Wow! Starting week four already!
Last week was... not bad, but not great. It seems the cake and pie from last weekend's birthday dinner were my undoing. After successfully completing week two without eating after dinner, week three saw me eating a piece of cake (or pie) darn near every. single. night. last week. Obviously I overestimated my will power! Thursday night, the remainders of both cake and pie went in the trash. I know (hell, I knew) I should have thrown it out sooner, but I was fooling myself with "What if Chebbar wants a piece of cake? It's not fair to deprive him just because I can't control myself!" That being said, not only would he have understood, he also doesn't really need it anymore than I do. So, my eating sucked.
However, the work outs did not suck. I got five work outs in, even though I didn't work out Thursday (my doctor's appointment ran really long, but the information I received was worth the missed exercise). I had every intention of getting my Tae Bo done Friday morning before the concert, but we ended up doing part of our grocery shopping because the weekend was going to be so crazy; I was on day two of an allergy headache because I stupidly thought I could stop taking my antihistamine already; and I was feeling nauseous (turns out the Evening Primrose Oil I was taking in an attempt to alleviate PMS symptoms can cause stomach upset: I haven't taken any since Saturday and have felt fine ever since). I more than made up for the missed Tae Bo session with all the walking we did that afternoon and evening (got to the city early, so we walked for an hour or so before the show).
I was still a little disappointed that I didn't get three Tae Bo work outs in, so I actually did it Saturday morning! That's a MIRACLE, you guys. lol Normally my attitude is "meh, it's the weekend -- I'm allowed to slack off," but being able to get that third work out in was more important to me than sitting on my arse. I felt SO good afterwards! Well, psychologically, anyhow: seems an hour and a half after breakfast isn't quite enough to avoid feeling pukey...
We only managed to get in two after dinner walks, but those were on top of work outs, so I'm not beating myself up for that. HOWEVER. More of an effort is going to be made, even if it has to be done by me. Chebbar has grand aspirations and plans (get his bike back from his dad's and ride every day; get a weight bench and lift weights; do the Wii Fit every day; start doing Tae Bo; etc), but doesn't end up doing anything. He's not happy with his weight, either; considering he's currently laid off, NOW is the best time to start something. Unfortunately, nine times out of ten, he's not even getting that after dinner walk in. So, *I* will try to change this for both of us. Hell, a second bout of activity certainly isn't going to HURT me!
So, uh, next week I guess I should weigh in and take measurements, huh? *shifty eyes* ;)
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
When the Pills Are Not Enough: Session II
Are you ready to rumble? Again? If so, head on over to Danielle's at A Little Left of Lost:
Well, it's that time again! And this time, I'm giving you all more time to send me posts, and I'm giving myself more time to get the shit all organized and sent out to everyone. Time, time, time. Could I say that word a few more times, please?
Basically, this is how it works:
Here's the great part: It's a round-robin sorta thing, so if your guest post goes on Participant #1's blog, Participant #1's guest post will not go on your blog, but on Participant #2's blog. That way, no one that normally reads your blog (like your mother or your nosy secretary) will be able to find your guest post!
- You send an email to dlwinkler (at) msn(dot)come telling me you want to participate. Go ahead and give me the link to your blog as well. Let me know if there is anything you do not want posted on your blog (such as cussing, sex issues, etc.).
- Then you send me your post. It can be about ANYTHING. Nothing is off-limits here.You are welcome to send all of it to me at once, in one email. In fact, I might lick your face if you do that, just to keep it simple for my overloaded brain.
- I will send your post to another participating blogger to be posted on their blog. We will all post the guest posts on the same day.
- If you wish to have an under-the-radar, sneaky pen name for your post, go right ahead. Just put it in the email. If you want your blog to be linked on your post, let me know.
Feel free to grab the button here, and post it on your blog. Go ahead and tweet about it, promote it on your blog; the more the merrier!
I need your contribution by Wednesday, October 7th.
I will send you the guest post to put on your blog by Monday, October 12th.
We will all publish the guest posts on the same day: Wednesday, October 14th.
If you have any questions, feel free to email me.
Now, get to ranting!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Answers
I had a melt down last week. Luckily for me, I was on MSN with a dear friend when it happened; she had the patience and took the time to talk me down, such as it was. After she had calmed me down, she started asking questions: what happens? when? for how long? She then gently suggested that I ask my doctor about Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD).
As I read and read and read, the more it made sense. The more first-hand accounts I encountered, the harder I cried because bits and pieces of each one was me. When I got to the screener, I was able to definitively answer "yes" to seven of the eleven symptoms, and could say "sometimes" to three of the remaining four. And then the questions: Do these symptoms disappear during or after your period? Yes. Do these symptoms occur with most every cycle? YES. Are the symptoms severe enough to really interfere with your life? YES! My GOD does it interfere with my life.
Every month, about a week before my period starts, Teh Cray-zee sets in. I feel irrational, paranoid, angry, weepy, and I plummet to the depths of despair. I am mortified at the crap that spews from my mouth: as it's pouring forth, it's like I'm watching from outside my body SCREAMING at myself to calm the fuck down -- at the height of my neuroticism, I know I'm over-reacting and blowing things out of proportion, but it's like I am absolutely powerless to stop myself.
My biggest concern (after wondering if I truly am losing my mind) is Chebbar. Every time this happens, that wonderful man gently, calmly, rationally tells me that it's okay; it's not that big of a deal; it doesn't happen that often (read: only once a month *eye roll*). But every time, regardless of what he says, my mind starts spinning a million miles a minute: what if some day it's NOT okay? What if it DOES become a big deal? What if it picks up in frequency? What if he just. can't. handle. it anymore and he leaves me?
And every time I voice these irrational fears (and trust me: I can't NOT voice them, dammit), I see the frustration in his eyes as he has to reassure me yet again, and I feel terrible. He shouldn't have to reassure me every. damned. month. He shouldn't have to hold my hand. He shouldn't have to exercise such patience. Yet he does (and god I love him for that).
So, yeah. This DOES interfere with my life, thank you very much. It interferes with MY life. It interferes with HIS life. It interferes with OUR life. And that's not acceptable anymore.
"Your answers suggest that you may have PMDD, but evaluation by a professional would be necessary to know for sure."
In that moment, I was relieved at the prospect of a diagnosis, an explanation, answers. I knew *something* was... off for awhile. I actually started to track these melt downs back in April, which means they happened a handful of times before that if it was bad enough for me to think "Hmm. I should track this." Before I met Chebbar and went back on the pill, I would have a day one week before my period started where I would have all-over-the-map mood swings, but never anything like this. Unfortunately, being on the pill did not solve this, as it does for some women. I can't say that the pill made it worse, because this could be a recent change; however, it certainly didn't help.
During the course of that reading and through talking with Cat, I realized that antidepressants were a very real possibility. Unfortunately, I seem to have issues with that idea. I have for a long time. I would never question someone's need for antidepressants; in fact, I would wholeheartedly support anyone that felt he or she needed medication. As many people have equated, it's no different than a diabetic using insulin: it's necessary. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I have no problem supporting others; however, I cannot cut myself the same slack. I am harder on myself than I am on anyone else. I expect more from myself than I do from anyone else. Some how, some way, for some reason I equate my needing help -- in any way, shape, or form -- as a sign of weakness. Essentially, for me, having to take antidepressants is akin to failure because I can't fix myself. However, the last episode was bad enough that I was okay with the idea of antidepressants. Unfortunately, once my period arrived and my hormones levelled out and I went back to "normal," I started convincing myself that I was okay and it wasn't that bad and I didn't really need pills.
Oy.
My doctor's first suggestion was to switch to a different pill; evidently, sometimes just a change in hormones can help. Because the PMDD episodes occur towards the end of my active pills, she said that I would be able to tell before my period starts if the switch in brand was successful; if not, she has instructed me to take nine weeks of active pills and then take a week off, reducing my cycles from twelve down to four a year (approximately). She had suggested St. John's Wort as the third step if need be. I had read numerous times that St. John's Wort is contraindicated with oral contraceptives because it can lessen the efficacy of the pill. When I asked about this, she was very quick in emphatically denying that... Barring all of these options, she said that we may need to look at antidepressants. However, she did mention that it's possible that I may only need to take them for a week or two before the PMDD generally occurs (as opposed to every day).
I came home feeling rather optimistic. Except I hadn't discussed this with Chebbar yet. I felt... silly? ridiculous? like a hypochondriac? discussing it before getting a definitive answer. I was also a little worried about what his reaction to the possibility of antidepressants would be because he hasn't seemed... overly fond of them in past discussions (I'm also still worried about my mother's opinion based on her pill-hating philosophy, but I'm going to have to get over what other people think, too: this is MY life and I get to do whatever is necessary to make it the best I can). As usual, Chebbar was open to what I had to say, honest about his opinion, and completely supportive. As he pointed out, I am aware of my body and what works (or doesn't), and will be proactive in seeking out other alternatives if something isn't working for me, so he's not concerned that I will fall prey to the wrong medication.
I feel like a HUGE weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Again, I would like to thank you all for the support, and if you made it alllllll the way to the end of this epic post, you get a gold star AND a cookie. ;)
(In talking to the pharmacist when picking up my new pills, he actually pulled out his, uh, Big Book o'Drugs to show me where it is stated that St. John's Wort can result in increased metabolism of certain drugs, which in return can ultimately result in an unplanned pregnancy. Needless to say, I wouldn't be ON the pill if I was up for an unplanned pregnancy, so again, needless to say, I won't be taking St. John's Wort.)
As I read and read and read, the more it made sense. The more first-hand accounts I encountered, the harder I cried because bits and pieces of each one was me. When I got to the screener, I was able to definitively answer "yes" to seven of the eleven symptoms, and could say "sometimes" to three of the remaining four. And then the questions: Do these symptoms disappear during or after your period? Yes. Do these symptoms occur with most every cycle? YES. Are the symptoms severe enough to really interfere with your life? YES! My GOD does it interfere with my life.
Every month, about a week before my period starts, Teh Cray-zee sets in. I feel irrational, paranoid, angry, weepy, and I plummet to the depths of despair. I am mortified at the crap that spews from my mouth: as it's pouring forth, it's like I'm watching from outside my body SCREAMING at myself to calm the fuck down -- at the height of my neuroticism, I know I'm over-reacting and blowing things out of proportion, but it's like I am absolutely powerless to stop myself.
My biggest concern (after wondering if I truly am losing my mind) is Chebbar. Every time this happens, that wonderful man gently, calmly, rationally tells me that it's okay; it's not that big of a deal; it doesn't happen that often (read: only once a month *eye roll*). But every time, regardless of what he says, my mind starts spinning a million miles a minute: what if some day it's NOT okay? What if it DOES become a big deal? What if it picks up in frequency? What if he just. can't. handle. it anymore and he leaves me?
And every time I voice these irrational fears (and trust me: I can't NOT voice them, dammit), I see the frustration in his eyes as he has to reassure me yet again, and I feel terrible. He shouldn't have to reassure me every. damned. month. He shouldn't have to hold my hand. He shouldn't have to exercise such patience. Yet he does (and god I love him for that).
So, yeah. This DOES interfere with my life, thank you very much. It interferes with MY life. It interferes with HIS life. It interferes with OUR life. And that's not acceptable anymore.
"Your answers suggest that you may have PMDD, but evaluation by a professional would be necessary to know for sure."
In that moment, I was relieved at the prospect of a diagnosis, an explanation, answers. I knew *something* was... off for awhile. I actually started to track these melt downs back in April, which means they happened a handful of times before that if it was bad enough for me to think "Hmm. I should track this." Before I met Chebbar and went back on the pill, I would have a day one week before my period started where I would have all-over-the-map mood swings, but never anything like this. Unfortunately, being on the pill did not solve this, as it does for some women. I can't say that the pill made it worse, because this could be a recent change; however, it certainly didn't help.
During the course of that reading and through talking with Cat, I realized that antidepressants were a very real possibility. Unfortunately, I seem to have issues with that idea. I have for a long time. I would never question someone's need for antidepressants; in fact, I would wholeheartedly support anyone that felt he or she needed medication. As many people have equated, it's no different than a diabetic using insulin: it's necessary. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I have no problem supporting others; however, I cannot cut myself the same slack. I am harder on myself than I am on anyone else. I expect more from myself than I do from anyone else. Some how, some way, for some reason I equate my needing help -- in any way, shape, or form -- as a sign of weakness. Essentially, for me, having to take antidepressants is akin to failure because I can't fix myself. However, the last episode was bad enough that I was okay with the idea of antidepressants. Unfortunately, once my period arrived and my hormones levelled out and I went back to "normal," I started convincing myself that I was okay and it wasn't that bad and I didn't really need pills.
Oy.
My doctor's first suggestion was to switch to a different pill; evidently, sometimes just a change in hormones can help. Because the PMDD episodes occur towards the end of my active pills, she said that I would be able to tell before my period starts if the switch in brand was successful; if not, she has instructed me to take nine weeks of active pills and then take a week off, reducing my cycles from twelve down to four a year (approximately). She had suggested St. John's Wort as the third step if need be. I had read numerous times that St. John's Wort is contraindicated with oral contraceptives because it can lessen the efficacy of the pill. When I asked about this, she was very quick in emphatically denying that... Barring all of these options, she said that we may need to look at antidepressants. However, she did mention that it's possible that I may only need to take them for a week or two before the PMDD generally occurs (as opposed to every day).
I came home feeling rather optimistic. Except I hadn't discussed this with Chebbar yet. I felt... silly? ridiculous? like a hypochondriac? discussing it before getting a definitive answer. I was also a little worried about what his reaction to the possibility of antidepressants would be because he hasn't seemed... overly fond of them in past discussions (I'm also still worried about my mother's opinion based on her pill-hating philosophy, but I'm going to have to get over what other people think, too: this is MY life and I get to do whatever is necessary to make it the best I can). As usual, Chebbar was open to what I had to say, honest about his opinion, and completely supportive. As he pointed out, I am aware of my body and what works (or doesn't), and will be proactive in seeking out other alternatives if something isn't working for me, so he's not concerned that I will fall prey to the wrong medication.
I feel like a HUGE weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Again, I would like to thank you all for the support, and if you made it alllllll the way to the end of this epic post, you get a gold star AND a cookie. ;)
(In talking to the pharmacist when picking up my new pills, he actually pulled out his, uh, Big Book o'Drugs to show me where it is stated that St. John's Wort can result in increased metabolism of certain drugs, which in return can ultimately result in an unplanned pregnancy. Needless to say, I wouldn't be ON the pill if I was up for an unplanned pregnancy, so again, needless to say, I won't be taking St. John's Wort.)
Oh, the memories
Do you read Badass Geek? Because you should.
He wrote a post today about not being able to use the facilities at his parents' house and mentioned that he has considered taking it outside. Which reminded me of an, erm, "incident" when I was about 19.
My parents had a Christmas party one year and one of the guests stayed the night because he lived rather far away and had been imbibing the wobbly pops. Somewhere around 5am, my bladder woke me, so I made my way upstairs to the bathroom, only to find it occupied by said guest. At the time, the only bathroom in the house was the en suite in my (sleeping) parents' bedroom. I went back down to my room and waited for Mr. Guest to finish his business.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
At that point, a FULL HOUR had passed, and aside from feeling like I was going to explode (*cough*again*cough*), I wasn't so sure I wanted to use the bathroom after all the time he'd spent in there. O_O When the big hand hit 6:30 and my teeth started to float, I became desperate. I didn't want a repeat of the Famous Pants Peeing of '94. As I frantically did a mental inventory, my eyes came to rest on the old ice cream bucket peeking out from underneath my bed (for as long as I can remember, I've kept an ice cream bucket under the bed "just in case" I need to puke in the middle of the night).
Could I?
NOOOOOO.
But what were my options? I still had to pee. Mr. Guest was STILL in the damned bathroom.
So, I did. I peed in an old ice cream bucket in my bedroom. When I was done, I ran to the laundry room, tipped the contents down the laundry sink (and before you even suggest it, it's one of those tall, deep suckers, and I'm 5'2: it would NOT have worked), rinsed everything with hot water followed by a liberal dousing of bleach.
It never occurred to me until just now that I could have ninja'd (is so a word) into my parents' room and used their bathroom. I r smrt. *shakes head*
* * *
In his post today, Badass also linked to one about hearing his parents have "relations." Which also reminded of an "incident" when I was 15 or so.
My bedroom in the old house was in the (unfinished) basement under the living room. My parents' room was above me to the right. One night my friend Tina spent the night on the hide-a-bed (my room was ginormous). We were lying in the dark waiting to drift off to dreamland when this sort of scritchscritchscritch noise started. I lay there for awhile, waiting for it to stop; when it didn't, I asked her if she was okay to which she replied "Yeaaaaah... Are YOU?" because she thought I was making the noise. It took us about 3.7 seconds to figure out just what the noise was.
I thought I was going to die of embarrassment. I was SO pissed at my parents for "embarrassing" me when I had a friend over: couldn't that shit wait until the next night?!?
Guess I didn't know about "date nights" back then... Heh.
He wrote a post today about not being able to use the facilities at his parents' house and mentioned that he has considered taking it outside. Which reminded me of an, erm, "incident" when I was about 19.
My parents had a Christmas party one year and one of the guests stayed the night because he lived rather far away and had been imbibing the wobbly pops. Somewhere around 5am, my bladder woke me, so I made my way upstairs to the bathroom, only to find it occupied by said guest. At the time, the only bathroom in the house was the en suite in my (sleeping) parents' bedroom. I went back down to my room and waited for Mr. Guest to finish his business.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
At that point, a FULL HOUR had passed, and aside from feeling like I was going to explode (*cough*again*cough*), I wasn't so sure I wanted to use the bathroom after all the time he'd spent in there. O_O When the big hand hit 6:30 and my teeth started to float, I became desperate. I didn't want a repeat of the Famous Pants Peeing of '94. As I frantically did a mental inventory, my eyes came to rest on the old ice cream bucket peeking out from underneath my bed (for as long as I can remember, I've kept an ice cream bucket under the bed "just in case" I need to puke in the middle of the night).
Could I?
NOOOOOO.
But what were my options? I still had to pee. Mr. Guest was STILL in the damned bathroom.
So, I did. I peed in an old ice cream bucket in my bedroom. When I was done, I ran to the laundry room, tipped the contents down the laundry sink (and before you even suggest it, it's one of those tall, deep suckers, and I'm 5'2: it would NOT have worked), rinsed everything with hot water followed by a liberal dousing of bleach.
It never occurred to me until just now that I could have ninja'd (is so a word) into my parents' room and used their bathroom. I r smrt. *shakes head*
* * *
In his post today, Badass also linked to one about hearing his parents have "relations." Which also reminded of an "incident" when I was 15 or so.
My bedroom in the old house was in the (unfinished) basement under the living room. My parents' room was above me to the right. One night my friend Tina spent the night on the hide-a-bed (my room was ginormous). We were lying in the dark waiting to drift off to dreamland when this sort of scritchscritchscritch noise started. I lay there for awhile, waiting for it to stop; when it didn't, I asked her if she was okay to which she replied "Yeaaaaah... Are YOU?" because she thought I was making the noise. It took us about 3.7 seconds to figure out just what the noise was.
I thought I was going to die of embarrassment. I was SO pissed at my parents for "embarrassing" me when I had a friend over: couldn't that shit wait until the next night?!?
Guess I didn't know about "date nights" back then... Heh.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
HYC: Week 3
Well, most of last week was good. I worked out five days out of seven, with double work outs (after dinner walks) on three of those days. Unfortunately, I was feeling awful Friday and decided to sit it out. As usual, the weekend was packed, so aside from an hour or so of house cleaning/tidying/running errands Saturday and cooking for eight on Sunday, I didn't get much "exercise" done. I did manage to drink eight glasses of water both days and only had one pop a day, so not too bad. As well, aside from birthday dessert on Sunday (and Monday... *sigh*) I haven't eaten anything after dinner!
Starting last Wednesday, I started going through some... stuff. Stuff difficult enough to spur to action in calling my doctor to make an appointment (this Thursday). And then more stuff piled on top of that stuff, and then MORE on top of THAT. While things have levelled out somewhat, I've been left feeling just... off. Unfortunately, that has left me feeling both anxious and off-kilter, resulting in my typical emotional eating.
Dinner on Sunday was for Chebbar's grandmother's birthday. As such, there was both an apple pie and a marble fudge cake. I had planned on a piece of cake and didn't worry about it; however, I followed it up with a handful of gummi bears later that night. And last night? Another piece of cake (followed by another damned handful of gummi bears). While I'm in the middle of one of my emotional chow-downs, the only way I can describe it is rebellious, all "I'm gonna EAT this and I don't care! SO THERE!" Of course, the next day, I start to beat myself up: why did you DO that?!? You didn't NEEEEED to! And in typical fashion, instead of looking at it as today being my fresh start, I'm back to my all-or-nothing, success-or-failure mindset of "well, I blew THIS week."
Blargh. Onwards and upwards, right?
Starting last Wednesday, I started going through some... stuff. Stuff difficult enough to spur to action in calling my doctor to make an appointment (this Thursday). And then more stuff piled on top of that stuff, and then MORE on top of THAT. While things have levelled out somewhat, I've been left feeling just... off. Unfortunately, that has left me feeling both anxious and off-kilter, resulting in my typical emotional eating.
Dinner on Sunday was for Chebbar's grandmother's birthday. As such, there was both an apple pie and a marble fudge cake. I had planned on a piece of cake and didn't worry about it; however, I followed it up with a handful of gummi bears later that night. And last night? Another piece of cake (followed by another damned handful of gummi bears). While I'm in the middle of one of my emotional chow-downs, the only way I can describe it is rebellious, all "I'm gonna EAT this and I don't care! SO THERE!" Of course, the next day, I start to beat myself up: why did you DO that?!? You didn't NEEEEED to! And in typical fashion, instead of looking at it as today being my fresh start, I'm back to my all-or-nothing, success-or-failure mindset of "well, I blew THIS week."
Blargh. Onwards and upwards, right?
Monday, September 21, 2009
How do you sleep at night?
I've never been an "easy" sleeper. When I was a wee babe, my parents would have to drive me around the block to get me to sleep (as the passenger in a car, I can still fall asleep in a drive as short as 20 minutes). If we were out visiting when I was a little older, Mom could never convince me to lie down until it was time to go home (she maintains it was because I was afraid I'd miss something). I can't sleep if it's too noisy (ambient noise); I can't sleep if it's too quiet (I sleep with a fan on 365 days a year for the white noise). I am a fitful sleeper who is out of bed at least once a night to pee; who tosses and turns repeatedly throughout the night; who wakes enough to recall how many times she was awake last night. All of this coupled with my intense need for structure leaves me with trouble getting to sleep should my sleep routine by altered in the slightest. I swear to Ceiling Cat I suffered insomnia for damn near three months last year (and I swear this is really the root of many of my sleep "fears" -- yes, fears: I can work myself up into such a tizzy over whether or not I'll be able to sleep that I psyche myself out). I probably average six hours of sleep a night (not enough). I have issues, yo.
The worst, though?
I can't sleep with my other half. *sad panda*
When we first started dating, I chalked up my shitty sleep to being giddy and/or not being in my own bed and/or sleeping with another body in my bed for the first time in 28 years (yeah, I'd never had an opposite sex sleep over before Chebbar: what of it, punk?). I always resolved it by telling myself I'd be in my own bed/alone the following night, so no big deal.
I honestly don't remember having trouble getting to sleep with him in the bed when he moved in: I swear my issues didn't really materialize until I went through the stress-induced insomnia. As well, because I was being so. damned. hard. on myself (*cough*as usual*cough*), I had glossed over my initial wakefulness when we were first having "sleep overs." *snort* Of course, this perceived "failure" only succeeded in exacerbating my issues and stress about sleeping. Then, there was his snoring (which is window shattering, seriously). However, after a diagnosis of sleep apnea and the introduction of a CPAP machine, no more buzz saw in my bed.
Long, boring story short, I can pretty much only sleep with Chebbar if I'm heavily medicated; otherwise, the only way I sleep is if it's alone. If I start out in the bed (after a liberal dosing of drowsiness-inducing antihistamine coupled with Sleepy Time tea), I will get to the point that I can't keep my eyes open, but instead of slipping over into the Land of Nod, my eyes pop open and my brain won't shut off -- it's like every fiber of my being FIGHTS sleep. Generally after an hour or two (y'know, around 1:30AM), I'll give up and go down to the mattress on the floor (oh yes, my friends: my sleep issues are so jacked up that we have a mattress on the floor of the bedroom, but it's a piece of crap and extremely uncomfortable, so of course I feel nothing but guilt every time he goes down to the floor, but if I do, my back hurts... *eye roll*).
I cannot begin to describe how much this cuts me to the quick. Yet again (of course), I feel like a failure wrapped up in imposter's clothing: happy couples are supposed to share a bed. I feel like I'm running some kind of a sham, like I need to run around telling people "Yeah, our relationship is AWESOME! but because I'm a defective weirdo, we can't sleep together." It likely doesn't help that I grew up in a household where my parents only slept separately if someone was pissed off -- getting up to see Mom OR Dad slept on the couch the night before was always signified discord, so in my head, the fact that Chebbar and I can't share a bed (well, with both of us getting sleep) just SCREAMS trouble.
He is perfectly okay with it. Well, not in the sense that he doesn't give a shit: if he had his way, we'd sleep in the same bed all night every night. However, he is very pragmatic about the whole thing: we both need sleep to function, especially taking the daily commute into account. He tells me that it's not my fault, that it's not a big deal, that it will "fix itself eventually." He's even placated me by telling me that when we move, we'll buy two beds and put them in the same room à la Lucy and Desi (little does he know that I'm TOTALLY plotting the matching comforters... ).
That being said, there is article upon article discussing couple who sleep separately (or who should consider it), often dramatically stating that "it could save YOUR relationship." As well, I did have a (very wise) friend point out that it's not like we're missing out on good, quality time together if we're in separate beds/rooms: we're SLEEEEEPING. I mean, sure, I've been known to talk in my sleep, but I doubt anything I say is THAT earth-shatteringly important (not that Mr. Wouldsleepthroughanatombomb would hear me anyhow... *wink*). Now I just have to figure out a way to reconcile the fact that better sleep, good health, and likely a more harmonious relationship does not equate to hating each other because we can't share a bed.
So tell me, internetz, how do you sleep?
The worst, though?
I can't sleep with my other half. *sad panda*
When we first started dating, I chalked up my shitty sleep to being giddy and/or not being in my own bed and/or sleeping with another body in my bed for the first time in 28 years (yeah, I'd never had an opposite sex sleep over before Chebbar: what of it, punk?). I always resolved it by telling myself I'd be in my own bed/alone the following night, so no big deal.
I honestly don't remember having trouble getting to sleep with him in the bed when he moved in: I swear my issues didn't really materialize until I went through the stress-induced insomnia. As well, because I was being so. damned. hard. on myself (*cough*as usual*cough*), I had glossed over my initial wakefulness when we were first having "sleep overs." *snort* Of course, this perceived "failure" only succeeded in exacerbating my issues and stress about sleeping. Then, there was his snoring (which is window shattering, seriously). However, after a diagnosis of sleep apnea and the introduction of a CPAP machine, no more buzz saw in my bed.
Long, boring story short, I can pretty much only sleep with Chebbar if I'm heavily medicated; otherwise, the only way I sleep is if it's alone. If I start out in the bed (after a liberal dosing of drowsiness-inducing antihistamine coupled with Sleepy Time tea), I will get to the point that I can't keep my eyes open, but instead of slipping over into the Land of Nod, my eyes pop open and my brain won't shut off -- it's like every fiber of my being FIGHTS sleep. Generally after an hour or two (y'know, around 1:30AM), I'll give up and go down to the mattress on the floor (oh yes, my friends: my sleep issues are so jacked up that we have a mattress on the floor of the bedroom, but it's a piece of crap and extremely uncomfortable, so of course I feel nothing but guilt every time he goes down to the floor, but if I do, my back hurts... *eye roll*).
I cannot begin to describe how much this cuts me to the quick. Yet again (of course), I feel like a failure wrapped up in imposter's clothing: happy couples are supposed to share a bed. I feel like I'm running some kind of a sham, like I need to run around telling people "Yeah, our relationship is AWESOME! but because I'm a defective weirdo, we can't sleep together." It likely doesn't help that I grew up in a household where my parents only slept separately if someone was pissed off -- getting up to see Mom OR Dad slept on the couch the night before was always signified discord, so in my head, the fact that Chebbar and I can't share a bed (well, with both of us getting sleep) just SCREAMS trouble.
He is perfectly okay with it. Well, not in the sense that he doesn't give a shit: if he had his way, we'd sleep in the same bed all night every night. However, he is very pragmatic about the whole thing: we both need sleep to function, especially taking the daily commute into account. He tells me that it's not my fault, that it's not a big deal, that it will "fix itself eventually." He's even placated me by telling me that when we move, we'll buy two beds and put them in the same room à la Lucy and Desi (little does he know that I'm TOTALLY plotting the matching comforters... ).
That being said, there is article upon article discussing couple who sleep separately (or who should consider it), often dramatically stating that "it could save YOUR relationship." As well, I did have a (very wise) friend point out that it's not like we're missing out on good, quality time together if we're in separate beds/rooms: we're SLEEEEEPING. I mean, sure, I've been known to talk in my sleep, but I doubt anything I say is THAT earth-shatteringly important (not that Mr. Wouldsleepthroughanatombomb would hear me anyhow... *wink*). Now I just have to figure out a way to reconcile the fact that better sleep, good health, and likely a more harmonious relationship does not equate to hating each other because we can't share a bed.
So tell me, internetz, how do you sleep?
Thank you
I just wanted to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all the supportive words and positive thoughts. I can't begin to express how much it meant to me and how much I appreciate it immensely. I'm in a much better state of mind than I was on Wednesday; that being said, I have an appointment with my doctor on Thursday.
Thanks again. ♥
Thanks again. ♥
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Girl Talk Thursday: whatchoo wearing under there?
The topic of the week is undergarments. Underwear. Underroos.
Underpants. Panties. *shudders* Ginch. Gitches.
Bloomers. Drawers. Knickers. Skivvies. Okay, that's all I've got.
So, first and foremost? Hate the word "panties." HAAAAATE. I
generally only call them that when I'm being particularly obnoxious,
and generally will pair the offending word with "moist," just to be an
asshole. (Why do so many people hate the word "moist"? It kinda
squicks me out, but I don't know why.)
I've been a plain old cotton bikini kinda girl, well, since I started
picking out my own underwear. However, my underwear drawer is a
mishmash of a mess. I have the requisite:
- butt-floss of all colours/patterns/material (which I haven't worn
since I gained weight -- oh yes there IS such a thing as an
uncomfortable G-string if it doesn't fit! And yes, G-string: I'll
take the least amount of burrowable fabric as possible,
thankyouveddymuch)
- satiny ginch (not good for *ahem* the moisture factor and yeasty beasties)
- lacy knickers (itchy, no matter how much I spend or where I purchase
them -- it's like wearing wool: you scratch subconsciously)
- boy shorts (yeah, big butt + boy shorts = ABORT! ABORT! ABORT! It's
actually kind of funny how, even if you buy the size that fits, they
don't seem in increase the amount of fabric that's supposed to cover
your ass cheeks)
- period pants (we allllllll have 'em: don't deny it).
I'm all about comfort. Yes, wearing sexy underwear has the power to
make you (and me) feel sexier, like we're carrying around a little
secret. But day to day? When I'm sitting in jeans at work? Or
sweating in yoga pants while I work out? Cotton bikinis, please.
As for bras, well, when you're no longer a B-cup (damned mouth hole
anyhow), bras become a whole 'nother story. You become less concerned
with colour and cuteness and more concerned with whether or not the
straps are going to sever your arms from your body by digging into
your shoulders and if that damned bra is going to give you the dreaded
quadra-boob. That being said, if I find a bra that doesn't pinch and
ride up and slip AND doesn't remotely resemble something The Mummy's
mommy wore, I'll buy SIX.
Out of control
I feel like I'm spiraling out of control, and I don't know how to stop it or fix it or change it. I am hurting, but numb. I'm sitting here with tears rolling down my face and I don't care enough to brush them away, to hide them. I'm at WORK fercrissakes.
There is shit going on I can't -- don't want to -- talk about, mostly because I don't want to deal with what people might tell me. I don't know what to do with the information I do have because there's more I don't have, and that fucking unknown is messing with my common sense. I'm getting conflicting opinions from all over that aren't helping. I wish when I'm facing something difficult I didn't feel the need to tell EVERYONE. I know it's just my desire to hear someone tell me that I'm being silly, that it's going to be okay, that I have nothing to worry about. But when that's NOT what I'm hearing, well... Don't ask if you're not prepared to hear it, right?
I want to scream, cry, yell, hit something. I want to run away, hide, sob myself to sleep. I just want to check out for a little while. Not long: just until this most recent shit storm has passed by.
There is shit going on I can't -- don't want to -- talk about, mostly because I don't want to deal with what people might tell me. I don't know what to do with the information I do have because there's more I don't have, and that fucking unknown is messing with my common sense. I'm getting conflicting opinions from all over that aren't helping. I wish when I'm facing something difficult I didn't feel the need to tell EVERYONE. I know it's just my desire to hear someone tell me that I'm being silly, that it's going to be okay, that I have nothing to worry about. But when that's NOT what I'm hearing, well... Don't ask if you're not prepared to hear it, right?
I want to scream, cry, yell, hit something. I want to run away, hide, sob myself to sleep. I just want to check out for a little while. Not long: just until this most recent shit storm has passed by.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
HYC: Week 2
I'm feeling really good about the past week! I got some form of exercise every day but Saturday (including Sunday, although I know that's the start of Week 3... ); I drank at least eight glasses of water during the week, but closer to 10-11; I only had pop on the weekend, and only one per day; I didn't drink 8 glasses of water on Saturday/Sunday, but I did get in at least six; and I'm pretty sure I didn't beat myself up too much over anything in particular! :)
I did not do a weigh-in. I think, for me -- based on what worked for me before, I'm going to stick to weighing/measuring once a month. As I mentioned in my last post, my 4.8lb loss was just carpet trickery. While I was able to prevent myself into spiraling into a pit of despair (I could tell by the way my clothes were fitting that I hadn't lost that much), it was still a little depressing to find out my suspicions were correct. That being said, if that means I don't get to mark my Wii Fit sessions with the little stamp because I didn't do the body test, I'm okay with that: I'm keeping track on my own calendar anyhow, and I'm doing it for the physical activity, not the computer-generated praise. I do need to work on some of the other "taking care of me" aspects, though. It's very easy for me to let them slip by the wayside if it's late or I'm pressed for time, particularly towards the end of the week.
The other thing I really need to work on is not snacking after dinner. Nine times out of ten, I'm not hungry, especially considering how late we usually end up eating: I just feel the urge for something sweet. To temper that, I've got a pack of gum in the cutlery drawer. I didn't eat anything last night (because we ate so late), so I'm going to try to keep that trend going.
Overall, I'd say Week 2 was a success!
I did not do a weigh-in. I think, for me -- based on what worked for me before, I'm going to stick to weighing/measuring once a month. As I mentioned in my last post, my 4.8lb loss was just carpet trickery. While I was able to prevent myself into spiraling into a pit of despair (I could tell by the way my clothes were fitting that I hadn't lost that much), it was still a little depressing to find out my suspicions were correct. That being said, if that means I don't get to mark my Wii Fit sessions with the little stamp because I didn't do the body test, I'm okay with that: I'm keeping track on my own calendar anyhow, and I'm doing it for the physical activity, not the computer-generated praise. I do need to work on some of the other "taking care of me" aspects, though. It's very easy for me to let them slip by the wayside if it's late or I'm pressed for time, particularly towards the end of the week.
The other thing I really need to work on is not snacking after dinner. Nine times out of ten, I'm not hungry, especially considering how late we usually end up eating: I just feel the urge for something sweet. To temper that, I've got a pack of gum in the cutlery drawer. I didn't eat anything last night (because we ate so late), so I'm going to try to keep that trend going.
Overall, I'd say Week 2 was a success!
Monday, September 14, 2009
It takes REAL talent to trip yourself
Seriously.
I walked into the bedroom and headed towards the air conditioner. I tried to step over the mattress on the floor (that's a whole 'nother jacked-up story that I'll tell another day); in the process, my toe got caught in the loop on my capris and I went flying to the floor. Luckily for me there WAS a mattress on the damned floor because I landed with all my weight on my damned hip.
As I lay there, my toe still caught in the capri loop, all I could do was laugh and laugh, thanking Ceiling Cat there wasn't a video camera in the bedroom, otherwise that would have been ALL OVER youtube.
*sigh* Only me.
I walked into the bedroom and headed towards the air conditioner. I tried to step over the mattress on the floor (that's a whole 'nother jacked-up story that I'll tell another day); in the process, my toe got caught in the loop on my capris and I went flying to the floor. Luckily for me there WAS a mattress on the damned floor because I landed with all my weight on my damned hip.
As I lay there, my toe still caught in the capri loop, all I could do was laugh and laugh, thanking Ceiling Cat there wasn't a video camera in the bedroom, otherwise that would have been ALL OVER youtube.
*sigh* Only me.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Disgrace in small things
I'm having a hard time finding the Grace in Small Things lately, so in an effort to purge the crank from my system, I'm going to allow myself to bitch/whine about five things instead of forcing myself to find five things to be grateful for which, let's face it, would just be me grasping at straws. So, here goes.
1. There's no money in our account from EI. Chebbar not only is not bothered by this, but also is getting annoyed with me for being concerned. Oh, and he's not getting ANY call-backs for the jobs he's applying for. That might not seem so dire if the bloody EI cheques were being deposited on a regular basis. We're gonna start hemorrhaging money any minute, much like the LAST time he was laid off.
2. That 4.8 pound "loss"? Heh, yeah. I was suitably dubious when, upon stepping on the Wii balance board yesterday, the Wii Fit reported an additional 3.5 pound "loss." Too bad it's because we started using the bloody thing on the carpet and, when trying to test my theory, I put it back on the extra shelving piece from the entertainment unit, it asked if I was holding something because it was recording an increase of 8 pounds. Considering I spent Tuesday with my damned pants unbuttoned, I knew I wasn't almost 10 pounds lighter.
3. My mother is annoyed with me because I haven't called her. We don't have that kind of parent-child relationship: we both phone/email each other regularly. That being said, has SHE called ME? No.
4. We STILL haven't made progress on our deck. We can't get a straight answer out of anybody: strata council points fingers at the strata management company, and they just don't return our !@#$ing calls. I talked to a woman in the building who is having a similar issue and found out she's been fighting with strata for THREE YEARS. I'm about ready to let the bloody thing rot and fall off the building at this rate.
5. My wrist hurts. I have a hard lump on the top of it, right above where the "tendonitis" hurts. My cousin had a similar problem (same spot, same wrist) and had to have surgery. I don't even know if I'd be covered for medical disability through work (no benefits), and we sure as hell can't afford for me to take time off work -- partially paid or not -- right now, so I guess I get to suffer until lord knows when.
Bonus: I've had no trouble with Vista for the past year until recently. All of a sudden, it will try to install an update that causes it to get stuck in this endless loop of "installing @ 0%." It did it again yesterday, even though Chebbar followed the instructions for the "fix" supplied by Microsoft. Looks like a reformat in my future. Yeah, not so fixed, smart guys. I swear Microsoft will turn me Mac.
Okay, done whining for now.
1. There's no money in our account from EI. Chebbar not only is not bothered by this, but also is getting annoyed with me for being concerned. Oh, and he's not getting ANY call-backs for the jobs he's applying for. That might not seem so dire if the bloody EI cheques were being deposited on a regular basis. We're gonna start hemorrhaging money any minute, much like the LAST time he was laid off.
2. That 4.8 pound "loss"? Heh, yeah. I was suitably dubious when, upon stepping on the Wii balance board yesterday, the Wii Fit reported an additional 3.5 pound "loss." Too bad it's because we started using the bloody thing on the carpet and, when trying to test my theory, I put it back on the extra shelving piece from the entertainment unit, it asked if I was holding something because it was recording an increase of 8 pounds. Considering I spent Tuesday with my damned pants unbuttoned, I knew I wasn't almost 10 pounds lighter.
3. My mother is annoyed with me because I haven't called her. We don't have that kind of parent-child relationship: we both phone/email each other regularly. That being said, has SHE called ME? No.
4. We STILL haven't made progress on our deck. We can't get a straight answer out of anybody: strata council points fingers at the strata management company, and they just don't return our !@#$ing calls. I talked to a woman in the building who is having a similar issue and found out she's been fighting with strata for THREE YEARS. I'm about ready to let the bloody thing rot and fall off the building at this rate.
5. My wrist hurts. I have a hard lump on the top of it, right above where the "tendonitis" hurts. My cousin had a similar problem (same spot, same wrist) and had to have surgery. I don't even know if I'd be covered for medical disability through work (no benefits), and we sure as hell can't afford for me to take time off work -- partially paid or not -- right now, so I guess I get to suffer until lord knows when.
Bonus: I've had no trouble with Vista for the past year until recently. All of a sudden, it will try to install an update that causes it to get stuck in this endless loop of "installing @ 0%." It did it again yesterday, even though Chebbar followed the instructions for the "fix" supplied by Microsoft. Looks like a reformat in my future. Yeah, not so fixed, smart guys. I swear Microsoft will turn me Mac.
Okay, done whining for now.
Feeling like I'm missing out
I woke up this morning with a feeling of urgency, to hurry up and remember the blog topic that came to me while I slept.
Do you think, for the life of me, I could remember? Of course not!
However, the longer I think about it, the more I'm thinking that I dreamed about something happening to us and thinking I needed to remember blogging about it the next morning. (If you managed to follow that convoluted train of thought, you get a cookie!)
I still feel like I'm missing something.
Do you think, for the life of me, I could remember? Of course not!
However, the longer I think about it, the more I'm thinking that I dreamed about something happening to us and thinking I needed to remember blogging about it the next morning. (If you managed to follow that convoluted train of thought, you get a cookie!)
I still feel like I'm missing something.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
School Daze
The radio show I listen to on my way to work was about favourite teacher stories, which had me reminiscing...
What about you? What's your favourite teacher story?
- There was Mrs. D, whom we called Dragon Lady, who would make you sit in the hall for THE WHOLE CLASS if you were a nanosecond late. (This was scary business as prospective 8th graders, let me tell you!)
- There was Ms. R who seemed to get FAR too much enjoyment out of "helping" girls over the vault via her hand on their butts. Needless to say, I had my monthly visit often during the gymnastics sections.
- There was Mr. S, the "eccentric" art teacher who, ah, yeah. He was interesting.
- And Mr. K, the crazy science teacher who took great joy in blowing things up, including the roof of his classroom a week after we moved into the brand new school.
- Oh, and Mr. M, the "cool" teacher that everyone HAD to have. He threw white board erasers at the heads of people who weren't paying attention! He had us flip over our desks and write on every available space what we had learned since kindergarten! He drew a detailed diagram to accompany his gesture-heavy telling of what happens when a woman (namely his wife) gives birth. He was cool. He was the reason I wanted to become a teacher.
What about you? What's your favourite teacher story?
Healthy You Challenge Update
My first "official" week was okay: not great, but not bad, and I'm not beating myself up over it, so at the very least I'll consider that a success. I have no idea what my weight is because the regular weighing just doesn't do anything for me -- the constant up and down from day to day (or week to week, even) just messes with my head and any progress I've made That being said, when I used the body test on the Wii Fit last week, it said I was down 4.8 pounds; however, that seems like a HUGE jump, so I'm not taking it seriously.
My biggest hurdle seems to be weekends. I don't know if it's leaving the routine at work on Fridays or what, but everything goes out the window: drinking water, exercising, healthy food choices, sufficient sleep, etc. The spoiled brat in me throws a tantrum at the idea of having to go to bed at 10pm in order to be up at 6:15am like I do during the week, but if that's what it takes to ensure my good habits don't fall by the wayside on Saturdays and Sundays, then I might have to suck it up. At the very least, if I'm going to take a holiday from common sense every weekend, then I'd best be making damned sure I'm following my goals to the letter during the week.
I do know that I need to keep on top of the exercising/food choices. As I type, I'm sitting at my desk -- at work, no less -- with my pants unbuttoned. I'm not sure which disturbs me more: that I'm sitting here like this at all, or that it doesn't seem to bother me enough! :-S But in the interest of not beating myself up, it is what it is: a "gentle" (read: painful) reminder to keep going.
My biggest hurdle seems to be weekends. I don't know if it's leaving the routine at work on Fridays or what, but everything goes out the window: drinking water, exercising, healthy food choices, sufficient sleep, etc. The spoiled brat in me throws a tantrum at the idea of having to go to bed at 10pm in order to be up at 6:15am like I do during the week, but if that's what it takes to ensure my good habits don't fall by the wayside on Saturdays and Sundays, then I might have to suck it up. At the very least, if I'm going to take a holiday from common sense every weekend, then I'd best be making damned sure I'm following my goals to the letter during the week.
I do know that I need to keep on top of the exercising/food choices. As I type, I'm sitting at my desk -- at work, no less -- with my pants unbuttoned. I'm not sure which disturbs me more: that I'm sitting here like this at all, or that it doesn't seem to bother me enough! :-S But in the interest of not beating myself up, it is what it is: a "gentle" (read: painful) reminder to keep going.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
On breathing
I had a panic attack yesterday from out of the blue. I don't have them often, so they always take me by surprise and it takes awhile for me to figure out, yes Virginia, that is a panic attack. Some components change, but they are fundamentally the same: my breathing gets shallow, my heart starts to race, and I would guess my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, which for me is always flight -- my eyes start to dart around the room while my mind races, trying to find a way OUT. And the most annoying amusing thing I do is something I can only describe as flapping my hands (I can't process allllll the thoughts flying through my head and/or verbalize what's going on, so I end doing the hand flap thing).
At least this time there was SOME sort of explanation, because I'm one of those people who needs a reason for a melt down: if I can find a (somewhat) logical explanation, I'm (mostly) okay with said melt down; if there doesn't seem to be a valid reason, I end up working myself up over the fact that there's no REEEEASON to be flipping my lid.
Yesterday's plans changed. Then they changed again. And then they changed again. And THEN I was asked to make decisions about said changes x3, and I lost it. (In case I haven't mentioned it here, or you have better things to do with your internet than peruse my archives, I am most comfortable with structure and routines, and sometimes have a hard time adjusting to change.) I felt completely overwhelmed and out of control at the same time. The icing on the cake (and no, I'm not in any way, shape, or form trying to pin this on him), was the skull-boring high pitched repetitive BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP of Chebbar's video game.
I ended up in the bedroom on the bed with earplugs in and my arm pressed tightly over my eyes as I tried to slow down my near-hyperventilating and crying. Eventually I was able to remove my arm and fix on the ceiling while I concentrated on deep, slow, steady breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out.
(Of course, I did my requisite self-flagellation, which started the tears and another round of near-hyperventilating before I was able to calm myself down. *heavy eye roll*)
I was able to communicate to Chebbar my need to not make decisions yesterday. He took that to mean I didn't want to *do* anything, but I told him that staying home while he ran all the errands would only serve to make me feel like an invalid and that if he told me we need to leave at 3:00 to go grocery shopping, I could do it: I needed the direction.
After reading the tweet I posted when all was said and done, this wonderful woman extended her hand from the other side of the country and offered assistance. I am so grateful for that. Thank you. You helped more than I was likely able to convey and I appreciate you immensely.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
At least this time there was SOME sort of explanation, because I'm one of those people who needs a reason for a melt down: if I can find a (somewhat) logical explanation, I'm (mostly) okay with said melt down; if there doesn't seem to be a valid reason, I end up working myself up over the fact that there's no REEEEASON to be flipping my lid.
Yesterday's plans changed. Then they changed again. And then they changed again. And THEN I was asked to make decisions about said changes x3, and I lost it. (In case I haven't mentioned it here, or you have better things to do with your internet than peruse my archives, I am most comfortable with structure and routines, and sometimes have a hard time adjusting to change.) I felt completely overwhelmed and out of control at the same time. The icing on the cake (and no, I'm not in any way, shape, or form trying to pin this on him), was the skull-boring high pitched repetitive BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP of Chebbar's video game.
I ended up in the bedroom on the bed with earplugs in and my arm pressed tightly over my eyes as I tried to slow down my near-hyperventilating and crying. Eventually I was able to remove my arm and fix on the ceiling while I concentrated on deep, slow, steady breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out.
(Of course, I did my requisite self-flagellation, which started the tears and another round of near-hyperventilating before I was able to calm myself down. *heavy eye roll*)
I was able to communicate to Chebbar my need to not make decisions yesterday. He took that to mean I didn't want to *do* anything, but I told him that staying home while he ran all the errands would only serve to make me feel like an invalid and that if he told me we need to leave at 3:00 to go grocery shopping, I could do it: I needed the direction.
After reading the tweet I posted when all was said and done, this wonderful woman extended her hand from the other side of the country and offered assistance. I am so grateful for that. Thank you. You helped more than I was likely able to convey and I appreciate you immensely.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Girl Talk Thursday - Freebie Five
So, I totally had to brainstorm a list because no one was coming to mind (how lame is that?). Of course, once I opened the floodgates, I ended up having to CHOOSE.
So. Hard.
In no particular order, I give you my five:
Christian Bale (yes, I know can be a douche bag: that's what duct tape is for)
Colin Farrell (yes, I know he's a little... experienced: that's what full-body condoms are for)
George Stroumboulopoulos (try saying THAT three times fast, never mind spelling it!)
John Cusack (because who doesn't love John?)
Johnny Depp (again, who doesn't love Johnny?)
And just because I'm a contrary little twit like that, here's my five if I ever decided to "experiment":
Angelina Jolie (while probably a given for 80% of the population, I can't help it -- something about the mischief in her eyes... )
Eva Mendes (just because)
Mary-Louise Parker (I couldn't find the version without the heart: I would have posted her cute, little ass in a second)
Rachel McAdams (Rachel looks a lot more innocent than Angelina, but she still has that mischievous gleam in her eye... )
Tina Fey (because smart really is sexy)
On reviewing my list(s), I've come to the conclusion that I really do have a type. ;)
P.S. Not sure why my spacing is FUBAR'd -- looks fine in preview! D:
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
When The Pills Are Not Enough
Welcome to round one! If you'd like to join the next round, please email your post to dwinkler (at) msn (dot) com.
(To be clear, the following post is that of a guest blogger: it is not my writing.)
(To be clear, the following post is that of a guest blogger: it is not my writing.)
* * *
I am in a tizzy at the endless topics one could choose to vent, bad-mouth, outpour, or bitch about as a blogger incognito that I cannot decide what to write about.
I'm also having a glass of wine for the
So to keep things short and sweet and not bore you dear readers to tears, my solution is this...a list of my top ten confessions. Soul cleansing for me and hopefully somewhat entertaining for you. It's a win-win.
1.) Modesty is not my strong suit.
2.) I am enamored with toilet humor much more than an adult female should be.
3.) My fpos of a Dad never even bothered to call me after the birth of my third child. Dick.
4.) I got clickin' finger happy when I first started blogging and sent the address to my church pastor. He's now aware of my IBS issues and just how ginormous my kids' heads were when they blew out of my hoo-ha. oops.
5.) A lifetime ago I had a brief stint as a stripper. (See #1.) At least preacher man isn't privy to that.
6.) Tight Asses SUCK. I have a friend who happens to be one and she is making it very hard for me to continue liking her.
7.) I perpetually feel like I belong on the island of misfit toys.
8.) I love dirty talk and spanking. Purrrrr.
9.) I smoke one cigarette a day. Bad Ass.
10.) I didn't use tampons until the tender age of 27.
Oh, so the plastic applicator isn't supposed to stay in. my bad.
Now you know...the rest of the story.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
WEDNESDAY! WEDNESDAY! WEDNESDAY!
Don't forget that tomorrow marks the first edition of the When Pills Are Not Enough round-robin! If you'd like to get in on the next round, please email your posts to dlwinkler (at)msn (dot)com (Danielle of A Little Left of Lost).
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