that I find immensely sad, or something that presses my buttons, or something that hurts my feelings in a way that actually feels like a blow to the chest or gut. I still feel it, but then a numbness kicks in. It's like the fight-or-flight fairy is pulling me out of that moment, saying "La la LAA - we didn't hear that! Ok, we did but we are MOVING RIGHT ALONG. Not gonna think about it now, plenty of time to dwell on that later. Yes, that hurt but it's only a flesh wound, really - don't look at it and make it worse. Just keep moving." And I'm calm, but it's sort of a false calm. Sort of a bad calm, when it comes with knowing that the shelves are stocked with thoughts like these that are just waiting to be revisited later.

Nothing wrong with defense mechanisms to protect yourself in a situation. I guess I'm just taking note that this happens, and like most of my coping mechanisms - it may have become flawed. That is, dealing with things by not really dealing with them. Flipping a switch that says "I am not really here, I'm not really feeling this." I seem to get in the habit of doing things to protect myself in the present moment while not really looking out for myself in the future. And here I am.

Craptain's blog: supplemental

This is going to sound old and persnickety, but doesn't anyone proofread books anymore? The last few times I've bought a new release there have been several typos in it that I just wouldn't expect to see in a professional publication. Doesn't that piss off the author? Or is it the author's fault? (I can just picture a book signing event with some overzealous fan: "Loved your book, but man - that use of 'here' instead of 'hear' on page 22?! What's up with that? No one even re-read the FIRST CHAPTER before it went to print? Weak! Don't even sign it.")

Speaking of books, I just started The Time Traveler's Wife and I hate to seem like I'm jumping on the bandwagon of "they made it into a movie so now it's cool" but I will jump on the bandwagon of "It was a good price and made my order qualify for free shipping on Amazon." I'll probably end up seeing the movie in about 2-3 years, unless I strongly love or hate the book. Most of the time I have a thing about waiting for the hubbub to die down about something before I watch or read it, but then I end up forgetting about it and/or missing the window of caring (i.e. Titanic. Yep, sorry - no one would shut up about it and it's way too late now.) My mom can't BELIEVE that I haven't watched Grey's Anatomy nor have I read anything by Jodi Picoult or Barbara Kingsolver. Eh. Trying to be rebellious, I guess.

There are definite advantages of watching shows after a decent amount of time has passed though. A good example is Battlestar Galactica. Oh my GODS, I'm frakkin' hooked on that show! (Just started Season 3 - no spoilers please!) But if I had to wait an entire week for the next episode or deal with those end of the season cliffhangers I'd go batty. For a while there I avoided science fiction because it tended to make me think about things that would send me into an existential crisis/death freakout/headache. But we've been on a Sci-Fi kick (and don't you hate that the SciFi channel is Syfy now? Ew.) at our house this summer with watching the entire Deep Space Nine series and also working on The Next Generation AND some of the Star Trek movies (though we of course haven't seen the new one yet) and now BSG. Wow - we're a couple pasty lookin' geeks over here, but it's fun.

So I've really not been making the most of the summer weather, but that's not to say I don't enjoy it. The outdoors never feels so nice as when I'm leaving work for the day. When I shut off the florescent lights and step out of the chilly recirculated office air and into the warmth of natural light, it's wonderful. I get in my car and - if it's not unbearably humid - I soak up the heat that's been captured inside and get all happy-sleepy, like some kind of reptile. (And once I've passed through the hood, I can put the windows down and enjoy the breeze.) Just let it stay in the 70s for a nice long time...

Not what I meant to say

I've been on these continuous birf-contro pills for several cycles now and have to admit - not missing the ol' period. No sir. Not missing it! But, there are always drawbacks with these things. The PMS, I still has it. BIG time. Maybe even for a prolonged time each cycle, or so it seems. It's a force too great to be diminished by some measly pill. And as such, I'm feeling positively nutty right now. I'm mad! I'm furiously mad and I want to talk about it! Go ahead, you say? Well, I don't damn know what to say! Forget it, I'm stupid. I'm just a horrible person and it turns out I'm not mad, I'm sad. Deeply horribly sad. I don't want to talk about why, but I want you to want to know why. That will make me cry and feel better and scold myself for being ridiculous and uh-oh, start this process all over again. Don't back away. Yes, I want to be alone but I don't mean it, I don't think. I don't know... about anything. I'm trying to make light but it really fucks you up to feel so - I don't know - out of sorts? Especially being someone who doesn't have all her sorts in a row in the first place.

Oh, I've thought about doing stuff

I think about blogging way more than I actually blog. Does that count for anything? No? Well, that's why I won't be at BlogHer. Well, not the only reason. I'm not sure I'd be qualified (or invited?) to attend - what with the whole not blogging on a regular basis, or having a large number of followers - and you know, not being "in it to win it" and all that. But if I were those things, and if I wasn't so anxiety-ridden about being in new uncomfortable situations, it would be pretty cool to go - especially to this one, since Chicago is probably the closest anyone will come to my area. Heh, my area. I am apparently good at thinking about blogging and being a fan of other bloggers (and babbling to J about them) so uh, I'll just do that from home.

So, I lost my glasses. Which is fine, because I wear contacts. And these glasses were probably 15 years old, hella thick even though the prescription isn't even as strong as what I'd need now, and under no circumstances could be worn outside the house. I accused J of "accidentally" disposing of my fugly glasses, but I don't think he's ever even touched the things. No big loss, I guess. But it kinda sucks to depend on wearing contacts all the time. I tend to stumble around more blindly than usual in the morning. Which brings me to an incident in which glasses would've been helpful.

Arlo was all wound up and playful the other morning, which means he's either been: chasing Gracie, entertaining himself with his toys, biting the feet of whichever groggy unfortunate person is trying to use the toilet, or getting into some kind of trouble. While I'm in the bathroom I hear him messing with the door to the linen closet (the cats just cannot abide a closed door), reaching under it and thwapping around, making a bunch of noise. I open the door so he can retrieve whatever toy he probably pushed under the door in the first place, and he brings it out. I go to pick up his mousie toy and toss it down the hallway for him to fetch so I can close the closet door, and I realize this mousie sure has a lot of spit on it, enough that it feels pretty squishy and gross. Ew. I drop it on the floor. "Um, honey?" I call to Justin "Can you come here and tell me if this is a toy mouse or a REAL mouse?" (Blind, remember) And of course - it was real, and I guess I'm thankful that it was already dead and not - ugh - partially eaten or suffering or something. (Poor mousie - these two probably just annoyed him to death.) But yeah. Gack! Washed my hands several times and made a mental note to both get glasses and to stop buying toy mice that look so damn REAL! (Oh, and I suppose it would help to find out whether there are more. Eek.)

I guess adding this picture of Arlo with his toy doesn't help my story of how "real" the mice look. But again, BLIND! Ass from a hole in the ground? Without my contacts, who knows?

Indecisive, stubborn, hopeful

I seem to be doing a lot of shopping lately. And by shopping, I mean wandering in circles around a handful of the same old stores second-guessing anything I might want, repeatedly trolling clearance sections, more often than not regretting whatever it is I did end up buying and then telling J about what I shoulda or almost bought. (He LOVES that part!) Oh, and sniffling. Don't forget the sniffling. I can't seem to go out in public these days without my nose running like crazy. (HAI! AM GROSS! AND ALLERGIC TO PEEPLES. GO WAY.)

Of course, clothes shopping seemed easier when I was a smaller size. Then again, I really couldn't afford much of anything at that time (so it was lucky that there were usually a lot more small sizes on clearance than large). Now that the weather is getting warmer, I can't hide under layers as easily. I need some items that I can wear to work (which fortunately is on the casual end of business casual) that aren't so loose that they're sloppy and make me look bigger but not so tight that I feel like I'm squeezed into a sausage casing or worry about playing peek-a-boob. Stuff I can be comfortable (the dreaded What Not To Wear word!) wearing.

There are a lot of cute tops out there, but so many of them have the short puffy or cap sleeves. I have a few blouses like this, but I'm not sure if I should. Sometimes there's a fine line between "feminine flare" and "Polish lunchlady" and I see myself getting closer to the grumbling, mashed potato slinging end of that spectrum. It wasn't that long ago that I thought the three-quarter length shirts were stupid ("Long or short: pick one!") but, now? Three-quarter sleeved shirts, come back! Or even better, elbow length! Give me just a little more arm coverage, please!

Shoes? Pants? Oh God, skirts? Don't get me started.

Our house needs a lot of things too, and I'm trying to get some of those crossed off the list (#1 - Replace ugly-ass old plaid comforter). At least the bedding and bath sections of the stores are slightly less painful. Still, if you hear someone in the back of the store choking on their snot while exclaiming that $20 for a friggin hand towel should not count as clearance, holla!

Three's Company

Hrmm, I think it's time for another cat-related update (or um, any kind of update).

The Adventures of Arlo T. Underfoot, Jr. and Gracie May "Little Britches" Underfoot continue!
Previously, in "The Playdate That Never Was" our curious duo had what ended up to be quite a short but exciting encounter with the Huge Orange Hissbag Under The Bed (ahem, my mom's cat).

The dialogue went something like this:

Gracie (in high-pitched, overly-cheerful voice): Well, hello there! My name's Gracie, cuz I'm gray, see? Hehhhyeheh. But you can call me Little Bri-

Mom's cat: *Glare* HISSSSS! Grumbles!

Gracie: (Pulls back extended paw) Well dang, aren't you a bitch.

Arlo: HEYHEYHEY! *snoof snoof* What do we have here?

Mom's cat: *Glare* Grumbles! *Ears back* HISS X 12!

Arlo: *Tail poof* Well then, I will be crapping in your litterbox.

Dun Dun Dunnn! The End?

So, the cat-sitting experience didn't go over so well for anyone involved. My mom's cat was SO glad to be taken back home where she could be checked on by a neighbor and spend her free time quietly plotting revenge instead of putting up with us, our unfamiliar house and our lively cats. I do like my mom's cat, but it was sort of a relief when she left (practically drove herself home). Cats don't really tend to enjoy "visits" too much, and our house isn't really big enough for us to give her much of her own space to chill.

Otherwise, Arlo and Gracie seem to be doing well. They have some obsessive-compulsive quirks, but what cat doesn't? Arlo loves to follow and get underfoot, in hopes that you were just on your way to give him a treat or open a door to some restricted area. He needs a lot of attention and interactive playtime, while Gracie is more content to explore and play on her own. Arlo has what I think is a boy-cat tendency to go from purring/lovey to purring/lovey/BITEY-TIME which isn't overly aggressive, but not something I want to continue. Gracie also has an interesting habit of um, nursing on herself. She only seems to do it when she's getting snuggly with us in bed and being petted, and then she gets this intense purr going and does the push-push on her little belly and well, she finds a nip and goes to town. The suckling noises can be somewhat irritating when you're trying to fall asleep, but she's just such a cute little thing. She was the runt of the litter, so maybe she didn't get as much time as needed with her mama. Aww.

I've probably spent way more time than is necessary fretting over the type of food and litter to buy for them. People have really strong opinions about this! I think you just have to go with a balance of what your cats like, what you're willing to spend, and what you hope won't have any adverse effects. I will say that I'm not going to go so far as to start cooking up homemade cat food, or insist that they eat a raw diet like their ancestors (which seems like saying "yeah, you live in my house and all but you go catch your own dinner like your ancestors had to - it's good for ya!") but I do feel a little better giving them something that at least has recognizable, seemingly high-quality ingredients (currently it's Eagle Pack brand) and admittedly, I still hold somewhat of a grudge over the whole melamine disaster a few years ago. As far as litter goes, I don't know if any of them can really make the poop-scooping experience a pleasant one - I'm just using those that don't make me or the cats sneeze too much.

Wow, ok that's a lot of cat talk. *Honk-shu*

The Lady Next Door's Greatest Hits, Vol 1

Haah? (The I Can't Hear You Song)

Uh-uh, I Ain't Playin!

Get Yourself To Church

Gimme One A Them Seizure Salads And A Parfet

Look Like You Tore Up From The Floor Up

Can't Talk To Me Like That (Not Your Mama Remix)


Bonus Track: 8 Minute Cackling/Pounding Fist On Desk Solo

(Overheard at work.)
(She's a counselor... of sorts.)

Observed

Some quick church-related items:

• Yesterday, I was driving behind a van that was printed with "Follow me to meet Jesus!" and I debated on whether this was a clever idea or maybe a warning not to tailgate? 
• I know last Sunday was Easter and all, but "For all you do - His bloods for you" on a church sign seems... well again, somewhere between clever and just bad taste. 
• Speaking of bad taste, I was raised Catholic and remember after my first sip of wine at Communion, I returned to my seat and excitedly whispered "That wine really does taste like blood!" where - as you can imagine - I was quickly shushed. 

Morning Bird/Bun Watch

(I like how she taps his shoulder with her tail, and he's all "whuh, who dat?" while she gets the optimum birdie view)

Pitter Patter

Well, then. That doctor's appointment I was all nervous about last week turned out just fine, no big woop. But you know, I worry. I'm glad that I held out to be scheduled with the doctor who is so kind and relaxed - no wonder she's always booked up.

The kitties are doing well, it's just a bit of an adjustment period for all of us right now. Tiger (he'll have a real name soon!) and Gracie are most likely from the same litter (if not, at least from the same household) and are about 7 months old - adolescents, I suppose. Well, first we were told that they both were 7 months, but Tiger's paperwork just says "about 1 year" and he is quite a bit larger. Maybe they got it mixed up and these 2 cats didn't even know each other? I need more back-story! It probably doesn't matter - I just thought maybe they'd have more of a bond if they were siblings or litter-mates. They do have some similar features, and seem to get along pretty well (last night, they even snuggled a bit while napping together on the couch - aww!) Tiger can get pretty rambunctious and Gracie occasionally has to hiss and put him in his place like "Hey, I'm just wee, watch out jerkass!" but I've never seen him act aggressively, he's just VERY playful. Gracie is a bit more delicate and reserved and prefers to get a toy in her mouth and sneak off to play with it in private. They're both really good about being picked up and held, and will purr while bonking their head against yours if the mood is right. They turn into little wiggle-puppies while being petted in a reclined position and seem to appreciate all the attention.

I'm sure it sounds silly, but this last week has had me EEKing and fussing quite a bit. I know, they are just cats, cats that we wanted! Much less responsibility than a child, or even a dog! So what am I getting all worked up about? I guess we were just so settled into our quiet old-fart routine, and changes to that just seem to throw us a little off balance. (I know, it was our choice to get two cats so soon after losing Jones - I just hope it was for the best for everybody.) It just seems like I tend to be so filled with doubt and second-guessing about everything, which is a really irritating habit of mine. Life, it can change! And still be okay!

OMG2Kittehs!

The wee gray one is Gracie... (she came with the name and we like it)


And the bigger kitty is her brother, Tiger (or the kitty who has yet to be officially named by us)


Lookit those lil' faces!

Nervous Girl Is Nervous

Sweaty palms, sped-up heart rate, spontaneous jibber-jabber, repeated hair fussing, shaky tummy, increased bathrooming... (which reminds me of my favorite search term that led to this blog - "nervous poo poo pants")

All this, just because I have a doctor's appointment in an hour. And it's just a ROUTINE check up, with a doctor I KNOW and LIKE. CAPITALIZED. Sheesh. But still. I probably shouldn't have had coffee this morning.

Also: I really don't want to get on that scale. The digital one always seems to display a number, pause, then adds 3-5 pounds (which is just a drop in the bucket, but still - jerkass scale!)

Also: Upcoming cat-related update!

Also: Thanks for still reading, my bloggy friends. I <3 yous, srsly!

It's okay (or it's going to be)

Sometimes when the power goes out, I find myself mindlessly trying to do things that obviously require electricity. Like trying to turn lights on while looking around in the dark for a flashlight. Or trying to turn on the stereo because it seems so quiet without the TV on. Maybe it's a shoddy comparison, but I've been feeling similarly mindless with the loss of our cat. I can be thinking about Jonesey all the way home from work and still get thrown off when I don't hear "Brrrmow?" when I walk in the door. I'm so sad that I just want to hold my cat, but that's the reason I'm sad. Sigh. We are creatures of habit.

I visited the local SPCA shelter a couple times last week. I don't know if it's too soon to be looking for a new friend, but it does lift my spirits to get to interact with all those cats (they must have at least 40). There is that familiar feeling of "Didn't we just do this?" - it was only two years ago that our calico cat passed away and we were searching for another cat to fill the void. We were so lucky to find a cat as awesome as Jones, and hopefully we can provide a loving home to another great cat (or cats) again soon.

Crazy cat lady out!

Unexpected

As angry, sad and depressed it makes me, I can't change that life just doesn't make sense sometimes.

Our furry little friend, the bestest cat ever - Jonesey - passed away early this morning. It came as a shock to us, as he hasn't seemed sick and is only about 5 or 6 years old (we've had him for just two). I found no evidence of him having an accident or getting into something dangerous. He greeted me like he always does during the night when I went to the bathroom. When J found him this morning, he looked like he was just taking a snooze... there's no good way for a pet to go, but we are relieved that he doesn't appear to have suffered. Still, J and I are feeling pretty heartbroken. That cat brought so much joy, love and entertainment to our lives and meant a great deal to us - I just can't believe he's gone. I'm glad we spoiled him a lot and hope he enjoyed his time with us. If I keep thinking of all the what ifs or what we could've done or we should've somehow known, I'll drive myself crazy(er). It's just incredibly shitty and sad.

In honor of Caturday

It's so tough being a cat...


Facepalmin'

Each one feels like the first one

Hey, just wanted to let you know that there's a great album - The Weepies' Hideaway - for super-cheap as the Amazon MP3 deal of the day today. By "great", I mean that it's a great album if you like light, catchy, indie folk-pop duos (they're a couple, aww) that are sweet but not obnoxiously so.

Recommended tracks: Hideaway, Antartica, Just Blue

Suggested as background music for: a coffee shop, a laid-back Sunday morning, doing the dishes, something calm and happy that's safe to play around the kids and/or your conservative parents, something chilled out to listen to at work, shopping (I'm pretty sure I've heard some of these songs while at Kohl's - they actually have a surprisingly good mix of indie-ish music playing there most of the time.)

Back with a real post soon.

Oh yes, I do no

So, not a whole lotta news here.

After hemming and hawing about going back to my original doctor or finding a new one or getting a referral, I finally just went and saw my original, favorite doctor. See, everyone likes her so much that she's hard to schedule an appointment with, and I had been seeing a NP at the same practice the last few times. Trouble is, even though the NP is really nice, it seemed like every time I saw her something got screwed up (wrong prescription called in, not returning my lab results, etc.) and then I worried about the whole not being able to actually diagnose a condition thing. And the whole talking to a colleague about me in the hallway and I could totally overhear it thing. So, I asked to see my old doctor for my yearly exam. The practice said they could only schedule my exam as part of a shared medical appointment (she won't look at me naked unless it's along with a bunch of other naked people?) which just seemed kind of silly. I mean, the point of the shared medical appointment - I think - is to put a group of similar chumps patients in a classroom type setting where they can ask the doctor questions and gain possible insight from others who may have similar conditions. My mom has done this before and said that rest assured, you don't get examined in front of other people, but still. When I read the paperwork for this appointment, I got to the part where it said "Each patient will be given a name tag to identify each other more easily in group discussion" (maybe they had a problem with patients referring to each other as "the one over there with the rash" or "that chick who asked about discharge") or something like that, and I started to rethink how much I wanted to "share".

So, long story long - I called back and asked to just see my doc one on one - even if she won't look at my girl parts - to discuss meds and moods and thyroid worries. I'm waiting for the lab results, which I imagine could range from "My God, you're a 30 year old woman with the stats of a 53 year old man" to "well, nothing clinically wrong here, you're just a lazy fatass" - alright, that's a bit harsh. We'll see. In the meantime, my doctor suggested lots of calcium and vitamin D and to get out and walk during the daytime. She also switched my birth control pill to Seasonique, which I'm a bit skeptical about since it seems like one of those "trendy" birth control pills. Of course I looked around online and read all kinds of reviews saying that this is the worst pill ever and accounts of nonstop spotting and all kinds of bad side effects. But the quote below was by far the best one I read, that's still making me giggle:

"the only problem i had with this BC is that a week b4 my period, i would start to spell bad( if you no what i mean)"

Wellll put. (starts slow clap)

But you have to take birth control experiences and opinions with a grain of salt. I've had several people tell me that BC pills are all horrible and no one should take them, when the individual might have only tried one and most likely has way different hormonal things going on than I do. I'd like to not have to take them either. Side effects certainly do suck, but besides the whole preventing pregnancy thing, there's also the reminder of how my cycle would be without the pills. 7 to 11 days of heavy bleeding and nearly debilitating cramps plus wicked PMS is something I'm willing to tweak with hormones if it means improvement! TMI there, sorry.

Speaking of TMI, you can't really be TMI with me. I mean, when somebody writes a warning about TMI, I'm only more interested. Maybe I'm just not a very classy lady - but I don't shy away from discussing woman stuff with other women. When I was around 12, I wanted to talk about everyone's period experience. When I was around 15, I wanted to hear about everyone's sexual experiences (ok, probably still do) and in recent years, I've wanted to know all about the individual pregnancy/birth/parenthood experiences. So maybe I'm weird in that way, or I just like to be prepared. Or maybe I should've taken that shared medical appointment after all - there's gotta be some TMI going on there.

Before It Gets Better

If it ain't broke, don't fix it. And if it is broke, well... crap, I still might not fix it. Where do I even begin? Can it even be fixed?

That seems to sum up issues in most areas of my life right now. The car. My health. Our house. My mind. Our relationship. The accounting crap at work. It all needs some fixing up but even broken down separately it seems too daunting to even know where to start. I tend to fall into the "Oh, bother. What's the use?" shrug and sigh mentality quite easily, but then the problem becomes that there are not only all these things unfixed or undealt-with, but that I hate myself for not doing them. When negativity, depression and procrastination meet, it's amazing the amount of things you can NOT get done!

Anyway, I was going to write this post to remind myself of how happy I felt after just getting my car out of the shop. It hasn't been running well for months, I'd been putting it off, I was stalling at 3 or 4 intersections each way between home and work and there was increasing fear that one of these times it wouldn't start again, for good. But I figured it would be such an AWFUL and expensive problem that would lead to finding out even MORE AWFUL problems that I couldn't afford and that I'd get screwed over paying to fix, that I kind of didn't even want to know. Somehow, the car didn't fix itself. It ended up being $300 - that I didn't want to spend and certainly didn't just have lying around - but what a relief! To just fix it and be done with it! Like normal people must do! Now I can just worry about the shitty roads and other drivers, but not about whether my car is going to make it home or not - yay!

And then of course my "check engine" light comes on just a couple days after getting the car back. RARRGH.