Of dog hair, Oreos, and kissing diseases

I have mono.

There, I said it. I've been sick for approximately....97 months? No, really, since mid-May. I finally went to the doctor at the end of May since I was sleeping about 20 hours a day and still feeling like shit, and that was the diagnosis.

If you're friends with me on Facebook, you've already had to endure daily updates and whining about it, so I'll spare you. I will say that I'm finally feeling better, thankyouverymuch. Better enough that I had copious cocktails last weekend and was feeling like my normal self.

How does one get mono as an adult? Well, I had it in middle school. Apparently every person has the virus dormant in their bodies, and if you've had it as a kid then if you get it again as an adult if you're under extreme stress. Which I can't believe anyone would categorize me as being highly stressed, what with my father dying and me hating my job and the current economic conditions and a nine-year-old going on twenty-nine. Oh, and crazy in-laws with a psychotic dog? And a good amount of friend drama to boot? Nope, not me.

On the good side, I caught up on all the sleep I've missed since 2001 and also got to watch a good amount of the Casey Anthony trial. I can honestly say that between the trial and the whole hanging chad fiasco, I will never move to Florida. NEVER.

Also, I've gotten to spend lots of time with the dogs. They are the funniest critters ever. Rufus is still his regular curmudgeonly self, and Nick is this goofy, loving lion-looking dog. The dog hair is driving me nuts, but that's what lint rollers are for. I won't go into the thousands of dollars in damage that Nick has inflicted on our beautiful master bathroom. I'll let you conjure that visual up yourselves.

I still love Oreos. Oreos also love me, since they won't leave my ass.

Missed y'all...

Big butt

I've been in a bit of a funk this week, mostly because my butt has gotten huge. HUGE. As in, my "big girl" jeans don't even fit anymore.

The sad part is I have zero motivation to do anything about it other than bitch and whine. The bad part is my life depends on me taking care of myself.

In case you're new to this blog, over a year ago I found out that I have a rare genetic blood protein called elevated Lp(a), or Lipoprotein A. Basically, it acts like glue in your arteries and makes the average person more than 60% likely to have a heart attack or stroke even if your other blood numbers like LDL and HDL are fine. Lovely, huh?

I'm still completely aware that this time bomb is ticking in my veins. But yet I continue to eat crap and not exercise. Two years ago, I was as fit as I'd been since high school, working out, eating well. Now...not so much.

I just don't know how to pull myself out of this slump, other than not allowing myself to buy any new clothes. So if you see me, I will be in very tight underwear in one of the XXL t-shirts we have stashed away for me to use as nightshirts. And stilettos. Because no matter how big I get, I can still wear fantastic shoes.

Going to the dogs

The last week or two has been a total whirlwind around here. Having a puppy is somewhat like having a newborn all over again, only babies don't usually piss on your carpet.

Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Nick is such a wonderful dog. Sweet, playful, snuggly, smart...I could go on and on about how great he is. Even Rufus is warming up to him slowly but surely. Yesterday, he actually kissed Nick a few times - and anyone that knows him will agree with me that Rufus is a Love Miser. He is notoriously stingy with love and it's a major deal if he gives anyone or anything a kiss. So I'm taking this as a positive sign, at least until I make sure he's not testing Nick to see how tasty he is.

One of the most interesting things about this experience is that I'm getting to know so many people through this. When we got Rufus, the breeder was in Maryland and an older lady who really wasn't the warm and fuzzy type. And really, she had sort of had Rufus dumped on her and didn't have a personal attachment to him at all.

I really wanted to avoid that experience this time, and lo and behold not only did I find Nick's grandmas Janet and Penni to be wonderful people, but a whole group of other corgi lovers who have been so welcoming and warm. I feel so, so lucky not only to have welcomed Nick into my life, but to have met so many great people is just the cherry on the sundae.

Mmmm...sundae.

Okay, refocusing! Anyway, there really hasn't been too much going on around here other than trying to make sure the dogs are acclimated and no one chews up too much stuff. Rufus has taken it as his personal mission to steal anything Nick shows an interest in and hide it...then Nick finds it and hides it...and Rufus finds it...and Nick finds it....

We have done a crapload of work in the yard. Last year, with my dad being sick and having to travel down to The Land that Time Forgot almost every weekend, the yard went to crap so we have a lot to do. It looks fantastic. Maybe even so fantastic that we will actually keep up with it when it's a million degrees outside. Actually, when that happens we will probably be painting the inside of the house, which needs some serious help. As of March 1st, we have been in the house six years and way beyond the life span of the paint. It's bad. If the dogs could hold paint rollers...

I hate leftovers

As in leftover fried brain and exhaustion.

We rolled back in from Chattanooga this morning around 1 AM.

Nick finally fell asleep around 3 AM after howling in protest at his sleeping arrangement.

He slept in the guestroom bed with me.

I KNOW. I WILL LIVE TO REGRET IT.

I'm still feeling kind of foggy, and a little stressed out over trying to keep Rufus happy while this interloper has come into his home. It's about to worry Monkey Man to death because he wanted there to be rainbows and unicorns and two corgis holding paws and skipping into the sunset. Yeah, it will probably never happen, because corgis can't skip. Overall though, Rufus has exceeded our expectations for coexisting peacefully with Nick.

And Nick is just the sweetest, sweetest thing ever. I emailed Janet today to let her know how happy we are to have him.

Here's hoping to get some sleep, because I know tomorrow I'm going to actually have to have some brain cells available for my job.

Fried brain with a side of exhaustion

The last two days have kicked my rear end, so sorry for not getting to the second installment of the UW Saga. I promise it will be good, and I don't want to half-ass it.

Yesterday, I got an email from the Fortune 100 company that I applied with that I'm moving into the next phase of the process. After I regained my composure and changed my undies, I spent a few hours with my friend that recommended me for the position going over the job duties, the corporate lingo, and all that good stuff. My mind was absolutely on overload last night.

I also had to basically throw together an article on a recycling plant tour that I took, oh, back in the fall. The marketing department was nice enough to give me a few hours' notice (note heavy sarcasm) but overall the article turned out pretty nice. Well, except for the picture of my big fat butt on the Internet. Talk about an ego killer.

Today it was fixing accounting issues, returning subcontracts, and preparing to be gone after lunchtime tomorrow. This is the big weekend where we bring Nick home. I probably won't sleep a wink tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or Saturday night, but for a whole different reason since Nick will be alone for the first time in his little life.

So, since I feel a migraine aura circling my eyes, I'm going to bid you hasta lasagna.

My eyes are falling out of my head

We made it back from our Vegas trip safe and sound. No one was injured, no one got more sick than they already were, and no one got food poisoning. I think we can classify this trip as a success! Yay! Yay! Yay! The only real casualty was one of the "feet" on my large hideous hot pink suitcase was ripped off, so it tilts like the Leaning Tower of Pisa and is destined to a new home at the landfill.

Do you hear that? It's Joey, yelling Yay! Yay! Yay! to the demise of the suitcase. Nothing diminishes the power of your Man Card like carrying a hot pink suitcase.

In an attempt to cram even more crazy into our lives, we decided to take the red-eye back on Saturday night so we'd have all day Sunday to hang with the Monkey Man. In all honesty, I still can't decide if this was the smartest thing we've ever done, or the dumbest idea in history.

Our flight was scheduled to leave Vegas at 11:30 on Saturday night. My mind was racing with all of the delicious possibilities of all the things we could do with a whole day to ourselves (everyone else left on Friday or early Saturday). Sleep late? Enjoy a decadent day shopping at the Forum Shops? Gamble a little? Gamble a lot?

We ended up waking up ungodly early - 6:45 AM! Ate breakfast, packed our stuff to drop it off at the bell desk so they could hold it for us, and then gambled a bit. Joey won over $800, which is a good thing because it offset all the losses from the previous three days. Oops. We had lunch and then couldn't figure out what the heck to do. At one point we sat at a bar and couldn't even decide if we should drink alcohol or not because we didn't want to get sick on the plane. Pathetic. We were tired, our feet hurt, and we probably should've just headed for the airport to try and get home earlier.

But nooooo. Did I mention the part about wondering if this whole red-eye thing was stupid? We still stuck it out, and by the time we got on the plane I was cranky and at the point of exhaustion. Not to mention I looked like ass.

Jethro, the drunk redneck from the rural South, happened to sit behind me with his equally drunk redneck friend. Now, I love me some drunk rednecks, but not when I am sleep-deprived and they keep poking the touch-screen behind my headrest. I think I may have gotten a wee bit of sleep, but not nearly enough. We landed in Atlanta at 6:30 AM, ate a pathetic breakfast at TGIFriday's (how do you eff up pancakes?) and then sat at the gate in a stupor just waiting to get on board.

The flight between Atlanta and Richmond was possibly the most sound sleep I've had in my life. Amazing, fantastic, wonderfully blissful sleep. Too bad it only lasted about 40 minutes. I was ready to storm the cockpit and ask them to circle the RIC a few more times just to get some more shuteye.

We struggled through the rest of the day yesterday, slept fitfully last night, and today I was like the walking dead. What happened to the days when I could stay up for days on end?

Unfortunately, no sleep yet. I need to Swiffer up the mountains of dog hair, vacuum, straighten up, and throw in some more laundry. No rest for the wicked. I tried to train Rufus how to use the Swiffer himself, but he is protesting on the grounds that Swiffer descriminates against critters with no legs. And no opposable thumbs.

Don't put me down with a pat-down

Tomorrow, I'm off for Chattanooga to see if I can find a little furry friend to call my very own. If you hear a high-pitched squealing on Friday night, that's me.

Here's hoping the travel gods and goddesses smile on me. No lost luggage (almost always happens), no missed connections, no flat tires on my rental car, and for heaven's sakes, not another pat-down like I got in the Bahamas. I guess I look like a drug smuggler or something, because the other two people picked were Rastafarians. That woman got so up and personal with me I think she knew my name and address and if I was ovulating or not.

Have a great weekend, y'all, and there will absolutely be pictures when I get back. Squeeeeee!

Maybe being sick isn't a bad thing

And again, I am posting this from the vast expanses of my kitchen which is a mess of dirty dishes, uneaten Tater Tots and pill bottles. I ran a fever all night, and woke up at 4 AM with a sick Monkey who now has strep throat too. Seems like last February all over again, except instead of calling this movie "Groundhog Day" I'm going to call it "Strep Diagnosis and Never-Ending Copays." Kind of wordy but it might catch on at the box office.

I haven't posted much about the office in quite a while, mostly because they came up with the genius idea of our company joining this millenium and starting its own blog and Facebook page. Which then resulted in the powers-that-be coming up with an internet policy that says we're not allowed to blog during work hours or write anything company-related. Hmm. I guess I could push the envelope and see, but since work is really more of a hobby than an occupation I haven't really had much to write about. Well, let me restate that - I've had lots to write about, but reliving my daily torture really isn't good for the soul.

Layoffs started again yesterday. Luckily, they laid off two of our most impulsive and demented field employees who will probably arrive mid-afternoon on Thursday with pistols blazin' and taking swigs of Mad Dog as they rampage through the office. And by luckily, I mean that at least we would expect this behavior from them so we're kind of ready for it. Not to mention I'm on the executive level on the back side of the building, so I'll have time to run down the back stairs before they shoot my ass. Both of them actually liked me though, so I'd probably get a free pass. I hope.

More will be coming. And I know this is terrible, but I'm almost crossing my fingers that I will be chosen. I was on the short list last year and was saved. But we're out of work, we're not picking up any new work, and honestly they're not going to pay me just to sit there and look cute. I mean, they already do that but I actually have enough to do to look busy.

What would I do if I got laid off? I dunno. I have a resume in to a Fortune 100 company that is pending an interview and they are notoriously slow in hiring. I might pull Monkey out of The World's Most Expensive After-Care Program and try the stay-at-home gig for a while. I might find something part-time that is local so I don't spend my days commuting anymore. I might start writing again. I might go back to school and try something else for a change.

Just for fun, though, I've been thinking of some possible new career paths for myself.

1. Midget Stripper: Okay, so I have that whole height thing working against me. But there's a definite lack in this city of midget strippers. Did you know that in order to get one, you have to import them from D.C.? I see a definite market here.

2. Construction Cleaning Company: I've thought about this one for a while. Hire the hottest women I can find who might do a half-assed cleaning job and call it "Dirty Girls". What red-blooded American male construction company wouldn't hire them? EXACTLY. And would they care if they didn't do a good job? You can bet your Daisy Dukes they wouldn't.

3. Personal shopper: For myself. Hey, don't judge. I need stuff too.

4. Model for David Yurman: As long as it comes with free bling, I'll model wearing nothing but two bandaids and a tissue. Hope David doesn't mind a few stretch marks.

Any other suggestions? I'm all ears.

Corgi stalker

Hi, my name is Liz. And I have a Corgi addiction.

(Hi, Liz!)

So, if you followed me over here either from the C-Myste blog or from my comments on one of a zillion corgi blogs, hi! And if you're one of my regular readers (all two of you), bear with me while I rhapsodize about The Corgi.

We've had Rufus, a.k.a. Da Woof, Woofenheimer, Roof-roof, Midget Hound, Rotten Hound, Woofa Bear, and The Long-Haired, Short-Legged Great American Trash Hound for about eleven years now. Or maybe twelve. That is up for debate here at Casa Builder Mama. He is a Cardigan Welsh Corgi straight from York, England. It's kind of a long story how we got him, but he's ours and despite the fact he's probably more cat-like than dog-like, we love him.

I have had a corgi obsession forever. I love them - all colors, shapes, sizes, you name it. I prefer Cardigans (the ones with the tail) more than Pembrokes, probably because I just think a dog needs a tail. Period.

Corgis are kind of rare here in the South. Everyone and their brother has a Labrador or a Golden Retriever or some sort of hunting dog. I had one instance where I took Rufus somewhere and a woman actually asked me if he was a small German Shepherd with surgically altered legs. Seriously? If I had that kind of money, I'd be getting a tummy tuck and a boob job, not sawing a dog's legs off.

Just to show you how unusual it is to see one, I went to a local dog bakery to acquire a fancy birthday cake for His Royal Highness and lo and behold - there was a Cardigan Welsh Corgi there! I squealed like a Justin Bieber fan, knocked a bunch of old ladies out of the way, and probably scared the poor owner to death by mauling her in the store. Luckily, she didn't have her stun gun with her and she was very tolerant of my questions and the fact I was all over her dog. He was absolutely adorable and had the softest Corgi coat ever (attributed to New Zealand bloodlines, whaddaya know? And I thought my British import was fancy.).

Lately, I have been plotting and planning to (hopefully) acquire a new furry member of the family. I hope it all comes to fruition, because I will be crushed if it doesn't. And I will be reduced to lurking outside the dog bakery, waiting for that poor New Zealand import to come wandering in again, completely unaware that some nutty woman is hiding behind the chihuahua tutus, just waiting....

Letting go, and moving on

How do you decide when it's time to let go of a friendship?

That is something I've been struggling with for a while now. I know that friendships aren't always 50/50...sometimes they tilt 90/10, but eventually find their way back to the middle. But what if that shift never seems to happen?

What if you tell the friend that you can't accept they way they've been treating you? And by that, I mean almost bullying you at times. Not acknowledging that you have feelings about anything at all - let alone how they have personally been treating you. That conversations take a sharp roller-coaster ride with gut-twisting turns and twists, always dissolving into shouting and phones hanging up and bad feelings. Then later - it could be days, weeks, or months later - the friend will text or call with "I miss you" and it starts all over.

We're always on good behavior at first. Always. The honeymoon period will last for months until the bullshit starts up again. I bite my tongue until it's bloody and finally I snap.

I realized recently that the stress this friendship is creating is really creating havoc with my health. I've had to bump up my anxiety medication twice in the last year (and yes, part of it was my father's illness but most of it wasn't). I've had sleepless nights, stomach problems, grinding/clenching my teeth, chest pains, and the list goes on and on. I feel like I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it's agonizing.

Since our last blow-up, I haven't had the first chest pain. My shoulders have finally unknotted. My jaw isn't sore from clenching. I have slept like a rock. I feel like the biggest rock has been lifted from my back.

That tells me that I have to let go. For good this time.

I say that every time we fight like this. But I think this time, I have to listen to my head instead of my heart and realize that our friendship is toxic. It doesn't mean that I don't love my friend...no, not at all. It just means that I have to love myself more this time.

2010, parting is not sweet sorrow

So this year pretty much sucked ass. I think Queen Elizabeth hit the nail on the head that year she dubbed it Annus Horriblis.

Right after my last post, I spent a few days in self-wallowing pity thinking about all the bad things that have happened this year. When you put them in a list, it's pretty bad. I always thought of myself as having such a charmed life, and I guess it finally caught up with me this year.

The biggest change was the loss of my father. Even today, four months later, I can barely think of him without growing teary. I was so lucky to be able to spend so much time with him in the months before he died. I think we said all that needed to be said to each other. There were no regrets. I just miss him so, so much.

I won't categorize the rest of the shitstorm because, well, it just isn't worth all that. What is worth it is that I survived. We survived. And we are moving forward.

This has been a year of strengthening old friendships - some that I thought had faded away with time, some that have always been there, some that have weathered storms between us. It's also been a year of finding surprising new friendships that are natural and comfortable like your favorite pair of shoes. It's been a year of finding out who my true friends are and letting the rest fall away.

Most of all, this was the year that my family was reunited. We circled our wagons when times got tough and rediscovered each other - the good and the bad. Mostly the good. I think a lot of old baggage was finally unpacked and put away for good. And we discovered that even with our age differences, differences in politics, religion, lifestyle choices, and just about everything else - that our love for each other and our parents really overruled all that other bullshit. It feels good. No, it feels great.

What will 2011 bring? Well, other than (hopefully) a new furry addition to our family, all I can hope for is for a better year. I have high hopes. Either that, or I am still as delusional as ever.

Goodbye, 2010. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Since we've been on water restrictions due to lack of rain, I guess Mother Nature thought it would be a great idea to catch us up all at once. I had to drive my ark to work this morning.

For people like me with naturally curly hair, rain and humidity are my enemies. No amount of product can stop my hair from gaining a life of its own, creating crazy lumps, bumps, curls and frizz. For everyone that wishes they had curly hair, I will give you mine for a week and then make it rain every other day and be hot and humid as well. You'll be begging for your hair back.

Last week we were lucky enough to go back to Cabo for a few days. Joey and his partner won a trip through one of their manufacturers where the guys sportfish for two days and have a pseudo-tournament, while the wives sit around and get drunk and lay in the sun. I didn't really do the drunk or sun thing, I slept a lot and went to a fantastic spa one day where they piped in Affirmitive Thoughts through earphones while she exfoliated my face. So not only did I get my pores cleaned, I can now do ANYTHING. It was like seeing a shrink and getting a facial and massage.

On Saturday, we rented a car and drove up the coast to Todos Santos and La Paz. Todos Santos is a little town where the Hotel California is located - you know, THE Hotel California of Eagles' fame. Or, as my husband's partner put it, "where they dropped a lot of acid and wrote some great songs." The town is full of little galleries with local crafts and some really fantastic deals. I bought myself a beautiful glazed pot, and for one of my friends I bought a shotglass with two people humping behind a cactus. Quite a diverse selection, I might say.

La Paz was...well, kind of a bust. Malcolm (the partner) was determined that there was an old historical section of the city we could walk around in. However, the fact that there are few street signs and the map didn't show all the streets - and he refused to ask for directions - left us driving in circles all over. I was a hot mess by the time we got out of the city.

One strange thing about our trip is that we saw a dead guy. A lot of the major roads are under construction right now while they expand to 4-lane highways, so the place is either a disaster or the roads are great. Between Todos Santos and La Paz had the best road, but as we pulled into the good part of the highway we saw an accident with a stakebody truck with riders in the back had overturned and one poor guy had basically imploded on the pavement. Everyone was just standing around looking at him from about 20 feet away with looks on their faces like, "well damn, that sucks!" No emergency vehicles, nothing. It was bizarre. By the time we came back two hours later, all traces of the accident were gone.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Monkey Man broke his right ring finger right at the joint the day before we left for Cabo. That night, the x-rays didn't show much but the sitter took him back Thursday and damn if it wasn't broken. My Monday was spent at the orthopaedic surgeon having an evaluation to see if the growth plate was involved and then getting a cast that goes almost all the way to his elbow. I guess the good thing is that there's no surgery. The bad thing is that he can't really write so I have turned into his scribe and the amount of homework is enough to make a saint cry. Nice return from a restful vacation, huh?

So that's about all. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to make sure my ark is still tethered to the tree outside.

Fart machine or whoopie cushion?

Today was the first day of school for Monkey Man at his new school. We elected to send him to the center-based gifted program that our county provides, despite the fact that he was going to have to change schools. On one hand, I am excited because he will get a much broader exposure to school subjects than the regular curriculum. On the other hand, any kind of change that involves his education makes me weak in the knees.

So far, so good. His biggest complaint was that the cafeteria was out of ketchup and he had to eat his cheeseburger without any. The horrors!

*****

I left home this morning feeling pretty good about things - new blouse, new bracelet (a very un-office-like bracelet covered in purple shiny stones), and hopes that Tuesday (or Monday, Part II - The Revenge) wouldn't be quite so bad. At one point while I was in Starbucks with every other human in the county, Joey called and left me a voice mail. I got back in the car and called him back without even checking the voice mail...then decided it would be a good idea to actually check my voice mail since I'd been pretty much ignoring everyone who calls me lately.

First message - Joey. Second message - hangup. Third message - Diana, my friend since third grade calling to check on me. I got kind of teary-eyed listening. Fourth message - Joey again. Okay, that was done...oh wait, there are eight saved messages?

I zipped through all until I got to number six.

"Hello Liz, it's Dad. Just calling to check in, just got back from physical therapy and wanted to let you know everything is going okay. Talk to you later. Bye."

I carefully saved it, then almost ran up on the curb since I was blinded by hot tears.

*****

I spent the rest of my work day moving piles around on my desk and surfing the internet looking for...well, I don't know. I think between the shock of the voice mail and the nerves of the first day of school, my brain went on total overload and decided it would be way more fun to just do nothing. Maybe have a Malibu and pineapple, but they frown on that at work.

I've always thought of myself as a fairly resilient person. Never one to get down for long, I try to find humor in the darkest times. I was the court jester of the nursing home, making the other patients and nurses laugh and trying to keep my dad smiling. I pulled out all the stops, just short of using a fart machine. I didn't think my mother would find that very amusing at all, since she always claimed my dad was the human equivalent of one.

The fart machine could really come in handy right now. The wind is out of my sails today.

Snow, snow, and more snow

I got back last Sunday night, so emotionally drained that I headed into the week already feeling a heavy weight on my chest.

Overall, the visit to my parents' went well, save the screaming match I had with the dumbass redneck that lives next door. Last year, he had to go to court numerous times because he had a dangerous dog he allowed to run loose and even though the dog bit my cousin Keith (totally unprovoked) the idiot still wouldn't keep his dog in the fence. Finally, the county forced him to either put the dog to sleep or he was going to jail for violating the "dangerous dog" laws. Now the jerk has not one, not two, but at least three dogs (and I suspect four) one of which is a huge harlequin Great Dane who suddenly last weekend started charging at my parents out in the yard and growling at them. Well, after a few instances I decided that I'd had enough and charged over there and let the guy have it with both barrels. My mom and sister joined in on the fun and finally Billy Badass tucked tail and ran back to his house. The next morning I looked out the window and he had "No Trespassing" and "Dog on Premises" signs all over his yard. Um, hello dumbass - first, I didn't come into YOUR yard, secondly it's YOUR DOG coming into OUR yard. But you know, anyone that brags in the courtroom that he's above the law really is just as stupid as they seem. Hurumph.

My poor Aunt MaryAnn had a few mini-strokes so she has been whisked back to Maryland to live with her daughter. That leaves my Aunt Hazel, who has Alzheimers, to be alone again. For now, my mother and my Aunt Rubye are taking turns on Hazel duty while they find a place that will take her. It's not easy finding care for someone with Alzheimers. It's a full-time job, really, caring for them. And she's in excellent health so it's not like she really needs nursing care either. But we're moving forward, slowly but surely.

One funny thing that happened is that my sister Kathie brought down the yummiest chocolate chip cookies. Seriously, it had been so long since I had a damn cookie that wasn't made from tree bark that I lovingly held one, caressed it, had a moment and then wolfed it down. My Aunt Hazel hesitatingly tried one and then said she was full. Later on, I kept hearing rustling in the kitchen and I asked my mother what the hell my aunt was doing. Well, the kitchen window looks directly across to Hazel's house next door so Mom thought Hazel was just looking over at her house. I kept hearing it...zip...zip...zip...zip...finally, I went in there to discover her caught with her hand in the cookie bag. She had eaten 20 freaking cookies in about an hour. Good thing she's not only terribly skinny but with all her incessant roaming she burns off everything about a minute after she eats it.

Anyhow, the trip turned out okay and I came home and piled into bed for the rest of the night. Exhausting.

*****

Monkey Man ended up with strep again last week, so I had two days at home to get into all kinds of stuff. I worked on my recipe for whole wheat chocolate chip cookies, caught up on the Mount Everest of laundry, and did a lot of reading and bad kid-movie watching. I was useless.

Yesterday we got at least a foot of snow, probably more. Again, more of the same - eating, laundry, a lot of Facebook time (probably more than I have since I signed onto that blasted time-sucker). In a bit, as soon as it gets closer to 30 degrees, we'll try to get the driveway finished and maybe venture forth to see how the roads are. I can already predict school will be closed at least the next day if not two days. Yay.

*****

This weekend I also started working on my new venture, which as soon as I get it going well I will definitely share. It's something I've been thinking about for at least a year, and now it's time to get serious about it. Or at least get off my ass and give it a try.

Stay warm, peeps!

New year, more bitching. New and improved!

Well, hello there! Where the hell have you been?

You know I have to turn this around on you. Because another pathetic apology for not posting just isn't gonna happen.

I've missed you guys. And I'm out of flex spending money for therapy, so there you go.

*****

Just to give you an idea of how things have been for the last few months - it's pretty pathetic that the success of your day is measured by whether you're on the employee phone list or not. It's almost like a daily dose of Russian roulette to see if a new phone list is sent out and hey, am I on it or not?

I have to admit, there are some days when I'm disappointed that they don't hand me a box and tell me to get out. Living in limbo for the last year has really sucked.

A week ago, they let Brandon go and let me and EPOD know in no uncertain terms that we were on the bubble as well. I am probably safer than EPOD is, but not by much. That job I inherited - or rather, had shoved down my throat - back in August literally saved my ass. For now.

*****

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, things were kicking along. I turned 40 and celebrated with a trip to Florida for a long weekend that turned out to be possibly the rainiest five days in Florida's history. Have you ever ridden on a roller coaster in the pouring rain? It's kind of like a swiss shower at a spa. Unfortunately, sitting around in a wet poncho in the humidity makes you feel like you're in a Reynolds Oven Bag.

Two days after my birthday, I got an email from my brother Dave - remember the one who had the heart issues that kept him from coming for my dad's birthday in July? Well, Mr. Health Nut Vegetarian, Bike-Until-My-Testicles-Scream ended up having to have an angioplasty due to some blockages in two of his arteries. The doctors were baffled so they ran a barrage of tests and he found out what the problem is and his doctor strongly advised that his siblings get tested too, because it's genetic.

And, as the winner of the My Life is Crap This Year Lottery, I have it too. It's called elevated Lp(a), which is a lipoprotein in your blood that acts like plaque and causes clogs. Even if your LDL and HDL cholesterol numbers are good, or even great, we are still 65% more likely to have a heart attack or stroke than your average person.

Well, happy birthday to me.

What does this mean for me? Well, basically a whole lifestyle change. Low fat, high fiber, lots of exercise, and medication for the rest of my life. The good news is we caught it early before I got as bad as my brother - his level is quadruple what mine is. So I feel pretty good about my chances.

It's not a death sentence, it's a life change. Or at least that's what I remind myself as I'm choking down whatever concoction I've dreamed up in my efforts to make something that tastes good and is good for me.

*****

I could go on and on, but that's pretty much where I've been. Nothing like a good health scare and possible unemployment to derail you. But I'm still plugging along. Working on my inside and my outside. And making plans for the future.

If you're still around, get ready for some low-fat, high fiber goodness with a side of bitchiness.

Bubbling up

Today is a rainy, overcast day and I am home with a boy who is snotty and coughing but able to bust a move to his favorite song on the ESPN recaps. Not that I mind, because honestly a day off is just what the doctor ordered - a much-needed chance to actually sit down and collect myself from the craziness that has been the last few months.

First, thanks to everyone who emailed, called, sent Facebook messages. I am fine. Now.

I finally went to the doc about my chest pains (yet again) and after getting my ticker checked by a cardiologist it was determined that my heart is fine. My head, not so much. I had been going to an acupuncturist for a few months to see if it helped out my stress levels and honestly, it did help for a while but then I realized when she cut me back to every other week that I was back at square one again. It was time to get help.

So Dr. W put me on Celexa. So far, so good. Once I got past the first few weeks of feeling scatterbrained all the time I settled into what is probably close to the New Normal as I'm calling it. I still have stress but not nearly as bad - which honestly, I don't mind it as long as I'm not doubled over with pain or unable to function like I had been. Emotion is not a bad thing as long as it's not disabling me from living my life.

My dad - well, God bless him, he turned 87 on July 31st with a big birthday party. My brother Dave was unable to come from Seattle due to some heart issues that weren't resolved in time for him to safely fly, but the rest of us were there and it was a fantastic day. My siblings and I all gave speeches and we had lots of hugs and laughs and a few tears.

He is doing okay. It seems like the doctors put him on new medicines that work for a few weeks and then he is so sick from the side effects that it leaves him unable to function. Then he goes off the meds and is suddenly better again. The other weekend he asked me to read through the prospectus for a clinical trial that his doctor wanted him to participate in. Honestly, even at my age I don't think I would want to participate when there is zero guarantee that he wouldn't be in the placebo group...so I told him that I didn't think it was a good idea. He seemed relieved, and that's really all that matters to me. What good is quantity of life if the quality sucks ass? Yeah, not so much. Last week the doctor pulled yet another chemical rabbit out of his hat and started him on a new combination of medicines so it's yet another wait-and-see. His spirits are good though, and he hasn't lost his devilish sense of humor.

Work has been nuts. Three weeks ago I was assigned to a new project - well, let's just say that the old PA got pulled off because apparently she's too busy blowing one of the owners to actually do her job - and this project is a federal job for a facility that is for one of the three-letter agencies that I am not going to write out for fear of being Googled or whatever those creepy people do. Anyhow, she hadn't done jack for 3 months so guess who has been shoveling that shithole out? Yup, me. Good thing for the meds is all I have to say. So this is working for a different project manager and another team in addition to EPOD and Brandon. Egads.

Oh, and I joined a gym. Have been working out with a trainer and trying to whip my old ass into shape. I am really enjoying it, actually. You wouldn't believe how great it has been for stress management, although trying to keep up with a bunch of 20-somethings in one of the classes just about killed me the other day.

And lastly, I got some resolution in an estrangement with a friend that happened a few months ago. We're taking it slowly, little tiny baby steps. But what else can you do when someone texts you with "I miss my friend"? Especially when you miss them too. You pick up the phone, you say what you have to say, and you agree to try again.

Baby steps, baby steps. It seems as though I am learning to walk all over again, and trying desperately not to fall.

It seems like it all turned out all right

Saturday night, when I was sitting in my cousin Laura's living room getting a dose of psychotherapy (and interrupting her poor husband's movie watching), my Blackberry started to go off like nobody's business. Finally, I picked it up to see what the hell was wrong and when I opened my Facebook application I just about dropped the phone. I think I was probably 12 shades of white and green too.

It was my ex-fiance.

I hadn't talked to him in 16 years.

We have exchanged a few emails since then. We've actually friended each other on Facebook. Joey is fully aware of this, and I haven't had the cojones to ask if his wife approves of this.

By the way, he is very happily married with three adorable kids. Living in North Carolina, owns his own business as some kind of "business coach" which sounds kind of sketchy but hey, I'm not married to him so what do I care?

Amazingly enough, he has been very kind and gracious. I wasn't really expecting that. In one email, he told me that the best thing that had ever happened to him was meeting his wife...and while it stung for a brief second, I felt a huge relief. I never was vain enough to think I ruined his life or anything dramatic like that, but I did worry about him and hope that he had gone on to find the happiness that he deserved. That he had wanted with me and that I couldn't give him. That I have now.

The result all of this is that it's opened up a part of my life that I have never talked about with a lot of my friends. I've also had to explain to Monkey Man that yes, Mommy at one time was going to marry someone else other than Daddy but thankfully she came to her senses. Or something like that. I've had to listen to my mother rehash a careless comment that my ex made in front of her 18 years ago that she's never forgotten or forgiven him for.

And the strangest part of all...seeing him now, and realizing that egads...I dodged a bullet. The years have NOT been kind to him and his appearance. His employment history has been somewhat sketchy which would have been really hard to live through. His parents are still super involved in his life to the point they still try to run it for him. Hell, I have my hands full with my in-laws but they certainly don't try to run our lives for us.

Overall, though, I'm glad that I heard from him again. It's good to put that part of my life to rest and realize that we both went on to meet people that we were far happier with and that love us unconditionally. And maybe that was the best gift we ever gave each other.

Pass the ketchup. And a fork, too.

I have to say, hands down, that my Mother's Day was probably the best one ever.  

But let's not be so hasty, because you know there had to be something that went wrong that weekend, right?  Oh yeah.  A Forced In-Law Interaction.

We had originally worked out that we were going to meet the Outlaws for lunch somewhere halfway between our house and their house, mostly because we had a baseball game at 10 AM on Saturday and plans with friends for Sunday.  Not that I really wanted to drive over an hour for lunch with people I strongly dislike, but I figured as long as Sunday remained unscathed and there wasn't the traditional Mother-In-Law Meltdown that I would suck it up.  Not to mention it had been a few months since I'd had to see them, so I really didn't see a way out of it.

By Friday night, however, their plans had changed.  They decided that they wanted to come up and watch Monkey Man's baseball game and then we would go to lunch.  Oh, great.  So Joey gave them explicit directions on how to get to the ball field and what time the game was and all that jazz.

To add to the stress of the morning, we were responsible for supplying drinks and snacks for the team that day - of course.  So after a stop for ice and making sure we had everything together, we hit the road and were running probably ten minutes late heading to the field.  That's when the phone calls started.  

At one point, thirty minutes after the game started, Joey tossed me his phone after his mother had already called six times because they couldn't find the field.  By the time they called again I figured out that they were driving up and down the street right outside of the entrance to the ball field.  The one with the six-foot sign.  That they couldn't find.

So I'm trying to watch the game, give directions, and keep an eye out for them when I finally see my mother-in-law come waddling down the pathway.  In her typical ADD manner she has forgotten - yet again - not only what field the team is on, but what school he plays for and what color the team's uniform is.  Since I had just told her for at least the third time when she got in the parking lot.  She announces that my father-in-law is not coming to the field because it's too far to walk.  

Well, great.

At this point, one of the other parents, feeling like they are being helpful, tells my mother-in-law that there is another parking lot closer to the field where maybe she could move the car.  But instead of HER walking over to look, she asks me to do it.  I found a few parking spots there, but honestly had no clue exactly how to tell her to get to said parking lot.  

To sum this up, she moves the car...and he still refuses to come to the field because now 20 feet is too far.  

Kill me now.

After the game, we ended up going to lunch.  My mother-in-law picked O'Charleys, which if you are not familiar with it is a chain similar to a Bennigans or something like that.  Nothing exotic, just plain ol' American food.  By the time my mother-in-law chose something off the menu - twenty-five minutes after we got our drinks - I was ready to stick a fork in my eye just to be excused from the table.  

Did I mention she ordered the till-a-pee-a?  You know what that is, right?  She ordered the cedar-planked tilapia, which she not only butchered the name of, but also smothered in Heinz ketchup.  

My father-in-law ordered ribs, which he ate with his fingers.  Which would've been okay if he hadn't also eaten his steamed broccoli with his fingers too.  Pretty sad when your seven-year-old has better table manners than a grown-ass adult.

The highlight of lunch, other than the skillful preparation of the till-a-pee-a, was my mother-in-law's 20-minute story about buying a lightbulb for her office.  You know, she only needed one fluorescent tube so she had to drive into town...got to the store where they had six individual tubes, or a carton of 20 tubes.  And how hard it was to decide whether to buy the six individual tubes, or the carton of 20.  And how then the six had to be wrapped.  And the drive back to the office.  And then how she tripped in the parking lot and fell, gashing her elbows and knees open - but, dammit, the lightbulbs made it unbroken.  Wow.  

It was at that point where I stuck a fork in my other eye.

On Mother's Day, we went to Busch Gardens with two of the Badasses, their spouses and kids.  We had a freaking blast.  The weather was gorgeous, the kids all got along, and everyone had a great time.  

It was almost worth sticking a fork in my eye.  And watching someone slather Heinz all over their till-a-pee-a.

Mental vomit

Day Three and I realized with some horror - after the post office had closed for the day, of course - that I haven't mailed the first Mother's Day card.  Oops.  

My Drunk Friday for tomorrow has been ruined yet again by stupid adult responsibilities.  Of course the only opening the washing machine repairman had other than NEXT THURSDAY was tomorrow between 1 and 5 PM.  Of course.  I hope he doesn't mind if I'm sitting in my living room drinking Mike's Hard Pomegranate Lemonades while he works.  If he's hot, I'll even offer him one.

Monkey Man is wearing his favorite pajamas - they have freaking Spongebob all over them, and they are hideous.  He adores them to the point he wanted to wear them to Pajama Day during school spirit week and I had to ixnay that idea.  Not a good idea to show off the package to the ladies, my friend.  There are some things that are better left to the imagination.

I have been planning all week to pick out a paint color for my kitchen which desperately needs painting, ideally while we can open the windows and it's not 110 degrees outside.  And yet, every time I bust out the paint deck my palms start to sweat and I get panicky.  I think I have commitment issues.   No, I don't think I do - I know I do.

You know you have crazy friends when  you get an email from one of them saying, "Raise your hand if you got drunk and rode a mechanical bull for three hours.  My thighs are killing me.  But I am totally getting one of those for my house."  

And now, it's time for me to collapse into a heap.  I spent most of last night watching tornado warnings and waffling between just going to sleep and hoping for the best, bringing Monkey Man down into my bed to I didn't have to try and get him out of bed if I happened to hear an actual tornado, and sheer terror.  I probably just should've had a few shots of bourbon and called it a night.

White trash, or don't eff with my cans, yo

Here we are on Day two, and no one has perished yet in the absence of Joey.  Except, perhaps, my 4-year old washing machine which has a very odd electrical burning smell and won't advance past the rinse cycle.  

I am envisioning mountains of laundry by the time the effers get out here to fix the thing.  Leave it to me to get some off-the-wall brand of washer instead of a damn Whirlpool or something.  With the amount it's been raining here in the past week, however, I could probably just lay our clothes out on the grass and let good ol' Mother Nature do her stuff.  Of course then there's the thought of the dog taking a crap on one of my BCBG blouses so maybe that's not such a great idea after all.

Did I tell y'all what happened with our trash collection last week?  Oh yeah, this is a good one.  So we have had a certain provider for the past, oh, EIGHT YEARS and about two months ago I got an email from them asking if I'd like to be put on their paperless billing program.  As an alleged tree hugger, I'm all about saving paper where I can (not to mention hello, I pay most of my bills online anyway) so I eagerly signed up for it.

Well...apparently our stellar IT filters caught my invoice up in there somewhere so I never got it nor did it appear on my "gotcha" emails that the server generates every few hours.  As in, I get an email that shows (or supposedly does) all of the spam that is headed for my account and then I can choose to release it to my email or just ignore it and it goes away.  

Last Wednesday, I got home from work to a voice mail from the trash company saying that they were coming to abscond with my trash cans due to "nonpayment of your account" - namely, I'm a trash deadbeat and they were hoofin' off with my cans, yo.  But they were unable to remove the cans due to "a dog that is in your yard" namely Rufus who was probably snarling and chasing their asses all the way back up the driveway.  Which actually, one of the cans smelled like something had died in there so the thought of them taking that particular can was pretty appealing.  But I gathered my senses...attempted to call their office which had closed a mere three minutes before...and then got online to their website and paid up my account.  

Thursday morning, I got on the phone first thing with my confirmation number for payment and called the trash company's office to tell them what had happened.  Obviously, the customer service representative either had her period or was just an overall flaming bitch, because she basically told me that A.) I could explain it a thousand times but look, yo, I've heard these stories all week from you deadbeat people, and B.) If I did want to continue with their stellar, unparalleled trash service then it would cost me $25 to reactivate my account.  

For reals?  $25 to keep the trash service going when I had accidentally not paid my bill?  Wow.  What a bargain.  Not to mention that not only was I a residential customer of this company, but I usually get my dumpsters through them too for work.  Talk about good customer relationships, huh?

So with a few choice words, I told her what she could do with her effing trash cans.  And that if they could get past Corgzilla in our driveway, they were welcome to come get them.  

And damn if I didn't get home that evening to find that we had no trash cans.   Oops.  Nothing like writing a check with your mouth that your ass can't cash.  And poor Rufus looked utterly defeated, so I can only imagine the hilarity that ensued when Frick and Frack showed up to take my (full) stinky trash cans.  Between them getting chased back up the driveway to them attempting to get my (full) stinky cans up in their truck, that was probably some Grade A neighborhood fodder right there.  

Luckily, said Trash Nazis don't corner the market here in the RVA, so I found someone else cheaper (yay!) that picks up on Wednesdays and we already have our beautiful new can that doesn't smell like ass.  

And this time, I'm not doing the paperless billing.