Will I ever feel like a "grown up"?

On Monday night, we bought a TV.  It's a sexy 40" Sony Bravia that we got for a song.  We're both really happy with it and about it.  However, I'm worried about telling anyone IRL.  Chebbar still isn't working and now we're very seriously (as in pretty much a done deal) looking at him going to school for a year and a half.  Plus, hello?  Christmas?  RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER.

So.

Probably not the best decision we could have made.  But!  We sat down, looked at our savings account/income/budget, and waited 24 hours before making a decision which we did not take lightly.  All in all, we're both okay with the choice we made, even if it means we don't buy Christmas gifts for each other this year (we'll still be able to afford them, but this just gives us extra leeway). 

However.

I have issues with what other people think of me (even if I fervently wish I didn't), specifically my mother, and particularly where money is concerned.  It's been a bone of contention since I was 16 and she took away my debit card because I was spending my paycheque too easily/quickly/frivolously (totally true, but hot DAMN did it piss me off).  And again when I was 17 and purchased contact lenses for myself causing her to cease speaking to me for a week (that one was just plain bullshit: I swear to jeebus she was jealous that I could afford them and she couldn't).  Oh, and every. single. time. after that that I felt the need to lie about when I bought a particular shirt, or waited until she was out of the house to sneak something in from the trunk of my car.

To be fair, part of it was her desire to see me do better than she had: we were on welfare a couple of times when I was growing up.  And if it weren't for her, I very likely wouldn't have the budgeting skills that allow us to purchase big ticket items like new TVs.  But some of it is a matter of jealousy and is accompanied with a healthy serving of judgement, which only serves to make me feel like that chastened 16-year old again.

This exasperates Chebbar because he's very much of the "I'm an adult and I can make the decisions I want, other people's opinions be damned" mindset who has no trouble ignoring potential judgement -- he has a hard time wrapping his head around why it bothers me so much.  Don't get me wrong: I hate it, too.  When I was a teen, Other People's Opinions of me were a big freaking deal.  Then I went through a phase in my early to mid-twenties where I developed a GREAT I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude (seriously, it was healthy for me).  Unfortunately, it seems that the older I get, the more I regress: I haven't gone all the way back to where I care what strangers think about me, but what my friends and family -- especially my mother -- carries far too much weight.

I hate it.  Will I ever get (back) to a point where I feel adult enough to make a decision without worrying about what my mommy is going to think?  Because at 31, this is ridiculous.

Dream Lunch Date

They're talking about the ideal lunch date over at Girl Talk Thursday.  I'm going to have to be lame sappy boring predictable and say that my ideal lunch date would be Chebbar.  Go ahead and mock me now: I'll wait.

*twiddles thumbs*

So.  ANYHOW.  Chebbar and I hop on a plane and head to Vegas.  We go to the Flamingo so we can sit out front and have lunch at Margaritaville, where we can bask in the sun while we people-watch.  Now, because this is sounding suspiciously like a vacation, we'll throw caution to the wind and order WHATEVAH WE WANT!  Besides, have you BEEN to Vegas?  You walk.  And walk.  And walk some more.  So, assuming we'll be able to roll our asses out of the chairs when we're done, we'll walk our lunch off anyhow.

Because I'm a gluttonous Taurus, I'm going full-meal deal (Chebbar's a gluttonous Taurus as well, so hopefully we saved our pennies carefully for said lunch date cum vacation).  First up: frosty umbrella drink, plz!  Knowing me, it will probably be a strawberry daiquiri.  Ooh!  Or maybe a chi chi!  For starters, I'll go with the crab, shrimp, & mushroom dip (served with toasted garlic bread, of course).  My main course will be the chicken caesar salad.  Sadly, they don't have a dessert menu, but that's okay, because if I have an appy, I'm usually too stuffed to finish my entree, never mind dessert.  That's not to say that I won't want ice cream later, though.  Gotta round out the full-meal deal after all...  ;)

Yay, Vegas!  I love Vegas.  Oh, and Chebbar, of course.  And FOOD!  OM NOM NOM

(Wanna know what's REALLY sad and pathetic?  We stayed at the Flamingo when we went to Vegas in April.  We were going to eat at Margaritaville, but Mr. Fussypants looked at menu they had on display outside and declared he wouldn't be able to find anything to eat.  *sigh*  Good thing we're going back!  In 2011.  IN JANUARY.  *bed flop*)

HYC: Week 8

Sorry this is so late!  I wanted to wait awhile to see how my BCPs might be treating me this time around, and I'm happy to say so far, so good!  *holds breath*  Last month, by Tuesday, I was all over the place emotionally; this month, I feel pretty close to as good as I did last week which makes me so happy.  I'm cautiously optimistic!

Last week I half-assed it and pretty much just used the Wii Fit (although we did purchase Wii Fit Plus, and it's got some great new features -- EXCEPT the fact that it has now switched everything to metric because I'm in Canada, so my weight is being recorded in KGs).  I only got four workouts in again.

Last Friday, I talked to Chebbar again about how I'd really like for us to be more active on the weekends, pointing out that even when we're really busy, we could still fit in a 30 minute walk -- we're choosing to not find time.  He agreed.  Cool! 

However.

At 9pm Saturday night, I looked at him and said, "Do you know what else we forgot aside from car insurance?  To go for a walk!"  DUH.  So, we he made up for it Sunday by calling a friend of ours and inviting her and her pup to meet us at the river, where we walked 4km.  :)

I had every intention of restarting the Tae Bo this week because I finally feel back to "normal" after my sinus infection/cold.  So of course I woke up with a tweaked back.  *eye roll*  I swear, I'm the only person I know who can put her back out IN HER SLEEP.  *shakes head*  I took it easy yesterday, and just did the Wii Fit today, but I hope to at least get a walk in tomorrow.

Once again, not doing great, but not doing bad.  Next Monday would be my next weigh-in/measurement day, and I'm more than just a tad worried about that considering how craptastic a month October has been.  But!  November is a new month, and if I have to "start over" mentally, I'm okay with that.  :)

Odds & Sods

• If I make cookies, Chebbar might eat one or two; however, if I plop the cookie dough into a pan and cut the finished product into bars, he'll eat them.  SO. WEIRD.  But!  Easier for me since I don't have to put batch after batch into the oven.  ;)
• We were in Stupidstore yesterday for a bunch of stuff and ended up in the electronics department (it's like Chebbar has a homing device) where we discovered a 40" Sony Bravia LCD HD TV on sale for $765 -- $250 off the regular price.  *dies*  We came home and looked at finances and are seriously contemplating going back and grabbing one.  Yes, I'm aware he's not working.  That being said, I'm also aware of the state of our savings account and our monthly income, so don't fret dear pet.
• Lately I've been feeling overlooked and left out.  This has caused me to change the way I do things and question if I want to follow through with something relatively major.  At this point in time, I'm leaning more towards no.  Even though I'm 97% certain that it's all mostly in my head, it's hard for the insecure 9-year old who has a bitch of a time making friends who lives inside of me to "just get over it."  
• I pee.  A lot.  I have a tiny bladder.  I understand that the number of times I pee directly correlates to the amount of liquid I ingest.  What I don't understand is how one morning I'll pee twice, and the next morning I'll pee 97 times when I DRINK THE SAME AMOUNT.  WTF, bladder?  W.T.F.
• Heh, when I try a new recipe and question a step or an ingredient, Chebbar chides me to follow the instructions (at least the first time).  However.  Guess who is notorious for thinking he'd "try something different"?  Yeah.  And sometimes not for the better.  The most, erm, "memorable" time?  He decided to add soy sauce to the teriyaki stir fry sauce.  Holy sodium overload, Batman!  *snort*
• I am SO frustrated today!  I had every intention of getting back on the horse and starting the Tae Bo again today (I haven't done it since the beginning of October, before I got sick).  Guess who woke up with a tweaked back?  GRRR
• I think that's all.  For now.  ;)
  

Better?

I've felt better this week than I have in a long, long time -- lighter, happier, more optimistic, quick to laugh -- which is a wonderful thing.

However, I'm scared.   

This was the fourth week in my birth control pill pack, meaning seven days of placebo pills.  A week without additional hormones in my system.  What if this good mood is the result of a week off the new birth control pills, and not things getting back to normal as life levels out?  What if the the weepy, moody, low-libidoed me comes back once I start taking the active pills again?  This albeit briefly new and improved me has been SUCH a relief from the suckitude of the last little while that I'm heart broken at the thought of losing me.

I said I'd give these pills another month, and I will.  But my doctor's on speed-dial, so if the awful me returns on Monday, I'll be making an appointment as fast as my finger can hit the "send" button.

I don't want to lose myself to the suck.  *sigh*

Vices

Vices. Like Miami Vices? Yeah, no. Hmmm...  Let's see.

Lust
I lust after Chebbar, but I think that's to be expected. I don't covet my neighbour (ew). I'm generally happy with what I have, so I don't yearn for fancy cars or shiny shoes (they're generally not very comfortable anyhow). Lust? Not so much.

Gluttony
*heavy sigh* Yeaaaaah. *checks ass* Guilty as charged. I'm a Taurus: (and I quote) "Allied to their taste for all things beautiful is a love for the good things of life pleasure, comfort, luxury and good food and wine and they may have to resist the temptation to over indulgence, leading to drunkenness, gross sensuality, and covetousness."

God, I'm screwed.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm no foodie. I'm not a food snob. If anything, I have the culinary tastes of a 12-year old boy -- I like simple, familiar, junk comfort food. In fact, I'm fussy as hell and a chicken shit to boot. If I have the slightest inkling I might not like it, it will NEVER pass my lips. Goat cheese? Ew. Veal? No thank you. Artichoke hearts? Gag. I'm sure I'm missing out on a lot, but I don't particularly want to risk having it *ahem* repeat on me to find out for sure.

I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, and I rarely drink. I like food: sue me.

Greed
I don't really think I'm a greedy person. As I mentioned above, I'm generally happy with what I have and I've never had grand dreams -- I've never wanted a $90,000 car, I've never dreamed of jetting off to Paris to become a fashion designer, I don't want to live in a mansion. That being said, it sure makes life easy when you're able to be content with what you have (and I'm very appreciative of this).

Sloth
Well, if procrastination counts as laziness, I'm definitely a sloth. Heh. Procrastination coupled with my gnat-like attention span means many forgotten or incompleted tasks if I don't do them rightthisverysecond. I also like sleep. And sleeping in. And sitting on my ass.

Wrath
Welllll, thanks to my newly-diagnosed PMDD, I think it's safe to say I dabble in the wrath. Coupled with my *cough*road rage*cough*, I'd say I'm up to my arm pits.

I try not to be wrathful. Generally speaking, I'm a pretty easy-going person. But I hold grudges like a mother trucker. And heaven HELP you if you hurt someone I love. The reign of fury is not nice, no matter how unscary I look at 5'2. I'll put a pox on you AND your house. So there.

Envy
Much like greed, doesn't really apply. At least not often. ;)

Pride
Oh, pride. I am very prideful. I hate looking stupid. I don't hate being wrong as much as I hate looking stupid, mostly because over the years I've been able to think of those instances as learning experiences, but it's still not fun. My biggest struggle with pride comes from within: I am a perfectionist to the nth degree, so "failing" in any capacity is a HUGE blow to the ego for me. Pride is a tough one for me.


Now, if you want to lighten it up a little, I'll give ya some of my "fun" vices:

• Junk food
• Crappy TV
• Crappy music
• Temper tantrums (hehehe)
• Teh intarwebz and all my friends that live inside my computer
• Uh, Chebbar?

What are YOUR vices, serious or otherwise?

When Aunt Becky demands something, you DO it

Today my favourite Aunt, Aunt Becky, asked us what our favourite Halloween costumes were. Being the good little brown-noser reader that I am, I dutifully replied in the comments section. Following is our exchange:

Chibi:  My favourite Halloween costume (aka one of the few I remember) was a medieval chick: I wore someone’s old prom dress (read: empire wasted pale yellow lace) and we made a… hat(?) out of poster board that looked suspiciously like a dunce cap with a ribbon trailing from the top.

Yeah. It’s no wonder I hate Halloween.

Aunt Becky:  @Chibi Jeebs Dude. I require a blog post about this complete with picture. Seriously.

Chibi:  I don’t think there are pictures. I’m a deprived child and my parents didn’t love me. Well, they weren’t particularly fond of cameras. Mayhaps I’ll try my hand at DRAWING you a picture…

Aunt Becky:  @Chibi Jeebs Drawing works too.

 And so, as they say, the gauntlet was thrown down and it was on.  Like Donkey Kong.  (Click to embiggen.)  God, I suck at Paint.

HYC: Week 7

Unfortunately, last week ended up being a bit of a loss as well.  I did well with working out Monday through Wednesday, but Thursday my sinuses were kicking my ass and I felt drained, so I sat out the work out (I was actually amazed I made it through the day at work).  Friday was Chebbar's uncle's funeral, and with the travelling, it turned into an all-day event, so I didn't work out then, either.  Food has been iffy what with my appetite all over the place.  I've been trying to keep up with my water, but at best I'm managing eight glasses.

I was feeling very optimistic about starting over this week, but Aunt Flo arrived yesterday causing all sorts of pain and discomfort.  That being said, we did still get in a walk last night, so if I can push through the discomfort and keep my momentum up, I can have a successful week.  (I'm not one of those lucky people whose cramps go away with exercise -- well, mine do while I'm active, only to return with a vengeance as soon as I stop.)

Well, I suck.

The lovely Tara from A Perfect Version of Myself was kind enough to award me the Honest Scrap award (thanks again -- it made my day!) DAAAAAYS ago.  Unfortunately, a lot of stuff happened, and before I knew it, over a week had passed. 

 

 

According to Tara's post, I'm supposed to share ten things about myself that people don't know, then pass this award along.  Hmm...  This could be difficult considering a) I don't hold much back (*blush*) and b) I don't really think of myself as remarkable enough to come up with ten things to share.  Oy!

1. Until I was 10, I believed my dad when he told me my eyes would stay crossed if someone took my picture like that (it took me that long to work up the courage and test his claim).
2. I sucked my thumb until I was 9 (and had the braces/still have the minor overbite to prove it).
3. I am painfully shy (and insecure), but put on a good front; unfortunately, this gets mistaken for bitchiness more often than not.
4. I went to 9 schools in 13 years.  Making friends has been a struggle my whole life. Having a number of friends screw me over for their own interest has left me slow to trust.
5. That being said, once I've decided I can trust you, you've got a fiercely loyal friend for life.  Oh, and I'll probably open up more than you might be comfortable with... hehehe
6. I had a strawberry birthmark over my left eye that would only show up if I laughed, cried, or coughed really hard; it faded away in my mid-teens.
7. I started getting "stress" hives (itchy, round, bright red circles) all over my neck when I was in my early twenties.  I haven't had one since Chebbar moved in.
8. I love music.  All kinds of music.  Even lame, sucky music.  Mostly I try not to apologize for my taste in music.  ;)
9. I had a hernia at the age of 8.
10. I have a half brother and an adopted brother that I don't count when I talk about my sibling because I haven't seen them since I was 12, and they were only really in my life for two years.

Sorry for the boring list!

Now, on to my victims recipients.  *rubs hands together*  In no particular order,

• Badass Geek 
• Double Agent Girl
• Tied Up With a Black Velvet Band (or, Tumbawumba *wink*)
• Sandra @ Be Patient I am Getting to The Point
• Taryl @ Weighty Issues
  

Doof Mom likes me!

She really, really likes me!  hehehe 

Doof Mom bequeathed me with the "Over the Top" award.  All together now: awwww!

Thanks, Mom!  ;)

All I have to do is complete this tiny, little meme.  And, well, we ALL know I'm a shameless meme-whore.  *bats eyelashes*  So, here goes nothing...

1. Where is your cell phone?  Beside me
2. Your hair?  Needs to be washed
3. Your mother?  At home
4. Your father?  Which one?  *snort*
5. Your favorite food?  The bad kind
6. Your dream last night?  Non-existent (damned insomnia anyhow)
7. Your favorite drink?  I <3 iced capps, but my ass doesn't, so I'll go with a tie between water and tea
8.Your dream/goal?  Self-employed/work at home <--- me, too (mostly the work at home part)
9. What room are you in?  Living room
10. Your hobby?  Internetting (is so a verb: shut it)
11. Your fear?  Abandonment
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years?  Living in a house, plz.
13. Where were you last night?  Coming home from our second funeral in a week.  Good times.  /debbie downer
14. Something you aren't?   Tall
15. Muffins?  Blueberry!  OM NOM NOM
16. Wish list item?  A job for Chebbar.  Or a winning lottery ticket.
17.Where did you grow up?  Alllll over the place
18. Last thing you did?  I just bit my tongue, dammit.  While eating sour keys.  *cries real tears*
19.What are you wearing?  Sweats.  Yeah, baby!
20. Your TV?  Not a flat screen  *sad panda*
21.Your pets?  If Chebbar's doggie (who lives with Chebbar's dad because we can't have pets in the condo) counts, then I am guilty of canine by association.
22. Your friends?  Swell
23. Your life?  Pretty darned good
24. Your mood?  VERY short-tempered today  :-s
25.Missing someone?  Not particularly
26.Vehicle?  Mazda3 and I lurrrrrve it long time
27. Something you're not wearing?   *blush*
28.Your favorite store?  I dunno... Ikea?
29.Your favorite color?  Aubergine
30. When was the last time you laughed?  Couple of minutes ago
31. Last time you cried?  Yesterday
32. Your best friend?  Sick like me (I meant with a cold, but take it however you want to)
33. One place that you go over and over?  Crazy
34. One person who emails me regularly?  Newsletter mailing lists?  O HAI!  I'M LAME!
35. Favorite place to eat?  Anywhere I don't have to cook or clean

Now I get to pass the torch!  *rubs hands together*  *cackles evilly*  Okay, in no particular order, only because I luff them long time, too:

• Aunt Becky (even though she's probably WAY too cool for this kind of shit)
• Issa (because she's just lovely and honest and awesome)
• Miss Thystle (my intarwebz girlfriend) 
• and the lovely Bibliosaurus (because she COMPLETES me)
  

Girl Talk Thursday: Are you crafty, or do you just *think* so?

I have no imagination (well, aside from the over-active imagination that allows me to think Chebbar's in a ditch somewhere when he's three minutes late, but whatevs). I have long maintained that my grade 3 teacher killed it dead with the daily forced "creative" writing. I don't know if it was my stubborn Taurus streak rearing its ugly head (the more you push, the less I wanna do it, whatever it is), or just what the deal was, but I would find myself sitting there staring blankly at the piece of paper in front of me, cringing as it mocked me with its barren wasteland of thin blue lines. I swear to Ceiling Cat that is what made the prospect of writing an informal essay ten times more terrifying than writing any other type of essay in high school -- hell, I would have rather stood up given a speech instead of writing a "story."

When I was 10, I started sketching the characters from the Sunday Funnies. They were good enough that I was accused asked on more than one occasion if I had traced them. Then my little brother started copying ME (and getting more praise), so i quit.

I loved to colour and would often cajole my baby sister into colouring with me so I wouldn't feel like such a tool. Colouring is a great stress reliever; plus, who can resist a brand new 96-box of Crayolas? Not this girl! Yet my colouring books and crayons sit in the closet, long neglected. (I think I need some new colouring books geared more towards grown ups: anyone know where I should look?)

When I was 13 or so, my dad's girlfriend taught me how to cross-stitch. I did that for years, even after projects would take me weeks months years (yes, years: shut it) to complete. I haven't done anything since completing my nephew's birth announcement thingy. Yeah, he's five now.

I took sewing all through high school. I was decent at it, too. I made everything from an Amish-looking stuffed bunny (right down to toy-sized pantaloons, dress, and pinafore) to a tailored blazer. EVERY.THING. I made, regardless of how carefully I measured, ended up too large (well, aside from the blazer because of the tailoring and all). Ask me how much sewing I do now? Go ahead: ask. I hem my pants. Yup. Goooo, me.

I avoid the likes of Party Lite and Pampered Chef parties with a fiery determination: I'm generally too broke (read: too cheap) to pay the kind of prices those parties are full of and very rarely ever buy anything, so I try not to be a sale-tease and just decline the invitations. Until the Stampin' Up party.

I had just left my shitty retail job and started my first "real" job, leaving me with $300 of my holiday pay burning a hole in my pocket. Christ on a cracker! I got SO into that shit it was almost embarrassing. In my defence (why do I feel the need to delineate and defend myself?!?), I'm NOT a scrapbooker: I make home-made greeting cards. No, really: I honestly don't take enough pictures to fill one scrapbook, never mind the 947 that most scrapbookers have (seriously: I forget to bring my camera with me 99% of the time).

They're not GREAT, but they were fun to make:


It's just all so damned enticing! The paper and scissors and stamps (oh lawd, the stamps) and embellishments (ribbons and stickers and eyelets and 3-D doohickies)! I have so. much. stuff. (I would have taken a picture of The Madness, but then I would have had to explain to Chebbar why I was crawling around on the floor under the table with the camera and I could just hear myself petering off into the nothingness that is I-have-no-explanation-dammit... ) I made cards all the damned time. Hell, I'd make up a whack just for funsies! Then I met Chebbar and got a "real" hobby *winkwinknudgenudge* and all of a sudden I can't be bothered to drag all that shit out. Sometimes I placate myself with the self-righteous assertion that I'd use it more if I had somewhere to set it up and leave it, like a work station. Ooh! Or a CRAFT ROOM. Yeah, that!

Pffft. Who am I kidding? I'm a crafy quitter. (Although I have recently ordered a few cross-stitch patterns... Who knew it wasn't all kitschy kountry krap?) Oy.

HYC: Week 6

I don't really have much to report: the past week has been a blur, what with time off from work for my grandfather's funeral and getting sick.

I think the last time I worked out was last Tuesday, as I ended up with a sinus infection Wednesday.  Thursday saw me at the walk-in clinic before we hit the road for our five hour trip.  Between Thursday and Friday, we had to eat out for three meals (luckily my appetite was shot).  I spent Saturday on the couch nursing the cold that my sinus-infection morphed into.  Sunday was filled with errands and my step-dad's birthday, and yesterday I tried to make up lost time by cleaning and cooking.

Today is my first day back at work in five days and I feel SO out of loop.  As the afternoon drags on, I'm feeling worse.  I really want to work out (I've reached that stage where I get upset if I miss a work out -- yay!), but I'm not sure I'm up to it yet: I don't feel bad, but I don't feel 100% yet and I'm not sure if it's worth pushing myself.  That being said, the thought of missing a SEVENTH (*dies*) work out does NOT impress me.  It's pouring like crazy and Chebbar caught my cold, so a walk probably isn't the best idea either.  Bah.

However, I did work out Sunday through Tuesday, so I guess that has to count for SOMETHING.

I may just declare this past week a wash and start again as soon as I'm feeling better.  pppbbblllttt

Life

Well, it's starting to get back to normal(ish).

Wednesday I started getting sick; by Thursday, I was in the walk-in clinic for a sinus infection.  Did I mention we were supposed to be on our way for the five hour journey to go to my grandfather's funeral?  Nice.

We got there around 7:30, checked in, and went for dinner.  I pretty much passed out as soon as we got back to our room because I was exhausted from the emotional aspect of returning to a town I hadn't been for 19 years (and boy, howdy! has it changed in 19 years... ).

(When we walked up to the front desk, I handed over my confirmation email.  The clerk looked at it and went, "Oh...  Chibi?"  Turns out she's a cousin.  Yes, Virginia, it IS a small fucking world (town).  So much for sneaking into town unannounced, hey?)

Friday morning we got up, ready, and checked out by 9:30 so we could grab breakfast before the service (have I mentioned how much I <3 Denny's?  Because I do.).  It was hard.  I was nervous.  This is my biological father's side of the family -- the side of which I only have a relationship with my grandparents.  Needless to say, my stomach was in knots.

We walked in and when the usher asked if we were friends or family, I said friends because I didn't want to be... presumptuous? and be forced to sit with a "family" that I wasn't familiar with.  We had been there maybe five minutes before my cousin came and tapped me on the shoulder, saying Aunt Bonny wanted me downstairs with the rest of the family.

*gulp*

She clarified by saying that they wanted me to sit with the family.  I paused for a moment before thanking her and telling her I was going to stay put.  THEN I felt like an ass because she was going to have to be the one to go back downstairs and tell EVERYONE that I didn't want to sit with them. 

I didn't get to guilt trip myself for long before Aunt Bonny came upstairs and tapped me on the shoulder.  When she told me that Grandma wanted to see me and hold my hand, I knew I couldn't deny the request.  My legs were shaking as Chebbar and I followed Aunt Bonny down the stairs.

When we entered the reception room, one of my uncles "introduced" himself and gave me a hug, as did his wife, another aunt, another uncle, and two cousins (however, there were a fair number of family members who chose to ignore me (if not shoot daggers in my general direction)).  My grandma.  My poor grandma.  She looked devastated and absolutely lost.  Watching her walk around in a fog damn near broke my heart.

Perhaps the most... strange? uncomfortable? weird? not THAT bad? moments occurred when my father approached me, asking if he could have a hug, too.  I hugged him.  I didn't know how I was going to be greeted by anyone other than my grandmother and therefore had no clue how I would greet the rest of them.  The people who spoke to me were extremely kind and compassionate, and for that I will be eternally grateful. 

After we left the reception, I directed Chebbar past my grandparents house and the house we lived in up there; I was amazed I remembered my way around (granted, it's a small town, but I was 12 (and not driving, therefore not paying attention) the last time I was there).  We hit the road not long after and ended up getting home around 6:30.

My sinus infection morphed into a cold (which I passed along to poor Chebbar). 

We went to my parents' on Sunday for my step-dad's birthday.

I made my first turkey (breast) last night and it was fantastic.

I'm back at work for the first time in five days and it's been REALLY hard to get back into the swing of things.

We applied for private health care coverage (yes, we live in Canada, but our "free" health care involves paying $54 per person per month for medical services, and that doesn't cover prescriptions, ambulance rides, dental, vision, therapists, etc.  So, no, I won't walk out of a hospital with a $50,000 bill for an operation, but you can bet your ass I'll pay for everything else associated.... ).  Even though we'll be paying an additional (non-reimbursable) $88 per month out of pocket, I feel SO much better knowing that we're covered and under OUR terms.

Ooh!  And the deck guys ACTUALLY. SHOWED. UP.  I cannot even begin to tell you how much of a bloody relief that was.  Now we'll see if they can get all the work done this week, what with the torrential downpour we're slated to get.  Too bad for them that they'll HAVE to get it done this week, even if they have to hang tarps: Chebbar has put off a three-week course TWICE to accommodate them and is scheduled to start next week.

That's about all.  Heh.

Girl Talk Thursdays: Roommates

Roommates, huh?  Well, looks like I get to divulge ANOTHER secret.  Geesh, women!  What are you DOING to me?!?  ;)

I didn't move out of my parents' home until I was 28, and I went from there to my first home -- a condo I bought all by myself (well, with the help of the bank and a mortgage, of course).  I started paying room & board when I turned 19; I was the one who would raise the amount every time I got a wage increase, so my parents never had to broach the subject.  The main reason(s) I was at home so long was because I was working "full"-time (the big-box retail store that devoured ten years (yes, ten: shut up) of my life considered 28 hours a week to be "full"-time, which isn't enough to support yourself on, trust me) while I pursued my degree.  A combination of my work requirements and the university's course schedule resulted in taking seven years to complete my degree (but, I had no student loan debt when I finished).  I went to the university in town, so dorms weren't an issue.  For the majority of my life, my "roommates" were my family -- doesn't count.

Another part of the reason I stayed home so long (as well as the sole reason I wouldn't consider buying a place I couldn't afford without help) was that I really couldn't fathom living with a roommate: I couldn't think of ONE of my friends that I would want/be able to live with, and the concept of living with a stranger was beyond incomprehensible. 

I had lived in the apartment for almost a year when I met Chebbar; nine months later, he had moved in, making him y first "official" roommate.  There were some things to get used to -- the way he sorts laundry; his ability to leave the dinner dishes in the sink until tomorrow; his innate knack to miss the overflowing bathroom garbage can until it spilled onto the floor... -- but for the most part, it was a relatively seamless transition (aside from my sleep issues).  For the most part, we've been able to live with (and sometimes around) each other with very little discord.

That being said, after hearing about some people's roommate nightmares, I'm damned grateful things turned out the way they did.



P.S.  The geniuses over at Girl Talk Thursday have implemented a Google calendar for the weekly topics that you can add to your own Google calendar.  Love it!

If bad things happen in threes...

...we might be screwed.

My grandfather passed away Saturday.  Last night, Chebbar got a call letting him know that his uncle had passed away (and if estimates prove correct, it also happened Saturday -- no details at this time and won't have any until an autopsy is done).

Can this week just be over already?  Please?

HYC: Week 5

It looks like my worries yesterday were unfounded. :)

Much to my anal-retentive chagrin, my figures are a little "skewed" because I didn't realize that I weighed myself on September 10th (not the 4th like I had thought), and that I had taken measurements on August 18th (again, not as close to September as I thought). I'm down 1.6 pounds in three weeks, and 2.5 inches in seven weeks. Not too shabby! The only real outlier was my calf measurement, which was UP an entire inch. I'm going with the theory that I measured wrong... lol That being said, I may get Chebbar to do my measurements for me going forward to ensure (unbiased) accuracy.

As I said to him last night, I'm happier with the inches lost (particularly the ENTIRE INCH off my belly fat!) than the weight lost because it's physical proof that the dreaded workouts are paying off. Nothing like positive reinforcement! As well, as I mentioned yesterday, knowing that I was able to lose even a little bit with the minor changes I made will likely inspire me to try harder this coming month.

I know these figures aren't that remarkable and that some people might even scoff at my excitement, but when I lost weight the first time, it was only a pound or two a month; however, it stayed off with no extra effort (until I stopped doing the easy stuff and slipped back into bad, bad, horribly bad habits).

At the end of the day, it works for me, and that's all that matters, right? :)

Nervous

I'm nervous.

Today is my slated weigh-in/measurement day.  Part of me is excited to see if the changes I've noticed are real, and part of me is sick at the thought that I've imagined it all.  Or worse, that I've GAINED weight/inches.  I've made a decent effort, especially in the exercise and water departments, but I know I could have tried harder in the food department -- I'm not gonna fool myself into thinking I did a stellar job where my eating/food choices are concerned.  That's not to say that I haven't made some progress, but I'm not going to kid myself into thinking that there isn't room for improvement.

I've found myself wondering (again) if I really want this as bad as I think I do.  It seems so simple: if you want it bad enough, you'll do whatever it takes to get there.  But I won't do whatever.  I won't run myself ragged trying to maintain a level of activity that has proven to be unwise for me in the past.  I won't starve myself.  I won't deprive myself.  I won't stop doing the things I enjoy (at least, in moderation anyhow), and I refuse to do things that I won't be able to maintain for the rest of my life. 

I guess it comes down to my ultimate goal.  Am I doing this to lose weight, or to gain health, wellness, and fitness?  Sometimes I get caught up in other people's numbers and weight loss and the excitement of it all and my perspective shifts.  No matter how much I might dislike my current weight/shape/size, the goal has always been to be healthy and happy; focusing on my weight, the number on the scale, or what I am (or am not) putting in my mouth is not going to make me happy -- even if the end result is happiness, I can't live my life being miserable on the journey to get there.

All that being said, I'm still nervous.

Rest in peace, Grandpa

What were all those dreams we shared
Those many years ago?
What were all those plans we made
Now left beside the road?
Behind us in the road

More than friends I always pledged
Cause friends they come and go
People change as does everything
I wanted to grow old
Just want to grow old

Slide on next to me
I’m just a human being
I will take the blame
Bust just the same
This is not me
You see
Believe
I’m better than this

Don’t leave me so cold
Or buried beneath the stones
I just want to hold on
And know I’m worth your love
Enough
I don’t think
There’s such a thing

It’s my fault, Now I been caught
A sickness in my bones
How it pains to leave you here
With the kids on your own
Just don’t let me go

Help me see myself
Cause I can no longer tell
Looking out from the inside of
The bottom of a well
I yell
It’s hell
But no one hears

Before I disappear
Whisper in my ear
Give me something to echo
In my unknown futures ear

My dear
The End
Comes near
I’m here
But not much longer

Don't wait until it's too late.

Too late

My grandpa passed away this morning.

Wow. Ouch. *deep breath*

Grandma called me Thursday to let me know that he was in the hospital for the third time in a month and that it didn't "look good." Last year he was ill: he was in pain and vomiting after every meal. They thought he had diverticulitis.

They were wrong.

After several rounds of unsuccessful antibiotics, they decided to remove the diverticulum. However, when they opened him up, they found a mass blocking his large intestine. It was removed and sent in for testing. The result: colon cancer.

I don't even know how to relay this. I don't know what order will make the most sense.

These are my paternal grandparents. My biological father hadn't played much of a role in my life for the most part, so I didn't really know them well: they sent me birthday and Christmas cards, and I saw them every once in awhile when we lived in the same town, but the relationship wasn't the same as the one with my maternal grandparents.

When I was 21 (for reasons I'll get into at another time), I literally wrote my father off -- I wrote him a letter outlining why I didn't want him in my life anymore, stuck it in an envelope, and mailed it.

He took me at my word: he has not attempted to contact me in the past 10 years.

At the same time, I wrote my grandparents a letter explaining what I had done and why, telling them that, while I hoped it wouldn't affect our relationship, I understood completely if they didn't feel comfortable staying in contact with me. They both wrote me back -- my grandfather, who had a sixth grade education and had always let Grandma do the "talking" via mail in the past -- telling me that while he was their son, I was their granddaughter; that my relationship with my father was none of their business; and that they loved me no matter what.

I sobbed all the way home from the mailbox as I read them while I walked.

They live five hours away. They don't much care for "the coast" and I haven't returned to that town since we moved when I was 12 (the thought of doing so actually brings me thisclose to a panic attack). However, every time they did come down here, they got in touch and we tried to get together. They are the only members of my father's side of the family that I'm in touch with.

They came down last year for a family event and we went to visit them (I'm so glad Grandpa got to meet Chebbar). At the time, Grandpa was getting ready for six rounds of chemo and seemed quite optimistic. Christmas, Grandma's and my birthday (we share the same birthday), and Grandpa's birthday all passed with the regular "update" letters. In none of their letters did they let on that anything was wrong.

Apparently the first four chemo treatments were fine. The fifth and sixth took a lot out of Grandpa, and that was before they started the radiation treatment. He made it through two sessions before he was taken to the hospital for the third -- and last -- time on Monday.

When I got off the phone, Chebbar and I discussed going up there to see Grandpa. I was so conflicted. I wanted to go see him "just in case," but I didn't want to see him in pain. I felt like I should go, but I didn't want to have to deal with potential family bullshit. I honestly didn't know what to do. After a conversation with my mom yesterday, I decided that we'd go up next weekend. I was still having near-panic attacks at the thought of returning, but had made my peace with the trip.

My phone rang at 8:15 this morning. I knew before I even looked who it would be and that it wouldn't be good news. I just knew.

Too late.

Of course I immediately started beating myself up, playing the "what if" game. What if we had left after work yesterday and driven up there? We wouldn't have gotten there early enough to see him last night, and judging by the time of the call, we wouldn't have been to the hospital early enough this morning. Some how, I think actually being there when it happened would have been infinitely worse: so close, yet so far.

Too late.

Now, instead of going up there to visit Grandpa next weekend, we'll be going up for a funeral.

Too late.

Hug your kids. Tell your spouse you love him or her. Call your parents. Hang out with your friends. Go see the doctor.

Don't wait until it's too late, please.

OMGACKBLARGPUKE!!1!one!

I have been driving for 14 years. Today was the first time I have, erm, "created" road kill. *gags*

Well, contrary to what I told my parents...

Let's step into the time machine and rocket back 13 years or so. <enter Wayne's World doodley-boop noises here>

I was *ahem* "seeing" this dude who was bad, bad news. He was also younger than me. Like, not old enough to have a driver's license younger than me. I'll give you a second to do the math.

*hangs head in shame*

ANYHOW. We had been, uh, canoodling up a mountain and he had convinced me to let him drive my baby (read: '88 Daytona Shelby Z) back down the hill. No biggie, except for when he took a curve on the wet road WAY too wide and scraped along the cement abutment.

*head desk* Yes, still. It was one of my stupidest moments to date, okay?

ANYHOW. I. panicked. I wasn't even supposed to be WITH this guy, never mind let him drive my damned car! After I dropped him off, I went driving around town trying to find a similar hill/road/curve/cement abutment that would make sense (i.e. the hill up to the cementary is wind-y: I could pass it off as going to visit Uncle Bob). No dice.

I ended up winding myself up first, then calling my mom and pouring on the water works as I brokenly told her that I had driven up the mountain in question because I was feeling "sad" and needed "to think" and on my way back down, a CAT! ran in front of the CAR! and when I tried to brake, I SWERVED! right into the cement abutment! And, and, and to add insult to injury, I STILL HIT THE POOR WIDDLE PUDDY TAT! waaaaaaaah

She bought it.

I "bought" it, too, "it" being $1,200 in repairs to the fucking front quarter panel. Needless to say Ass Muppet, didn't even offer to help me pay for the damages. Quelle surprise, non? *eye roll*

If you're still with me, I'll recap: Ass Muppet driving my car scraped the ever-loving-fuck out of my car; to cover it all up, I lied about the road kill. No cats were harmed in the making of this body work.

ANYHOW.

This morning, I'm driving down the road, singing along to the radio, enjoying the sunshine, when I spot a squirrel to my right. OF COURSE the little bastard decided to dart in front of the car. My foot hovered over the brake pedal for 0.3 seconds before I remembered that driving school piece of advice of don't brake/swerve: chances are you aren't gonna hit it anyhow. So I didn't.

All was good! Until the little fucker STOPPED at the center line, turned, and RAN RIGHT UNDER MY GOT-DAMN TIRE!!!

I don't know if I'll EVER get that BA-DUM-THUD sound out of my mind. *shudders* Looks like I'm hitting the car wash after work. *gags*



P.S. I 'fessed up to my non-cat-killer status to my parents when drunk at a Christmas party about 5 years after it happened; I did NOT tell them who was driving the car. Quite frankly, I was tired of being called a kitty killer. My family? NEVER lets an opportunity to tease mercilessly go.

Pirates are still "cool," right?

Being the first of the month, I put a new pair of contact lenses in this morning. As per usual, my left eye had been bugging me on and off all day. I just rubbed my eye; when I pulled my hand away, I noticed a sliver of something shiny and see-through sitting on my finger.

A piece of the damned lens?!? D: (Yeah, took me this long to realize that it wouldn't be completely transparent, what with the blue visi-tint and all. DUH!)

I went into the washroom, washed my hands, and proceeded to try to, erm, "coax" my lens out of my eye. OF COURSE it feel OUT of my eye, behind the sink, and into the water on the counter. I can't remember if I've mentioned it before, y'know, what with blogging about work being all verboten and stuff, but the water at work SMELLS LIKE POO.

Well, more specifically, it smells like sulfur. Stinky, nasty, rotten eggy-smelling water every time you flush. And I have SUCH trouble getting over that mental hurdle and convincing myself that my hands really ARE clean after I wash in that, erm, shit. (It's well water here, and there's no filter, hence the smell *wrinkles nose*.)

Where were we? Oh, yeah: my contact lens JUST FELL IN POO WATER. GAH! GAH! GAH!

There was no way on god's green earth I was going to pop that sucker back in my eye, so I curled it tightly (but gently) in my fist and made my way drunkenly down the stairs (have I mentioned I'm blind as a bat without corrective lenses? Like -4.25 in both eyes blind as a bat? Yeah. Fun times.) in order to clean it with my lens solution. But lo and behold, my mother!@#ing lens solution isn't IN my mother$%^&ing purse (and neither is my lens case, so I can't change into my glasses because, hello! BRAND NEW PAIR OF LENSES THAT I'M NOT WILLING TO CHUCK, TYVM!).

So I "cleaned" my lens with my $15 (teeny tiny) bottle of eye drops. Yeaaaaaaah.

Do you think I'm gonna lose my eye? Because I'm not sure the pirate look suits me...

Off

I'm feeling a little off.  Tuesday and Wednesday nights at home saw me... not quite weepy, but definitely touchy.  Blue?  Melancholy?  Wednesday and Thursday at work have seen me with a marked lack of patience -- I seriously have lost count of the number of times I have internally rolled my eyes and silently huffed and puffed over requests that, while maybe a little silly, normally would be done with little to no rancor. 

Tuesday night, I felt an overwhelming desire for cookies, so I ate some (four, to be exact).  Yesterday I buggered my knee while at work, so skipped my workout, which did not make me happy.  While watching Glee, I tweeted about my urge to turn to food when I'm not feeling 100%.  Guess who ate more cookies last night?  At least THIS time I stopped at two.  *sigh*

I mentioned all of this to Chebbar and told him that I'm wondering if it's the new birth control pills I'm on, but that I doubted they have an effect on me THAT fast (I had only taken three pills at that point).  However, as he pointed out, anything is possible, and I might have to go through a cycle before I level out.  Oh, yay.  *heavier sigh*

I feel... weird.  Disconnected.  Confused.  Just plain off.  I guess it could be the change in the weather, too.  I don't know.  All I know is that I don't like it and it confuses me.  And lord KNOWS how much I love not being in control.  *eye roll*

Blarg.