Today is my ten year anniversary. For the last decade, I have maintained my sobriety 100%. My life has remained totally alcohol-free since the late 90s.
If you are doing the math, you are realizing that I did not drink on my 21st birthday. And that I quit drinking after my freshman year of college. I will add that I do not even sip champagne at New Year's or drink the wine at church.
A lot of people ask me how on earth I could have been an alcoholic at such a young age. The answer to this is that many alcoholics are born that way. In my family, it seems to be genetic: two grandparents, one parent, three siblings and several extended family members have all been afflicted with this disease. At least 2 have died in alcohol-related deaths. So whether I began drinking at age 16 or age 43, the results would have been the same: I have and will always have a problem controlling my drinking.
When I tell people that I really only drank for two years, they are even more confused. How did I realize I had a problem after only 2 years? After all, the majority of college freshmen are binge drinkers, especially on the weekends, and especially at large state universities. But by the time I was about 12, I had seen the effects of alcoholism on my family. Thanks to my mother's lectures and descriptions, I could rattle off the signs of an alcohol problem as easily as my multiplication tables.
By the time I was a senior in high school, alcohol was readily available to me, and like most young people, I was all about experimenting. Gradually, I began to see some bad signs...
Blackouts were my first sign that I may not have a normal and healthy relationship with alcohol. Yes, many novice alcohol drinkers have blackouts. But I was having them about once a month. And it wasn't like certain parts of the evening were hazy. I'm talking about the WHOLE NIGHT. Once, I woke up in my dorm room, dressed in party clothes, with a trashcan next to my bed and a concerned note from my friends. To this day, I do not even remember going out AT ALL. I have no idea what I did or where I was. Think about that. It's kind of scary to be that out of control.
If I wasn't blacking out entirely, I was drunk to the point that I had to be carried out of the party. At every party. Having "just two" didn't compute in my brain. Where's the fun in that? The whole goal of the evening is to reach the if-I-have-one-more-I-will-barf buzz and keep it as long as possible. Duh. But of course, I am an alcoholic, so the stopping point for me was always "just one more and I'll stop." Remember the girl at the frat party who was always found sitting on a step, slurring and crying and asking everyone for a cigarette? The one with barf all over her tank top and mascara smeared all over her face? Who had to be baby-sat by her girlfriends? That was me. Every weekend. And by weekend, I mean Wednesday thru Saturday nights. Alcoholics are always up for a party.
My ability to increase my tolerance for alcohol was frightening. By the end of my first semester in college, I could put down 10-12 beers. They were like soda pop to me. I weighed about 130 pounds. I was drinking this amount of beer in less than 2 hours. I'm no good at math, but it's pretty safe to say that I was far over the legal driving limit. I remember strategizing on Friday and Saturday nights, using complicated formulas to ensure maximum alcohol consumption: "Ok, if I don't eat anything between noon and six, and then eat as many breadsticks as I can an hour and a half before I leave to go out, I should be able to drink 2 extra beers before I barf." -- Who does that??? That is not normal!
It wasn't just the urge to drink as much as I possibly could, as quickly as I could. Just like any other alcoholic, I didn't give a rat's ass what the beverage was, I just wanted as much of it as possible, as quickly as possible. If you are a normal person, and you despise tequila, when you go to a party that serves nothing but tequila, you are probably going to drink water or soda pop all night. Not the alcoholic. They will think, "Crap. I hate tequila. This is going to suck." -- and then they will line up the shots and down ten of them before you can blink an eye! That makes absolutely no sense. It's like someone who hates broccoli eating 2 pounds of it, just because it's there.
One of the worst signs of an alcohol problem is a change in personality. When I was drunk, I became hostile and angry. I tried to pick fist fights with my friends. I literally wanted to punch the snot out of anyone and everyone. If you know me in person, this concept is laughable. I am such a wuss that I won't even do wheelies on a bicycle. I have some friends who have never even seen me lose my temper. But when I drank, I turned into a psychotic bitch with the shortest fuse you've ever seen. It would take nothing to set me off.
As you can probably guess, denial plays a huge role in an alcoholic's life. Example thoughts:
"I am totally ok to drive." (Um, no, you're not!)
"That guy is HOT." (Riiiight)
"She's not that pissed at me. (Um, you just made out with her boyfriend.)
I look smokin' hot right now. "(Is that why your hair is plastered to your skull and you can't walk?)
"My skirt is totally covering my butt." (You just flashed an entire room of total strangers.)
"This party is awesome!" (...if by "awesome" you mean that you are the only person on the dance floor because it's 4am and the party is over.)
"I don't know. I guess someone stole my keys." (Actually, drunk ass, you dropped them somewhere.)
I did something else that my just seem like strange behavior, unless you too are someone familiar with alcoholism: I became extremely possessive with my alcohol. If I brought my own alcohol to a party, I would label it with my name, patrol the fridge to make sure no one stole it, and refuse to share so much as a sip with anyone. You see, I have the brain of an alcoholic, and the thought of running out of alcohol was terrifying to me, especially when I was under 21. This is why you hear of alcoholics hiding bottles everywhere. It's because they don't ever want to run out. Of course, I knew that hiding alcohol was a sign of alcoholism, so I fought the urge to do this. If I didn't hide it, I must not be an alcoholic, right?
I used to (and strangely enough, still do) pressure my friends to drink as much as I did. To an alcoholic's brain, as long as everyone else is drinking like you do, that means your relationship with alcohol is normal. If everyone's jumping off a bridge, then it must be an OK thing to do. This is why it's common to see an alcoholic hang out with other alcoholics. Now that I am sober, I have watched other alcoholics grow visibly uncomfortable around me, especially when I tell them that I am sober because of my alcoholic tendencies. Other alcoholics will often stop talking to me or pressure me to drink, even when I have said, "No, thank you" several times.
And I can spot an alcoholic ten miles away. Some people have gay-dar, I have alcoholic-dar. Now, I'm not as adamant about it as my mother, who honestly believes every third person on the planet is a raging alcoholic, but there are a lot of them out there. Some are like me, and become alcoholics from day one. Others cultivate their addiction over a period of decades. A few, like my grandmother, wait until a life-changing event (in her case, the death of her husband) happens. They turn to the bottle to soothe themselves. But I can always spot them, sometimes within minutes. Their actions are so familiar to me, it's like looking in a mirror.
Ten years ago today, my family came home from vacation to find me blitzed out of my mind. I had remained at home, claiming I had to work at my waitressing job, when really what I wanted to do was throw a huge keg party and spend the majority of the week finding my next drink. (Lying to loved ones takes a back seat to booze when you're an alcoholic.) After the parties were over, I had to clean up the house before they got home. Part of this cleaning involved disposing of the leftover alcohol. So I decided to have "just one" margarita while I cleaned up the house. It would be such a shame to pour the tequila down the drain. By the time my family got home, I was slurring my speech as I mopped the kitchen floor. My mother, a recovering alcoholic herself, knew instantly what was going on. To this day, the look on her face -- a mix of fear, anger and guilt -- haunts me. At that moment, I knew that I could not keep drinking and have a good relationship with my mother. I could not bear the thought of making her feel that way ever again.
That was the last time I ever drank. I quit in a very unusual way -- cold turkey, and without the assistance of Alcoholics Anonymous. This is VERY unusual, actually. I have never even been to an AA meeting, although I'm not saying I will never go to one. There is no cure for this disease.
I would be lying if I said that I never want to drink alcohol. I never tried gin or Midori before I quit, and I think melontinis and gin & tonics smell wonderful. I know I would have loved them. And yes, there are certain times when I miss the stress-relieving and social lubrication benefits of a drink. Luckily, I have found that Xanax and cigarettes are excellent substitutes. And (non-alcoholic) beer is now what I crave when I've had a long day. I guess you can take the alcohol out of the alcoholic, but not the alcoholic out of the alcohol aisle. The worst times are when I'm out with my girlfriends, because I do miss getting a little buzzy (ok, a LOT buzzy) with my girlfriends. I never did like looking sloppy drunk around guys. Not that it ever stopped me, back then. And I still fight the urge to escape reality, boredom and difficult emotions with substances. (Hello, Vicodin!)
But somehow, I have managed to say "No, thank you" to alcohol for the last ten years.
Go me.
If you recognize yourself or a loved one in any of my descriptions above, you might want to look at this quiz. A score of 8 or more indicates a possible problem with alcohol. My score was 19.
Showing posts with label I love vicodin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I love vicodin. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Awkwardness
For the first time in my whole life, I am going to a significant other's parents' house for a holiday.
Yes, I am a loser. But that's not what this post is about.
And no, I am not freaking out about anything major. I have already met CN's parents, and I like them. And they like me. So that is good. I'm just nervous about the little stuff. The Czarina is not helping, either. The other evening, she called me.
VB: Hello?
C: Oh! It's loud. Are you out?
VB: Yes, Mom, I'm in a bar. What's up?
C: Are you with CN?
VB: Yes. We are eating dinner.
C: Um, ok. I just wanted to tell you something while I was thinking about it, because otherwise I'll forget.
VB: Ok. Shoot.
C: You're still going to CN's parents' house for Thanksgiving, right?
VB: Right. Is that ok?
C: Oh, sure, honey! That's totally fine. I know it's a pain to drive all the way up here, only to turn around two days later. You can just come home at Christmas.
VB: Ok. I'm glad you're not upset.
C: Oh, no. I just wanted to give you some advice.
VB: Ok.
C: When you go down there with CN, make sure you don't call him "Sweetie" or anything in front of his mother.
VB: [Trying not to laugh] I'm sorry. It's kind of loud in here. What did you say?
C: I just wanted to tell you not to call CN any little nicknames in front of his mother. It comes off as possessive.
VB: [Realizing there is no point in debating the validity of this statement, and it would be better to just go with it, because apparently, mother has smoked crack before picking up the phone.] Oh. Ok. Thanks, Mom!
C: You're welcome. I'll let you get back to your dinner. Love ya!
VB: Love you, too. Bye, Mom.
Ok, is anyone else totally confused about this advice? Because that was probably the strangest piece of advice she has EVER given to me. And I'm having a VERY hard time believing it. It sounds totally absurd. Who gives a fart if I call him "Schmoopie" or "Sugar Pie" or even "Love Bunny" in front of his mom?
I mean, do parents care about stuff like that? Or is my mother crazy? Because normally, her advice is very old-fashioned, which I can understand. Usually, I can see her point. It's never just plain crazy. This just made no sense to me at all. I could understand maybe, if his mother didn't like me, but she does. So I fail to see the meaning and importance of this advice. It's making me wonder if The Czarina is suffering from early-onset senility.
Maybe I'm just naive? Can anyone shed some light on this for me?
Funny side note: Right after I got off the phone with The Czarina, CN saw a friend of his in the bar. He introduced me, and the three of us started talking. Then the friend made a joke about how CN and I are going to have babies in "about 5 years". I laughed it off, but CN got TOTALLY flustered! It was so funny. I have never seen someone get so wigged out about a joke before in my life! He acted funny for the rest of the evening, and just couldn't seem to let it roll off his back. I mean, the joke put us on the spot, but there was no harm in it. I don't know why it bothered him so much. Can anyone explain this puzzling male behavior to me?
Ok, back to my Turkey Day Stress.
As if my mother's strange advice isn't making me TOO ill at ease, I have a bunch of other stuff that is stressing me out about Thanksgiving this year. My inner monologue goes something like this:
What if his parents' house smells funny? What if I don't like his mom's cooking? What if I have to meet other members of the family and they hate me? What if I get down there and his family is TOTALLY different than mine and we just don't mesh well? What if they get all dressed up for Thanksgiving?
(My family wears sweatshirts and jeans, because the Big Meal is always served mid-football marathon, and we are NOT about to wear church clothes to watch football games on tv!)
*Note to self: ask CN about appropriate Thanksgiving attire*
What if I have to go to church with them? I am weird about other people's churches. I never know where to go or what to do, and often feel guilty about "cheating". Which, at this point, is kind of stupid, because I have not been to church in about a year. I guess it's because I was raised Catholic. Although I'm not Catholic anymore, I still view my attending "other" churches as being sacriligious. I'm weird, I know. Heck, at this point, I could use ANY church! LOL I'm a heathen!
What if they don't like the pies I'm making? I will ruin Thanksgiving! (I am making a sweet potato pie, and I've never made one before. I'm worried I will mess it up.)
What if they eat weird food for Thanksgiving? Like squash or chitlins or goose or something? What if I don't want to eat anything except my own pies?
What if I want to watch different football games than they do? Or worse -- what if they don't watch the football games at all!?
What if I get homesick while I'm there and I start crying? (To make things really interesting, I am all hormonal and PMSy -- which means I cry about anything.) Or worse, what if Cranky, PMSy VB comes out and I bite someone's head off?! EEEK!!
What if something really awkward happens? Someone could bring up a personal topic, or CN and I could get into a fight. Or his parents could turn into MY parents, lecturing us to death. Ugh.
What if I get sick when I'm there? What if we start playing board games, like we do at The Czarina's, and I turn into Obnoxious Board Game VB, who plays for blood and screams at people?
Ugh. Ok, change of subject. I can feel my stomach twisting up. I need to chill, don't I? I'm being ridiculous. Everything will be fine. I could always just pop a vicodin -- Lord knows that always chills me out.
I'm kidding.
*Note to self: get prescription for Xanax.*
Does anyone have any advice for me? Because I've never done this before, and all I am imagining is that I will be like Sarah Jessica Parker's character in The Family Stone and it will be horrible horrible horrible. (By the way, if you have never seen that movie, it is hilarious!) My Overactive Imagination is having a field day right now. Pessimistically Paranoid is screaming and running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
Clearly, I need to talk to CN and get him to calm me the eff down. I swear, guys, this is the hormones talking. They make me crazy. Sorry if I'm being TMI today...
Why did I quit smoking again??? Gah, I'd kill for one right now.
So any advice is welcome. Tales of Warning are good, too. And if you have any funny or embarrassing stories, please share those, as well.
But mainly, I'm looking for an explanation of my mother's weird advice. Seriously, WTF??!
Yes, I am a loser. But that's not what this post is about.
And no, I am not freaking out about anything major. I have already met CN's parents, and I like them. And they like me. So that is good. I'm just nervous about the little stuff. The Czarina is not helping, either. The other evening, she called me.
VB: Hello?
C: Oh! It's loud. Are you out?
VB: Yes, Mom, I'm in a bar. What's up?
C: Are you with CN?
VB: Yes. We are eating dinner.
C: Um, ok. I just wanted to tell you something while I was thinking about it, because otherwise I'll forget.
VB: Ok. Shoot.
C: You're still going to CN's parents' house for Thanksgiving, right?
VB: Right. Is that ok?
C: Oh, sure, honey! That's totally fine. I know it's a pain to drive all the way up here, only to turn around two days later. You can just come home at Christmas.
VB: Ok. I'm glad you're not upset.
C: Oh, no. I just wanted to give you some advice.
VB: Ok.
C: When you go down there with CN, make sure you don't call him "Sweetie" or anything in front of his mother.
VB: [Trying not to laugh] I'm sorry. It's kind of loud in here. What did you say?
C: I just wanted to tell you not to call CN any little nicknames in front of his mother. It comes off as possessive.
VB: [Realizing there is no point in debating the validity of this statement, and it would be better to just go with it, because apparently, mother has smoked crack before picking up the phone.] Oh. Ok. Thanks, Mom!
C: You're welcome. I'll let you get back to your dinner. Love ya!
VB: Love you, too. Bye, Mom.
Ok, is anyone else totally confused about this advice? Because that was probably the strangest piece of advice she has EVER given to me. And I'm having a VERY hard time believing it. It sounds totally absurd. Who gives a fart if I call him "Schmoopie" or "Sugar Pie" or even "Love Bunny" in front of his mom?
I mean, do parents care about stuff like that? Or is my mother crazy? Because normally, her advice is very old-fashioned, which I can understand. Usually, I can see her point. It's never just plain crazy. This just made no sense to me at all. I could understand maybe, if his mother didn't like me, but she does. So I fail to see the meaning and importance of this advice. It's making me wonder if The Czarina is suffering from early-onset senility.
Maybe I'm just naive? Can anyone shed some light on this for me?
Funny side note: Right after I got off the phone with The Czarina, CN saw a friend of his in the bar. He introduced me, and the three of us started talking. Then the friend made a joke about how CN and I are going to have babies in "about 5 years". I laughed it off, but CN got TOTALLY flustered! It was so funny. I have never seen someone get so wigged out about a joke before in my life! He acted funny for the rest of the evening, and just couldn't seem to let it roll off his back. I mean, the joke put us on the spot, but there was no harm in it. I don't know why it bothered him so much. Can anyone explain this puzzling male behavior to me?
Ok, back to my Turkey Day Stress.
As if my mother's strange advice isn't making me TOO ill at ease, I have a bunch of other stuff that is stressing me out about Thanksgiving this year. My inner monologue goes something like this:
What if his parents' house smells funny? What if I don't like his mom's cooking? What if I have to meet other members of the family and they hate me? What if I get down there and his family is TOTALLY different than mine and we just don't mesh well? What if they get all dressed up for Thanksgiving?
(My family wears sweatshirts and jeans, because the Big Meal is always served mid-football marathon, and we are NOT about to wear church clothes to watch football games on tv!)
*Note to self: ask CN about appropriate Thanksgiving attire*
What if I have to go to church with them? I am weird about other people's churches. I never know where to go or what to do, and often feel guilty about "cheating". Which, at this point, is kind of stupid, because I have not been to church in about a year. I guess it's because I was raised Catholic. Although I'm not Catholic anymore, I still view my attending "other" churches as being sacriligious. I'm weird, I know. Heck, at this point, I could use ANY church! LOL I'm a heathen!
What if they don't like the pies I'm making? I will ruin Thanksgiving! (I am making a sweet potato pie, and I've never made one before. I'm worried I will mess it up.)
What if they eat weird food for Thanksgiving? Like squash or chitlins or goose or something? What if I don't want to eat anything except my own pies?
What if I want to watch different football games than they do? Or worse -- what if they don't watch the football games at all!?
What if I get homesick while I'm there and I start crying? (To make things really interesting, I am all hormonal and PMSy -- which means I cry about anything.) Or worse, what if Cranky, PMSy VB comes out and I bite someone's head off?! EEEK!!
What if something really awkward happens? Someone could bring up a personal topic, or CN and I could get into a fight. Or his parents could turn into MY parents, lecturing us to death. Ugh.
What if I get sick when I'm there? What if we start playing board games, like we do at The Czarina's, and I turn into Obnoxious Board Game VB, who plays for blood and screams at people?
Ugh. Ok, change of subject. I can feel my stomach twisting up. I need to chill, don't I? I'm being ridiculous. Everything will be fine. I could always just pop a vicodin -- Lord knows that always chills me out.
I'm kidding.
*Note to self: get prescription for Xanax.*
Does anyone have any advice for me? Because I've never done this before, and all I am imagining is that I will be like Sarah Jessica Parker's character in The Family Stone and it will be horrible horrible horrible. (By the way, if you have never seen that movie, it is hilarious!) My Overactive Imagination is having a field day right now. Pessimistically Paranoid is screaming and running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
Clearly, I need to talk to CN and get him to calm me the eff down. I swear, guys, this is the hormones talking. They make me crazy. Sorry if I'm being TMI today...
Why did I quit smoking again??? Gah, I'd kill for one right now.
So any advice is welcome. Tales of Warning are good, too. And if you have any funny or embarrassing stories, please share those, as well.
But mainly, I'm looking for an explanation of my mother's weird advice. Seriously, WTF??!
Monday, September 10, 2007
Barf Queen on a Date
"I took 5 of them," she slurred.
Oh boy. When I got home from work on Friday, I opened my front door to find E in the midst of a Vicodin-induced stupor. She had surgery recently, and was in some pain.
"Well, I don't have any plans tonight. You wanna stay in and have a Roomie Bonding Night? We can watch movies and eat popcorn. I could pop a Vicodin and join you!" I said, excitedly.
E nodded enthusiastically. "Yeahyeahyeah."
15 minutes later, we were in our jammies, watching Dirty Love, eating jelly beans and I had downed a Vicodin. A few minutes later, I decided it wasn't working, so I took another one.
[Note: This directly violates Rule #1 of VB's Vicodin Enjoyment: Never take more than one Vicodin. I would soon rue this rule violation.]
So I'm just starting to enjoy myself when there's a knock on the door. It's Cute Neighbor. And I'm buzzed on painkillers. Uh-Oh. Act natural.
He had some friends (a married couple) coming into town for the night and wanted to know if I would care to join them for dinner and pool.
"Sure, I'd love to!" I replied, trying to sound sober, secretly wondering how in the hell I'm going to pull this off.
He said ok, and told me to be ready by 8. Cool. That gave me an hour and a half to get ready. In other words, I would be totally juiced by the time the date started. I shut the door.
"Shitshitshitshitshit!!!" I whispered.
"What? Wassss that CN?" asked E, stumbling over to the front door.
"Dude, I have a date with CN and I'm fucked up. I can't do this," I said, walking past her, to my room.
Have you ever tried to get ready when you're drunk? Because that's what it was like. I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that this was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Hot rollers? Seemed to require a PhD. Coordinating shoes with my outfit? Required an extremely serious debate between myself and E, lasting about 15 minutes. Zipping up and tying my top, without getting the dreaded white deodorant marks all over the front? Took every ounce of concentration and focus I had in my body. I dropped everything twice. I almost poked my eye out with the eyeliner. And I thought the SATs were hard. I think I asked E about 6 times if my outfit looked ok. Which was stupid, because she was more wacked out than I was.
Oh boy. This was going to be an interesting night.
"E!" I shouted. "I don't know if this is a good idea.....it's still kicking in!"
"No, you should totally go. You have to," she slurred, leaning against the door frame of my room.
"Well, the good thing is, I'm not nervous at all. I feel gooooooooood," I replied.
"See? So you shhhhhould go...." E mumbled before collapsing on the couch. I think she passed out at this point. I don't really know. I was more concerned with remembering how to walk in a straight line.
After double and triple-checking myself in the mirror, I headed over to CN's house across the street. "Don't tell him you're on Vicodin. Don't tell him you're on Vicodin," I mentally repeated to myself.
[Note: When we went tailgating together last weekend, I mentioned how much I loved Vicodin, but emphasized that I do not do it all the time by any wild stretch of the imagination. So I did not want to give the impression that I am addicted to pain killers or something. Because less than a week later, here I am, weaving all over the street, teetering in high heels. Yeesh.]
We drove downtown to meet up with the couple. I think I acted pretty normally. I think....I hope...
By the time we walked to the restaurant, sat down and opened our menus, I was blitzed. I could feel my eyes crossing and my mind wandering.
I ordered a ginger ale in the hopes that it would settle my stomach. No such luck. Before I took a sip of it, I excused myself from the table. Luckily, our table was not too far from the bathroom.
By some miracle, the bathroom was empty. I hurriedly locked the stall door behind me and proceeded to barf. "Shit! I am never taking Vicodin again! I am a total idiot! I can't believe I did this!!! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I thought as I doubled over, hurling.
Double checking myself, my hair and my clothes in the mirror, I swished my mouth out and popped some gum. I have no idea how long this took, because at this point, I was in Lala Land.
Luckily, no one seemed to notice when I got back to the table. We ordered our food, and I drank my ginger ale and began to feel a little better. Whew, I am in the clear. I attempted to join in on the conversation, and managed to hold my own. I have no earthly clue what we talked about. I don't remember a word of it. I do remember CN flirting with me, and smiling at him, and thinking he was definitely out of TFZ. But that's about it. Most of my thoughts were focused on not falling out of my chair. As if reminding myself to keep my eyelids from shutting halfway wasn't hard enough, the stress and paranoia of being discovered was making me sweat profusely. Oh man. This was not fun. Not fun at all.
Then, the food was served. CN and his buddy had ordered sushi. Which wasn't the best thing for me to see/smell at that point. Feeling woozy, I took a deep breath and focused on eating my own meal. I swallowed the first bite when..........uh oh. Guess what. The ginger ale didn't work. Back to the bathroom I go.
This time, I didn't say anything, but got up and made a beeline to the ladies' room. I almost had to run. Which would have been funny to see, because at this point, my stomach was controlling the rest of my body. I had lost control over my brain, not to mention my appendages. I almost fell on the way. As I barged into the bathroom, throwing the door wide open and staggering around to see if anyone else was in there, I was overjoyed to find that I again had the bathroom all to myself. Yesssss! But I didn't have a lot of time to enjoy this moment: Must. Barf. Now. Unluckily, I didn't make it all the way to the toilet, and managed to barf all over the stall. At least this time, it was just ginger ale and one piece of pasta, so it wasn't very messy. I cleaned it up as best I could and felt a LOT better. I washed up and swished again.
"I am the biggest effing idiot on Earth and possibly throughout all of history. I can't believe I am doing this," I thought. "Oh, gawd, what if I keep barfing every 15 minutes???" I looked in the mirror: no harm done to clothes, makeup or hair. "SCORE! This is the best barf luck I've ever had!" I thought, as I popped another piece of gum.
I rejoined the group, but knew better than to drink or eat anything. Feeling the buzz start to wear off, I began to relax. That is, until I realized: they were on to me. "Um, are you ok? Does your food taste ok? You're not eating," the wife asked me.
I told everyone that I hadn't felt well since lunch, when I had ordered a salad from a local restaurant. I apologized for not feeling so well or eating. "But I'm starting to feel a little better. I just can't eat or drink anything right now," I explained. I received much sympathy. Whew. Big sigh of relief.
After dinner, we crossed the street to go play pool. Who do we run into? Why, MJ and her new guy, VW! I ran up to her.
"Oh thank God you're here! Help me! I'm on a date with CN and I'm fucked up on Vicodin and I can't stop barfing! Do I look ok? Can you tell I'm fucked up? Do I smell like barf? Omg, I barfed at the restaurant -- twice!" I shouted frantically.
"Please tell me you didn't barf at the table," she said, hesitantly.
"Oh, thank goodness, no. I even got the bathroom all to myself!" I replied with glee.
She laughed and reassured me I looked fine and that I appeared normal. Never in my life have I been so happy to run into someone I knew.
The rest of the evening went really, really well. MJ and VW joined our group, and we all had fun playing pool. Towards the end of the night, we all grabbed a table outside and talked. That's when CN and VW began to hit it off -- they were inseparable! "Dude, your date hijacked my date!" I told MJ.
"I know! They are like BFFs!" she answered. We laughed and began to tease the guys about it.
Soon after, CN's friends went back to their hotel and MJ and VW left. This left me and CN alone to talk. And boy, did we talk. We went for at least an hour, solid. Talked for a while at the bar, all the way back to the car (with much teasing from CN about how I am Barf Queen) and all the way home. Then, we sat in his driveway and talked some more. We exchanged phone numbers and myspace URLs. There was mucho chemistry and CN is most definitely out of TFZ. Yay!
And no, nothing happened, Noseypants.
We made plans to hang out the next day and watch a movie. But by the time I was done with everything I had to do on Saturday, it was almost time for the USC game to start, so we watched the first half of that instead.
Nothing happened on Saturday, either. But it was his fault -- he sat on the easy chair, while I sat on the couch all by myself. So much for couch snuggling.
He was probably afraid I would barf on him...
Oh boy. When I got home from work on Friday, I opened my front door to find E in the midst of a Vicodin-induced stupor. She had surgery recently, and was in some pain.
"Well, I don't have any plans tonight. You wanna stay in and have a Roomie Bonding Night? We can watch movies and eat popcorn. I could pop a Vicodin and join you!" I said, excitedly.
E nodded enthusiastically. "Yeahyeahyeah."
15 minutes later, we were in our jammies, watching Dirty Love, eating jelly beans and I had downed a Vicodin. A few minutes later, I decided it wasn't working, so I took another one.
[Note: This directly violates Rule #1 of VB's Vicodin Enjoyment: Never take more than one Vicodin. I would soon rue this rule violation.]
So I'm just starting to enjoy myself when there's a knock on the door. It's Cute Neighbor. And I'm buzzed on painkillers. Uh-Oh. Act natural.
He had some friends (a married couple) coming into town for the night and wanted to know if I would care to join them for dinner and pool.
"Sure, I'd love to!" I replied, trying to sound sober, secretly wondering how in the hell I'm going to pull this off.
He said ok, and told me to be ready by 8. Cool. That gave me an hour and a half to get ready. In other words, I would be totally juiced by the time the date started. I shut the door.
"Shitshitshitshitshit!!!" I whispered.
"What? Wassss that CN?" asked E, stumbling over to the front door.
"Dude, I have a date with CN and I'm fucked up. I can't do this," I said, walking past her, to my room.
Have you ever tried to get ready when you're drunk? Because that's what it was like. I don't think it would be an exaggeration to say that this was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Hot rollers? Seemed to require a PhD. Coordinating shoes with my outfit? Required an extremely serious debate between myself and E, lasting about 15 minutes. Zipping up and tying my top, without getting the dreaded white deodorant marks all over the front? Took every ounce of concentration and focus I had in my body. I dropped everything twice. I almost poked my eye out with the eyeliner. And I thought the SATs were hard. I think I asked E about 6 times if my outfit looked ok. Which was stupid, because she was more wacked out than I was.
Oh boy. This was going to be an interesting night.
"E!" I shouted. "I don't know if this is a good idea.....it's still kicking in!"
"No, you should totally go. You have to," she slurred, leaning against the door frame of my room.
"Well, the good thing is, I'm not nervous at all. I feel gooooooooood," I replied.
"See? So you shhhhhould go...." E mumbled before collapsing on the couch. I think she passed out at this point. I don't really know. I was more concerned with remembering how to walk in a straight line.
After double and triple-checking myself in the mirror, I headed over to CN's house across the street. "Don't tell him you're on Vicodin. Don't tell him you're on Vicodin," I mentally repeated to myself.
[Note: When we went tailgating together last weekend, I mentioned how much I loved Vicodin, but emphasized that I do not do it all the time by any wild stretch of the imagination. So I did not want to give the impression that I am addicted to pain killers or something. Because less than a week later, here I am, weaving all over the street, teetering in high heels. Yeesh.]
We drove downtown to meet up with the couple. I think I acted pretty normally. I think....I hope...
By the time we walked to the restaurant, sat down and opened our menus, I was blitzed. I could feel my eyes crossing and my mind wandering.
I ordered a ginger ale in the hopes that it would settle my stomach. No such luck. Before I took a sip of it, I excused myself from the table. Luckily, our table was not too far from the bathroom.
By some miracle, the bathroom was empty. I hurriedly locked the stall door behind me and proceeded to barf. "Shit! I am never taking Vicodin again! I am a total idiot! I can't believe I did this!!! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I thought as I doubled over, hurling.
Double checking myself, my hair and my clothes in the mirror, I swished my mouth out and popped some gum. I have no idea how long this took, because at this point, I was in Lala Land.
Luckily, no one seemed to notice when I got back to the table. We ordered our food, and I drank my ginger ale and began to feel a little better. Whew, I am in the clear. I attempted to join in on the conversation, and managed to hold my own. I have no earthly clue what we talked about. I don't remember a word of it. I do remember CN flirting with me, and smiling at him, and thinking he was definitely out of TFZ. But that's about it. Most of my thoughts were focused on not falling out of my chair. As if reminding myself to keep my eyelids from shutting halfway wasn't hard enough, the stress and paranoia of being discovered was making me sweat profusely. Oh man. This was not fun. Not fun at all.
Then, the food was served. CN and his buddy had ordered sushi. Which wasn't the best thing for me to see/smell at that point. Feeling woozy, I took a deep breath and focused on eating my own meal. I swallowed the first bite when..........uh oh. Guess what. The ginger ale didn't work. Back to the bathroom I go.
This time, I didn't say anything, but got up and made a beeline to the ladies' room. I almost had to run. Which would have been funny to see, because at this point, my stomach was controlling the rest of my body. I had lost control over my brain, not to mention my appendages. I almost fell on the way. As I barged into the bathroom, throwing the door wide open and staggering around to see if anyone else was in there, I was overjoyed to find that I again had the bathroom all to myself. Yesssss! But I didn't have a lot of time to enjoy this moment: Must. Barf. Now. Unluckily, I didn't make it all the way to the toilet, and managed to barf all over the stall. At least this time, it was just ginger ale and one piece of pasta, so it wasn't very messy. I cleaned it up as best I could and felt a LOT better. I washed up and swished again.
"I am the biggest effing idiot on Earth and possibly throughout all of history. I can't believe I am doing this," I thought. "Oh, gawd, what if I keep barfing every 15 minutes???" I looked in the mirror: no harm done to clothes, makeup or hair. "SCORE! This is the best barf luck I've ever had!" I thought, as I popped another piece of gum.
I rejoined the group, but knew better than to drink or eat anything. Feeling the buzz start to wear off, I began to relax. That is, until I realized: they were on to me. "Um, are you ok? Does your food taste ok? You're not eating," the wife asked me.
I told everyone that I hadn't felt well since lunch, when I had ordered a salad from a local restaurant. I apologized for not feeling so well or eating. "But I'm starting to feel a little better. I just can't eat or drink anything right now," I explained. I received much sympathy. Whew. Big sigh of relief.
After dinner, we crossed the street to go play pool. Who do we run into? Why, MJ and her new guy, VW! I ran up to her.
"Oh thank God you're here! Help me! I'm on a date with CN and I'm fucked up on Vicodin and I can't stop barfing! Do I look ok? Can you tell I'm fucked up? Do I smell like barf? Omg, I barfed at the restaurant -- twice!" I shouted frantically.
"Please tell me you didn't barf at the table," she said, hesitantly.
"Oh, thank goodness, no. I even got the bathroom all to myself!" I replied with glee.
She laughed and reassured me I looked fine and that I appeared normal. Never in my life have I been so happy to run into someone I knew.
The rest of the evening went really, really well. MJ and VW joined our group, and we all had fun playing pool. Towards the end of the night, we all grabbed a table outside and talked. That's when CN and VW began to hit it off -- they were inseparable! "Dude, your date hijacked my date!" I told MJ.
"I know! They are like BFFs!" she answered. We laughed and began to tease the guys about it.
Soon after, CN's friends went back to their hotel and MJ and VW left. This left me and CN alone to talk. And boy, did we talk. We went for at least an hour, solid. Talked for a while at the bar, all the way back to the car (with much teasing from CN about how I am Barf Queen) and all the way home. Then, we sat in his driveway and talked some more. We exchanged phone numbers and myspace URLs. There was mucho chemistry and CN is most definitely out of TFZ. Yay!
And no, nothing happened, Noseypants.
We made plans to hang out the next day and watch a movie. But by the time I was done with everything I had to do on Saturday, it was almost time for the USC game to start, so we watched the first half of that instead.
Nothing happened on Saturday, either. But it was his fault -- he sat on the easy chair, while I sat on the couch all by myself. So much for couch snuggling.
He was probably afraid I would barf on him...
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Tag! I'm It!
I've been tagged by Evel. (If you don't read her blog, you should. She's hysterical. Ever wonder what those tech support people are really thinking when you call about your messed up computer? She will tell you! And you know what? You sound like a total idiot.)
My job here today is to tell you 8 tidbits of info about me. I bet I have already done this tag....and surprisingly, I haven't told you everything about me. SHOCKER! This tag came at a good time, since I have lots going on, yet nothing which would entitle an entire post. Here goes.
Oh, heads up. If you have a weak stomach, you might want to skip #1.
1. I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. For a legitimate reason, this time. I have been informed by my gyno that there is too much protein in my urine, and so I have to go back to the office and let them insert who-knows-what into you-know-where so they can make sure my kidneys are working properly. Fuckfuckfuckityfuckfuck. They think I am not peeing into the cup correctly and I am contaminating my own urine samples with excess protein from who knows what. It wouldn't be a surprise if this is true, as they have a 12-step process for peeing into the cups there. You need a PhD to follow their procedure. Anyway, using a catheter is a fail-proof way of seeing if the problem is my idiocy or my kidneys. The only reason I am volunteering to cooperate with this whole catheter idea is because I know it might be preventing a future kidney stone. Now that you have read this, I know you are thinking one of the following:
A) Ouch!
B) Ew!
C) This sounds like a job for Vicodin! or
D) *raises hand, as if to ask a question in class* Um, but why does the gyno care about that hole?
To which I reply: Exactly!!!!
2. Further proof that I did indeed make a 4.0 in library school (aka "The Place Where You Learn How to Be a Stalker and Get Paid for It"): I found Cute Neighbor's myspace page yesterday. I found it because I found out his last name through public records. Along with the full names of all my neighbors. And some details about Hot Neighbor's divorce. And his driving record. And where he used to live. But whatever. That's basic stuff. *raises hand in swearing manner* I promise never to use my powers for evil purposes. But if you want me to do some stalking for you, I charge $25/hour for my services (see #3, below).
3. I am trying to sell Toby. Because I get these things called "bills" in my "mailbox". And it's either sell the dog or sell my body at this point. And please, no sympathy for the dog. He should have thought about this before he chewed off my windowsill. And pooped all over my house.
4. Sometimes I geek out WAAAAAY too much. Examples:
A)I was just on Netflix, reviewing my queue. I had forgotten that once I discovered the "documentaries" section on Netflix, I had gone totally crazy: history, science, pop culture, animals, foreign cities, diseases, religions, art, you name it. For some reason, though, the following must have sounded interesting to me: The Natural History of the Chicken. Whaaaaaaaa???
B) And now that I'm going to NYC, I am entirely too excited about it, and have checked out 3 travel guides from the library. I'm going to look over those before I even get on the plane. I just put an 8 volume "History of NYC" documentary at the top of my Netflix queue. And read up on all the well-known NYC neighborhoods in Wikipedia. (You can quiz me, even!) And I'm working on my "First Trip to NYC" Soundtrack. Today I'm going to see if I really can get tickets to Spamalot. (Ok, you know and I know that is impossible, but I am curious to see just how much it would cost.) It is probably the ONLY musical I would ever get excited to see....ok, I just looked it up. Some tickets are as low as $36. Who knew???? I am seriously out of control, people!!!
C) I think I might spend this afternoon going back through all my posts and editing my post labels. (Just having typed that, I'm not too surprised about this dry spell I'm having....jeez. *sighs and rolls eyes*)
5. I'm really good about taking other people's advice and learning from others' mistakes. Example: MJ says Times Square is a royal pain in the neck and sucks. I believe her. So I will not be visiting this famous landmark. Unless it's because I am going to Spamalot. (Besides, um, what the hell do tourists do there, anyway? Look at the big lit-up signs??? Big deal. Send me a postcard, you know?) Some people call it "blind trust", I call it "never having to hear 'I told you so'."
6. When I go to Vermont on this upcoming trip, it will be the farthest north I've ever been. There'd better not be any snow. And I want to see a Ben & Jerry's on every corner!
7. When I was home at The Czarina's recently, I was helping her clean the house. The wall by the stairs has a bunch of old framed family documents and pictures (diplomas, paintings, etc.) hanging on it. I was looking at them while I dusted. One of the framed items is a promotional brochure from my great-great-grandfather's dentistry practice, dating back to about the 1880s. (If you knew my family, it would not surprise you in the least that we not only saved that, but also framed it.) Now, I knew that side of my family was from upstate New York, so I figured he was a dentist somewhere in northern New York. But according to this brochure, his office was located on W. 151st St., NYC! Cool, huh? All this time, I thought I had no NYC connections. I asked MJ if we would have time to maybe go see the building, but she pointed out that 151st street is in Harlem, and it might not be a good idea. Also, it's hella out there, almost in the Bronx.
8. I just found out this week that I type 65 words per minute.
Ok, I am supposed to tag 8 people.....but it's lunchtime, and I gotta go. If you want to do it, knock yourself out!
My job here today is to tell you 8 tidbits of info about me. I bet I have already done this tag....and surprisingly, I haven't told you everything about me. SHOCKER! This tag came at a good time, since I have lots going on, yet nothing which would entitle an entire post. Here goes.
Oh, heads up. If you have a weak stomach, you might want to skip #1.
1. I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown. For a legitimate reason, this time. I have been informed by my gyno that there is too much protein in my urine, and so I have to go back to the office and let them insert who-knows-what into you-know-where so they can make sure my kidneys are working properly. Fuckfuckfuckityfuckfuck. They think I am not peeing into the cup correctly and I am contaminating my own urine samples with excess protein from who knows what. It wouldn't be a surprise if this is true, as they have a 12-step process for peeing into the cups there. You need a PhD to follow their procedure. Anyway, using a catheter is a fail-proof way of seeing if the problem is my idiocy or my kidneys. The only reason I am volunteering to cooperate with this whole catheter idea is because I know it might be preventing a future kidney stone. Now that you have read this, I know you are thinking one of the following:
A) Ouch!
B) Ew!
C) This sounds like a job for Vicodin! or
D) *raises hand, as if to ask a question in class* Um, but why does the gyno care about that hole?
To which I reply: Exactly!!!!
2. Further proof that I did indeed make a 4.0 in library school (aka "The Place Where You Learn How to Be a Stalker and Get Paid for It"): I found Cute Neighbor's myspace page yesterday. I found it because I found out his last name through public records. Along with the full names of all my neighbors. And some details about Hot Neighbor's divorce. And his driving record. And where he used to live. But whatever. That's basic stuff. *raises hand in swearing manner* I promise never to use my powers for evil purposes. But if you want me to do some stalking for you, I charge $25/hour for my services (see #3, below).
3. I am trying to sell Toby. Because I get these things called "bills" in my "mailbox". And it's either sell the dog or sell my body at this point. And please, no sympathy for the dog. He should have thought about this before he chewed off my windowsill. And pooped all over my house.
4. Sometimes I geek out WAAAAAY too much. Examples:
A)I was just on Netflix, reviewing my queue. I had forgotten that once I discovered the "documentaries" section on Netflix, I had gone totally crazy: history, science, pop culture, animals, foreign cities, diseases, religions, art, you name it. For some reason, though, the following must have sounded interesting to me: The Natural History of the Chicken. Whaaaaaaaa???
B) And now that I'm going to NYC, I am entirely too excited about it, and have checked out 3 travel guides from the library. I'm going to look over those before I even get on the plane. I just put an 8 volume "History of NYC" documentary at the top of my Netflix queue. And read up on all the well-known NYC neighborhoods in Wikipedia. (You can quiz me, even!) And I'm working on my "First Trip to NYC" Soundtrack. Today I'm going to see if I really can get tickets to Spamalot. (Ok, you know and I know that is impossible, but I am curious to see just how much it would cost.) It is probably the ONLY musical I would ever get excited to see....ok, I just looked it up. Some tickets are as low as $36. Who knew???? I am seriously out of control, people!!!
C) I think I might spend this afternoon going back through all my posts and editing my post labels. (Just having typed that, I'm not too surprised about this dry spell I'm having....jeez. *sighs and rolls eyes*)
5. I'm really good about taking other people's advice and learning from others' mistakes. Example: MJ says Times Square is a royal pain in the neck and sucks. I believe her. So I will not be visiting this famous landmark. Unless it's because I am going to Spamalot. (Besides, um, what the hell do tourists do there, anyway? Look at the big lit-up signs??? Big deal. Send me a postcard, you know?) Some people call it "blind trust", I call it "never having to hear 'I told you so'."
6. When I go to Vermont on this upcoming trip, it will be the farthest north I've ever been. There'd better not be any snow. And I want to see a Ben & Jerry's on every corner!
7. When I was home at The Czarina's recently, I was helping her clean the house. The wall by the stairs has a bunch of old framed family documents and pictures (diplomas, paintings, etc.) hanging on it. I was looking at them while I dusted. One of the framed items is a promotional brochure from my great-great-grandfather's dentistry practice, dating back to about the 1880s. (If you knew my family, it would not surprise you in the least that we not only saved that, but also framed it.) Now, I knew that side of my family was from upstate New York, so I figured he was a dentist somewhere in northern New York. But according to this brochure, his office was located on W. 151st St., NYC! Cool, huh? All this time, I thought I had no NYC connections. I asked MJ if we would have time to maybe go see the building, but she pointed out that 151st street is in Harlem, and it might not be a good idea. Also, it's hella out there, almost in the Bronx.
8. I just found out this week that I type 65 words per minute.
Ok, I am supposed to tag 8 people.....but it's lunchtime, and I gotta go. If you want to do it, knock yourself out!
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Jamaica Me Crazy!
Sorry. I had to. It just begged for a bad pun.
So my birthday was yesterday. (If you want to give me a present, I can tell you that I am accepting vicodin and cigarette donations....in addition to small electronics) I had a nice day. Perfect weather, lots of phone calls and emails from friends and family...it was nice. After work, I got ready to go see Frank Warren of Postsecret fame.
MJ and KT came over beforehand with presents and a cake for me. Yay!!!
They gave me:
A Barbie doll (no, I am not kidding. I told them that I love Barbies and wished I could still play with them. I described this super cool fairy Barbie to them, and they got it for me. I am reliving my childhood with this doll. Don't know what I'm going to do with her yet....but I like looking at her. If someone had thought to combine the concept of fairies and Barbies when I was little, I would have been obsessed with this collection.)
A 3 month subscription to Netflix (woot! woot! Season One of Nip/Tuck here I come!!!). I am spending this afternoon making my list. So excited. Now taking recommendations, btw. Any of the Oscar winners good? I haven't seen any of them. Except The Devil Wears Prada, which I highly recommend.
A pack of condoms. I don't know if it was a joke or a hint, but I told them it's a good thing they don't expire until 2011, because at the rate I'm going....
Then KT brought out my fantastic birthday cake. Man, oh man, was it good. Imagine a super moist, two-layer chocolate sour cream cake, with homemade chocolate icing. Ok, now dump a can of cherry pie filling on top. Omigod, it was heaven. I had two slices.
But now I have to get rid of it. Or I will get really fat. So I think I will see if a certain Hot Neighbor wants it....
Speaking of which...before we left to go see Postsecret, we decided to go out on my front porch and have a cigarette. Not 5 seconds after I lit my Camel, out walks Hot Neighbor. With his kids.
F----------ck.
He waved. I waved. MJ and KT whispered, "Is that him?" and I said that it was. They tried to grab a peek at him as he loaded his kids into his car. They couldn't get a good look at him.
"Well, so much for that idea," I said.
Maybe I'm being too hard on myself, but seriously, could I look more irresponsible? In front of children? Jeez Louise. I'm sure he now just thinks of me as some young, dumb party girl. I no longer have the chic, mature woman image I was trying to go for. What father of three wants to date a smoker who goes out on weeknights? Ugh, I am so disappointed in myself. You know his kids were like, "Daddy, why is she smoking?" Gah. Can someone please shoot me?
Then again, if he can't deal with one bad personal habit, then I don't want him anyway, right? As K pointed out this morning, "Well, if he's divorced, then obviously he has some bad personal habits, too." No one's perfect. We all have our vices.
I feel like I owe him an apology. I really don't like smoking in front of children. But I'm going to hope that he either didn't notice or doesn't care. And hopefully, the yummy deliciousness that is my leftover birthday cake will help get me back in good graces.
Any male opinions on this dilemma are very welcome, btw.....especially if the comments run along the lines of...
"Dude, chicks who smoke? Totally hot." or
"Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. I'm a hot single father and I totally don't care if a girl smokes. Ok, let me confess--I am Hot Neighbor. I found out about your blog. I don't care if you smoke. Just please deliver that birthday cake wearing nothing but a smile."
Never fear, readers. I don't have to worry about dating jerks anymore. Now, I just cut to the chase and f--k everything up all on my own, before things even take off. Excellent...I am pre-emptively single. Ooh, good band name.
Moving on from this humiliating scenario...
Postsecret was really cool. He talked about how it got started, why he does it, what he has learned from it, stuff like that. Actually, a lot of what he said can be found in the introductions to his books. The best part was that he showed some secrets that cannot be put on the website or in the books due to nudity or copyright infringement. They were great. So if he comes to your town, I recommend going just to see those.
Ok, here are some cool things I learned about him and the Postsecret Project:
1. He hasn't had any stalkers, but he does get the occassional fan who wants to see the Postsecret House or meet the Postsecret Dog. Usually, they just want an autograph.
2. The #1 most submitted secret is "I pee in the shower."-- which, ew. I have never done that. Gross.
3. He keeps every secret that is mailed to him. They are all stored in big plastic bins (the big tubs you would store Christmas decorations in) in his garage. He's on year #3 of the project, and so far, he's got about 24 bins.
4. Every so often, he will get copies of his first book mailed to him in the mail. This is because the first book's cover was made to look like a USPS parcel. It's got his address on it and everything.
5. He said that if you can put postage on it or mail it, he's probably gotten it mailed to him. He said he's gotten potato chip bags, bottles, jewelry, sonogram photos, hair, house keys, Starbucks cups, CDs, you name it. He said some people put their cards in an envelope. Some people tape it all up and/or put $10 worth of postage on it, just to make sure it gets there.
6. He receives about 1,000 postcards per week. (Wow.) His mail carrier bundles them up for him every day with rubberbands.
7. He asked her once if she read them. She wouldn't admit to it, but she did say that her favorite one said, "I used to work at the post office. We would read everyone's post cards. Is that what you guys are doing right now?"
8. People think he's crazy for putting his home address on his books and website, but he said that in order to feel comfortable telling a complete stranger your secret, it helps if the stranger makes the first step. I thought that was a good point.
He really seems like a nice guy. He owns his own business, which is how he can keep Postsecret an ad-free site. It's in the top 10 most visited blogs, btw. It's the most popular ad-free blog. He actively supports 1-800-SUICIDE and gives donations to them. I think that is really cool. He said for every person that is murdered in America, two people commit suicide. That's a crazy statistic, and based on what I've looked up today, it is a pretty accurate statistic. He said that suicide is America's secret. It's so rarely talked about or reported.
Perhaps the best thing he said was along the lines of, "Every person probably has a secret which would break your heart. And I think that if we all realized that, the world would be a more compassionate place."
I think this is so true. I know I have a couple that would probably break your heart if you knew them. Maybe you'll see them one day on Postsecret! I have never sent one in, but now I want to send in about 4 or 5.
If you want to read more about Postsecret, there is a Wikipedia entry.
Ok, on to something less depressing. One of my oldest friends, J, who lives in Indianapolis, is getting married in Jamaica next September. Over the years, we have grown apart somewhat, but we will always be friends. I like her fiancee and I think they are really good together. I'm not so crazy about their friends, however. I think most of them are pretty snobby.
Anyway, I just got my invitation to go to the wedding, and I can't decide if I want to go. So I am keeping track of the pros:
1. Jamaica, baby!! I never go anywhere, and this is a great excuse. I love to travel, and I've never been to the Carribbean. I have been dying to go somewhere international and now I have an excuse.
2. She is one of my oldest friends and I know she would love it if I went. The wedding will be beautiful and I would probably cry lots of happy tears.
3. I found a round-trip ticket that is only $300 or so dollars. This is an incredible deal. Plus, I would rack up major frequent flier miles.
4. Um, it's Jamaica. I am counting this one twice.
5. The resort looks fantastic!
6. If I play my cards right, I might be able to get Czarina to chip in...she loves J and thinks it is so cool that we have been friends for 15 years.
7. My friend, Mack Daddy, offered to go with me. He used to live in the Carribbean, so he knows his way around (this soothes the panicky wuss inside me), he can help pay for the uber-expensive room ($500 per night!!) and he wouldn't have to go to the actual wedding because he'd be too busy snorkeling and sailing on boats. He could entertain himself during the wedding if J doesn't allow me to bring a guest. (Which I would totally understand, btw.)
...and the cons....
1. Her friends are kinda snobby. If Mack Daddy doesn't go with me, I will be ignored by the snobs the whole time. Which would impact my fun tremendously, as I would probably feel left out most of the time. This, combined with how stressed out I get when I travel alone, might make for a highly stressful trip.
2. The rooms are $500 per night. OUCH. Food and booze (which I obviously would not be drinking) are included. As are any touristy-tours I want to go on. But still. I cannot afford this by myself. No way. Especially when you include the wedding gift, spending money, etc.
3. If I go by myself, I don't know how much fun I would have. Aren't trips like this better with really good friends? Maybe I should hold out for a better opportunity.
4. It's during hurricane season.
5. Maybe I should be more practical with my money (ie, pay off some of my absurd credit card bills). I have been thinking about getting a new car....
6. I have heard that Jamaica is very crime-ridden and dangerous.
So....what do you think? Should I go?
More importantly, do you think I've totally ruined my chances with Hot Neighbor?
So my birthday was yesterday. (If you want to give me a present, I can tell you that I am accepting vicodin and cigarette donations....in addition to small electronics) I had a nice day. Perfect weather, lots of phone calls and emails from friends and family...it was nice. After work, I got ready to go see Frank Warren of Postsecret fame.
MJ and KT came over beforehand with presents and a cake for me. Yay!!!
They gave me:
A Barbie doll (no, I am not kidding. I told them that I love Barbies and wished I could still play with them. I described this super cool fairy Barbie to them, and they got it for me. I am reliving my childhood with this doll. Don't know what I'm going to do with her yet....but I like looking at her. If someone had thought to combine the concept of fairies and Barbies when I was little, I would have been obsessed with this collection.)
A 3 month subscription to Netflix (woot! woot! Season One of Nip/Tuck here I come!!!). I am spending this afternoon making my list. So excited. Now taking recommendations, btw. Any of the Oscar winners good? I haven't seen any of them. Except The Devil Wears Prada, which I highly recommend.
A pack of condoms. I don't know if it was a joke or a hint, but I told them it's a good thing they don't expire until 2011, because at the rate I'm going....
Then KT brought out my fantastic birthday cake. Man, oh man, was it good. Imagine a super moist, two-layer chocolate sour cream cake, with homemade chocolate icing. Ok, now dump a can of cherry pie filling on top. Omigod, it was heaven. I had two slices.
But now I have to get rid of it. Or I will get really fat. So I think I will see if a certain Hot Neighbor wants it....
Speaking of which...before we left to go see Postsecret, we decided to go out on my front porch and have a cigarette. Not 5 seconds after I lit my Camel, out walks Hot Neighbor. With his kids.
F----------ck.
He waved. I waved. MJ and KT whispered, "Is that him?" and I said that it was. They tried to grab a peek at him as he loaded his kids into his car. They couldn't get a good look at him.
"Well, so much for that idea," I said.
Maybe I'm being too hard on myself, but seriously, could I look more irresponsible? In front of children? Jeez Louise. I'm sure he now just thinks of me as some young, dumb party girl. I no longer have the chic, mature woman image I was trying to go for. What father of three wants to date a smoker who goes out on weeknights? Ugh, I am so disappointed in myself. You know his kids were like, "Daddy, why is she smoking?" Gah. Can someone please shoot me?
Then again, if he can't deal with one bad personal habit, then I don't want him anyway, right? As K pointed out this morning, "Well, if he's divorced, then obviously he has some bad personal habits, too." No one's perfect. We all have our vices.
I feel like I owe him an apology. I really don't like smoking in front of children. But I'm going to hope that he either didn't notice or doesn't care. And hopefully, the yummy deliciousness that is my leftover birthday cake will help get me back in good graces.
Any male opinions on this dilemma are very welcome, btw.....especially if the comments run along the lines of...
"Dude, chicks who smoke? Totally hot." or
"Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. I'm a hot single father and I totally don't care if a girl smokes. Ok, let me confess--I am Hot Neighbor. I found out about your blog. I don't care if you smoke. Just please deliver that birthday cake wearing nothing but a smile."
Never fear, readers. I don't have to worry about dating jerks anymore. Now, I just cut to the chase and f--k everything up all on my own, before things even take off. Excellent...I am pre-emptively single. Ooh, good band name.
Moving on from this humiliating scenario...
Postsecret was really cool. He talked about how it got started, why he does it, what he has learned from it, stuff like that. Actually, a lot of what he said can be found in the introductions to his books. The best part was that he showed some secrets that cannot be put on the website or in the books due to nudity or copyright infringement. They were great. So if he comes to your town, I recommend going just to see those.
Ok, here are some cool things I learned about him and the Postsecret Project:
1. He hasn't had any stalkers, but he does get the occassional fan who wants to see the Postsecret House or meet the Postsecret Dog. Usually, they just want an autograph.
2. The #1 most submitted secret is "I pee in the shower."-- which, ew. I have never done that. Gross.
3. He keeps every secret that is mailed to him. They are all stored in big plastic bins (the big tubs you would store Christmas decorations in) in his garage. He's on year #3 of the project, and so far, he's got about 24 bins.
4. Every so often, he will get copies of his first book mailed to him in the mail. This is because the first book's cover was made to look like a USPS parcel. It's got his address on it and everything.
5. He said that if you can put postage on it or mail it, he's probably gotten it mailed to him. He said he's gotten potato chip bags, bottles, jewelry, sonogram photos, hair, house keys, Starbucks cups, CDs, you name it. He said some people put their cards in an envelope. Some people tape it all up and/or put $10 worth of postage on it, just to make sure it gets there.
6. He receives about 1,000 postcards per week. (Wow.) His mail carrier bundles them up for him every day with rubberbands.
7. He asked her once if she read them. She wouldn't admit to it, but she did say that her favorite one said, "I used to work at the post office. We would read everyone's post cards. Is that what you guys are doing right now?"
8. People think he's crazy for putting his home address on his books and website, but he said that in order to feel comfortable telling a complete stranger your secret, it helps if the stranger makes the first step. I thought that was a good point.
He really seems like a nice guy. He owns his own business, which is how he can keep Postsecret an ad-free site. It's in the top 10 most visited blogs, btw. It's the most popular ad-free blog. He actively supports 1-800-SUICIDE and gives donations to them. I think that is really cool. He said for every person that is murdered in America, two people commit suicide. That's a crazy statistic, and based on what I've looked up today, it is a pretty accurate statistic. He said that suicide is America's secret. It's so rarely talked about or reported.
Perhaps the best thing he said was along the lines of, "Every person probably has a secret which would break your heart. And I think that if we all realized that, the world would be a more compassionate place."
I think this is so true. I know I have a couple that would probably break your heart if you knew them. Maybe you'll see them one day on Postsecret! I have never sent one in, but now I want to send in about 4 or 5.
If you want to read more about Postsecret, there is a Wikipedia entry.
Ok, on to something less depressing. One of my oldest friends, J, who lives in Indianapolis, is getting married in Jamaica next September. Over the years, we have grown apart somewhat, but we will always be friends. I like her fiancee and I think they are really good together. I'm not so crazy about their friends, however. I think most of them are pretty snobby.
Anyway, I just got my invitation to go to the wedding, and I can't decide if I want to go. So I am keeping track of the pros:
1. Jamaica, baby!! I never go anywhere, and this is a great excuse. I love to travel, and I've never been to the Carribbean. I have been dying to go somewhere international and now I have an excuse.
2. She is one of my oldest friends and I know she would love it if I went. The wedding will be beautiful and I would probably cry lots of happy tears.
3. I found a round-trip ticket that is only $300 or so dollars. This is an incredible deal. Plus, I would rack up major frequent flier miles.
4. Um, it's Jamaica. I am counting this one twice.
5. The resort looks fantastic!
6. If I play my cards right, I might be able to get Czarina to chip in...she loves J and thinks it is so cool that we have been friends for 15 years.
7. My friend, Mack Daddy, offered to go with me. He used to live in the Carribbean, so he knows his way around (this soothes the panicky wuss inside me), he can help pay for the uber-expensive room ($500 per night!!) and he wouldn't have to go to the actual wedding because he'd be too busy snorkeling and sailing on boats. He could entertain himself during the wedding if J doesn't allow me to bring a guest. (Which I would totally understand, btw.)
...and the cons....
1. Her friends are kinda snobby. If Mack Daddy doesn't go with me, I will be ignored by the snobs the whole time. Which would impact my fun tremendously, as I would probably feel left out most of the time. This, combined with how stressed out I get when I travel alone, might make for a highly stressful trip.
2. The rooms are $500 per night. OUCH. Food and booze (which I obviously would not be drinking) are included. As are any touristy-tours I want to go on. But still. I cannot afford this by myself. No way. Especially when you include the wedding gift, spending money, etc.
3. If I go by myself, I don't know how much fun I would have. Aren't trips like this better with really good friends? Maybe I should hold out for a better opportunity.
4. It's during hurricane season.
5. Maybe I should be more practical with my money (ie, pay off some of my absurd credit card bills). I have been thinking about getting a new car....
6. I have heard that Jamaica is very crime-ridden and dangerous.
So....what do you think? Should I go?
More importantly, do you think I've totally ruined my chances with Hot Neighbor?
Monday, February 26, 2007
The Oscars & Fantastic Weekend
OMG where to begin.
Friday night I went to my usual Happy Hour at Wild Wings with E and the rest of the Happy Hour Girls. (Sounds like a band, doesn't it?) This time, I brought along K, MJ and KT. As I was leaving, Hot Neighbor came home and got to see me looking good--finally!!! We made some small talk as K and I got into the car. I knew that was a good sign. Once we got there, I introduced the Happy Hour Girls to everyone else.
Later on, Mack Daddy and J-Rich stopped by Wild Wings to say hi. (They are part of the Wild Youngins crowd. Guy pals of mine who are somewhat younger than I.) By this point, I felt like I knew everyone in the building. It was kind of challenging to circulate between the groups, because we were all spread out.
I caught up with friends, flirted with boys (there were quite a few cuties in there), played matchmaker (unsuccessfully, I might add!) and generally laughed my butt off the whole night. My friends are hysterically funny and I love them. We even created some inside jokes that night. The Happy Hour Girls even bought me a virgin shot since it was my birthday weekend. They ordered a round of Shaved Beavers for everyone, and so my "Virgin Beaver" ended up just being Red Bull, but it was still fun. (OMG I can't wait to see what the Statcounter brings up on that one....)
Despite the fact that I love him like a brother and he is the funniest mo fo around, MJ didn't go for Mack Daddy simply because he's younger than her. By a year. And I guess the fact that maturity-wise, he's at about the level of an 18 year old didn't help....*sigh*. Oh well. I tried. I wish my little sister was older, because I am just nuts about this kid. If he tried hard enough, he could probably get me to wet my pants from laughing.
I was exhausted by the time I got home. The next day, I got up and went to lunch with KT. We grabbed Mexican at my favorite Mexican place, and then hit the mall. I will have to take pics of what I bought so I can share. After that, I raced home and got ready really fast.
I threw on my new cobalt blue satin tank with tie-sleeves, black pencil skirt, black jacket, fishnets and black stiletto pumps. I wore cobalt blue eyeshadow and black liquid liner. (Sounds funky, but it worked.) Somehow, I managed to get my hair to look great, too, in one of those Gwen-Stefani-inspired ponytails. I was quite the little glamour queen, and MJ and KT didn't disappoint, either--we looked smashing, dahling. Yippee!! Time for birthday fun.
MJ and KT had planned on surprising me and taking me somewhere, but apparently KT and I spent too much time shopping (oops), so by the time we went out, it was almost 10pm, so we had few options. We decided to go to my fave restaurant, Yesterday's. (Gee, how awful!) After dinner, I celebrated with a little white friend I will call "Mr. Vicodin". He's fun. (I should probably stop with this before I end up like Matthew Perry. Although, I can totally understand how he got addicted, because these little guys are f-u-n. But the way I see it, other people get drunk, so how is this different? We all have our vices. I've only got like, 10 of them left anyway. What else am I going to do with them?)
Why am I justifying this to my readers on my own blog?? Look, I like vicodin and I take it recreationally. And I will continue to do so until I run out. There. I said it.
After that, we decided to go to Liberty's ("We are dressed for it," we agreed.), where we proceeded to catch a terrible case of the giggles, leading us to take silly photos and have even more inside jokes. Next was The Flying Saucer, with more giggles and finally The Wild Hare, where we proceeded to almost fall off our bar stools from laughing so hard. According to MJ and KT, I am very "entertaining" when on vicodin. They like Vicodin VB. And I have to confess, I enjoy being her, despite the fact that I slur my words and totally forget what I'm saying halfway through the sentence.
We closed down the bars and they took me home. I was totally exhausted and didn't get up the next day until 3pm! That is the latest I've slept in in probably a decade. I finally dragged my butt outta bed and took a shower. I was going to run some errands when I remembered I needed to change my air filter. I don't have a ladder, so I needed to borrow one.
Hmmm...who should I ask??
Why, Hot Neighbor, of course. It went like this:
*knocks on door*
*Hot Neighbor and 2/3 of his children answer the door. He looks fantastic and the sunlight catches his golden-brown eyes. The tshirt, which is tight against his pecs and arms doesn't hurt, either.*
VB: Hi, sorry to bother you, but do you have a ladder I could borrow?
HN: Did you say a lighter? You want to borrow a lighter?
VB [to herself: Shit, did I say lighter?]: No, I need a ladder. I have to change my air filter.
HN [shouting to his mom]: Mom, can you watch the kids for a second? [to me] I don't have a ladder, but I can see if I can still change it for you.
VB: Oh, thank you so much! [Oh crap! Is my house a total wreck? What is out that could embarrass me to no end? Crap. I can't think of anything. That means something embarrassing is inevitably out in the middle of the living room. Gah, I hope he doesn't see my bedroom. It is a total disaster zone.]
*We go to my house. Sammy likes him. This is a good sign. Then again, Sammy likes everyone.*
*Nothing embarrassing is out. Whew.*
HN: I just need to stand on this chair. I promise I won't break it.
VB: Oh that's ok. I don't really like that chair anyway. [That is not true, but whatever.]
*HN reaches up to open vent and replaces it for me. I try not to look up his shirt while he's standing on the chair. Must. Not. Look. Or. All. Will. Be. Lost.*
VB: Thank you so much. That is really nice of you.
HN: Hey, it's nice to know I'm good for something around here.
VB: Well, if you need more to do, I can think of a few things.
HN: Oh yeah? Like what? [He is inching towards me as I back up against a wall. Eeeek!]
VB: Oh, you know....things....
*He lays a big one right on me!!! Holy schnikes!!!!*
Ok, that's not really what happened. If it was, that would have been the first thing I would have blogged about today. Duh! You are so gullible.
Ok, here's what actually happened in reality, as opposed to inside my head.
HN: Well, it's nice to know I'm good for something around here.
VB: It's a 3 month filter, so you don't have to worry. I won't be bothering you for a while.
HN: Oh, that's ok. It's just me over there, I'm by myself most of the time.
VB: Well, that can be remedied.
HN: Yeah? You got any ideas?
VB: [a slow smile creeps across my face] A few.
HN: Care to share?
VB: Uh-huh. [I grab him, pull him to me and give him a big smooch!]
Ok, that didn't happen either. After he said he was alone most of the time (awwww!), I thanked him again and he left. Yeah. It was a lot more interesting in my head. Sorry, guys. But K thinks he was hinting around with the "I'm lonely over there in my house, all by myself most of the time" comment. I don't put as much stock into it. She seems to think he's really into me, but I don't see it. Not in reality, anyway. Inside my head, we spent the rest of the afternoon in my bedroom. My brain has already worked out all the details, you see.
I did find out that he's got his kids every other weekend. Useful information.
*sigh* I guess I will just have to pine away for him. And check him out by peeking through my kitchen window. (Is that weird that I do that? Ugh, I am stalking my neighbor.)
The good thing is, I now know the following things about him:
1. He might know how to fix stuff.
2. He probably doesn't have a girlfriend.
3. He might be lonely.
4. He is nice enough to help me with stuff. Even when his kids are over.
5. He wears those tshirts a lot.
Whew. Ok, subject change before I need a cigarette. (I'm quitting soon! I swear!!!)
The Oscars. Did anyone else notice the conspicuous absence of the following people?
1. Renee Zellweger
2. Jennifer Aniston
3. Vince Vaughn
4. Michael Douglas & Catherine Zeta-Jones
5. Charlize Theron
6. Halle Berry
7. Courtney Cox-Arquette and her hubby
8. Jake Gyllenhaal
9. Selma Hayek
10. Heath Ledger and Michelle What's-Her-Name
11. Uma Thurman
12. Sandra Bullock and her hubby
13. Keira Knightley
14. Sienna Miller
15. Hilary Swank
16. Lisa Kudrow
17. Ben Stiller & wife
18. Luke and Owen Wilson
19. Jennifer Garner (I saw Ben Affleck, so maybe she was there somewhere...)
20. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie
21. Katie Holmes (again, I saw Tom, but not her)
22. Natalie Portman
23. Claire Danes
24. Drew Barrymore
There are more I'm sure I haven't thought of, but doesn't this list seem kind of strange? I mean, I know there are only so many tickets available, but some of these are big names! I guess a lot of them didn't have movies this year, or they were in comedies....or television...I don't know how it works as far as who gets invited. But it seems there were a lot of conspicuous absences.
Time to play Fashion Police for a second. My favorites were Rachel Weisz, Cate Blanchett and Reese Witherspoon. The Worst Dressed goes to Faye Dunaway, Kirsten Dunst and Jennifer Hudson (she should have left that jacket at home!). Wanna see what I'm talking about? See the pics here.
Play Fashion Police with me! Who did you like/hate?
Friday night I went to my usual Happy Hour at Wild Wings with E and the rest of the Happy Hour Girls. (Sounds like a band, doesn't it?) This time, I brought along K, MJ and KT. As I was leaving, Hot Neighbor came home and got to see me looking good--finally!!! We made some small talk as K and I got into the car. I knew that was a good sign. Once we got there, I introduced the Happy Hour Girls to everyone else.
Later on, Mack Daddy and J-Rich stopped by Wild Wings to say hi. (They are part of the Wild Youngins crowd. Guy pals of mine who are somewhat younger than I.) By this point, I felt like I knew everyone in the building. It was kind of challenging to circulate between the groups, because we were all spread out.
I caught up with friends, flirted with boys (there were quite a few cuties in there), played matchmaker (unsuccessfully, I might add!) and generally laughed my butt off the whole night. My friends are hysterically funny and I love them. We even created some inside jokes that night. The Happy Hour Girls even bought me a virgin shot since it was my birthday weekend. They ordered a round of Shaved Beavers for everyone, and so my "Virgin Beaver" ended up just being Red Bull, but it was still fun. (OMG I can't wait to see what the Statcounter brings up on that one....)
Despite the fact that I love him like a brother and he is the funniest mo fo around, MJ didn't go for Mack Daddy simply because he's younger than her. By a year. And I guess the fact that maturity-wise, he's at about the level of an 18 year old didn't help....*sigh*. Oh well. I tried. I wish my little sister was older, because I am just nuts about this kid. If he tried hard enough, he could probably get me to wet my pants from laughing.
I was exhausted by the time I got home. The next day, I got up and went to lunch with KT. We grabbed Mexican at my favorite Mexican place, and then hit the mall. I will have to take pics of what I bought so I can share. After that, I raced home and got ready really fast.
I threw on my new cobalt blue satin tank with tie-sleeves, black pencil skirt, black jacket, fishnets and black stiletto pumps. I wore cobalt blue eyeshadow and black liquid liner. (Sounds funky, but it worked.) Somehow, I managed to get my hair to look great, too, in one of those Gwen-Stefani-inspired ponytails. I was quite the little glamour queen, and MJ and KT didn't disappoint, either--we looked smashing, dahling. Yippee!! Time for birthday fun.
MJ and KT had planned on surprising me and taking me somewhere, but apparently KT and I spent too much time shopping (oops), so by the time we went out, it was almost 10pm, so we had few options. We decided to go to my fave restaurant, Yesterday's. (Gee, how awful!) After dinner, I celebrated with a little white friend I will call "Mr. Vicodin". He's fun. (I should probably stop with this before I end up like Matthew Perry. Although, I can totally understand how he got addicted, because these little guys are f-u-n. But the way I see it, other people get drunk, so how is this different? We all have our vices. I've only got like, 10 of them left anyway. What else am I going to do with them?)
Why am I justifying this to my readers on my own blog?? Look, I like vicodin and I take it recreationally. And I will continue to do so until I run out. There. I said it.
After that, we decided to go to Liberty's ("We are dressed for it," we agreed.), where we proceeded to catch a terrible case of the giggles, leading us to take silly photos and have even more inside jokes. Next was The Flying Saucer, with more giggles and finally The Wild Hare, where we proceeded to almost fall off our bar stools from laughing so hard. According to MJ and KT, I am very "entertaining" when on vicodin. They like Vicodin VB. And I have to confess, I enjoy being her, despite the fact that I slur my words and totally forget what I'm saying halfway through the sentence.
We closed down the bars and they took me home. I was totally exhausted and didn't get up the next day until 3pm! That is the latest I've slept in in probably a decade. I finally dragged my butt outta bed and took a shower. I was going to run some errands when I remembered I needed to change my air filter. I don't have a ladder, so I needed to borrow one.
Hmmm...who should I ask??
Why, Hot Neighbor, of course. It went like this:
*knocks on door*
*Hot Neighbor and 2/3 of his children answer the door. He looks fantastic and the sunlight catches his golden-brown eyes. The tshirt, which is tight against his pecs and arms doesn't hurt, either.*
VB: Hi, sorry to bother you, but do you have a ladder I could borrow?
HN: Did you say a lighter? You want to borrow a lighter?
VB [to herself: Shit, did I say lighter?]: No, I need a ladder. I have to change my air filter.
HN [shouting to his mom]: Mom, can you watch the kids for a second? [to me] I don't have a ladder, but I can see if I can still change it for you.
VB: Oh, thank you so much! [Oh crap! Is my house a total wreck? What is out that could embarrass me to no end? Crap. I can't think of anything. That means something embarrassing is inevitably out in the middle of the living room. Gah, I hope he doesn't see my bedroom. It is a total disaster zone.]
*We go to my house. Sammy likes him. This is a good sign. Then again, Sammy likes everyone.*
*Nothing embarrassing is out. Whew.*
HN: I just need to stand on this chair. I promise I won't break it.
VB: Oh that's ok. I don't really like that chair anyway. [That is not true, but whatever.]
*HN reaches up to open vent and replaces it for me. I try not to look up his shirt while he's standing on the chair. Must. Not. Look. Or. All. Will. Be. Lost.*
VB: Thank you so much. That is really nice of you.
HN: Hey, it's nice to know I'm good for something around here.
VB: Well, if you need more to do, I can think of a few things.
HN: Oh yeah? Like what? [He is inching towards me as I back up against a wall. Eeeek!]
VB: Oh, you know....things....
*He lays a big one right on me!!! Holy schnikes!!!!*
Ok, that's not really what happened. If it was, that would have been the first thing I would have blogged about today. Duh! You are so gullible.
Ok, here's what actually happened in reality, as opposed to inside my head.
HN: Well, it's nice to know I'm good for something around here.
VB: It's a 3 month filter, so you don't have to worry. I won't be bothering you for a while.
HN: Oh, that's ok. It's just me over there, I'm by myself most of the time.
VB: Well, that can be remedied.
HN: Yeah? You got any ideas?
VB: [a slow smile creeps across my face] A few.
HN: Care to share?
VB: Uh-huh. [I grab him, pull him to me and give him a big smooch!]
Ok, that didn't happen either. After he said he was alone most of the time (awwww!), I thanked him again and he left. Yeah. It was a lot more interesting in my head. Sorry, guys. But K thinks he was hinting around with the "I'm lonely over there in my house, all by myself most of the time" comment. I don't put as much stock into it. She seems to think he's really into me, but I don't see it. Not in reality, anyway. Inside my head, we spent the rest of the afternoon in my bedroom. My brain has already worked out all the details, you see.
I did find out that he's got his kids every other weekend. Useful information.
*sigh* I guess I will just have to pine away for him. And check him out by peeking through my kitchen window. (Is that weird that I do that? Ugh, I am stalking my neighbor.)
The good thing is, I now know the following things about him:
1. He might know how to fix stuff.
2. He probably doesn't have a girlfriend.
3. He might be lonely.
4. He is nice enough to help me with stuff. Even when his kids are over.
5. He wears those tshirts a lot.
Whew. Ok, subject change before I need a cigarette. (I'm quitting soon! I swear!!!)
The Oscars. Did anyone else notice the conspicuous absence of the following people?
1. Renee Zellweger
2. Jennifer Aniston
3. Vince Vaughn
4. Michael Douglas & Catherine Zeta-Jones
5. Charlize Theron
6. Halle Berry
7. Courtney Cox-Arquette and her hubby
8. Jake Gyllenhaal
9. Selma Hayek
10. Heath Ledger and Michelle What's-Her-Name
11. Uma Thurman
12. Sandra Bullock and her hubby
13. Keira Knightley
14. Sienna Miller
15. Hilary Swank
16. Lisa Kudrow
17. Ben Stiller & wife
18. Luke and Owen Wilson
19. Jennifer Garner (I saw Ben Affleck, so maybe she was there somewhere...)
20. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie
21. Katie Holmes (again, I saw Tom, but not her)
22. Natalie Portman
23. Claire Danes
24. Drew Barrymore
There are more I'm sure I haven't thought of, but doesn't this list seem kind of strange? I mean, I know there are only so many tickets available, but some of these are big names! I guess a lot of them didn't have movies this year, or they were in comedies....or television...I don't know how it works as far as who gets invited. But it seems there were a lot of conspicuous absences.
Time to play Fashion Police for a second. My favorites were Rachel Weisz, Cate Blanchett and Reese Witherspoon. The Worst Dressed goes to Faye Dunaway, Kirsten Dunst and Jennifer Hudson (she should have left that jacket at home!). Wanna see what I'm talking about? See the pics here.
Play Fashion Police with me! Who did you like/hate?
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Hypothetical Birthday!!
A meme my friend did on myspace. Since it's almost my birthday, I figured I'd pretend...
Hypothetical Situation: It is your birthday today.
All of the people you care about have come together to make this one of the most special days of your life.
From the biggest dream to the smallest detail almost anything is possible. [Woo-Hoo!!!!!]
MJ & KT-- are you taking notes???? Because this is your cheat sheet for Saturday. Just in case you need ideas for my surprise this weekend.
1. You can wake up in any city. Where are we?
Someplace warm and tropical. Bahamas? Yeah. Sounds good.
2. You have a special alarm to wake you. One of your favorite musician(s) has come to play for you. Who is it?
Yes! So far, my hypothetical birthday kicks ass. I would have either Outkast or Gwen Stefani wake me up. Maybe Dr. Dre. Or RHCP. Or P-Funk. Dang, I can only pick one??? That's hard.
What song(s) do they play for you? -- If Outkast, I'd want something from their Aquimini album (whatever track #12 is). If Gwen Stefani, it would have to be "What You Waiting For?" As for the other musicians, I pretty much like everything, so anything goes. Dang, that is hard. I guess if it came down to it, I'd pick Gwen.
3. You have access to any meal, any chef, or any restaurant's menu? What are we having for the first meal of the day?
It's my birthday, so there are no calories, right? Ok. Breakfast consists of the following: blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, orange juice, cranberry juice, water (shut up, it's my hypothetical birthday. I can have 4 drinks if I want), chicken biscuits (from Chik-fil-a), hashbrowns and cigarettes. You can sit in the non-smoking section if you want. But I'm having coffee and cigarettes while I wait for my food.
4. A celebrity from TV (or show cast) has come to serve you or join you for this meal. Who is it?
Yes!! This kicks ass. I will have the cast from Sex and the City, thankyouverymuch. They will be in character as they dine with me.
5. After eating you have about 5 hours of free time to do whatever you want. You may choose any activity big or small, what would you like to do most? (Remember it's your day)
I would play on the beach with my dog, go shopping, go scuba diving, go to a spa and get one of everything, go on some kind of ghost tour/historic home tour, rent a convertible, eat an ice cream cone, ride on a really fast boat and make out with Hot Neighbor. Not necessarily in that order.
6. You receive your first gifts. You don't own these items already, but want them most. What are they?
a. one of those BIG iPods. 30 giga-tons of storage.
b. a new bed and matress set
c. hardwood floors for my house
d. a suh-weet digital camera
e. a brand new, state of the art, superduper fast laptop
7. It is time for our last meal before the party, what's the menu?
macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, grilled cheese, diet coke, quesadillas, black beans, steak w/sauteed mushrooms, sweet potatoes, tacos, yogurt, bruschetta with garlic bread, peanut butter sandwiches, nectarines, berries, ice cream, brownies, candy....and more cigarettes.
8. This meal is one you share with the people closest to you, who do you want to join you?
friends and family...everyone i know and love! The more the merrier. Oh, and Hot Neighbor. Because he's hot.
9. As a big surprise, a movie star is here. You and this person are off to visit, film a PSA, and give 100,000 dollars to your favorite charity in your name. Who is with you?
Cool!! In addition to the cast of SATC? And Gwen? Crap, I don't know. I'd probably pick Kate Winslet. I love her. Or maybe Renee Zellweger. NO!!!! I would pick Mike Myers. Definitely. Final answer.
9a. What is the Charity?
Something related to alcoholism, like The American Council on Alcoholism. Or a homeless dog rescue organization.
10. Time for the party. Describe the location or theme.
I have always wanted to go to a masquerade where everyone is in full-on, head-to-toe, super elaborate costume and you spend the evening trying to figure out who everyone is. I'd want it to be sort of a Mardi-Gras theme...lots of peacock feathers and jewels. My costume? Cleopatra.
Hell, yeah. So far, my hypothetical birthday is kicking ass. Onwards...
11. Who is the house band? or what is the DJ playing?
all of the musicians I've mentioned here! Lots of danceable hip-hop, pop, Motown, bluegrass, etc. Some 80s. Some alternative. Every song is either great to dance to or great to sing to. Too many artists to list. Lots of Prince and Nelly, definitely. I will just hand him my brand new iPod which is now full of all my songs. There will be absolutely no jazz.
12. Describe the food spread
Didn't I already go over that? Ok, I guess there's hella food at my party. Seems logical enough. Let's see. I'd have a full, open bar, complete with "near beer" and carbonated grape juice for me. A candy bar (minimum 100 varieties of candy). A cigarette bar. A Quesadilla station. A chocolate table (anything and everything chocolate). An ice cream parlor area--at least 30 flavors and toppings. A bake sale (all proceeds benefitting above-mentioned charity). A fruit smoothie station. One of those guys who stands under the heat lamps and wears a tall chef hat while slicing prime rib. A junk food table (complete with Doritos and Oreos). An ice sculpture of Sammy. The waitstaff will serve the following off of silver platters: cocktail shrimp, mini-cheesecake bites, baked brie, chocolate truffles, chicken nuggets from Chik-fil-a, cigarettes, teriyaki chicken strips on little skewers and vicodin. Vases of beautiful and fragrant flowers decorate the tables. Lots of candles and sparkly things. Chandeliers. Did I mention that the waitstaff consists entirely of ex-boyfriends? Who aren't being paid? And don't get to take home any leftover food? Or take breaks? And must apologize profusely to me every time they see me during the party? Yeah. I told you this party kicks ass. Because I'll have your exes there, too, and they will have to do the same thing.
12. Everyone is enjoying your favorite drink, what is it?
It would be a drink invented that day in honor of my birthday. It would be named after me. It would be bubbly and sweet, like me. It would be hot pink in color and the ingredients would probably include Chambord, champagne and ginger ale.
Did I mention that somehow, I magically look 25 pounds thinner in all the pictures from the party? Because I do.
Did I mention that everyone makes a toast to me? And then everyone breaks out into song, because they've all been practicing on a very funny song written especially for me? Yeah.
13. Tell us about your birthday cake?
Right now, all I can think about is the chocolate-cherry pie filling cake that KT is making for me, so it would probably be that. Or pineapple upside-down cake made by my mom. Or the poundcake that K's mom makes. It has cream cheese icing. Mmmm. No, I think KT will win. Chocolate is sounding pretty good right now.
14. It's time for your big gift, what thing do you want most?
A brand new red convertible!!!!! It would be made by Honda, stick shift, V8, seats 4, has an iPod adapter, tinted windows, killer sound system, tires that never go flat, drink holders that actually work the way they should and gets 84 miles to the gallon....*sigh* This car exists. It's my hypothetical birthday.
15. Finally, before bed, you are given a special gift or jewelry by your significant other which means so much as a symbol of your relationship. What is it?
his absence??? LOL
I don't have a significant other. I'd probably be too pooped by this point to care, either! Although, I'd probably get Hot Neighbor drunk at my party so I could seduce him. *daydreams for a minute*
But if I had a S.O., I'd want a big, honkin' canary diamond ring. Not necessarily an engagement ring. Just a big phatty, blinged out ring. Yellow diamond. Ooh, probably from Tacori. Anything from them, actually.
16. If 15 doesn't fit you or if you and your significant other want someone to join you, who do you take to bed with you? I told you it was a special day! Pick anyone/anything.
Besides Hot Neighbor? Besides Sammy? (I can't sleep unless he's in the bed!) Duh. I would pick Dr. Hunktastic himself: Julian McMahon from Nip/Tuck. We will have lots of sex and babies one day. He's the one who just gave me the phatty ring.
Happy Hypothetical Birthday to Me! What would yours be like? More importantly, am I invited?
Hypothetical Situation: It is your birthday today.
All of the people you care about have come together to make this one of the most special days of your life.
From the biggest dream to the smallest detail almost anything is possible. [Woo-Hoo!!!!!]
MJ & KT-- are you taking notes???? Because this is your cheat sheet for Saturday. Just in case you need ideas for my surprise this weekend.
1. You can wake up in any city. Where are we?
Someplace warm and tropical. Bahamas? Yeah. Sounds good.
2. You have a special alarm to wake you. One of your favorite musician(s) has come to play for you. Who is it?
Yes! So far, my hypothetical birthday kicks ass. I would have either Outkast or Gwen Stefani wake me up. Maybe Dr. Dre. Or RHCP. Or P-Funk. Dang, I can only pick one??? That's hard.
What song(s) do they play for you? -- If Outkast, I'd want something from their Aquimini album (whatever track #12 is). If Gwen Stefani, it would have to be "What You Waiting For?" As for the other musicians, I pretty much like everything, so anything goes. Dang, that is hard. I guess if it came down to it, I'd pick Gwen.
3. You have access to any meal, any chef, or any restaurant's menu? What are we having for the first meal of the day?
It's my birthday, so there are no calories, right? Ok. Breakfast consists of the following: blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, orange juice, cranberry juice, water (shut up, it's my hypothetical birthday. I can have 4 drinks if I want), chicken biscuits (from Chik-fil-a), hashbrowns and cigarettes. You can sit in the non-smoking section if you want. But I'm having coffee and cigarettes while I wait for my food.
4. A celebrity from TV (or show cast) has come to serve you or join you for this meal. Who is it?
Yes!! This kicks ass. I will have the cast from Sex and the City, thankyouverymuch. They will be in character as they dine with me.
5. After eating you have about 5 hours of free time to do whatever you want. You may choose any activity big or small, what would you like to do most? (Remember it's your day)
I would play on the beach with my dog, go shopping, go scuba diving, go to a spa and get one of everything, go on some kind of ghost tour/historic home tour, rent a convertible, eat an ice cream cone, ride on a really fast boat and make out with Hot Neighbor. Not necessarily in that order.
6. You receive your first gifts. You don't own these items already, but want them most. What are they?
a. one of those BIG iPods. 30 giga-tons of storage.
b. a new bed and matress set
c. hardwood floors for my house
d. a suh-weet digital camera
e. a brand new, state of the art, superduper fast laptop
7. It is time for our last meal before the party, what's the menu?
macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, grilled cheese, diet coke, quesadillas, black beans, steak w/sauteed mushrooms, sweet potatoes, tacos, yogurt, bruschetta with garlic bread, peanut butter sandwiches, nectarines, berries, ice cream, brownies, candy....and more cigarettes.
8. This meal is one you share with the people closest to you, who do you want to join you?
friends and family...everyone i know and love! The more the merrier. Oh, and Hot Neighbor. Because he's hot.
9. As a big surprise, a movie star is here. You and this person are off to visit, film a PSA, and give 100,000 dollars to your favorite charity in your name. Who is with you?
Cool!! In addition to the cast of SATC? And Gwen? Crap, I don't know. I'd probably pick Kate Winslet. I love her. Or maybe Renee Zellweger. NO!!!! I would pick Mike Myers. Definitely. Final answer.
9a. What is the Charity?
Something related to alcoholism, like The American Council on Alcoholism. Or a homeless dog rescue organization.
10. Time for the party. Describe the location or theme.
I have always wanted to go to a masquerade where everyone is in full-on, head-to-toe, super elaborate costume and you spend the evening trying to figure out who everyone is. I'd want it to be sort of a Mardi-Gras theme...lots of peacock feathers and jewels. My costume? Cleopatra.
Hell, yeah. So far, my hypothetical birthday is kicking ass. Onwards...
11. Who is the house band? or what is the DJ playing?
all of the musicians I've mentioned here! Lots of danceable hip-hop, pop, Motown, bluegrass, etc. Some 80s. Some alternative. Every song is either great to dance to or great to sing to. Too many artists to list. Lots of Prince and Nelly, definitely. I will just hand him my brand new iPod which is now full of all my songs. There will be absolutely no jazz.
12. Describe the food spread
Didn't I already go over that? Ok, I guess there's hella food at my party. Seems logical enough. Let's see. I'd have a full, open bar, complete with "near beer" and carbonated grape juice for me. A candy bar (minimum 100 varieties of candy). A cigarette bar. A Quesadilla station. A chocolate table (anything and everything chocolate). An ice cream parlor area--at least 30 flavors and toppings. A bake sale (all proceeds benefitting above-mentioned charity). A fruit smoothie station. One of those guys who stands under the heat lamps and wears a tall chef hat while slicing prime rib. A junk food table (complete with Doritos and Oreos). An ice sculpture of Sammy. The waitstaff will serve the following off of silver platters: cocktail shrimp, mini-cheesecake bites, baked brie, chocolate truffles, chicken nuggets from Chik-fil-a, cigarettes, teriyaki chicken strips on little skewers and vicodin. Vases of beautiful and fragrant flowers decorate the tables. Lots of candles and sparkly things. Chandeliers. Did I mention that the waitstaff consists entirely of ex-boyfriends? Who aren't being paid? And don't get to take home any leftover food? Or take breaks? And must apologize profusely to me every time they see me during the party? Yeah. I told you this party kicks ass. Because I'll have your exes there, too, and they will have to do the same thing.
12. Everyone is enjoying your favorite drink, what is it?
It would be a drink invented that day in honor of my birthday. It would be named after me. It would be bubbly and sweet, like me. It would be hot pink in color and the ingredients would probably include Chambord, champagne and ginger ale.
Did I mention that somehow, I magically look 25 pounds thinner in all the pictures from the party? Because I do.
Did I mention that everyone makes a toast to me? And then everyone breaks out into song, because they've all been practicing on a very funny song written especially for me? Yeah.
13. Tell us about your birthday cake?
Right now, all I can think about is the chocolate-cherry pie filling cake that KT is making for me, so it would probably be that. Or pineapple upside-down cake made by my mom. Or the poundcake that K's mom makes. It has cream cheese icing. Mmmm. No, I think KT will win. Chocolate is sounding pretty good right now.
14. It's time for your big gift, what thing do you want most?
A brand new red convertible!!!!! It would be made by Honda, stick shift, V8, seats 4, has an iPod adapter, tinted windows, killer sound system, tires that never go flat, drink holders that actually work the way they should and gets 84 miles to the gallon....*sigh* This car exists. It's my hypothetical birthday.
15. Finally, before bed, you are given a special gift or jewelry by your significant other which means so much as a symbol of your relationship. What is it?
his absence??? LOL
I don't have a significant other. I'd probably be too pooped by this point to care, either! Although, I'd probably get Hot Neighbor drunk at my party so I could seduce him. *daydreams for a minute*
But if I had a S.O., I'd want a big, honkin' canary diamond ring. Not necessarily an engagement ring. Just a big phatty, blinged out ring. Yellow diamond. Ooh, probably from Tacori. Anything from them, actually.
16. If 15 doesn't fit you or if you and your significant other want someone to join you, who do you take to bed with you? I told you it was a special day! Pick anyone/anything.
Besides Hot Neighbor? Besides Sammy? (I can't sleep unless he's in the bed!) Duh. I would pick Dr. Hunktastic himself: Julian McMahon from Nip/Tuck. We will have lots of sex and babies one day. He's the one who just gave me the phatty ring.
Happy Hypothetical Birthday to Me! What would yours be like? More importantly, am I invited?
Friday, June 02, 2006
The Dangers of Vicodin
Warning: Do not attempt to bake when under the influences of Vicodin and its derivatives. You will blatantly ignore the recipe directions (The recipe "Doesn't know what it is talking about!") and force the cake out of the pan before it cools. This results in half the cake sticking to the pan. Actually, you won't care because you're on Vicodin.
Warning: Vicodin has also been proven to make certain daily activities 300 times more difficult. These activities include: measuring ingredients for cakes, setting the timer for the baking of said cake, talking to your boss, using the telephone, answering questions, being at work, driving, reading anything other than magazines with lots of pictures, writing, typing, climbing stairs, remembering things and thinking. You are well advised to avoid doing these activities while on Vicodin.
Look, Ma! I took all these pills today! Some of them made me want to barf. But I'm ok.
It was really fun going to work after taking these.
Not really.
Ok, some of them are vitamins, but whatever. That's still a lot of pills.
So now I have a baby abscess. It doesn't hurt as much, it doesn't need to be stuffed. (YESSSS!) But I have to take 3 showers per day with nothing but Ivory soap. (I had forgotten how nice it smells, actually.) Then when I get out of the shower, I have to change the bandage using totally sterile bandages and the special cream. All I heard was SHOWERS.
Have you ever tried to put a sterile bandage on your ass? It's hard. Because I'm not using nice little conveniently pre-stickified Band-Aids. I'm using those gauze pads that need special, separate tape to stick 'em on. There's a lot of twisting and aiming and cursing involved. It's like playing Medical Twister--right hand on ass, left hand on...shit! (That's the part where I miss my boo-boo and drop the sterile bandage on the floor. Then I have to start all over. After I stop my dog from wanting to lick the medicated cream. He is so weird.)
So yeah, everything is normal here inVB Land.
Repo and I were on the phone last night until 1 am. I was (surprise, surprise) freaking out about telling him about this blog. I was convinced he was going to dump me or hate me or something. [Note: This was the Vicodin talking.] Repo now makes jokes that he is looking for a new girlfriend. Ha ha. Mr. Funnybone over here. But we are ok. He was a little freaked out, but we talked about everything and we are fine. I think. Until I do something like that again. Kidding. Really, he was mostly upset about strangers judging him. And a couple of my guy friends judging him. I agree--it isn't really fair considering they don't know him. But for the most part, everyone on here is Pro-Repo. Right? [This is the part where all my readers leave comments that would fall into the Pro-Repo category.]
That's hard to say: Pro-Repo. Hard to type too. Woooooah....still woozy from Vicodin. Can. Not. Look. Down. While. Typing.
He said he kinda wishes I hadn't told him. He doubts he will ever read it again, actually. I think it was a lot to take in. I (of course) am having World's Biggest Guilt Trip and wondering if I did the right thing. It's a little like those people who confess to cheating just to make themselves feel better, I think. I am not speaking from experience, people. But I really think that any communication in a relationship is good. And that feeling of keeping something from him really bugged me.
I'm just amazed at how understanding and patient he is with me. I mean, I would be totally wigging out over something like this. And he is just..a little hurt. But he's fine. He is probably going to stick it to me for a while, though. He called me this morning.
"I hate you because I'm tired." (He got about 5 hours of sleep last night. Oops.)
I apologized. Then he told me that the water main busted at the hotel, so his kitchen was flooding as we spoke. Also, there was some big group of airline pilots (?) checking in all at once and they were being douchebags. Yeah, that made my guilt trip double in size.
I have the best boyfriend ever.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Thursday 13
Yeah, I'm too lazy to dig up the code and copy it here. Sue me.
13 Things Weighing on My Mind Today
1. Today was the day I got the news that my baby brother died. He was 18. Sudden drowning accident. No time to say goodbye. It's the two-year anniversary. If you have been paying attention, he died 8 months before my dad died. There is (obviously) more I can say about this, but I don't want to talk about it any more today.
2. I estimate I have spent between $700-800 on medical bills since March. The good news? My dentist is the BEST EVER. I didn't even feel anything when they filled my cavity today. I almost fell asleep, actually. It was a walk in the park.
3. I need to find a part-time job for some cash! Soon!
4. Sammy needs some discipline stat before he becomes the most obnoctious dog in the neighborhood. Sammy also cost me $800. (If you include the vet bills.)
5. I have to figure out what I'm going to do on my weeklong vacation now that I'm not going to Germany. It has to be free or close-to-free. See #1 and #2 above. Luckily, I have a free domestic round-trip Delta flight. If they cooperate with me this time. Must think of something fun...
6. I'm seriously going to think about a career change and actually do something about it. I'm tired of letting other people make me doubt myself and my goals. I (think) I know what I want to do. Life is too short to wait around. I'm really excited.
7. God, I hope none of my coworkers are still reading this blog. I don't know what they would think about #6.
8. Repo has no idea I keep this blog. He probably wouldn't like it, even though he is totally anonymous here and none of his friends know about this. I don't really know what to do about that because as hard as I try not to talk about my relationship here, it just keeps creeping in. But I am being pretty good at leaving the personal stuff out. There's LOTS I'm not telling you guys. He'd be pretty impressed, actually.
9. I have a grand total of $5.41 in my checking account right now. Oh, and $2.oo in my wallet. I think. Thank God for payday.
10. I haven't been exercising or eating right in about a month. My ass is expanding at the speed of light and soon I won't be able to fit into any of my clothes. Luckily, the doctor told me that I can now take showers (YAY) and go to the gym (YAY) without bothering my ass-wound. I just have to change the band-aid ASAP in those situations. Oh, and I don't have to go to the doctor anymore and get my ass stuffed. This is awesome.
11. I hope I can find some decent rhubarb at the grocery store. I want to bake a pie (in addition to a ton of other stuff, like tapioca pudding) this weekend. Shit, this conflicts directly with #10. And #9.
12. I owe at least $17 at the public library. [Insert irony here. I am a librarian who is blocked from using the library.] What do I really feel like doing this weekend? Reading. Since I'm broke and have no travel plans and don't have Monday off anyway. But that's ok. I have lots of purchased books at my house. Like this one, which I will start tonight.
13. I have about 25 Vicodins left. And no pain as an excuse to use them. I am missing the buzz. For real. I am why this stuff is Rx only. Addiction is my middle name. You'd be like that too if you couldn't drink alcohol and didn't do any drugs. I crave being f--ked up sometimes.
14. (Shut it. This is my blog. If I want 14 in a list of 13, that is my business.) I am sad for K and Navy Guy. This is their last weekend together because he is getting shipped out from Norfolk, VA on June 2nd. He will be gone for 6 months. When he gets back, he will live in Norfolk. They are very sad and I think they will probably end up breaking up. I will miss seeing him. So will Sammy. Nice guy. If he's in town, he cleans our apartment while we are at work. It makes me sad to hear situations like this. There is no way they would break up if it weren't for this little glitch. Six months at sea followed by three years of a seven hour driving distance doesn't look good.
Please do not worry about me. I just re-read this list and it sounds so pessimistic! I am not moping, I promise. I'm actually in a very excited state--I can feel lots of changes coming around the bend. The good, action-packed, making better use of my life kind of changes. Most of my stress is coming from financial stuff right now. And I'm lucky that is the main source, because I can do something about it. I have my health back mostly (finally!) and that is really important. So is the fact that no one else in my family is dying. It could be so much worse. Luckily, I have good friends, a sweet boyfriend and a very funny little dog to make me happy. I'll be ok.
Just need to use that $2.00 to buy a lottery ticket!
13 Things Weighing on My Mind Today
1. Today was the day I got the news that my baby brother died. He was 18. Sudden drowning accident. No time to say goodbye. It's the two-year anniversary. If you have been paying attention, he died 8 months before my dad died. There is (obviously) more I can say about this, but I don't want to talk about it any more today.
2. I estimate I have spent between $700-800 on medical bills since March. The good news? My dentist is the BEST EVER. I didn't even feel anything when they filled my cavity today. I almost fell asleep, actually. It was a walk in the park.
3. I need to find a part-time job for some cash! Soon!
4. Sammy needs some discipline stat before he becomes the most obnoctious dog in the neighborhood. Sammy also cost me $800. (If you include the vet bills.)
5. I have to figure out what I'm going to do on my weeklong vacation now that I'm not going to Germany. It has to be free or close-to-free. See #1 and #2 above. Luckily, I have a free domestic round-trip Delta flight. If they cooperate with me this time. Must think of something fun...
6. I'm seriously going to think about a career change and actually do something about it. I'm tired of letting other people make me doubt myself and my goals. I (think) I know what I want to do. Life is too short to wait around. I'm really excited.
7. God, I hope none of my coworkers are still reading this blog. I don't know what they would think about #6.
8. Repo has no idea I keep this blog. He probably wouldn't like it, even though he is totally anonymous here and none of his friends know about this. I don't really know what to do about that because as hard as I try not to talk about my relationship here, it just keeps creeping in. But I am being pretty good at leaving the personal stuff out. There's LOTS I'm not telling you guys. He'd be pretty impressed, actually.
9. I have a grand total of $5.41 in my checking account right now. Oh, and $2.oo in my wallet. I think. Thank God for payday.
10. I haven't been exercising or eating right in about a month. My ass is expanding at the speed of light and soon I won't be able to fit into any of my clothes. Luckily, the doctor told me that I can now take showers (YAY) and go to the gym (YAY) without bothering my ass-wound. I just have to change the band-aid ASAP in those situations. Oh, and I don't have to go to the doctor anymore and get my ass stuffed. This is awesome.
11. I hope I can find some decent rhubarb at the grocery store. I want to bake a pie (in addition to a ton of other stuff, like tapioca pudding) this weekend. Shit, this conflicts directly with #10. And #9.
12. I owe at least $17 at the public library. [Insert irony here. I am a librarian who is blocked from using the library.] What do I really feel like doing this weekend? Reading. Since I'm broke and have no travel plans and don't have Monday off anyway. But that's ok. I have lots of purchased books at my house. Like this one, which I will start tonight.
13. I have about 25 Vicodins left. And no pain as an excuse to use them. I am missing the buzz. For real. I am why this stuff is Rx only. Addiction is my middle name. You'd be like that too if you couldn't drink alcohol and didn't do any drugs. I crave being f--ked up sometimes.
14. (Shut it. This is my blog. If I want 14 in a list of 13, that is my business.) I am sad for K and Navy Guy. This is their last weekend together because he is getting shipped out from Norfolk, VA on June 2nd. He will be gone for 6 months. When he gets back, he will live in Norfolk. They are very sad and I think they will probably end up breaking up. I will miss seeing him. So will Sammy. Nice guy. If he's in town, he cleans our apartment while we are at work. It makes me sad to hear situations like this. There is no way they would break up if it weren't for this little glitch. Six months at sea followed by three years of a seven hour driving distance doesn't look good.
Please do not worry about me. I just re-read this list and it sounds so pessimistic! I am not moping, I promise. I'm actually in a very excited state--I can feel lots of changes coming around the bend. The good, action-packed, making better use of my life kind of changes. Most of my stress is coming from financial stuff right now. And I'm lucky that is the main source, because I can do something about it. I have my health back mostly (finally!) and that is really important. So is the fact that no one else in my family is dying. It could be so much worse. Luckily, I have good friends, a sweet boyfriend and a very funny little dog to make me happy. I'll be ok.
Just need to use that $2.00 to buy a lottery ticket!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Thanks!
I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has been hoping I'll get better. I went to Dr. Butcher yesterday and he said that I'm healing up very well. It didn't hurt one bit when I had it re-stuffed yesterday. You have no idea how awesome this is. Unless you've ever had one of these things.
I'm going in today to have Dr. Awesome look at it. Unfortunately, I still won't be able to take a shower, swim or exercise for some time. It's still pretty deep, and any kind of water or moisture is a very bad thing. Aside from the fact that bathing is a huge pain in the ass and I'm gaining weight at lightning speed since I can't exercise, I'm fine.
The weird thing now is that since I'm done taking the antibiotic pills, they have switched me to an antibiotic cream. Normally you put it on your skin, but since that could make my infection worse, I have to--get this--put it in my nose. I put a dab in each nostril and massage it in so the medicine gets in my bloodstream. Very strange. It makes my nose numb and feel like it's running. At least it smells okay.
Does anyone know if it's possible to build up a tolerance to Vicodin after only taking it 5 times? Because it just never really kicked in yesterday. I got a little buzzy, but I could still drive. I knew you could build up a tolerance, but I thought it took more than 5 and a half pills. My body does weird things with drugs sometimes.
Did I mention that I have to have my very first cavity filled on Thursday? Woo-hoo the party never ends. No one told me that when I turn 27 my body starts falling apart. I have never valued my health (or lack thereof) more than this year. If I have to see one more needle or listen to one more person give me bad news, I'm going to curl up into the fetal position and start singing to myself.
Then I'll take some Vicodin and everything will be okay again.
I'm going in today to have Dr. Awesome look at it. Unfortunately, I still won't be able to take a shower, swim or exercise for some time. It's still pretty deep, and any kind of water or moisture is a very bad thing. Aside from the fact that bathing is a huge pain in the ass and I'm gaining weight at lightning speed since I can't exercise, I'm fine.
The weird thing now is that since I'm done taking the antibiotic pills, they have switched me to an antibiotic cream. Normally you put it on your skin, but since that could make my infection worse, I have to--get this--put it in my nose. I put a dab in each nostril and massage it in so the medicine gets in my bloodstream. Very strange. It makes my nose numb and feel like it's running. At least it smells okay.
Does anyone know if it's possible to build up a tolerance to Vicodin after only taking it 5 times? Because it just never really kicked in yesterday. I got a little buzzy, but I could still drive. I knew you could build up a tolerance, but I thought it took more than 5 and a half pills. My body does weird things with drugs sometimes.
Did I mention that I have to have my very first cavity filled on Thursday? Woo-hoo the party never ends. No one told me that when I turn 27 my body starts falling apart. I have never valued my health (or lack thereof) more than this year. If I have to see one more needle or listen to one more person give me bad news, I'm going to curl up into the fetal position and start singing to myself.
Then I'll take some Vicodin and everything will be okay again.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Vicodin Lessons: The Return of Anna Nicole Smith
Continuing on with my Adventures in Vicodin:
Anecdote #1:
I "drug-dialed" Lady Starfish before she knew what was wrong with my butt. I left a message on her voicemail. It scared the crap out of her. This is how my message went:
"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaam's!!!" [Remember, that is the nickname we have for each other.]
"Whas-up.....I am on Vicodin and issa good time.....Anyway.... [Insert 2 minute pause here. Yeah, she said it was dead silence. Apparently I totally lost my train of thought.] .......ummmm.....jus call me back so I can tell you why I am on sedated drugs....[Insert massive sigh here.] Aaaaaaaaaaaah....my ass hurts. Call me back. Bye."
I only vaguely remember leaving this message. The lesson? Vidodin is fun.
Anecdote #2-- Last Saturday was yet another doctor's visit. Gotta stuff new gauze into the gaping hole on my ass, you know. At the doctor's office where I go, there are two doctors: Dr. Awesome and Dr. Butcher. Only one works per shift. Their names are directly related to the amount of physical pain they put me through. Based on my calculations, I was due to get Dr. Butcher. Remember, he is the one who made me cry I was in so much pain. It was like what I imagine torture to be. In anticipation of a repeat of my last visit with Dr. Butcher, I decided it would be a good idea to take a little extra Vicodin, just to ease off the pain a little better. So instead of taking one pill, I took one and a half. (Before you freak out and think I'm a drug addict, the docs said I can take up to two at a time.)
When Repo came to pick me up to take me to the doctor, I wuzzzz.....feelin'.....pretty good. I announced to him how much I had taken. He thought that it was a bad idea on my part. I slurringly begged to differ. I was rockin'!
For about an hour. By the time I was in the waiting room, it was Nausea City. They called my name to come to the back, and I looked up at them in my narcotically-induced stupor and informed them that they would have to wait because before I could go anywhere, I had to barf. I think my exact words were, "Ok, hold on. I gotta barf." Then I grabbed the trashcan and hurled into it. Twice. I got most of it into the trashcan. Some of it got on the floor. I thought this was pretty good, considering I would have been unable to spell my name at that point. Then I apologized to everyone. Twice.
Then I felt fine. And luckily (!) it didn't kill my buzz. Suh-weet. The Lesson? One Vicodin good. One and a half bad.
Anecdote #3:
So after my weekly torture with Dr. Butcher, I ask (again, slurringly) about my lab results--what kind of bacterial infection are we looking at, Doc? So he goes to get my lab results. I lay there, ass out for the world to see, buzzing...well, buzzing my ass off.
Dr. Butcher comes back in a few minutes with a grim look on his face. I knew it was bad news. F--k, I thought in my drug-soaked brain, I have an incurable flesh-eating bacteria attacking my ass and the whole thing will fall off....wait....that might be a good thing. Size 6 here I come!
And then I realized he was talking and I hadn't heard anything he'd been saying. But I got the tail end of it: The nurse who had filled out the paperwork for my lab test did so incorrectly and they didn't test it for what they were supposed to test it for. Bottom line? They threw out my ass-swab and now we will never know what kind of bacteria I have. Dr. Butcher was looking at me like he expected me to grab a scalpel and stab him 347 times so he could bleed to death slowly and painfully. Or sue the crap out of him.
Dr. Butcher doesn't understand Vicodin very well.
"Oh. That'ssss okay.... Mistakes happen. I'm sorry I barfed." I replied.
The lesson? When you have bad news to tell patients, tell them when they are hopped up on pills.
Anecdote #4: After some more questions about my medical condition and a new prescription from Dr. Butcher, Repo comes to pick me up. He begs me not to be like last time. He also wants to make sure I'm ok since I barfed (aww.).
Apparently, the last time he picked me up, I would not. stop. talking. He said it was like being with a little kid. I asked questions constantly and kept telling these pointless stories to everyone within 5 feet of me as I stumbled and slurred. These stories included: the benefits of ginger to cure nausea and motion sickness, how a tree fell down and smushed a car in Repo's neighborhood, how the people who owned the tree will probably be sued, how much I love a particular chain of grocery stores here in Columbia, how hard it is for me to find the ginger ale in the drug store, how nauseated I am, how constipated I am, how much it annoys me that Repo drinks all my diet cokes, how much I love my dog Sammy because he doesn't care how I act when I'm on painkillers, how awesome Vicodin is, what I wanted to eat for dinner, what I wanted to do with Repo alone in my room....you get the idea. I also debated with Repo about the level of my voice. He says I was yelling the whole time, I slurringly beg to differ. Basically, I had no internal dialogue. It was just verbal spewage of the worst kind. And I started in the car, continued in the drug store and kept talking for another hour or so when I got home. Everyone around me was either annoyed, scared or laughing at me. It was a good time.
The lesson? Vicodin f--ks me up.
Anecdote #5:
A little-known side effect of Vicodin (for me, at least) is bizarre dreams. I had one the other night. This is how it went: I'm in the grocery store, in the deli. I'm a customer, yet I'm standing behind the counter. The deli people are trying to get me to eat a sandwich, in a peer-pressure kind of way:
Deli Guy: Do you like seafood?
Me: Um, yeah, some of it.
Deli Guy: Just try the sandwich. You'll like it.
I take a bite of sandwich, exclaim that he is right. It's pretty yummy. I take a couple more bites. Then I take a good look at my sandwich. I am eating a squid sandwich. There are big slices of squid all in my sandwich, complete with eyeballs slices and tentacle slices. The squid were sliced lengthwise. Then there was something else in there. I peeled back the bread to reveal: a gigantic spider, marinated in herbs and olive oil. Don't ask me how I knew this. I just knew it was marinated, ok?
Of course, this is disgusting, even to Vicodin-dream VB, so I chuck it into the trashcan. Oh, but wait. What is already in the trashcan? Snakes. Big, black, slimy snakes. Tons of 'em. Why are they slimy, you ask? Because they have been marinating in tomato sauce. So they are all slithering around. Ew ew ew.
[Side note and VB trivia: I have dreams about snakes all the time. Remind me to tell you about the one I had when I was in kindergarten. Don't know what this means, but I'm too scared to look it up.]
I had another dream. I was at a Halloween party, hosted by a hot guy. Good, so far, right? Well, I was already checking him out when I realized that he was also making yummy treats as he was hosting the party! And all the treats were really yummy, unlike my last dream. There were little candies on all of these homemade goodies. So I began to hit on him. I don't remember what happened next, but all I know is that somehow this dream morphed into a third dream where a large group of my friends were camping with me and Sammy and we kept getting separated and lost. But the forest was so pretty, I didn't care. Plus, I had Sammy with me. Hard to be scared when you have your dog with you.
[Side note and VB Trivia: I hate camping. I'd rather eat the squid sandwich.]
The lesson? Vicodin = weird dreams
Well folks, I gotta go. Today I have to go to the doctor (again). That means I have to get going before my Vicodin kicks in. My arms are already getting tingly and it's hard for me to focus on typing this. Stay tuned for more Adventures with Vicodin. I'll be back with more stories, I am sure.
Also, I have to tell you about The Return of Jessica Simpson. But that takes a lot more clear-headedness than I have right now.
Anecdote #1:
I "drug-dialed" Lady Starfish before she knew what was wrong with my butt. I left a message on her voicemail. It scared the crap out of her. This is how my message went:
"Maaaaaaaaaaaaaam's!!!" [Remember, that is the nickname we have for each other.]
"Whas-up.....I am on Vicodin and issa good time.....Anyway.... [Insert 2 minute pause here. Yeah, she said it was dead silence. Apparently I totally lost my train of thought.] .......ummmm.....jus call me back so I can tell you why I am on sedated drugs....[Insert massive sigh here.] Aaaaaaaaaaaah....my ass hurts. Call me back. Bye."
I only vaguely remember leaving this message. The lesson? Vidodin is fun.
Anecdote #2-- Last Saturday was yet another doctor's visit. Gotta stuff new gauze into the gaping hole on my ass, you know. At the doctor's office where I go, there are two doctors: Dr. Awesome and Dr. Butcher. Only one works per shift. Their names are directly related to the amount of physical pain they put me through. Based on my calculations, I was due to get Dr. Butcher. Remember, he is the one who made me cry I was in so much pain. It was like what I imagine torture to be. In anticipation of a repeat of my last visit with Dr. Butcher, I decided it would be a good idea to take a little extra Vicodin, just to ease off the pain a little better. So instead of taking one pill, I took one and a half. (Before you freak out and think I'm a drug addict, the docs said I can take up to two at a time.)
When Repo came to pick me up to take me to the doctor, I wuzzzz.....feelin'.....pretty good. I announced to him how much I had taken. He thought that it was a bad idea on my part. I slurringly begged to differ. I was rockin'!
For about an hour. By the time I was in the waiting room, it was Nausea City. They called my name to come to the back, and I looked up at them in my narcotically-induced stupor and informed them that they would have to wait because before I could go anywhere, I had to barf. I think my exact words were, "Ok, hold on. I gotta barf." Then I grabbed the trashcan and hurled into it. Twice. I got most of it into the trashcan. Some of it got on the floor. I thought this was pretty good, considering I would have been unable to spell my name at that point. Then I apologized to everyone. Twice.
Then I felt fine. And luckily (!) it didn't kill my buzz. Suh-weet. The Lesson? One Vicodin good. One and a half bad.
Anecdote #3:
So after my weekly torture with Dr. Butcher, I ask (again, slurringly) about my lab results--what kind of bacterial infection are we looking at, Doc? So he goes to get my lab results. I lay there, ass out for the world to see, buzzing...well, buzzing my ass off.
Dr. Butcher comes back in a few minutes with a grim look on his face. I knew it was bad news. F--k, I thought in my drug-soaked brain, I have an incurable flesh-eating bacteria attacking my ass and the whole thing will fall off....wait....that might be a good thing. Size 6 here I come!
And then I realized he was talking and I hadn't heard anything he'd been saying. But I got the tail end of it: The nurse who had filled out the paperwork for my lab test did so incorrectly and they didn't test it for what they were supposed to test it for. Bottom line? They threw out my ass-swab and now we will never know what kind of bacteria I have. Dr. Butcher was looking at me like he expected me to grab a scalpel and stab him 347 times so he could bleed to death slowly and painfully. Or sue the crap out of him.
Dr. Butcher doesn't understand Vicodin very well.
"Oh. That'ssss okay.... Mistakes happen. I'm sorry I barfed." I replied.
The lesson? When you have bad news to tell patients, tell them when they are hopped up on pills.
Anecdote #4: After some more questions about my medical condition and a new prescription from Dr. Butcher, Repo comes to pick me up. He begs me not to be like last time. He also wants to make sure I'm ok since I barfed (aww.).
Apparently, the last time he picked me up, I would not. stop. talking. He said it was like being with a little kid. I asked questions constantly and kept telling these pointless stories to everyone within 5 feet of me as I stumbled and slurred. These stories included: the benefits of ginger to cure nausea and motion sickness, how a tree fell down and smushed a car in Repo's neighborhood, how the people who owned the tree will probably be sued, how much I love a particular chain of grocery stores here in Columbia, how hard it is for me to find the ginger ale in the drug store, how nauseated I am, how constipated I am, how much it annoys me that Repo drinks all my diet cokes, how much I love my dog Sammy because he doesn't care how I act when I'm on painkillers, how awesome Vicodin is, what I wanted to eat for dinner, what I wanted to do with Repo alone in my room....you get the idea. I also debated with Repo about the level of my voice. He says I was yelling the whole time, I slurringly beg to differ. Basically, I had no internal dialogue. It was just verbal spewage of the worst kind. And I started in the car, continued in the drug store and kept talking for another hour or so when I got home. Everyone around me was either annoyed, scared or laughing at me. It was a good time.
The lesson? Vicodin f--ks me up.
Anecdote #5:
A little-known side effect of Vicodin (for me, at least) is bizarre dreams. I had one the other night. This is how it went: I'm in the grocery store, in the deli. I'm a customer, yet I'm standing behind the counter. The deli people are trying to get me to eat a sandwich, in a peer-pressure kind of way:
Deli Guy: Do you like seafood?
Me: Um, yeah, some of it.
Deli Guy: Just try the sandwich. You'll like it.
I take a bite of sandwich, exclaim that he is right. It's pretty yummy. I take a couple more bites. Then I take a good look at my sandwich. I am eating a squid sandwich. There are big slices of squid all in my sandwich, complete with eyeballs slices and tentacle slices. The squid were sliced lengthwise. Then there was something else in there. I peeled back the bread to reveal: a gigantic spider, marinated in herbs and olive oil. Don't ask me how I knew this. I just knew it was marinated, ok?
Of course, this is disgusting, even to Vicodin-dream VB, so I chuck it into the trashcan. Oh, but wait. What is already in the trashcan? Snakes. Big, black, slimy snakes. Tons of 'em. Why are they slimy, you ask? Because they have been marinating in tomato sauce. So they are all slithering around. Ew ew ew.
[Side note and VB trivia: I have dreams about snakes all the time. Remind me to tell you about the one I had when I was in kindergarten. Don't know what this means, but I'm too scared to look it up.]
I had another dream. I was at a Halloween party, hosted by a hot guy. Good, so far, right? Well, I was already checking him out when I realized that he was also making yummy treats as he was hosting the party! And all the treats were really yummy, unlike my last dream. There were little candies on all of these homemade goodies. So I began to hit on him. I don't remember what happened next, but all I know is that somehow this dream morphed into a third dream where a large group of my friends were camping with me and Sammy and we kept getting separated and lost. But the forest was so pretty, I didn't care. Plus, I had Sammy with me. Hard to be scared when you have your dog with you.
[Side note and VB Trivia: I hate camping. I'd rather eat the squid sandwich.]
The lesson? Vicodin = weird dreams
Well folks, I gotta go. Today I have to go to the doctor (again). That means I have to get going before my Vicodin kicks in. My arms are already getting tingly and it's hard for me to focus on typing this. Stay tuned for more Adventures with Vicodin. I'll be back with more stories, I am sure.
Also, I have to tell you about The Return of Jessica Simpson. But that takes a lot more clear-headedness than I have right now.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
A Pain in the Ass
Yes, I can assure you, I am alive.
I think this is the longest I've ever gone without posting. But I can explain, really. If anyone is even reading this anymore! So, what's been going on with VB? Let's just say I've met my health insurance deductable. I'll give you the quick n dirty explanation:
I got a bad cold. I have now had it for 10 days. It refuses to die. I've taken 2 sick days for it.
We started doing inventory at work. This involves not only scanning each book, but also putting them in order and then going back to check our work. It wasn't a picnic, but it is a necessary evil. And it was kinda nice to do something different. Doing inventory means that I'm out with the books all day instead of at the desk, reading blogs and posting. So that was a contributing factor in my abscence.
The rest of the days I've been gone are related to yet another medical condition. The real icing on the cake is that I also have somehow managed to get an abscess. Yup, just what Repo got. Did I catch it from him? Probably. But until the lab results come in, I won't know for sure.
I noticed some swelling on Friday night and thought it was just an ingrown hair or something. But by Saturday morning, it was red, extremely painful and very swollen. It was also the size of a small dinner plate. No joke. After seeing what Repo had been through, I pretty much knew what I was dealing with. I knew I was in for it--the pain, the medication, the numerous doctor trips. I said some not-so-nice things to him. Because it takes about a month for these to heal up. And because I had to have FIVE shots. That's FIVE needles. And they HURT.
He lost some serious boyfriend points with this.
According to the doctor, abscesses are spreading all over town, which makes me wonder because I was under the impression that these were hard to catch. I just figured the fact that Repo is naturally averse to hand-washing (no matter how often I ask him to do it) left me in a high-risk environment. I thought it was one of those things where I would have to touch it directly in order to get it. We were very careful about keeping it bandaged and away from my hands. Or so we thought. I guess one time he must not have washed his hands. And then I didn't wash my hands. The Czarina is having a field day with this, implying that he and I are nasty and filthy people who do not bathe:
"Nice couple. Maybe you two can go to the doctor together and get them drained at the same time. Is there a two-for-one special?"
"Yeah, Mom, we can lay on parallel tables and hold hands while they do it. Thanks for the sympathy," I replied.
Did I mention where my abscess is located?
It's ON MY ASS. Of all freakin' places. I'm sorry if that grosses you out, but I can assure you that it's probably the most humiliating thing I've ever had to endure. I think that giving myself a head-to-toe scrub down with the loofah must have opened me up to infection. Either that or something mundane like an ingrown hair. And of course, the kind of luck that I have, it ends up on my ass. Unbelievable. All in the name of having a smooth tushie. Ask me how sexy I feel.
Ever called your boss to say that you can't come in to work because your ass hurts? Not fun.
Please note for the record: This infection does not mean that I am a nasty, filthy person who does not bathe. It's just a bacterial infection. All it takes is one time not washing your hands. And one teeny-tiny opening on your skin. And one itsy bitsy bacterium to get in there. And some people are just naturally more susceptible to getting them. So no jokes about my personal hygeine. And go wash your hands. Trust me, you don't want this.
I'm a little frustrated with medical information of today. I have heard different things from different medical sources. So has Repo. So we have no idea if we can pass it back and forth over and over. He's afraid to touch me because he doesn't want to get it again. We don't know if I can spread it to my coworkers or K. We don't know if Sammy will get it. I don't know if I should be quarantined or sterilize my apartment or what. Do I have to throw away my shower sponge? Boil my sheets? Forbid people from drinking after me? We don't even know how we got it--Repo read something that said the bacteria can be airborne. We can only suppose Repo caught it in the emergency room when he got his eye sewn up. The doctor's attitude to all my questions is "Until the lab results come in and we know what kind of bacteria it is, all I can tell you to do is wash your hands." Not much help. By the time the lab results come in, I could spread it to everyone I know.
Probably the most inconvenient thing about it is that it cannot get wet. Have you ever tried to take a shower without getting your ass wet? Yeah, it doesn't work. So I have to lean over the tub and wash body sections one at a time. And the whole time, I have to pose in angles which don't allow water to run down my back and get my butt wet. It takes about 45 minutes. It's very tiring.
It's probably a staph infection, so it could be serious if left unattended. It's also going to be hard to get rid of. That's why I'm really pumped up with antibiotics right now. That's also why I leave nasty messages on Repo's voice mail every day. Messages like: "Hi. It's me. I can't sit down. In case you forgot, this is all your fault. And P.S.--I hate you. Bye."
He knows I'm kidding. Kinda.
It's also really really painful, especially when they go to change the dressing. It feels like they are taking steel wool and grinding it into the open sore. It hurts so badly that I literally cry and want to punch the doctor in the face. It's the most painful thing I've ever had. It even beats out migraines. There is no way labor is this painful. No way.
Which is why they gave me a prescription for Vicodin. Let me tell ya--I'm having a good time about 45 minutes after taking that. Remember how Anna Nicole Smith was when she was fat and out of it? That's exactly how I am. It's like I'm drunk. I have no internal dialogue and I talk very loudly, according to Repo. And K thinks I'm hilarious when I take it because I bump into furniture and dance to music videos. In case you've never had it, Vicodin doesn't really numb anything so much as you just don't care about anything. Like that scene from Sex and the City where Miranda gets eye surgery and Steve asks her: "Are you okay?" and she replies, "I'm on Valium. Everything's okay." I have never felt so relaxed in my life. It's like vacation in pill format. I had a grin on my face for four hours. Then I passed out.
While I'm a lot better than I was, it will take about 3 more weeks for this to clear up. The good thing is, I caught it very early. But I have to get the dressing changed every other day. So I'll be sponge-bathing and wacked out on meds for a little while. Hopefully no one I know and love will get one. And I'm crossing my fingers that I won't get any side effects from the antibiotics. (Ladies, you know what I mean!) But the doctor did a really good job last night. I noticed a big difference this morning. At least today I can sit.
And yes, I'm leaving out lots of gross parts. Trust me, you don't want to know the dirty details of this kind of infection. Just wash your hands constantly. And pray really hard that you don't get one. On your ass or anywhere else.
Now, when I say that my boyfriend is a pain in my ass, it can be taken literally.
I think this is the longest I've ever gone without posting. But I can explain, really. If anyone is even reading this anymore! So, what's been going on with VB? Let's just say I've met my health insurance deductable. I'll give you the quick n dirty explanation:
I got a bad cold. I have now had it for 10 days. It refuses to die. I've taken 2 sick days for it.
We started doing inventory at work. This involves not only scanning each book, but also putting them in order and then going back to check our work. It wasn't a picnic, but it is a necessary evil. And it was kinda nice to do something different. Doing inventory means that I'm out with the books all day instead of at the desk, reading blogs and posting. So that was a contributing factor in my abscence.
The rest of the days I've been gone are related to yet another medical condition. The real icing on the cake is that I also have somehow managed to get an abscess. Yup, just what Repo got. Did I catch it from him? Probably. But until the lab results come in, I won't know for sure.
I noticed some swelling on Friday night and thought it was just an ingrown hair or something. But by Saturday morning, it was red, extremely painful and very swollen. It was also the size of a small dinner plate. No joke. After seeing what Repo had been through, I pretty much knew what I was dealing with. I knew I was in for it--the pain, the medication, the numerous doctor trips. I said some not-so-nice things to him. Because it takes about a month for these to heal up. And because I had to have FIVE shots. That's FIVE needles. And they HURT.
He lost some serious boyfriend points with this.
According to the doctor, abscesses are spreading all over town, which makes me wonder because I was under the impression that these were hard to catch. I just figured the fact that Repo is naturally averse to hand-washing (no matter how often I ask him to do it) left me in a high-risk environment. I thought it was one of those things where I would have to touch it directly in order to get it. We were very careful about keeping it bandaged and away from my hands. Or so we thought. I guess one time he must not have washed his hands. And then I didn't wash my hands. The Czarina is having a field day with this, implying that he and I are nasty and filthy people who do not bathe:
"Nice couple. Maybe you two can go to the doctor together and get them drained at the same time. Is there a two-for-one special?"
"Yeah, Mom, we can lay on parallel tables and hold hands while they do it. Thanks for the sympathy," I replied.
Did I mention where my abscess is located?
It's ON MY ASS. Of all freakin' places. I'm sorry if that grosses you out, but I can assure you that it's probably the most humiliating thing I've ever had to endure. I think that giving myself a head-to-toe scrub down with the loofah must have opened me up to infection. Either that or something mundane like an ingrown hair. And of course, the kind of luck that I have, it ends up on my ass. Unbelievable. All in the name of having a smooth tushie. Ask me how sexy I feel.
Ever called your boss to say that you can't come in to work because your ass hurts? Not fun.
Please note for the record: This infection does not mean that I am a nasty, filthy person who does not bathe. It's just a bacterial infection. All it takes is one time not washing your hands. And one teeny-tiny opening on your skin. And one itsy bitsy bacterium to get in there. And some people are just naturally more susceptible to getting them. So no jokes about my personal hygeine. And go wash your hands. Trust me, you don't want this.
I'm a little frustrated with medical information of today. I have heard different things from different medical sources. So has Repo. So we have no idea if we can pass it back and forth over and over. He's afraid to touch me because he doesn't want to get it again. We don't know if I can spread it to my coworkers or K. We don't know if Sammy will get it. I don't know if I should be quarantined or sterilize my apartment or what. Do I have to throw away my shower sponge? Boil my sheets? Forbid people from drinking after me? We don't even know how we got it--Repo read something that said the bacteria can be airborne. We can only suppose Repo caught it in the emergency room when he got his eye sewn up. The doctor's attitude to all my questions is "Until the lab results come in and we know what kind of bacteria it is, all I can tell you to do is wash your hands." Not much help. By the time the lab results come in, I could spread it to everyone I know.
Probably the most inconvenient thing about it is that it cannot get wet. Have you ever tried to take a shower without getting your ass wet? Yeah, it doesn't work. So I have to lean over the tub and wash body sections one at a time. And the whole time, I have to pose in angles which don't allow water to run down my back and get my butt wet. It takes about 45 minutes. It's very tiring.
It's probably a staph infection, so it could be serious if left unattended. It's also going to be hard to get rid of. That's why I'm really pumped up with antibiotics right now. That's also why I leave nasty messages on Repo's voice mail every day. Messages like: "Hi. It's me. I can't sit down. In case you forgot, this is all your fault. And P.S.--I hate you. Bye."
He knows I'm kidding. Kinda.
It's also really really painful, especially when they go to change the dressing. It feels like they are taking steel wool and grinding it into the open sore. It hurts so badly that I literally cry and want to punch the doctor in the face. It's the most painful thing I've ever had. It even beats out migraines. There is no way labor is this painful. No way.
Which is why they gave me a prescription for Vicodin. Let me tell ya--I'm having a good time about 45 minutes after taking that. Remember how Anna Nicole Smith was when she was fat and out of it? That's exactly how I am. It's like I'm drunk. I have no internal dialogue and I talk very loudly, according to Repo. And K thinks I'm hilarious when I take it because I bump into furniture and dance to music videos. In case you've never had it, Vicodin doesn't really numb anything so much as you just don't care about anything. Like that scene from Sex and the City where Miranda gets eye surgery and Steve asks her: "Are you okay?" and she replies, "I'm on Valium. Everything's okay." I have never felt so relaxed in my life. It's like vacation in pill format. I had a grin on my face for four hours. Then I passed out.
While I'm a lot better than I was, it will take about 3 more weeks for this to clear up. The good thing is, I caught it very early. But I have to get the dressing changed every other day. So I'll be sponge-bathing and wacked out on meds for a little while. Hopefully no one I know and love will get one. And I'm crossing my fingers that I won't get any side effects from the antibiotics. (Ladies, you know what I mean!) But the doctor did a really good job last night. I noticed a big difference this morning. At least today I can sit.
And yes, I'm leaving out lots of gross parts. Trust me, you don't want to know the dirty details of this kind of infection. Just wash your hands constantly. And pray really hard that you don't get one. On your ass or anywhere else.
Now, when I say that my boyfriend is a pain in my ass, it can be taken literally.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
The Non-Update
Greetings, readers. First, I have to say, thank you so much for your comments. (The comment I deleted was a stupid spammer.) Whomever "Anonymous" is, you are on my favorite people list now. Who knew I can be considered "hot" just for a little baking and a few smooches?? Sweet! And great advice, btw. I am currently working on having a fabulous week for that exact reason! What is that saying..."Living well is the best revenge." That will be this week's mantra.
Seriously, though, I appreciate the advice from all. As usual, my readers are far more insightful than I, probably because they are not in the relationship and therefore are able to think clearly. I on the other hand, have been a basketcase this week. Yes, it has now officially been a week. I'm not even upset anymore, just numb. I'm done! I can accept the truth! It sucks donkey-sized balls, but it's over. Time to just move along. I am smoking like a chimney to sedate my pain, though. Thank God for Phillip Morris. Man, I wish I had some vicodin! J/K.
DD, I know what you mean--technically, he did lie, but I can understand why. I don't think he intended to hurt anyone with that, and he told me pretty early on, so I took that as a sign he didn't want to deceive me about it. And it's not like he waited until late in the game to tell me. So while I'm letting that one slide, I will keep my ears perked for similar moves. One more and I will run run run. I won't fall asleep behind the wheel, trust me. My head does not come off when my top does! Ha ha!
And to Stuckey--I have been talking (or non-talking) to him for about a month now. There was a week without contact since I was at home for Xmas. Otherwise, we have been in the same town this whole time. I'm sorry, but I don't think it's too much to ask that a guy pick up the phone and ask if he can take me out to dinner on Saturday. In America, that is how dating works, especially in the beginning. Last time I checked, guys are not in the habit of calling women they aren't into. They like to call girls they like. Therefore, he is obviously not interested in me. I rest my case. Come on! It has been a week! No one is that busy. Hell, Melania is friggin' pregnant and she's married to The Donald for Pete's sake! Look, I did some work and made some effort--it's his turn. Relationships take two people, I don't care how much of a non-planner you are. Girlfriends do not just drop from the sky and fall in your lap. I know men wish for this (especially the lap part!) but you have to get your lazy duff off the couch and pick up the phone on occasion. Apparently, only my female readers understand this. What a shocker.
Athletic Girl, my roommate, agrees that it has been a long time. She is thinking that maybe something happened to him, like he is in the hospital and physically cannot call. Or he is so sick, he cannot get out of bed, and wouldn't I feel bad if that were the case? I think all her wedding planning has rotted her noggin. It seems like it's easy to make excuses for men once you don't have to worry about meeting them anymore.
But I am wondering why he bothered to tell me about the kid if he is not into me? What is the point of divulging personal info like that? I'm tempted to say that the kid info is on a "needs to know" classification. Aaarrrgh....s--t like this makes me so cynical. All that crap he said: "Oh, I'm so into you. I really like you, Virginia Belle, I don't normally warm up to people this quickly...blah blah blah." He didn't even mean a word of it! It was all bulls--t!! I really don't want to ever believe anything any man ever says to me again. They are all liars! (Except my guy friends and male readers. They rock!) I deserve a f---ing phone call! It is not too much to ask. I guess I'm pissed because I didn't do anything wrong. If I did, I don't see it. And closure? I can forget it. This is another entry into my Cold Case Files. Unsolved Mysteries of Life. You'd think that even just his hormones would make him want to call me for some smooches at the very least.
Speaking of which, this would all be sooooo much easier if he weren't such an amazing kisser....I'm going outside now for another smoke. At least it distracts my mouth for a little while. (She's taking it especially hard. Little does she know this "relationship" is dead in the water.)
Seriously, though, I appreciate the advice from all. As usual, my readers are far more insightful than I, probably because they are not in the relationship and therefore are able to think clearly. I on the other hand, have been a basketcase this week. Yes, it has now officially been a week. I'm not even upset anymore, just numb. I'm done! I can accept the truth! It sucks donkey-sized balls, but it's over. Time to just move along. I am smoking like a chimney to sedate my pain, though. Thank God for Phillip Morris. Man, I wish I had some vicodin! J/K.
DD, I know what you mean--technically, he did lie, but I can understand why. I don't think he intended to hurt anyone with that, and he told me pretty early on, so I took that as a sign he didn't want to deceive me about it. And it's not like he waited until late in the game to tell me. So while I'm letting that one slide, I will keep my ears perked for similar moves. One more and I will run run run. I won't fall asleep behind the wheel, trust me. My head does not come off when my top does! Ha ha!
And to Stuckey--I have been talking (or non-talking) to him for about a month now. There was a week without contact since I was at home for Xmas. Otherwise, we have been in the same town this whole time. I'm sorry, but I don't think it's too much to ask that a guy pick up the phone and ask if he can take me out to dinner on Saturday. In America, that is how dating works, especially in the beginning. Last time I checked, guys are not in the habit of calling women they aren't into. They like to call girls they like. Therefore, he is obviously not interested in me. I rest my case. Come on! It has been a week! No one is that busy. Hell, Melania is friggin' pregnant and she's married to The Donald for Pete's sake! Look, I did some work and made some effort--it's his turn. Relationships take two people, I don't care how much of a non-planner you are. Girlfriends do not just drop from the sky and fall in your lap. I know men wish for this (especially the lap part!) but you have to get your lazy duff off the couch and pick up the phone on occasion. Apparently, only my female readers understand this. What a shocker.
Athletic Girl, my roommate, agrees that it has been a long time. She is thinking that maybe something happened to him, like he is in the hospital and physically cannot call. Or he is so sick, he cannot get out of bed, and wouldn't I feel bad if that were the case? I think all her wedding planning has rotted her noggin. It seems like it's easy to make excuses for men once you don't have to worry about meeting them anymore.
But I am wondering why he bothered to tell me about the kid if he is not into me? What is the point of divulging personal info like that? I'm tempted to say that the kid info is on a "needs to know" classification. Aaarrrgh....s--t like this makes me so cynical. All that crap he said: "Oh, I'm so into you. I really like you, Virginia Belle, I don't normally warm up to people this quickly...blah blah blah." He didn't even mean a word of it! It was all bulls--t!! I really don't want to ever believe anything any man ever says to me again. They are all liars! (Except my guy friends and male readers. They rock!) I deserve a f---ing phone call! It is not too much to ask. I guess I'm pissed because I didn't do anything wrong. If I did, I don't see it. And closure? I can forget it. This is another entry into my Cold Case Files. Unsolved Mysteries of Life. You'd think that even just his hormones would make him want to call me for some smooches at the very least.
Speaking of which, this would all be sooooo much easier if he weren't such an amazing kisser....I'm going outside now for another smoke. At least it distracts my mouth for a little while. (She's taking it especially hard. Little does she know this "relationship" is dead in the water.)
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