Frigid

So dad's house flooded. The sprinkler main (a really really huge high pressure pipe) in the ceiling of the condo above ours exploded in the 10 degree weather we have been having, and as soon as it thawed it rained thousands of gallons of water down through the entire upstairs unit and down into ours, through ours, into the store room....

I'm told it was a waterfall. The place has to be gutted.

I'm exhausted. Dealing with all this shit, with my sisters refusal to assist in any way.

The only good thing? Because it's not our pipe, or the neighbors pipe, it belongs to the entire association so our insurance doesn't apply. Why is that good? My sister hasn't paid the homeowners insurance since dad died.

I'm sure my surprise is tangible.

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Anyway, it's fucking cold, I'm exhausted, I'm tired, I can't sleep and I'm tired of every one's bullshit. I hate Christmas, I hate people, I hate pretending. I hate getting my feelings hurt for no reason, I hate being sensitive to things. I wish shit just didn't bother me, that I really didn't care about anything.

I wish that I didn't get mad, didn't want better than what I got. Sometimes I wish I was stupid, naive, selfish. Complacent.

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I just don't know when I'm going to see things in 'the light' rather than 'the reality/grim'. I don't know if I care.


I should be happy with my station in life.

Curiosity Killed the...Well, Nothing, Really.

So I did a little intel on J's new lady. I've found some things that would make the parents explode from within, taking out whole tracts of land and town with them.

Me? I don't really care. I'm interested in whether or not she's going through a 'phase' with some of this stuff, just flirting with it, or if she's gung-ho and keeping it a secret. Either way--Don't much care, but I can't say as I can not have judgements about it.

Whatever. I'm not making any sense. Email me and I'll explain it to you.

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My shoulders are all fucked up. Not good.

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My house smells like Ben-Gay. I'm not sure why.

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I've nearly knitted a blister into my pinkie finger on my right hand. Yet I cannot stop myself--there's so much knitting to be done before Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas....I'm over it already.

Peeeeektures

Photos, anyone?




Here's me with T's brother J (our housemate)on Thanksgiving. J's version of 'small mouth' leaves a bit to be desired. (I actually have no idea what he's doing here.)



Random wedding photo, taken by my cousin. My friend and excoworker's husband (hawaiian shirt), me, and my other cousin. (not a terribly flattering shot of him.)I suppose I should mention my sister who is in there as well.



Another random wedding pic, taken by my cousin. Note that there is no food in front of me, only wine. Indeed.



Official wedding photo. I just really like this one. (Barf.)



Back to Thanksgiving. T, me, J in the back, the beautiful SIL A next to me, and second to youngest bro D down below. Also featuring a wee bit of the wreckage that was my kitchen. This is like, the third in the series of us trying to all look normal and smile together so D's lovely lady could take the picture....and this is as good as it got. (We'd been drinking. It happens.)

And...I'm over it.

Socks

I spent a few months (!!??) knitting a pair of socks for my bestest friendy. She loves them, and that's what matters--especially since she was willing to forgive getting her birthday present for Christmas.

This also means that I am now free to knit the pairs to 2 single socks I have trolling around my knitting....heap. One is for my sister (uuugh.) and one is for my ex coworker and friend J. Guess which one I started first? I hope to finish J's sock ASAP (I'm on the heel already!) and then bang out the one for my sister so I can give it to her at Christmas.

Since, you know, my aunt told me and my cousin that she was going to call my sister and invite her to the last family holiday or some shit, so I decided to play the 'dear sweet baby sister' card and tell my sister that the house was being sold and whatever, since she already knew....right?

Wrong. I totally blew it. I told her, she didn't know, and now they're GOING. So whoopdee do.

My cousin said a very interesting thing today. He said that holidays, especially holidays after kids are grown/matriarchs and patriarchs have passed on, are a time when the 'clique-y lines in the sand' are drawn. When people make choices as to who in the family they like, and want to spend time with. Gone are the obligations, gone are the needs to prove anything....mostly.

Unless, of course, you're talking about my family, where if you offer a free meal and no need to help/bring anything, the whole crowd will show up. Also any opportunity to get gossip or dirt.

My sisters hate my aunt, hate me, don't get along with our cousins. Yet they're going to waylay staying home and doing Christmas together with my niece and nephews, people they seem to enjoy, to come spend the holiday in a crowd of people that can't stand them and vice versa. Because it's FREE! Because they won't have to COOK! Because they'll be WAITED ON and can attempt to glean insider information about me, auntie, cousins, whatever, to be used against us later.

I was by no real means looking forward to this holiday, but I wasn't inwardly cringing at the idea of spending a holiday with the 3 members of my blood family that I know love me (cousins). But now...Now I'm cringing. It's going to be me, my cousins (who are going to spend part of the holiday with their father), my aunt and uncle (delightful people though they are, ha) and my SISTERS.

Fuck, I may as well load the car with a case of whiskey and head over to my mom's place.

But I agreed to go, and now everyone is expecting me, so I will go. I want to spend one last holiday at that house. I suppose this just shows how much.

Cold

We put up the Christmas tree and it promptly snowed. Do Not Want. Thanks.

And now it's cold as hell in the house, and I am going to do nothing about it, because I have a husband with a nuclear reactor in his chest. (Seriously, this man runs at about 110 degrees, I swear.)

Has everyone seen the "Where the Hell is Matt" video? Totally adorable, happy making, and I may have cried.



Watch it!

Also: Imogen Heap. This woman is amazing. Anyone know the band Frou Frou? They did the song at the end of the movie Garden State? Anyone? Well, she's the vocalist. Some rapper jackass sampled one of her songs and she is now famous-y again.

Can't embed, but 2 songs to look for are Hide and Seek (which was sampled) and Headlock. (First Train Home is also amazing.)

She edits and mixes all her own stuff. And is a highly sought after remixer person.

Go forth and youtube, my people!

Wine and Yarn and Makeup

I've been watching makeup tutorials on youtube in an attempt to 1)Be able to put makeup on in a way that no longer resembles a 14 year old and 2)Be able to put makeup on so that I will look hot and therefore feel better about myself.

So, well, there's that. It's interesting, the science of makeup. I kinda dig it.

T isn't complaining. He's used to coming home to his wife wearing a bathrobe, no makeup, hair in the weird tuft/bun thing I normally wear it in. Lately--Pants! Bra! Boobs are 'loud and proud', as I often say. Makeup, contacts, hair fixed. Granted, I'm more depressed and angry now than I have been in a really, really long time, but FAKING IT IS GETTING EASIER. Seriously. If you look pretty--No one cares if you're sad. No one cares if you're upset, angry. So long as you keep your trap shut and look like something someone wants to fuck? Life's GOOD, baby!

I've found the secret to 'passing'.

T, of course, notices. There is no 'passing' with T. Part of the reason I married him; he knows me better than I know myself.

No one else knows unless I tell them. Delightful. No longer do I need to fear going out in public in a black, bleak mood. No one will look at me and know. Know 'there's something wrong with her'. They won't get that far.

I've given no thought to my appearance for so long that it's mildly terrifying the attention you get when you are, well, pretty. When you have hair a color not often seen, and curly at that--when you have big boobs, jeans that actually fit. T and I went to lunch the other day, and when I got up to use the restroom a table full of men stared at me--Stared, like I was a walking plasma television with football on, or naked. At first I panicked, I thought something was wrong with me. Then I realized--this, this is what it's like to be pretty. Being stared at, looked at, given better service by men.

I don't think I like it. I think the only reason I'm even remotely ok with it is because I'm married, happily so. I don't think I could handle it if I was single.

I sound conceited.

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So I did go to coffee with T's arch nemesis. You remember.

It was.....depressing. He looks like shit. I can tell that he was expecting me to be fat, ugly, unhappy. Downtrodden, dissatisfied. (I am both of those things, but he doesn't need to know that shit.) He looks horrible. Is sad, unhappy with the way his life is going. His wife didn't join us. Suspect.

He stared at me when I opened the door like there was a light shining out of my chest, my throat. I hugged him, when I stepped back he looked dazed.

Conversation was mostly about food and beverage. Didn't touch on any 'real' issue. We were together for 45 minutes. How sad, how strange, to think that we were so close not all that long ago (in the grand scheme of things) and now have nothing to talk about but working in commercial kitchens. I do know that FB people often gravitate towards other FB people--it takes a special kind of person to deal in that sort of environment for any real length of time.

Mostly it was interesting, and depressing. He asked after T, looked pained when I told him how well things were going.

When I told T, after he came home from work, he said he felt bad. That he thought he should feel great, but instead felt sad--that he'd wanted to win, but not like 'that'.

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So I'm not sleeping. Not by choice, of course. I've tried everything. Tonight? Alcohol. We're getting into the wine in hopes that it will shut my head up enough to go to sleep. If only I knew why I couldn't sleep--it's not like I'm mulling over some major issue, some 'beef', anything, that would keep me awake. Instead, there's nothing. Just, static, like when you turn the tv to a channel you don't normally get. My skin itches, my hair hurts, I can't sit still.

Before anyone starts in on the whole 'alcohol dependency' thing, using alcohol to mute some part of yourself that you should be processing, whatever--I know. I've heard it. I've lived it. Thanks. I was a drug addict for an extended period of time because of just those reasons, my mother is a raging alcoholic--I know the signs. I know the risks. At this point it's more about SLEEPING than getting rid of what's in my head. I don't like drinking, I don't like the feeling of being intoxicated from downers. I just want to go to sleep and wake up when I feel better.

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Being alone sucks. I've touched on this often. Doesn't change the truth of the statement.

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I think it's time to start listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers again.

There's Angry Knitting in My Future

So.

I'm going to sound like a selfish little shit for writing this. Please bear with me.

My aunt, (the aunt who let us use her condo in Hawaii for our honeymoon) who owns nine hundredy million houses and has more money than all of us reading combined, somehow managed to obtain my grandmother's house when she died. (It's a long, complicated story where she fucked over the majority of the family. The end.)

This house has essentially sat empty since she took ownership. No one was allowed to visit, to use it, while she was away. (When my dad was first diagnosed with kidney failure, his dialysis clinic was literally 5 minutes from this house. Also, about 2+hours from HIS house. He asked his sister if he could stay there while he was waiting to be transferred to another, closer clinic, rather than commuting 5 hours a day 3 days a week and! She said NO.)

Anyway, I haven't had access or opportunity to go to this house more than twice in the 9 years since my grandmother passed away. I think about it often--it is a major part of my childhood memory, every holiday was spent there, every time I went to visit my grandmother, growing up, playing the piano, on and on and on. I recently was talking to T about how I wanted to talk to my aunt about our going over to see the house because it is such a huge part of my family's history.

Cut to this evening, when I spoke with my cousin. He asked me if he would see me at Christmas, and I said, I dunno, are you coming over here?

He then informed me that my aunt is SELLING my grandmother's house, and to "Celebrate", is having one last family holiday on site. When I said that I hadn't been invited to this, my cousin essentially hung up on me to call his mother.

My aunt promptly called me, invited me, told me how much she would love for me and T to come, blah blah blah.

I'm compelled to go. T can't go--he's working.

I cried. I am crying. It's so stupid, it's just a house. But I can't wrap my mind around my aunts thinking--she knows how important that house is to her kids! To her family--she doesn't care. She owns no less than 5 OTHER houses--this is the one she wants to sell.

So I'm going. And I'm going to do my damndest to be kind and happy and not scratch her eyes out. And T is staying here.

So much for our first Christmas as newlyweds.

Italian Man on a Wet Cold Roof

So T climbed into the attic yesterday (Something of an adventure to say the least) to look at the exhaust conduit for the fan in our bathroom and learned 2 things.

1)The exhaust pipe thing is chrome and full of condensation, since we live in the RAIN FOREST and it's venting a bathroom that is often used for showers and other moist activities. (This is the story of our house's life. Seriously. There's so much 'WTF' going on in the construction it's insane. (For instance: bathroom we painted? WE took the switch plate cover things off and none of the wires are grounded the way they're supposed to be for bathrooms and all the wires are corroded from being in a moist environment. We replaced them, obvs., but there's shit like that all over. Doesn't make for a comfortable 'safe' feeling.)

2)There is slight water damage to the wood above the bathroom (very slight, says T)which leads him to believe that this is a 2 fold moisture problem: The roof and the condensation. When we bought the house the roof had 5-10 years left, and that was 3 years ago....WE CAN'T AFFORD THIS SHIT.

The master bathroom is full of mold. FULL of mold. The wall around the shower, down by the baseboard, is moldy moldy moldy. I spray it with bleach all the time, we bought some of that Kilz shit for the other bathroom and I think I'm going to slather the bathroom in it today. The whole room needs to be gutted to the studs to get the mold out. (Yet another home owner surprise: They didn't use green board in the bathrooms. SURPRISE!)

The bakery drama continues.

J has a new lady friend, which is nice because he tries to impress her by showing how clean, neat and helpful he is. Granted, I'm a horrible bitch and rather than just taking the help and smiling, I take the help and make comments about what a nice change this is, how unused to his assistance I am, etc.

Well, I have laundry to do and mold to clean and clothes to put away....

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was fun.

I exhausted myself, but it was fun. And I didn't hear any complaints from the guests, so that makes it a success in my mind.

I'm still exhausted. All I want to do is sleep, lay around, enjoy the comfort that is my couch.

We painted the main bathroom. By 'we' I mean T's brother C. (I sorta helped. Painted corners, edges, and one wall.) It looks so much better--seriously.

However, I woke up this morning, went into the master bathroom, (also known as the tiniest room in the house, right off of our bedroom) and looked up at the fan.

The paint is blistered around it, it's wet, water is dripping out of the fan. It smells moldy.

Which means.....

We get to tear out the bathroom. Which is a project that we can't afford. Hooray! But it's better than being sick.

Counting down

I need to run my vacuum cleaner. I need to clean J's bathroom. I need to put away the laundry. Go to the grocery store.

I would rather do what I've been doing, you know, laying on the couch in my bathrobe refusing to bathe or eat.

Instead, I will do what I do best: Pretend.

Ok, there's more

I'm alone a lot lately. I mean, whatever. I'm the unemployed slob in a house filled with working people. J is a party boy and only comes home to sleep and do laundry a few times a week. T works 48 hours a week, shift work, either gone all day or gone all night. I went from living, breathing, existing only to bake for those horrible people, busting my ass, going straight from work to see my coworkers and commiserate, straight from commiseration to home where I would see T either home from work and feed him and fall exhausted into bed, or see him off to work and then feed myself and fall exhausted into bed. Now....Nothing. Stasis.

It's a good thing, you know? I know this. I know it's good to take time off to recover from the shit box bakery and the terrorism therein.

But being alone? Makes me think. Makes me think a lot. About stuff I don't want to think about, things I don't ever think about, things that I don't like, that I fear, that I'd just as soon leave in their little boxes on their cataloged shelves in my brain and let them collect dust into infinity.

I understand that you have to think about things, process things, to get past them, to move on, whatever. But I really would just rather not.

I don't want to think about my stepdad, so I don't. Just, you know, don't. Unless it's a funny story about him being silly or doing something funny. I don't think about how he died, I don't think about what that meant, what I had to do because of it. How it changed me. Whatever. We've been over this before.

I don't think about my dad. Same as above. We've been over it before.

I don't think about my mom. I only talk to her in the morning when she's sober, and even then, I don't let her in. I keep her at arms length. I don't deal with her, with the past, whatever. I went down that road while we were planning the wedding and it resulted in T nearly taking me to the hospital.

But there's one thing that's been really waltzing to the front of my mind lately. Over, and over again. Because it really, truly shaped me in ways I don't like. It's changed every relationship I've had since then, and probably every relationship I will have forever.

I trust 2 people. Two. I know that doesn't sound so bad, and it really doesn't, you know? I have my husband and one friend. That's better than a lot of people. I'm lucky to have them, lucky to be able to know in my heart of hearts that they will always be there, without judgement, without reservation, loving me for who I am, never selling me out, throwing me under the bus, playing me. They don't have ulterior motives, aren't cataloging my words to use against me later.

Fuck, it was like, 6 years ago? We've been over this. Over the day I woke up and all my friends and lovers weren't. They hated me, stole my stuff, took my money, tried to turn people against me, put my cat to sleep and sent me the bill after I was gone, tried to trash my credit. Used my words against me and made me the scapegoat. Part of me can see why they would be mad, why they would want me out of their lives. But. I also know things that make me realize that I didn't deserve that, no one does.

But it's made me suspicious. Of everyone. Just because you're my friend today doesn't mean that you won't be tomorrow and for reasons I don't understand. Kindness means nothing. There is no such thing as loyalty when it comes to me. I know that I am being genuine, that I'm being kind a loyal and caring because I want to be, but I don't think anyone else is.

And so when I hear things being said about me, cruel things, untrue things, things that were taken out of context, things that could easily be resolved were people willing to just talk to me about it--it brings it all back. It reminds me that anyone is capable of anything. Just because you've been kind to me in the past doesn't mean you give a fucking shit about me or ever did. Doesn't mean that you wouldn't turn your back on me in a moment.

It stresses me out. I'm really trying to work on it. I need to quiet my mind and not over analyze things. Good fucking luck.

So I don't understand. I don't understand why people do what they do. I don't really care. It basically boils down to the idea that I pretty much believe that just about everyone in my life would be willing to sell me down the river without so much as a second thought.

So, you know? It's not a great way to live, with these walls, these razor wire fences up, but it has been shown to be time and time again that if you open that fence, pull a brick out of the wall--the tanks roll in, the barrels of the guns are thrust in your face.

I'm tired. Exhausted, even. Just, you know? Exhausted, but I can't sleep. Haven't slept. Won't.

Diet Pepsi and Yarn

I have a lot of yarn. Like, a lot a lot. (That's a term of measurement that T and I use often.)

I have a huge rubbermaid container FILLED. 3 cloth shopping bags FILLED. A huge bowl on the coffee table FILLED. And yet...I need more. Duh!

T took me (he had just started to get sick and I was very nearly on the cusp of it) down to the resort where I used to work because a very big deal yarn company and the Yarn Harlot were there. And, you know, I need yarn. And like Canadians.

So while T and I milled around and said hi to my old coworkers (the ones we don't hate, anyway) there was much yarn dyeing and knitting class teaching going on around me.

And as we left the commercial kitchen, I ran into the Harlot. She was supposed to be teaching a class but was on her way to....take a break. So I did get to see the knitting celebrity. That's something. I even managed to refrain from yelling "Thank you for teaching me to knit socks!" at her. Being a stranger and all.

So we went and got yarn and I was happy.

And then we both got horribly sick. Fever. Aches. Chills. Snot. T says that we made SnotTron together.

I haven't exercised for a week. Ugh. That whole not being able to breathe thing, combined with the fact that for a few days walking to the bathroom was not something I could really do alone, and once I was on the mend the exertion of putting sheets in the washing machine was too much for me and I had to go lie down.

Sigh.

So. Thanksgiving. It's on its merry little way. There's a lot of cooking and baking in my future.

Phone bloggers 'r' us

Blogging from my phone again. I have lots to say, really, but I don't know that I'm going to be able to muster the thumb strength to get it all out.

I don't know. I mean, really. I'm really trying to work on some parts of myself that I don't agree with. Like, sometimes it's better to just keep your mouth shut when you're pissed off. Say nothing, move on. So long as you're as to move on and not brood. (that's the hangup. The brooding.) seriously tho? I wish people were nicer and thought more before making rash judgements.

I lost 12 pounds.

They closed the bakery and fired everyone with no notice. Yesterday.

I had awesome knitting time this weekend before the horrible illness fell on me and T.

We are sick

T and I both. Great fun. Blogging from my phone on the couch. I even have good blog fodder for once. Not today, I guess.

Just as I thought

I run. I exercise. I eat correctly and less.

I lose no weight. NONE.

Hooray motivation! Hooray! Hooray for hard work paying off! Story of my damn life.

I'm not asking to weigh 117 pounds again. Seriously. I'm not asking THAT MUCH. Discouraged, I has it.

And

I'm in a really bad mood. Just, like, really, really unhappy with a whole lot.

Panic. Stupid.

So when I get depressed and/or stressed (usually both. Anxiety based depression FTW!) I become like, a worst case scenario expert. I become convinced that horrible things are going to befall me, T, my mom, etc. Like when T booked a trip to Vegas with his best friend for a dudes weekend and I FREAKED OUT. I was really happy for him, I really wanted him to go and have fun, but I was convinced that the plane was going to crash, that something horrible would happen and he wouldn't be coming home and I freaked. Like, hysterical sobbing freaked. (Stupid. He was fine. Granted, the Monte Carlo caught on fire while he was there, but he wasn't in it so whatever.) It's dumb. I get mad at myself for acting like that and that makes it worse.

Lately, I've become convinced that: 1)I have lung cancer/any other serious medical condition ranging from cancer to heart disease to whatever 2)T is going to be killed at work or somewhere 3)Our house is going to burn down 4)My mother is going to die and no one will find her.....And on, and on, and on, and on.....

It's so stupid. SO stupid. I had someone tell me that worrying about shit like this is like praying for stuff you don't want. All that did was make it worse. Seriously. More panic. More freaking out. The idea that something like that would happen and it would be MY fault.

AAARgh. I'm so done with it. With everything. I'm tired of feeling like a fucking freak, like a failure, like, well, yeah.

Warmth

It's cold, windy and nasty here. Which isn't any big deal since it's November, and this is totally normal. But I want to go outside, I want to go running (I really have lost my mind), I want to feel the sun on my shoulders.

Instead, when I went outside this morning to take the trash to the curb (barefoot, in my pajamas! Someone forgot to take it out last night/early this morning before they went to work, so I was in something of a hurry to get it out there as it was about time for the truck to arrive) I was nearly blown away. Yesterday when I went to get the mail I was literally soaked to the skin by the time I got back to the house. And it's not like I had to walk 5 miles to the mail box.

I'm watching the travel channel, and they're in Cuba, in Costa Rica, in Hawaii. To say I'm jealous is an understatement.

I'm tired. I'm irritated. I feel really good, physically. But I'm tired and pissed off otherwise.

Whatever. I need to learn to 'stay present', to not stress about shit that isn't within my control. Good luck with that, me.

Tea Bread

I was the tea bread expert at the bakery. For real. See, it wasn't as awe inspiring as being the cake expert or the cookie expert or anything--but still, it was something.

Now that we're on this diet, I'm trying to convert some of the more deeply loved recipes to a higher fiber/lower fat version.

And it sucks.

So, as far as the BS I was talking about yesterday, the health care thing? Sigh. I'm just so not ok with my government telling me what I can and can't do with my body. I'm also very not ok with it determining who can and can't get married. It's just not ok.

T has grown the goatee back, and I love it more than I can really articulate. I'm not really sure why--I love my husband, find him wildly attractive all the time (even when he's sick and grumpy) but the goatee just puts it over the top.

We went to my inlaws last night to give them jam, egg cartons and cake. We wound up staying for dinner (because T's mom really got her feelings hurt the last time that we didn't stay) and I feel like (you guessed it!) crap again today. Not to say that T's mom isn't a good cook--but when you have finally purged yourself of sugar, white flour and all butter like fats and finally sit down to a nice dinner that starts with cake--you're going to feel like crap the next day.

So I do.

ok

Today I woke up happy. Excited to be alive--thrilled that there was a day ahead and all the possibilities it held.

Then I came out of the sleepy fog I was in and wondered if I was dead or had lost my mind.

Neither were true.

I felt really great all day! Physically--no headache! No joint pain! I was in a great mood, laughing, motivated!

I read up about the BS that's going down with the health care reform--was angry. Am angry. However, I maintained a level of cheer that I can't think I've been close to since toddlerhood.

I'm wondering what's wrong. I mean, it's great. I normally feel like shit all the time. Every day. All day. Today was the first time that I haven't, in like, 10 years? For real. It's weird.

I suppose I shouldn't over analyse in case it goes away. But it was a nice respite. Even if it does make me feel guilty. (I know. Stupid. But there you are.)

List

My to-do list is so long. And I don't want to do any of it.

When did I become despondent and lazy? I mean, I don't remember always being this way. I don't know. I'm just....pissy.

I'm having a hard time seeing the point in a lot of stuff. I mean, why clean the house if it's just going to be trashed again in 4 minutes and no one will help you?

All the boys do is play video games. And sleep. And make messes. Well, if left to their own devices, anyway.

I'm just tired.

Tired of feeling like a piece of shit.

On Weight, and Wait, and....

So. I've lost 6 pounds. Meh. I wish that attempting to lose weight wasn't so time consuming. I'm sure most of that is coming off the easterly trip--we ate so much salt, so much crap--it balloons you and then when you quit it deflates. Plus I finished my period (Welcome, TMI seekers!) and that always makes me lose like, 4 pounds. So I've actually lost 2. Ish.

Idk. Like, you'd think that if you could drop like, 10 pounds right off it would be good motivation to stick with it. Instead, you lose a pound here, a pound there, feel like total ass, tired, angry about having to drink so much water, your ass hurts from working out, you want to sit down and eat ice cream (or whatever) but you get to have--whee!--a banana or something. I know that losing too much weight too fast will pretty much guarantee you'll gain it back, but really? Really.

I'm not trying to deprive myself, I'm eating when I'm hungry and all that, I'm just watching portions and what goes inside my mouth. And getting exercise. I don't love it.

On more exciting news, I totally kicked T's ass while working out last night. That made me feel a little better about progress--being that we were on an even out-of-shape keel a week ago. It's something.

I need to go for a run, now. I hate it, hate it, hate it. HATE IT. But it works, so, well, there you go.

I'm over it. I looked at the wedding pictures again and it's just....shameful. Shameful, how I couldn't find it inside myself to try and look decent for one goddamn day. I'm so embarrassed that for the rest of my life I get to look at the pictures from one of the best days, most momentous days of my life and see me, as a whale. Awesome.

I suppose that's motivation. Seeing what I really look like, what a walking disaster I am, stop deluding myself into thinking I look like anything close to decent.

Bowie

I love David Bowie. Like, it's almost not ok. I want him to come to my house and talk to me while I mop the floors or something. We can go yarn shopping together. He could record my answering machine message and I would make him dinner. He could help T winterize the garden. Work on the Jeep.

Ok, enough weird fantasies for one blog entry.

You know what's funny? Forcing people to back pedal. It's awesome.

I need to work out again today. Yesterday was 'light duty' day, so we only went running and did an assload of crunches. It's super windy right now, so I don't know if I'm going running today. Maybe I'll run the vacuum with extra gusto.

T hung shelves in our guest room, and they're super awesome. As soon as he was done, I went in and covered them in photos and stuff, took a step back, and disappeared into our bedroom. Came out, put the 'finishing touch' on the shelf, and was happy. What was the finishing touch? A stuffed zombie. He's a plush toy--His body comes apart, he has a brain in his hand, it's SO COOL. (We sort of collect zombie stuff. Ask me about my new stand mixer sometime.) Hey, I gotta keep it real, right? Can't have too much class in one spot--it's our house we're talking about here. Maybe I'll take pics and post them. Hell, maybe I'll do that now.





So those are totally in backwards order. Whatever.

Losing Faith

Maine? Really? REALLY?

More often than I would like to admit, I feel ignorant. No, for real. The situation in Maine? I honestly didn't think that it would go down like that. I was seriously all, like, "We've come so far as a nation, things are changing now, this won't be a problem!" and then I look at the results and I'm totally fucking shocked. SERIOUSLY?? I feel totally ignorant for not even giving failure a second thought.

When I hear about shit like this, it makes me lose faith in the human race.

Look at what happened in WA. Washington is a BLUE STATE. (Well, mostly because Seattle and Western WA are blue, and more densely populated than Eastern WA--whatever.) Washington is a blue state, (always, pretty much) and 71 only passed by 1.9% or something amazing like that.

It sickens me. Seriously. Sickens me that we are still in a place where it can be 'wrong' to love someone.

I just wrote a fucking book about this. I read back over it--I'm being too emotional. You can't make good, well thought out, eloquent points when you're screaming inside. Maybe more later.

Fish

We're having fish tacos for dinner.

I'm ready for my head to stop hurting. I'm dealing with angry back muscles which is causing me to have the tension headaches. Bangin.

Whatever. I'm sleepy. Lazy. I've been working out and it makes my body mad. I know that I should be cleaning or something, but I just want to lay in bed and make T keep me warm with his nuclear heated body. (He hates that.)

Our carpet needs to be vacuumed. It looks like a Jackson Pollack painting.

Annnnyway. Nap time.

Ugh

I have a lot of chores to do today. I don't want to.

Going for a run actually sounds more appealing. That should tell you something.

My throat feels weird. Like, my ear is clicking for no reason like there's fluid involved, and that tonsil feels like there's a hard something stuck in it. This is also the ear that has the super thick eardrum, since I exploded my ear drums as a baby when my mom took me on a flight to Tennessee. I water-pik-ed it, now it just feels coated and weird. Whaaaatever.

So I'm working out. And I didn't die. Like, the last time I did this particular work out, T had a super amazing asthma attack and I nearly vomited. No near vomiting this time.

Good side effect--I don't want to smoke. I had forgotten! Exercise=My body says "fuck that shit!" to smoking. WHY DIDN'T I REMEMBER THIS SOONER! I got in the shower with T (save water!) and had the super awesome "sense of smell from when I quit smoking", which is to say, normal, everyday smells that wouldn't bother me at all become totally caustic. T's soap seriously made me like, gag and my eyes water and I literally shoved T out of the way, doused my hair, leapt from the shower, flinging doors and windows open to try and air out the joint.

T stood there in the shower, water running, curtain akimbo, shivering in the new found arctic breeze I had created. "Honey? You're not....Pregnant, are you?"

"NO! It's your soap! It smells like chemicals!"

Thus ensued a long talk about smell and smoking and how there is really no way I'm pregnant right now, thanks.

So I suppose now I'll do my dishes or something. Sigh.

The 1st

It's the first of November. Huzzah, or something.

T and I have decided to go head to head in a "Biggest Loser" competition that I am doomed to lose, but I'm doing it anyway. After our trip eastward, we came back and our pants didn't fit. We weighed ourselves. There was some swearing.

So I came up with the idea--Whoever loses the most weight between now and the first of the year (awesome timing. Holidays, etc) gets to pick what we do for our birthday. He wants to go to Vegas, I want to do...something. Idk, go to Vegas too. But whatever, whoever wins calls the shots on the trip.

T can lose weight like nobodys business. I, however, can pack it on like no tomorrow. Seriously. He changes 1 thing in his diet, and whammo--he's 2 pants sizes smaller. Meanwhile, I'm working out, eating no sugar, drinking gallons of water, watching carb intake etc, and I lose 2 pounds and am angry all the time. The only time I have had success losing weight was when I stopped eating. Like, seriously. When I was working night shift pastry, I didn't eat, really. Slept through the eating hours, would eat one small thing, and then go bust my ass at work. Weight just fell off me (like, 30 pounds) and it was easy! I wasn't hungry! Hooray!

But then I went back to being a human and the weight piled on like the Griswolds into a station wagon.

Whatever. We need to eat better anyway. I'm sure that part of the reason we got porky out east is all the freaking crap we ate while we were there--the salt, the processed food, the sweets, the SALT.

Mostly, I'm just tired of hating myself. Hating my body. I have seriously tried EVERYTHING (diets, exercise, cardio, weights, on and on and on) with reasonably small success. It's discouraging. I'm not asking to weigh 110 pounds again, but I would like to not be embarrassed for my husband to see me naked.

Whatever.

Also: Time to quit smoking. Time to quit smoking! I may as well punish myself on all fronts. The last time I quit I gained a shitload of weight, so I may as well do it while I'm on the super awesome diet/exercise regimen. And lose no weight. (But at least not gain any.)

Yeah. Done smoking, I think. (I think. I've said this before.) Please don't preach at me, kids, I know that it's disgusting and will kill me and all that. So is being a fat ass.

I guess now that I don't have a job to worry about, I have the time to dedicate to not slowly killing myself in 9 different ways. Not like I have anything better to do.

I mean, if I'm not contributing to society in any way, I may as well look ok doing it.

(I played the bass clarinet, Brian.)

Hall-er-weenie

So it's Halloween. We bought candy to hand out to the, like, 5 kids we expect to get this year. We didn't carve pumpkins like last year (did I post pics of T's Death Star pumpkin? Because we're dorks. Also--He was Freddy Mercury. Awesome, awesome, awesome.) and we're not dressing up as anything other than lazy ass newlyweds who can't be bothered to wear real pants after 7pm--So, ourselves.

I used to LOVE Halloween. It was my stepdad's favorite holiday, he loved to prank me and my mom (I thought it was far more hilarious than mom did, of course), to do weird stuff to my friends (rigging up a net filled with god-knows-what to a trip line over our heavily wooded, 1/4 mile long drive way that would expel it's foul contents onto whichever car tripped said line.....It was hilarious until my friend drove me home in his dad's '69 Camero and we got to wash a car at midnight) and generally had a great time, even though we never got any trick-or-treaters.

Anyway, he's not here to rally the troops (but if he decided to make a cameo, today would be a fitting day to do so.) and I really just don't care any more.

I hate all holidays, which is something that I've touched on here before. It's like a slowly descending scale--Halloween, eh. Thanksgiving, ugh. Christmas? UUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHeh. (That's the sound of apathetic hatred, which is my newest fave oxymoron.)

Whatever.

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My house is dirty. I just need to get off my ass and do something about it (the kitchen and bathrooms are clean!) but the idea of folding that much laundry makes me shudder.

Yesterday was my official last day at the bakery. Everyone (aside from the people that matter) accused me of having a 'bad attitude', which, in my brain, doesn't even scratch the surface when it comes to my feelings on that place. Whatever, I'm free, I'm unemployed. Unemployed. Sigh.

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So in the magic that is social networking, a friend of mine from long, long ago has resurfaced. We were like, best friends as kids. Sat next to me in band (this now makes me still friends with all 3 guys that were in my section in band through Jr. High and HS. Says something about the power of dorkiness.) for years. We then went through puberty, stayed friends, only now we were make-out buddies, as teenagers are wont to be. (I remember he had braces and that caused a few problems. Ha!) He played football with T, we were all friends, and this was a long, long time ago. (I thought we were all friends. More on that in a moment.)

I haven't spoken with this person for very nearly 10 years until a few days ago. When I came back to watch my class graduate from my old school (I was already all grad-u-ma-cated and stuff from my new school in the state we don't mention) I ran into him there. He had just finished his Freshman year of college, blah, blah, blah, and he said to me: "I think our friendship would really benefit if you sucked my dick."

Thus ended the friendship.

I ran into him a few years later when I was in the middle of my beautiful and tragic love affair with drugs, and he didn't recognize me.

Anyway. None of that really matters.

So he appears on my friend request list on said social networking site. I agree to be his friend. He pops up in my chat screen thing. Tells me he's married, (to a child, imo, but that's neither here nor there.) he's just quit working as a sous chef, he lives in the city. He wants to get together with T and me, wants us to meet his wife, to catch up. I think this is a fine idea.

I mention it to T.

T, as we all know, is a calm, kind person. Very logical, doesn't let his emotions sully his actions. He rarely loses his temper, never gets vindictive.

Aside from now.

I tell T, and he FLIPS OUT! It was hilarious.

"Oh, we're going to meet them. Yes. And we're going to look HOT and I'm going to show him FINALLY that I WIN and he SUCKS and you and I are MARRIED and there's nothing he can do about it and we OWN our HOME and we had a REAL wedding and we have a NICE CAR and you have an AWESOME wedding ring and YES. When does he want to do this?"

I stood there in stunned silence.

"Honey? Is there something you're not telling me? I thought you were friends too....?"

"NO! The entire time I've known him! It was always 'Anything you can do I can do better'! You're the ONLY girl I ever dated that he didn't date too! And he tried to date you! Tried! Lorded your friendship over me! Rubbed it in my face after we broke up! Tried to outshine me on the football field! Got a scholarship to a big deal college and rubbed that in my face too! A GOLF SCHOLARSHIP!!!! GOLF!"

Rather than telling T that golf is a real sport and yes, you can get college scholarships for that, that no, I didn't date this person, that I'm sorry for everything he put him through, I said nothing.

After a few minutes, I said, "Honey. Do you really want to see him again, for old times sake, like I do, or do you seriously just want to lord our life over him? Because, well. Uhm, I don't know if that's the best idea."

"WE ARE GOING. AND WE WILL LOOK HOT. And yes, we are going for old times sake, with a SIDE OF I AM BETTER THAN YOU."

So we are. Sigh.

I think this is really funny. I shouldn't, but I do. I had NO idea that these two had anything but ok-ness between them, that I had factored into this in any way.

Idk. Maybe it's not a great idea. But I actually would like to see him (especially since he's no longer asking me to fellate him in order to remain friends) and catch up. And if T comes away from it with a little more confidence, an old 'score' being settled, in his mind, what's the harm? So long as he doesn't explode at dinner or something.

Weird.

*****************************

I cried at a high school football game last night. It was T's baby brother's last game of his senior year, and they were playing the rival school. They introduced the senior band members, cheerleaders, and football players, and their parents. I remembered when that was me, sitting in cold bleachers with my friends (stand partners with my maid of honor, actually), being rowdy (it was pep band. It's part of the deal) watching my future husband play football. How different I was then, how different we all were. How my parents would come to the games to hear the band, to watch us do field routines, how I had my whole life ahead of me.

And then, watching T's mom and brother walk out onto the field arm and arm, watching him give her flowers...Yeah.

So dumb.

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In closing, this picture makes me laugh until I cry. Have fun!

Hey, ho, Way to go......State that we were visiting

So we're back.

The trip was long. Travel-wise, anyway. We went to two extra states (Kentucky and Minnesota) for plane changes and layovers, we flew over ten hours in 4 days. Ugh.

I learned something about myself while we were gone.

I am an elitist and a snob. About food.

This place--So much white food. Everything prepackaged, processed, premade. Plastic cheese, premade frozen mashed potatoes, margarine. White bread. Ice berg lettuce. Fried everything. I cooked a lot while I was there, but it was hard because if I didn't go to the store myself, I was left with weird ingredients that I'd never heard of that only resembled what I needed in color. (I was asked to make pumpkin cheesecake. I asked for maple syrup and solid pack canned pumpkin. I received Log Cabin maple flavored syrup and pumpkin pie filling (pre sweetened).) It was interesting. (Oh, and there is a dish called 'Baked Steak' that is just that--only it's steak, covered in 6 cans of undiluted full salt golden mushroom soup and then baked. To say I was thirsty is an understatement.)

I loved T's family. Hilarious, angry people who chain smoke, do crossword puzzles and drink. How T's dad fits in I'm not really sure.

Grandma was SO happy. I made her birthday cake. (We put a 9 and a 2 on it, rather than 92 actual candles. She thanked us, as she wasn't even sure that she could 'blow out two candles and keep her teeth in'.) She was so happy to see T and J, to meet me, to see our wedding photos. She showed us this giant box of pictures of all of T's siblings from birth to now that she has kept for the last 40 years, T's parents wedding photos, pictures from when T's dad and his sisters were kids growing up. She told us about when T's oldest brother was born (the only kid born there), and T's dad had to go right back to work, leaving T's mom alone with the baby. Grandma was there, she didn't want to interfere, she said, but R (the baby) did nothing but cry, and cry, and cry. Nothing T's mom did would quiet him, and she was so exhausted. So grandma went and took the baby, telling T's mom to go to bed and get some rest, not to worry. She took the baby, wrapped him as tight as she could in a blanket and sat in a rocking chair singing to him. (A lullaby she remembers, that she sang to us right then and there) Finally the baby went to sleep and she took him to his bassinet in the bedroom where T's mom was passed out asleep, fully clothed on the bed with all the lights on. She covered her with a blanket, turned out the lights, and was happy.

Then she told us about how she rocked and sang to all the kids when they were babies. How each one of those kids were blessings.

This is stuff that J and T had never heard before, that they were blessings, that their grandma sang to them and rocked them. That someone had saved pictures of them from birth and remembered each one.

****************************************

I got to see the world's largest basket. That's something. I was rather excited about the whole thing.

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There is MORE work drama, but I'm not really feeling like going into it right now. Mostly I'm just happy to be home, in my freezing cold house watching Intervention in my bathrobe.

It's the Final Countdown

i just wrote a whole post about tomorrow being my last day and telling you where were going on our trip. Blogger ate it.

see you kids tuesday!

Parasitic Dystopia

I'm awake. J is at work, T is sleeping. I'm essentially alone in the (now clean-ish) house drinking coffee and watching a show about parasites and becoming more terrified by the moment.

The message of this show, other than fear mongering, is "Don't use dirty contact lenses! You can get a horrible parasite and your eyes will fall out!" "Don't walk barefoot in subtropical climates! There's a parasite that will burrow through the soles of your feet and kill you!" "Don't get a tick, you'll die!" "Don't eat sushi, you're bound to get intestinal worms and die of peritonitis!" and all I can do is think about all the sushi I ate while barefoot in Hawaii, my eyes enveloped in potentially hazardous contact lenses.

I'm reading "The Handmaid's Tale" by Margaret Atwood, because, you know, dystopian societies where women are considered less than men, cattle, essentially, breeding stock, is totally uplifting and just what I need right now.

My other option was to re-read "House of Leaves", which is the scariest book I have ever had the pleasure of reading. Seriously. Most people I know that have read this book either couldn't finish it because it was too hard, too weird, too scary. One of my friends who read it still has nightmares about it.

I slept with the lights on, within visual range of my mom, the entire time I was reading this. I powered through it in hopes that the ending would make it end, and I was wrong.

It's a good book. Anything that successfully makes you feel something, well, it's a success.

I'm watching The Graham Norton Show, which is a show that I love more that I should.

I'm still not feeling any better about anything, really. But whatever.

I made jam last night and I don't think it's going to gel. So I made syrup. With fruit bits in. Sigh. At least I have that much more room in my freezer now.

Quitters Never Prosper

So, for the second time in my life, I quit my job only to have EVERY ONE GET LAID OFF within days/hours of my doing so, thereby removing my bid for severance pay. Sweet.

So I quit my job--and now they're closing the fucker down. Closing the cafes, closing the pastry department. Bending over and taking it in the ass. (We swore this wouldn't ever happen--our boss is too arrogant to admit he fucked up, to admit he had to quit, that he was failing, had failed, could fail. These people believe unfailingly that God Will Provide For Us Because We Are White And Rich And Christian [GWPFUBWAWARAC] and that We Can Use Those Lesser Than Us As Scapegoats To Excuse Our Idiocy [WCUTLTUASTEOI]) But they aren't really taking it in the ass, see. Sure, they lost a shitload of money, more money than T and I will make in 2 years working our asses off full time--But they are worth millions of dollars. Millions. And they incorporated the business, which means (so we're told) that if the business goes bankrupt, their personal assets are untouchable. And it makes me so. fucking. mad.

See, these people lost hundreds of thousands of dollars, and they aren't phased. They aren't upset, no more than you or I would be if we washed a $20 bill and it tore in the wash. Annoyed, pissed for a while, but you wouldn't lose a lot of sleep over it, you wouldn't wonder where your next meal would be coming from. But if I stood to lose hundreds of thousands of dollars you can bet your life I would go down fucking fighting to keep it.

They left letters (LETTERS!) with all the cafe's employees paychecks today telling them they would be laid off as of next week. No "sorry!", no explanation, nothing. No personal meeting, just "Don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out." These are people with children, husbands, families to support. Our town has NO JOBS. Seriously. We have the most economically depressed county in our state.

It's scary.

Also, they implied in the bakery meeting (yes, we 4 got an actual meeting, since we weren't being laid off) that the business being lost was.....wait for it....

My Fault.

My fault that 21 people are without jobs in this bullshit job market, shitty ass economy, just before the holidays. My fault that all these women have to go home to their families and explain why they can't afford....What? Anything, food, bills, medicine....My fault, because I quit, because I am allergic to flour. My hands blister, bleed and weep when I touch flour.

I know it's not my fault. I know that it isn't, all the girls who are being laid off say it isn't my fault. But how fucking horrible of these people to even insinuate that it was anything but their own retardation, their unwillingness to listen to their employees needs, to spend money on quality equipment or make real world business decisions.

And they're sitting pretty. Sitting fucking pretty in their goddamn mansion in the ritzy part of town, the wife of the pair with a closet that is bigger than the front half of my house (I'm serious), driving their BMW SUV and installing $50,000 worth of antique tile in their 'show' bathroom.

They don't care. Every one is better off not working for these people, every one agrees that this is the case. But it doesn't make me feel any less pissed off about the whole thing.

*********************

One of the women I work with at the bakery--She is the kindest woman. She never has a bad thing to say about anyone--Anyone--no matter what. She's never angry, and if she is, she immediately apologises. She's super enthusiastic about learning new things at work, about being trained to do 'pretty stuff'.

This woman, she's had the hardest life. When she was 15, she was gang raped in her front yard while her parents watched game shows, oblivious. Her mother shamed her while they were at the hospital (where they only took her because she was so badly beaten, and bleeding so severely from her genitals) for how she brought this on herself, how horrible it would be if the neighbors saw. Her parents wouldn't let her press charges and made her, bandaged and shaky, hose her blood off the walk so no one would know. The doctors called a week later and said that she had stage three ovarian cancer (something that ran in her family, a fact she didn't find out until 20 years later when her mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and forgot she wasn't telling her daughter this) and would need a complete hysterectomy.

Which she had. They got all the cancer, but also took any hope she had of being a mom. Her own mother, rather than helping her daughter deal with not only the loss of her innocence, but the loss of her burgeoning womanhood, told her that god was punishing her for being a slut.

This woman, she grew up and married a sailor. A handsome sailor who promised her the world. They adopted three children, and appeared to be happy. The handsome sailor, he beat this woman, he raped her, he terrorized her and tried to destroy her. She finally left when he went after their daughter.

Her children, they were crack babies, abandoned, abused. These are fragile, damaged, butterfly children. The oldest turned 18 and went back to his birth mother, who put lit cigarettes out on his tiny body leaving scars he still has. He refuses to speak to his adopted mother, the woman who raised him. The middle child refuses to go to school, destroys their house if left alone, rips doors off hinges and tears holes in walls. The youngest, a daughter, she has severe emotional problems, makes chemical cocktails and bathes in them, burns and melts things, attacks other kids at school, is sexually promiscuous and hasn't even started her period yet. She's lied and called CPS on her mom for not getting her way. This woman, she does everything she can think of to help her babies, to make sure they know they are loved, to not lose them to drugs, mental illness, jail, and she is losing.

This woman, she works two jobs. She works harder than anyone I know, she smiles and laughs and thinks of every one around her first. She is so happy to see you when you arrive, so sad to see you go when you leave. She hugs you, tells you how smart and beautiful you are, how talented. She is genuine, loving, caring. She is never bitter, never sad. She is stronger than anyone I have ever met.

And our bosses, they treat her like shit. Like she is stupid, less than them, like her needs and life don't matter. They berate her for taking time off to be with her kids. And it makes me SO MAD.

They have so much, and all they want is more. They tell us that it is "By the Grace of God" that they have done well, that if we would "Come to the Flock" we would prosper as well. Bullshit.

They told one of my coworkers that she deserves to be poor and unhappy because she is gay.

They stole from JZ, A and me. And lied when we caught them.

I feel no guilt for quitting. I feel no guilt for no longer associating with these people.

But I do feel bad leaving my coworkers, my friends. Knowing that their working lives will not change in the slightest, they may get worse, if anything. They will be lied to, berated, made to feel bad about themselves every day.

***********************

My boss looked through my cell phone today. Read my text messages. And didn't understand why I was enraged, tore my phone out of his hand, snapped at him, yelled.

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My bosses accused me of lying about my allergy. Told me they would fight me if I applied for unemployment.

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I'm tired. There's so much more. So much more that these people have done.

*************************

I feel bad worrying about money. If we were that bad off, I wouldn't be quitting, right? I would be powering through this shit in the name of financial security. Every one who hasn't been laid off is. Maybe my boss is right--Why am I better than my coworkers are?

So many people I know are dealing with so much bad. Poverty, illness, terminally ill children, mental health issues. It makes me feel like a big fat shit for worrying that we won't pay off our windows on time, that our carpet makes T sick and we can't afford to get rid of it. I went to see my friends in the southerly metropolis, and I was jealous. Jealous of their life, their house, their cars and jobs and college educations. Jealous of their town, their fucking wall color.

It's disgusting, my feeling like this. I have more than so many--My wanting more, it makes me just like my horrible bosses, in my mind. It's disgusting.

Well....

I just quit my job.

I'm happy to be free of the fundies and their insanity, but scared because there aren't any jobs here and we're pretty damn poor. T supports my decision, but I can tell he isn't happy that we're going to be down 1/3 of our monthly income.

We will be fine. If I have to clean toilets for rich people again, so be it. We will be fine.

Has it really been that long?

I doubt that anyone is still reading after all this time.

We have no computers at our house. (At least none that belong to us and function.) The laptop died after one of the brothers downloaded porn, the PC died a similar death at the hands of a friend of one of the brothers. Which means....We have all this internet, and no access to it aside from our iPods and iPhones. Ever tried to blog on an iPhone? I don't recommend it.

We went to the southerly metropolis this weekend and were given a spare laptop to borrow to get us through until we can get something worked out on our own. I don't think that the offending parties of computer death will be ponying up the cash any time soon to fix what they have broken, so until we manage to come up with the money ourselves, we're depending on the kindness of non-strangers.

So much bullshit has happened. Seriously. I'm on the cusp of quitting my job, J gave notice and her last day is Wednesday. The bosses haven't done a single thing in the way of getting me any help after she's gone, I'm not allowed to have any overtime, and they don't want to give me a raise. So, essentially, I will be running the pastry department, doing all the ordering, special ordering, menu changes, holiday shit, etc., and doing my current job while not making a penny more than I already am and not working any more hours than I already am. Two jobs in no more time with no more money? I don't fucking think so.

Aside from all that crap, I simply cannot (CANNOT) work for the these people any more. Our...ethics are too separate. Too distant. The way they feel it is ok to threat people, to do business, to enact 'justice', it's disgusting. We have discovered a bit of illegal activity within the company. I don't think anything will come of it....but it's pretty shitty.

Oh, also? The last 2 executive pastry chefs had brought all the equipment to the bakery. As of Wednesday.....we have no (and I mean NO) equipment.

The bosses don't seem to think this is a problem. Me, alone, doing the job of 2 people, for no more money than I make now, in a bakery with no equipment.

If it weren't true and slowly destroying my soul, it would be hilarious.

Anyway. We're heading to the east coast (sorta. Sorta. East, no coast.) later this month for T's grandmother's birthday. T hasn't seen his grandmother since he was 5, she's never met me and she hasn't ever met J, who will be coming with us. We can't afford the trip, but we're going. Family is important. Now that I have a family.

......Yeah

My sisters are in town. I don't love it.

Work has gotten more insane, if that's possible. Which I guess it is.

I guess there was some fall out after the wedding, which I just heard about. Somehow, after hearing the details.....I'm not surprised, considering who was involved. Which is sort of a sad thing. Meh.

I wish weekends were longer.

I'm tired of liars.

I'm tired.

I had a 'donut party' with the ladies from work tonight. Made dinner, drank beer. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed hanging out with that many women at once. I think it's because we're all assholes who aren't typical bitches.

I'm home alone. The idea of going and locking the house up for sleeping seems arduous.

T quit smoking. I'm insanely proud of him. Especially since he just...quit. Said, "I'm a non-smoker" and that was that. I'm also jealous, as quitting for me (every time I've tried, anyway) is like eating ground glass and being trapped in an elevator with Carrot Top.

My sisters took my dad's ashes from me.

Our neighbor kids play drums and guitars all day and it makes T want to explode. He threatens to blast them with the air horn. I don't think it will change anything.

I got our wedding pics. Email me and I'll send you the link if you're interested.

All I Do is Sleep and Whine

Hi Kids. Is anyone still out there? I'm, you know, lame and stuff, for not posting. Serious.

But my thinking that now that the wedding is over, that now we're back from vacation, things would be calm and easy? I would have time to knit, to cook at home again, to do more than a half a load of laundry at a time, vacuum my horrible carpet, and update the blog?

Yeah, well, that thinking was wrong. WRONG.

My job? It's horrible. I mean, the work is great, things are plugging away nicely, I love my coworkers, I'm learning new skills every day. But my bosses? Sweet googly moogly. I have no idea what the hell they think they're doing, how they think that some of this shit is ok or even legal....But it's taxing me. All of us are looking seriously for new jobs.

In a word? (Or two) I'm fucked.

See, they don't pay me SHIT at this job. Which at first was ok, because I was looking at it like it was an apprenticeship. But suddenly, in under six months, I'm second in command in the serious money making side of the bakery--I'm being asked to develop recipes and take part in photographs for marketing purposes. (I'm doing neither of those things, btw.) But I'm still making a dollar more an hour than the cleaning dude. (And not to say that janitors aren't worth a decent wage. That's some serious hard work there, and they earn every dollar they are paid. I know this because I was a janitor. However, people with more specialized skill sets are typically paid more to do jobs that require said specialized skill set. Not anyone off the street could walk in and do my job, nor do it well, quickly, and in sub standard conditions. So I'm irritated that my wage is so close to the starting wage for, well, everyone.)

If I quit this job, I now have to find another one. I can't really get a cut in pay from where I am now, but I will almost definitely have to commute. Right now, I commute 20 minutes total a day. (Spoiled, I know.) I'm looking at two hours a day if I get the job I'm seriously hoping for. But will my new job (if it exists) pay me enough to offset the cost of my commute? Not to mention the fact that we will have to buy another car for T so he can get around while I'm putzing back and forth across the peninsula.

If I get fired, I may be able to collect unemployment. But for how long? We're not in debt, but we have pretty grim savings and really can't afford to go back to being a one income household right now.

I don't want to have to go back to waiting tables.

*******************

The other thing that's keeping me from blogging is my new BIL J's sudden love of the party. He, daily, asks me this series of questions.

"Do you work tomorrow?"

My answer is usually something along the lines of 'What day is it? Tuesday? Then yes, considering I work Mon-Fri.'

His response?

"When do you work?"

My answer? 'Just like every other day, J, just about the time you're going to bed.'

The final part of this talk always goes something like this.

"Oh, because I really wanted to have some people over tonight to play video games/role play/drink all your alcohol/eat all the food/smoke all your cigarettes/make the house filthy/make a ton of noise and keep you up till 1 or 2 so that you want to stab a panda when your alarm goes off at 4am"

'J, you can do that somewhere else. The era of 'T and M are out of the state for 2 weeks so I can party all the time at the house' has ended. Mom and Dad are officially home.' Buzz kill, I know.

But seriously? I want to feel for him. I remember being a party animal. But now I get up at 4 every day and bust my ass for 9 or 10 hours for not a whole hell of a lot and all I want to do when I get home is have QUIET.

Cleaning has become a recreational activity.

And....We're back.

It only took 18 hours and a battle of wits and strength with a country music concert, but we have returned. To prove it: Photos.

(Can I just say that I am thrilled to NO END that this is all over? That I am married, have a 'normal' last name, and have 1/11124th of the stress in my life now? Sure, Hawaii was great, but now that we're home....Aaaaah. Plus we missed the heat wave.)

Tide ya over

I won't be posting until August, as we will be mooning in the honey until then.

In the interim:

Wedding photos of people you don't know! Hoooooray.

(The wedding was awesome, I cried saying my vows, mom behaved herself, and everyone had an awesome time. The end.)

Rage-o-nomics

If only I could be paid for being angry. MILLIONS would be mine.

Dumb, small things make me enraged. JZ and I were talking at work about getting clonked right on the top of your head, where the point would be if you had cone-head ancestry, and how that makes you go from "Weeeeee, Happy Person!" to "HULK SMASH!" rage in no time. I get frustrated and then enraged. For instance, I wanted coffee this morning. But the coffee pot was totally filthy, and I wanted CLEAN coffee. So I took the filter basket off (in my defense, something I've done at least 20 times before) and rinsed it, the pot itself, etc. But then--I could not get the filter basket back on. Seriously. There was hitting involved--and true RAGE. Rage that I would have to leave my home at 8am on a Saturday morning to purchase something I already owned, rage that I would have to wear real pants to do this, rage that I needed to put my contacts in and have bandaids (now wet) on the two fingers I need for contact-ery, and on, and on, and on, just spiralling into pure temper-tantrum land.

So I went slamming into the bedroom, where poor T has been home and asleep for 2 hours, and start ranting and raving about the goddamn coffee pot, how I'm leaving, blah. He opened one eye, said, "Ok, honey. I'll try to fix it when I get up if you haven't already. I love you." and went back to sleep. A guilt tsunami then crashed over me.

I went and fixed the coffee pot. Now I'm even sipping the fruit of my labor. Poor T. Sometimes I worry about how I make him handle things. I am a fighter, a face-the-problem-head-on-as-soon-as-it-pops-up person, a high stress, angry task master. T is logical, methodical, and doesn't like to over-react. (Unless there's been a car accident. Then it's on.) T only fights the fight if he has to, he's really good at letting things go, at realizing that there's no need to wig out.

But there's this thing we're doing in three weeks. This thing that's making me explode a little every day. The thing that I'm actually really excited for, once I get over the fact that there are lots of assholes in my life. I'm wigging out in some respect daily, and T? He just hugs me, fixes what he can, and tries to go back to sleep. This is one of the reasons I love him so dearly.

I have a really hard time delegating, asking for help, potentially putting people out. But I have to remember--I'm not asking anything of anyone that I wouldn't do for them. JZ and AW are making my wedding cakes--Just for me, special. They're even going to cut them, while wasted, at the reception. My man of honor's mommy is going to forgo the ceremony to help set up the tables and decorations just the way I want. I didn't even ask them to do these things! The DJ is playing songs requested from our guests--and what a weird spread that has turned out to be. (My cousins, brothers that they are, returned their RSVP's on the same day. One cousin requested "I've Got the World on a String" by Frank Sinatra. His brother? "Symphony of Destruction" by Megadeth. Hilarious. We've got Gordon Lightfoot, MGMT, The Lonely Island, Bob Seger, Lyle Lovett....It's going to be awesome.)

Basically, I need to realize, and I am, slowly:

There are more people that love me, that are willing to help me in any way that they can, than don't. The people that don't are taking center stage because they are being REALLY over the top with some stuff, and that's distracting--But I need to make sure that I remember the good things and not wig out about the little piddly bad shit. Right?

Onward. I'm tired of whining about the wedding.

T and I have not, and will not be taking dance lessons. We're going to blunder through all 2.75 minutes of "You're Me Best Friend" by Queen and call it a day. He's got rhythm, I've got....him to lead me, and we'll be fine. And if not? Who cares? I'm not going to fall down and break anything. We're going to have fun and that's that.

BAH. More wedding crap.

Wow. It's amazing how when you don't allow yourself to talk about it, you run out of steam rather quickly.

Haven't talked to my mom in a week. I'm interested to see how this is going to play out. I'm sure she will be horrible on the phone when it finally comes time to chat again. Part of me wants to just call her and get it over with, as I know that the longer I wait the worse it will be, but another part of me really likes the quiet. But the rumblings of doom in the background are ominous. Maybe I should just call her, be firm, be ready to have another week (or more) of silence. I know that during my hysteria last week I begged her to stop being mean, to stop being angry and vindictive, and just pretend, for me, that things we're fine and that she was really my mom. She then launched into how she hates my house because there's a "shrine to my dad on the mantle" (Two pictures and his ashes) and only pictures of her on the fridge. (About 5 pictures.) What? Really? This is your main complaint? This is how you respond to your openly sobbing and half hysterical child, begging for your love? Really?

Sigh. I just don't see us having any resolution any time soon. If ever. It exhausts me, and I'm about to the point where I just don't see the worth or reason for even pretending that we like each other. She's mean and horrible to me, deludes herself into 'understanding' why I'm angry with her (I can be 'mean' to her because it's safe--she'll always love me, etc. Not the case.) and refuses to listen. T said, and rather aptly:

Our lives will be better when and if--that's a really big if, now--our parents started listening and stopped just hearing us.

As promised:

There's me wearing contacts as well as false eyelashes. AMAZING. I look young, I think.

So there's that.

Gaaaaah

The dust farting lap top has shuffled off this mortal coil. Which means that I am stranded using the dust farting desk top, which is located in J's room. This is fine, aside from not having any of my favorites saved, so I have to type everything in from memory, and really, that's just too much goddamn work.

Had engagement photos taken. It was fun. I wore false eyelashes. Rather than making me look like a drag queen or Tammy Faye, I looked...like I had eyelashes. (Amazing, that.)

Went to the 'Air Sex' championships. It's like air guitar, only with, well, sex. Hilarious. Good times were had by all, aside from the mild (for me) and moderate to severe (for others) food poisoning that roared through our gastrointestinal systems. That and the girl that barfed up about a gallon and a half of god knows what in the bar bathroom while I hover-peed as fast as I could in the stall next to her. She probably wasn't having a great time....anymore.

Then I had a small (comparatively speaking) nervous breakdown on Sunday, and have felt oddly disconnected and/or barfy since then. It's awesome.

New guy at work. Has lots of experience, is in his early 50's. He is very interesting and very talkative. Also, exhausting. From the moment he arrives until the moment he leaves he is talking, talking, talking, super animated and very loud. Singing, laughing, telling off color jokes and basically demanding the attention of all those within earshot. It makes the long, laborious afternoons of just JZ and I running our asses off and making fun of each other seem like cozy naps in recliners.

Coworker has been released from jail and has returned unscathed from his immediately following vacation to the other side of the nation. His summation of the trip? "It was hot. I don't like airplanes." I then made the mistake of using the word 'vertigo' in conversation, and things felt just like old times as he stared at me, open mouthed, prepared, I'm sure, to accuse me of making up words. Again. (Reciprocate, it seems, was also invented by yours truly.)

I am getting married in 23 days. In 27, I will be sitting on a sandy beach somewhere, drinking something syrupy and heavily laced with rum, wearing very small amounts of clothing and very large amounts of sun screen. This is the mental picture that keeps me from sobbing every waking hour of every moment of every day. Not the excitement of being T's wife, (finally) or the excitement of having a really big party just for me--the excitement of knowing it will all be over SOON. Tangibly soon.

Had a small panic attack last night thinking of our first dance. It's starting to become obvious that we will be the center of attention that day, that night, that people will be looking at us and taking our picture and forming memories based on our behavior and actions. I don't like to be the center of attention. I don't like to have my photo taken. I don't feel beautiful or elegant or bride-ey, or any of that crap. I don't feel that way in my dress, my shoes, my makeup. I feel fat and tired and scared and overwhelmed. I feel like the people that are acting like this isn't a big deal, like they resent me for having a wedding, like they don't believe that I deserve something nice and whatever are right. Because, well, majority rules, doesn't it? Basis of democracy and all. And it truly is the majority of those around me that are acting this way.

Whatever. I feel barfy. I'm going to sleep. I know I'm being irrational, that I'm whining, that I'm being irritating because I'm supposed to be the blushing happy bride, and instead I'm just trying to be me and I'm failing.

Sleep now. Work tomorrow. Will post pictures of the weirdness that has been my garden and the insanity that was my false eyelashes soon.