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.)