$100 Challenge - The Etsy Edition

We are facing potentially tight times financially.  Chebbar still hasn't been able to find work, and his EI runs out at the end of March.  We're bracing ourselves for some major changes and looking at some tough options in order to accommodate his pursuit of a post-secondary education (and in the event this shit-ass recession doesn't spit out a job soon).

That being said, I've been overwhelmed with this feeling of feast or famine: I'm torn between scrimping and saving every. last. penny., and stocking up on stuff while we still have the money.  Frankly, it's freaking me out.  So!  To take my mind off the Doom & Gloom - because lord KNOWS that the only time I want to spend frivolously is when I can't - I thought I'd indulge in a little virtual window shopping.  HOWEVER.  The challenge is to see how much I can find while staying under $100, so I'll have to be choosy.

Beaver Keychain: $10.95

Because, obviously.  What?  I'm Canadian, pervs.

Olivine Pearls Branch Bracelet: $20.95

Love the branch and leaf and that the little pink buds remind me of blooms.

Breezy Cherry Blossom Small Frame Purse: $8.00

I have all this... (important) crap in my purse that I try to cram into the little zippered inside pocket.  One of these days, that poor zipper's going to rebel and BLOW.  Something like this would at least keep all my junk together in one handy, dandy location instead of strewn about the bottom of my purse, just WAITING to spill everywhere.

Yellow Cupcake: $3.00

Just because it's cute and sticking its tongue out and squinting and stuff.

Alice In Wonderland "Drink Me" Necklace: $7.50

Only because there wasn't an "Eat Me" necklace, cuz I'm K-lass-ay like that.  Heh.

Long Hand-Hammered Silver Earrings: $17.00

I love the different look of these: I think they'd look great on.  However, knowing me, I'd likely find a way to stab myself with them...

Amigurumi Ninja: $7.50

Because evidently I'm 5 I need toys for my work space to make it happy-shiny-fun-time.

"In the Zen Garden" 8x10 Photo: $18.00

This feels very peaceful and serene to me - maybe even ZEN!  ;)

So, let's see... Eight items times eleventeen carry the two and divide by x and...

$92.90!

Go, me!  That was fun.  :)

Friday Brain Dump

Yeah, I got nothing but a bunch of random crap, so here!

• I finally got an auxiliary cable for my iTouch, so now I can stop burning CDs.  *sobs*
• Of course, in trying to put music on said iTouch, iTunes was making six shades of stabtastic: I came thisclose to tossing my laptop out the window.  
• iTunes has officially sealed my fate as a PC user FOEVAH.
• Oh, and to further compound the piss me right off issue, iTunes can't "locate" half the bloody music IT imported.  Fer crissakes.
• I keep thinking I need to put my hair up, but every time I get up the washroom, I look in the mirror and go "Meh.  It looks okay."  Then I get back to my desk and continually FLIP my hair over my shoulders and out of my way.
• They're burning scrap lumber outside.  It stiiiiinks.
• I'm stressing about money!  Two months before I likely need to!  And really, who ISN'T worried?  And what's the point?  Can't control it anyhow!  *plasters fakety-fake smile in place*
• I had a HFCS Diet Coke this afternoon, and I'm not apologizing for it.  So there.
• I have some of THE best friends EVAH.  
• If you're worried about the "in no particular order" thing, alphabetical order never fails.
• This?  Made my YEAR.  Mr. Lady!  Me!  Her kids!  AWESOME.

• Also, I think I got the loveliest Follow Friday from Mrs. Fatass (just, uh, don't burst her bubble by telling her I'm really not intelligent, m'kay?):  

• I tripped up the stairs at work AGAIN yesterday.  I tried to correct and ended up falling anyhow.  I'd likely be in LESS pain if I'd just gone with it and let myself hit the damned floor without fighting it.  Fourth time in those particular shoes.  Those shoes are GROUNDED from work.  Owie.
• I'm supah-doopah cranky today.  I had a cursing spree on Twitter and amused more than one person.  Cursing makes me smile.  WIN/WIN
• I have to do really, really icky-gross lab tests this weekend.  I haven't been able to take my multi-vitamin or anti-inflammatories all week in preparation, and have to abstain from red meat for two days prior and through the duration of said testing.  Sorry, Chebbar.  *snickers*
• I'm tired.
• I like Nickelback.  Sue me.  Bite me.  Unfollow me.  WHATEVAH.  They're not the most popular band in the solar system or whatever because "everyone" hates them.  Haters.  (Seriously, though, why the Nickelback hate?  Is it Chad's perm?  It is, isn't it?  What, like YOU'VE never made an unfortunate hair style decision?  PFFFFFT, I say!)
• Unrelated to the above, I need new shoes, but I can't find anything I like.  This sucks.
• My face is eating itself.  I'm not sure if it's the new-old birth control pills, or the new moisturizer I'm trying.  Could be both.  Fuckers.
• Stupid people are stupid.  How, why, and when did it become MY job to figure out where you can get drawings printed?  Have you ever heard of PRINT SHOPS?  I hear they are MUCH more helpful than I am!
• Wanky people are wanky.  WANK WANK WANK

GTT: Beauty Secrets

.  .  .

Consider ^that^ me trying with alllll my might to squash the urge for self-deprecating "humour" insulting myself.  Oy.

When I was 11, whore moans started stopping 'round to visit (luckily they didn't bring their bitch master, Aunt Flo, for another two years) and I started getting lots of teeny, tiny bumps on my forehead and the odd zit on my nose.  I started using good, old Noxzema, and the little bumps cleared up right quick.  (We won't, however, discuss the time my mother refused to help me with my bangs because she didn't want to "touch that zitty nose!"  Thanks, Ma.  *eye roll*)  As I got older, I started adding crap like Oxy for those once-a-month break-outs, but I don't think I was even aware of moisturizer until I hit my early 20's.

I used to get compliments by the boat-load about my skin - it was the only thing I really got complimented on.  Unfortunately, when I hit 27, alllll those years of good skin karma came back to bite me in the ass.  Hard.

You see, for some reason I got it in my head that at my *ahem* advancing age, I should be taking better care of my skin: *proper* cleansers, toners, moisturizers, day creams, night creams, sun screens, etc.  I ended up with cystic acne in my chin (where I swear I had never had a zit in my life prior).  I had huge, painful white heads that morphed into pulsating red bumps after I tried to pop them.  The blackheads on/around my nose exploded and all of a sudden I had noticeable pores.  I was so very ashamed and felt like it was somehow my fault.  I was embarrassed to be seen in public.  During that time, I probably tried every single face product (under $50) under the sun.  Because I wasn't giving any of them a fair chance to work properly before getting frustrated and moving on, I likely prolonged my suffering.  You know what made my damned skin smarten up after NINE awful months?

Noxzema.

iiiii KNOW!

I'm not using it right now, and I honestly can't remember why (if I remember correctly, I think that I had purchased three separate jars in which the texture was just off - it was somewhat grainy, and oilier than usual which, with my sensitive-ass skin, was a no-go).  I loved my darling Noxzema enough that I contacted them via their website inquiring about the off-batch (all the batch numbers in the various stores in town were the same).  They were unaware of a problem and assured me that the product was fine, but it wasn't: I broke out again. I'm using Cetaphil now, which is awesome and gentle and chemical-crap-free.  However, it's not enough for the summer months when I have to use something a little stronger to cut the sweaty ick.

My skin is... better, now.  For the most part.  I still get the odd pimple here and there.  My pores on/around my nose are still large (and blackhead filled, mostly).  I still get annoying little clogged pores on my chin.  But it's not the train wreck it was, and I'm no longer afraid to leave the house lest I frighten small children.

I wonder if I should try Noxzema again...

HYC: Week 4

Update on Nana

Nana is... okay.  Basically, she has pneumonia.  Unfortunately, it's compounded with the mysterious blood "leak" she's had for who knows how long (at LEAST since her heart attack last year).  As well, the infection gave her a wicked fever that caused her to hallucinate and get a tad paranoid, which resulted to her, ah, "acting out" in ER towards the nurses.  Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to have quite grasped the... sequence of events, and still seems to think the nurses are out to get her.  :(

Needless to say, last week was pretty much a write-off.  Between the pain, discomfort, and intense worry, I pretty much had to force myself to eat, and exercise was right out the window (we did manage to walk both Saturday and Sunday, though).  Monday Chebbar asked to take a pass on walking; I agreed with the admonition that we HAD to walk last night.  I'm now sitting here going "WTF?  Just because HE didn't want to walk doesn't mean that YOU couldn't have at least hopped on the WiiFit!"  *shakes head*  Yeah, I have no explanation or excuse, only incredulity.  Of course, last night didn't involve any walking because we jetted off to the hospital to visit Chebbar's grandmother after an early dinner.  Hopefully after seeing for ourselves that she's okay, we can get back on track.

I haven't really had any pains in my right side since after breakfast on Sunday.  Well, not to the same degree, anyhow.  I had zero from around 10am Sunday until early Tuesday morning; I had a couple more bouts yesterday, but they weren't anywhere NEAR as intense.  Coincidentally, we found out about Nana on Monday night.  I'm starting to wonder if the pain - at least - isn't somehow stress-induced?  Worrying that your intestines are trying to eat you from the inside out is likely to cause just a smidgen of stress...

In related news, I called the doctor's office yesterday to see what the protocol was in regards to communicating with said doctor without having to schedule another appointment (and wait another three weeks), since I only have a question (want to know if the already-requisitioned ultrasound will look at my gallbladder: I'm guessing no).  Unfortunately, I got Bitch Face Extraordinaire Receptionist who was, unsurprisingly, insufferably RUDE.  She's just... GAH.  She has this way of speaking that just barely conceals derisive laughter and lets you know in NO uncertain terms that she is rolling her eyes at you SO HARD that she's likely going to suffer some pain.  Basically, she told me that I can call, and IF the doctor "feels" she has time to return my call, she MIGHT.  She also laughed audibly when I had the nerve to ask if perhaps email might be easier for the doctor to deal with.

(This is the same woman who gets right uppity and in my face when I call to schedule my yearly pap test, sounding like she's trying with all her might to restrain her frustration when she insists that the standards are every two years if my results come back clear.  However, she's NOT the doctor and she doesn't know my (family) history, so it's none of her damned business.  That being said, I always feel like a naughty child being chastised.  I've mentioned it to the doctor, who just kind of smiles and nods (she's a little... vapid, sometimes).  Now that Bitch Face Extraordinaire seems to be back from maternity leave, albeit part-time, I've already decided we'll be having "words" when she does it next time.  And there WILL be a next time, I guarandamntee it.)

Okay!  Enough with the bitching and moaning!  I finally got an AC adapter for my iTouch, so I'm going to start making playlists.  Tell me, please: what is/are your favourite, go-to, never fail song(s) that makes you happy/perks up your mood/energizes you?

Life sucks & then it sucks some more

We found out on Sunday that Chebbar's dad's dog - the dog who has been part of their family for over 12 years - has an inoperable tumor.  The vet discovered this the hard way: after intubating her for surgery, her breathing was extremely laboured; when they investigated further, they discovered that it had spread to her lungs.  They weren't able to get conclusive results from the biopsy, so they were hoping to determine if it was malignant once it was out.  Chebbar was resigned that Pup won't be around forever, but was hopeful she'd be around for awhile.

Last night, not long before we shut everything down to go to bed, he got a message on facebook (?!?) from his sister Sarah letting him know that Nana was back in the hospital and Pup would have to be put down sooner than later and that Pops had said not to "bother" Chebbar with it.

*raises eyebrow*

I'm not going to get into how... perturbed I am by the assertion that Chebbar not be "bothered" by the fact that his grandmother is in the hospital AGAIN (she was in the hospital a couple of times last year, starting with a heart attack almost exactly a year ago): his way of thinking is that his dad likely thinks he made the right decision; that maybe he knows something Sarah doesn't and that's why he's got a "meh, no big deal" attitude; and that if Nana passed away in her sleep, Chebbar wouldn't have the opportunity to see her first.  If he's okay with it, I pretty much have to be okay with it.

However, I'm worried about him.  He was already rather melancholy over the prospect of losing Pup.  He's been really down over the fact that a) there aren't many jobs out there (the recession's "over" MY ASS), and b) even when he has an "in," he still can't seem to get hired (in all fairness, our "in" keeps telling us that the company hasn't finished the hiring and that all hope is not lost yet, but I *know* how brutal it is to think that you're unhireable).  The closer the end of his EI gets, the more worried he understandably becomes.  Finding out that Nana's not doing well again just compounds the issue.

To further compound things, his aunt is supposed to come down from the interior just for a visit with Nana this weekend: if the prevailing thought was to not bother Chebbar (who only lives 20 minutes away), I don't know if his dad has taken the same attitude with filling his aunt in.  She emailed me this morning, and now I feel like a complete and utter shit for not telling her, but it's REALLY not my place (and damned if I want to be the cause of family strife period, never mind at a time like this).

Chebbar and I joke all the time about how similar we are - how we damn-near share a brain.  There is one fundamental difference, though: I talk about what is bothering or worrying me, while he shuts down. Until my grandfather passed away in October, he hadn't been to a funeral; until his uncle passed away in October (who he hadn't seen since he was a child), he hadn't lost a family member.  I'm so worried he's going to shut down - shut me out - and that I won't be able to help him; that I won't know HOW to help him.

Amazing blogger with an awesome give-away

Have you had the pleasure of "meeting" JewliaGoulia yet?  If you haven't, you really should.  She's intelligent, honest, and wickedly funny - I truly enjoy all of my interactions with her, and look forward to reading her blog every day.  Her determination is inspiring.  She does fantastic reviews.  And for one week only, she's doing an AWESOME give-away!

But, uh, don't bother going over there and entering: that lunch kit is MINE.  hehe

The cyst that wasn't

After being in pain since Saturday and hitting the walk-in clinic on Tuesday, I went for my scheduled doctor's appointment for my annual spelunking exam.  She was excited that I was in pain, mostly because she figured she might be able to, erm, feel more...  She performed said exam and declared me gynecologically healthy and cyst-less: no cyst, ovaries not enlarged, tubes fine.  What's more, the only pain I seemed to be exhibiting was along the S-curve of my small intestine.

I mentioned ectopic pregnancy (no).  I mentioned endometriosis (no).  I mentioned PCOS (no).  I freaking forgot to ask about my gallbladder.  I mentioned my family history with all things bowel-related (Grandmonster's colitis, Great Grandfather's bowel cancer, Grandfather passing away from colon cancer), and she decided to send me for *ahem* lab work (I won't go into specifics, but I'm sure you can suss out what that entails... ) to test for celiac disease and IBS / colitis.  Basically, her advice to me was to increase my daily intake of insoluble fiber.  That was it.  I guess I just get to suffer with this until... it goes away? I explode? Who knows?

Yesterday was the FOURTH time I've mentioned the pains in my right side (below rib cage), and the fourth time I've basically been dismissed.  I know I'm likely over-reacting and that it's probably no big deal, but DAMN is it a piss off to have your primary care physician basically be all "Meh.  Whatevs." when you're freaking the fuck out, thinking your insides are trying to kill you.  It's hard to not worry when your ass feels like you've been reamed by a 100-year old tree trunk and your stomach feels like you've been dry-heaving all night.  Oh, and don't forget the mysterious side pains... ouch.

The only *good* news is that I was able to call around today and get an ultrasound in another town for February 26th.  The first two places I called were booking into May.  MAY, people!  It was pointed out by a wise friend that our free health care means not having to remortgage my home to have tests done to determine what's wrong with me, but I can't help but think that these ridiculous wait times are a direct result of said free health care system being taxed beyond its means.  

Oh, and for the record?  We pay $102 every. single. month. just in case we need to see a doctor: it's a requirement that has to be fulfilled to be a resident of this province.  And if we want extended health coverage?  Y'know, to help with prescriptions, dental, etc?  Yeah, that's another $88/month (and that gets us PARTIAL coverage - we're still paying 20-30% out of pocket).  Don't get me wrong: if I need surgery, I'm not going to walk out of the hospital with a $60,000 bill, and for that I'm VERY grateful.  However, "free" doesn't always mean zero dollars.  I should be able to expect an appointment within a week or two for this kind of stuff, not FOUR MONTHS.  

GTT: Pet Peeves

Oh ho ho.  I'm torn between being oh-so excited to bitch and worrying that y'all will finally see my crazy for what it is and run screaming in fear.  Also?  Should have started compiling a list WEEKS ago, lest I forget something.  Because I will.  I gar-ON-tee it!

The usual lying, cheating, etc.  This one's kind of a no-brainer and pretty much goes without saying.

Interrupting.  Chebbar and I have had a go 'round or two (or twelve) about this.  He's a pretty quiet guy, but when he's talking about something he's passionate about, he a) can go on and on and on for AGES (I'm not being a bitch here, I swear: he'll tell you the same) leaving you with no natural break in the conversation in which to reply or refute, and/or b) will be so excited to say what's on his mind that he will interrupt you.  Repeatedly (even if unintentionally).

I, on the other hand, am a talker.  I'll talk your FACE off.  That being said, I used to be really bad about interrupting, too.  After being chastised repeatedly by my family, I worked hard to curb the desire to cut people off.  When I brought up Chebbar's propensity for not letting me get a word in edge-wise during one of our go-rounds, he told me I would just have to start interrupting him.  O_O  Yeah, no.  Impossible.

People who shuffle/scuff their feet when they walk.  They're shoes, not cross-country skiis.  PICK UP YOUR DAMNED FEET WHEN YOU WALK.

Exclusionary bullshit.  I don't care if it's a "don't tell the guys!" facebook status update, or a "private" joke that you can't shut up about and trot all over hell and gone: it is rude to exclude people and then rub their noses in it.

Ignoring people.  This ties in with the above.  If someone takes the time to "speak" to you in whatever fashion, take the 30 bloody seconds to acknowledge them.  Also RUDE.

People who think they own public spaces.  If you park your shopping cart ACROSS the aisle and don't/won't move when I *politely* say excuse me, don't be surprised when I move it FOR you and mutter obscenities under my breath as I walk past.  Also, don't walk three-across on a sidewalk and expect me to walk on the damned road to get around you.  R.U.D.E.

(As well, am I the only one who encounters people walking through, say, the mall who is met with challenging glares and the expectation that I will move?  I'm not talking the elderly/expectant mothers/young children/distracted people/what-have-you: I'm talking people who look hell-bent on knocking me on my ass if I don't get out of their way.  Why do *I* always have to be the one to move?  I swear to Ceiling Cat, I'mma learn how to use my elbows.)

Spelling, grammar, word usage, and pronunciation.  I know this makes me one of those assholes, and believe you me that it takes A LOT for me to actually *say* something, but these things grate on my nerves and make me grind through my tongue in an effort to bite it.  Oh, and of course admitting this out loud makes me paranoid to the nth degree regarding my own language usage.

Know-it-alls, one-uppers, and close-minded people who aren't willing to even entertain the notion that they could be wrong and/or learn something.  This one's also probably a goes-without-saying no-brainer.

Bad drivers.  I commute, so there are many driving *ahem* quirks that get on my last nerve: people who speed up to cut me off, only to c r a w l in front of me; people who change lanes and/or turn without signalling; people who speed through CLEARLY MARKED school zones (especially the assholes who speed through the school zone, only to stop in the parking lot to drop off their kids!); people who take my life into their hands by paying more attention to their phones than 3,000lb death machine; people who play games with the fast lane, crawling along and refusing to move over until you get in the slow lane to pass them, only to have them speed up so you can't get in front of them - it's a PASSING lane, ass jacket, and it's actually the LAW here to move the hell over.  Dumb ass.

HYC: Week 3

This past week was something of a dog's breakfast.  Food intake wasn't bad: I stuck to my snacks and allowed myself a sweet treat per your suggestions next week.  Water was good all week at close to 84oz every day (except for the weekend, of course).  Exercise wasn't GREAT, but wasn't as bad as expected (four walks).  We had decided to try to stick to as normal as possible bed/waking times on the weekend in an effort to curtail my difficulty getting to sleep on Sunday nights; we didn't do *too* badly, but I'm still sleeping like crap.

Last week I wrote that I was struggling.  Two days later, I wrote a post as part of Girl Talk Thursday about my favourite body part(s), and was quite proud of myself for being able to find positive attributes all the way up my body.  Unfortunately, the next day wasn't as good.

I was all over the map, feeling overwhelmingly insecure and just... not good enough.  I was just not in a good head space.  Then I talked to my mom on the phone and heard about some difficulties Taylor is having with Justin, and a bunch of shit that has been hashed and rehashed between poor Chebbar and I reared its ugly head.  Again.  We had a(nother) good conversation about the things that have been floating around my head that I've been... leery? afraid? to say, and all in all I feel better.

Unfortunately, physically I'm not doing so hot.  Again, again.  *eye roll*  I'm assuming it's this so-called ovarian cyst acting up, but I'm in pain and have been since Saturday.  I have a doctor's appointment on Thursday, and I'm going back and forth between toughing it out until then (so she can "see" it at its worst), and hitting the walk-in clinic after work for anti-inflammatories/pain killers so I can hopefully get some relief before subjecting myself to being poked and prodded.  I do have an ultrasound scheduled, but it's not until April 16th.  Only 88 more days to go!  Wheeeee!  Not.

Update
I wrote this yesterday morning.  Since then, the pain increased, including a new pain in my right side (more towards my back, but too high to be kidney pain, apparently).  I was at work for half an hour before packing everything up and hitting the highway for my half hour commute home, after which I went to the walk-in clinic.  This doctor also suspects a cyst (so, that's (inadvertently) my THIRD opinion now... lol); he gave me prescriptions for an anti-inflammatory and a pain killer.  He also urged me to ask my doctor to see if she can get me an ultrasound in another city that may have a shorter wait time: he felt that three months is too long to wait, too.  He ended by saying that he doesn't think it's anything "ominous," so I feel marginally better on that front.  This is still scaring the hell out of me, though.

But these stories don't mean anything

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

Nick went to live with Dad, and Mom and I moved in with my grandparents - a recipe for disaster.  I found myself at School #3 of 9.  I wasn't aware of it at the time, being that I was only seven years old, but things were very... strained between my mother and her parents (well, her mother, natch).  I don't know how long it was, but Mom ended up moving out not long after we moved in, leaving me with her parents.

On the surface, this probably wouldn't seem like too bad of a deal, considering I was doted on, showered with attention, and spoiled rotten.  Until you factor in Grandmonster's manipulation.

I remember her telling me that Mom left me there.
I remember her telling me that Mom left me there because she didn't want me anymore.
I remember her telling me that Mom had to quit her job before she was arrested for stealing from the company (total, complete, 100% falsehood).
I remember her telling me that Mom had stolen money from the piggy bank that Grandmonster and Gramps used to collect change that they would deposit into bank accounts for Nick and I (she went so far as to "show" me the half-full piggy bank - also a complete falsehood).
I remember her repeating history with the pill popping.
I remember her being so stoned, she'd careen down the hall and smash face-first into door frames, giving herself black eyes.
I remember her picking a fight with Gramps late one night in a pill-induced stupor, running out the door, and peeling off in the truck with screamed threats of killing herself.
I remember her coming home the next morning with a small tree in the back of the truck that she ripped out of the ground and stole from a neighbour's yard.
I remember having hernia surgery on my mother's birthday when I was 8, and Grandmonster telling me that Mom wasn't at the hospital and didn't come to visit because she didn't care (my mother didn't know I was having surgery: she found out the day she called the house).
I  having Grandmonster tell me that Mom only called because it was her birthday, not because she was worried about me.

Things weren't all bad.  As I mentioned, I was doted on: I had the luxury of going back to being treated like I was an only child again.  I thrived at school.  I made new friends.  I got the chicken pox.  I got my Pound Puppy.  I was able to put most of the shit out of my mind.  I started to like it there, to feel at home.

The day my parents showed up - together - I knew something was up when I was sent to my room.  I stood in there with the light off and the door closed, feeling the stuffy summer heat wrap around me, suffocating me. I didn't yet know what, but I felt like something "bad" was going to happen.  When Mom came into my room by herself, closing the door behind her, and kneeling down to my level, I knew something "bad" was about to happen.

She told me that Mommy and Daddy were going to move to [another new city] with Nick, and didn't I want to come, too?

No, no I didn't.  Even at 8, I knew I had a pretty sweet deal going, what with being Granny's Little Princess and all.  I don't remember throwing a hissy fit or anything - I was a people pleaser even back then.  I just went along, feeling completely conflicted: I was happy that my family was together again and that I was part of it, but I missed my grandmother something terrible.

I started School #4.  Mom became pregnant with Taylor.  Mom and Dad fought a lot.  Nick and I fought a lot.  Life went on.

Cast of Characters

I figured it would be helpful to create a handy, dandy list to refer to in order to keep all my peeps straight.  Sorry it took me so long.  Heh.

Chebbar = my other better half (no, seriously)
Mom = self-explanatory (I hope)
Brad = step-dad; Mom's third husband
Dad = technically my step-dad (well, technically no longer my step-dad, since he's not married to my mom anymore); has been around since I was 2, and treated me (for the most part) like one of his own
Mona = Dad's (second) wife
Nick = my (half) brother (we don't do the "half" bullshit: my siblings are my siblings, end of discussion)
Taylor = my (half) sister (see above)
Justin = Taylor's boyfriend
The Donor = my biological father in name/blood only
Stripper Extraordinaire = The Donor's ex wife
Brian = The Donor & Stripper Extraordinaire's oldest son; my "adopted" brother in name/blood only
Luke = The Donor & Stripper Extraordinaire's youngest son; my half-brother in name/blood only
Grandmonster = my maternal grandmother in name/blood only
Gramps = my maternal grandfather in name/blood only
Grandma = my paternal grandmother (we like her)
Grandpa = my paternal grandfather (we liked him)
Donna = my maternal(?) aunt in name/blood only
Pops = Chebbar's dad
Nana = Chebbar's grandmother
Mike = Chebbar's uncle
Sarah = Chebbar's youngest sister
Beth = Chebbar's middle sister
Theo = Beth's oldest son; Chebbar's nephew
Jake = Beth's youngest son; Chebbar's nephew
Andrew = Chebbar's best friend
Greg = my BFF, Part I; Dawn's husband
Dawn = my BFF, Part II; Greg's wife
Wyatt = Greg & Dawn's son; my nephew
Matt = the one who fucked me up
Jeff = the one who broke my heart
Wade = Boss #1
Rob = Boss #2
Larry = Boss #3 (who I worked with two jobs ago)

I think that's it: if there's anyone you're curious about that I've missed, let me know!

Delurking on Girl Talk Thursday

It's Delurker Day!  If you read, but don't comment, take a second to drop me a line.  :)

It's also Girl Talk Thursday!  Today's topic is the body part you love the most.  Of your own.  Not someone else's.  I think.  Yes!  Yes it is: today's topic is in honour of The Mominatrix's challenge for her Sexual Revolution.

*sigh*  This is a tough one.  The spin-off blog that got amalgamated with this one was started primarily to bitch about my self-loathing and body hatred.  I could cop out and not post at all, but that's crap.  I could cop out and go with something generic, like my ears, but that's crap, too.  Plus, I'm working REALLY hard at being nicer to myself.  So, I'm going to really challenge myself and find positives alllll the way from my toes up to my head.

*deep breath*

• My toes look sassy when they're painted (I need to do that again SOON). 
• My feet allow me to walk, which is my favourite form of exercise.
• My legs are strong and sturdy; they keep me upright and aid in the walking.
• My butt is shapely and well-padded, which makes sitting on it more enjoyable.  Heh.
• My belly is round, but that just means that I have a good job that provides a decent income, ensuring I never go hungry.
• My waist isn't as well-defined as it used to be, but it's still hanging around, ready, willing, and able to accept hugs at a moment's notice.
• My chest - well, I have a nice rack.  Yeah, I said it.  mua ha haaa  ;)
• My arms are also strong and allow me to lift my nephew and squeeze Chebbar tight.
• My hands are small, but capable.  I also have nice finger nails.
• My smile is quick and is full of pretty teeth.
• My eyes are green and flash with laughter, anger, and sadness: they are a great indicator of my mood.  They are fringed by long, dark lashes.
• According to my uncle (a jeweller who pierced many, many ears), my ears are the most symmetrical pair he's ever seen.  For some reason, I've always taken great pride in that.  
• My hair is naturally curly and "dirty" blonde.  hehe
• My skin is soft.

Wow.  That actually wasn't *quite* as bad as I thought it would be!  Granted, it was hard for me to write those statements without qualifying them or backing them up with an insult, and I could have done better, but I did it!  I'm kinda proud of me.  :)

Things that make you(r head) go boom

I bought Chebbar a watch for Christmas (a nice watch, if I do say so myself - not extravagant, but nice).  I purchased it on November 20th in order to take advantage of a sale that ended the next day.  Now, is there a chance the watches would have gone on sale again before Christmas?  Most certainly; however, I like to get my shopping done EARLY so I can avoid the hounds of hell harried last-minute shoppers.

This purchase was made at one of the big box Canadian retailers; I worked at this particular store for *cough* a couple of years *cough*.  The woman at the jewellery counter that night was one that I had worked with and know relatively well.  There were two identical watches in the display case: I purposely chose the one with the little stopper on the dial to ensure the battery hadn't been running down as it sat there for lord knows how long.  She knew it was a Christmas gift and asked me if I wanted a gift box.  When I got home, I tucked the receipt away safely lest Chebbar not like what I chose.

On Christmas morning, I was jazzed to find out that he liked it - it was too big, but that's an easy fix.  He pulled the stopper out, set the time, and... sat there for a bit, waiting for the damned second hand to start moving.  Nope.  No go.  Dead battery (we assumed).

We did not take it back immediately after Christmas; you see, for *cough* half of the long time I worked there *cough*, I worked at the customer service desk - I know how hairy it gets back there right after the 25th.  We went in last Saturday.  I stopped at the jewellery counter because all we wanted was a new battery.  Unfortunately, we were told to go to the service desk because the associate didn't "know anything about warranties or whatever."  Nice.  At that point, Chebbar was frustrated by the service/attitude and said he just wanted a refund, that we'd find a watch somewhere else.

When my turn came, I handed over the watch and the receipt and explained the situation; the woman looked at the receipt and declared that I could only have a store credit because it was past the 30-day return policy.  O_O  Pardon me?

My explanation that it was a Christmas gift, that I wasn't informed of this adherence to the return policy regardless of the holiday season even though the sales associate knew me and knew it was a gift, fell on deaf ears: she was not budging.  (This is a HUGE departure from the policies that existed when I left their employ: at that time, we were taking back used, defective shit that hadn't even been PURCHASED from the company.  Seriously: we were a joke in town - people used to advise their friends to "just take it to [that store]: they take back ANYTHING."  We were ALL about bending over backwards to take it up the kiss the customer's ass.)

I told her I wanted to speak to a manager.

She sighed and informed me rather huffily that she didn't know who was on; we stood there looking at each other for a few seconds before she realized I wasn't going to back down.  She paged her supervisor.  We stepped aside so she could continue helping the other customers until her supervisor called.  My blood started to boil as I listened to her tell her supervisor that we "bought a watch on November 20th and now it's broken and she doesn't want a gift card."

KABOOM!


She didn't tell the supervisor that it was purchased on November 20th AS A CHRISTMAS GIFT.  She didn't tell the supervisor that it was "BROKEN" WHEN I BOUGHT IT.  She didn't tell the supervisor that I HAD THE RECEIPT.  So, of course the supervisor said no (as would I) - in fact, the supervisor informed her that I couldn't even have a gift card: I could exchange it, or send it back to the manufacturer (at MY cost, BTW) to be repaired.  I was so mad, I had to leave before I turned into one of those customers.  I told her I'd deal with [name of manager I used to work with], felt a brief flash of satisfaction as her eyes widened, turned on my heel, and left amidst promises to NEVAH shop there again.

I called said manager the next day and explained the situation; she apologized, but told me that things had changed a LOT since I had left.  She told me to come in and they would replace the battery, and that if that didn't work, we could just exchange it.  I went in after work; because it was another woman I used to work with at the jewellery counter, I didn't bother searching out the manager - I just explained the situation, only to be told that they don't change watch batteries anymore.  Oh, FFS.

Fine.  I said I'd exchange it, only to find that they had no more watches like the one I had purchased.  I called Chebbar, explained the situation, and told him he'd better come in with me because I wasn't comfortable choosing another (far more casual) watch without his input.  THEN the associate says, "Well, we sell batteries, we're just not supposed to change them."

AAARRRGGGHHH!

She pried the back off the watch, only to discover that a special tool was required to remove the battery.  Okay, fine: I give up.  I went home, picked Chebbar up, and we returned to the store where he chose another watch.  I have no earthly idea what happens now if something goes wrong with THIS one.

All I know is that the return policy is ridiculous: if you use the STORE'S credit card, you have ninety days -
nine-zero days: THREE. WHOLE. MONTHS. - to return an item with the receipt, otherwise, store credit for  you.  I honestly don't understand how stores get away with this: if my money - in whichever form I choose to fork it over - is good enough to SHOP in your store, how the hell can you turn around and tell me that I can't have a refund THE SAME WAY when I HAVE MY RECEIPT?!?  Seriously!

And this business about not relaxing the return policy for Christmas is absolutely asinine.  Sears put a time limit on their Christmas returns, but they managed to post signs around their store that clearly stated this.  Don't get me wrong: after YEARS of working in retail, I know how common it is for customers to fail to read the signs.  However, stores can't expect them to be psychic, either.  If you're not going to have your cashiers telling every. single. customer. about your return policy, then POST something ALL OVER THE PLACE.

Struggling (and HYC: Week 2)

If you're here for the Healthy You Challenge, please scroll down.


Today is not a good day.  I'm struggling to keep my head above water and continue to breathe.  It's nothing major: just a bad day; but it's one of those days where a bunch of little, piddly-ass things that normally wouldn't phase me are banding together to force a hostile take-over.

It started with a headache on Sunday that morphed into a migraine.  The migraine is gone, but I've had a headache on and off ever since; the bastard kept waking me up last night, leaving me decidedly unrested - so much so that I found my eyes drifting closed during my commute FAR too often this morning.

I had "coffee" (read: half hot chocolate, half coffee with a splash of milk) once I got to work in an attempt to fend off the headache and wake myself up.  Unfortunately, it just left me super jittery, which wasn't helped by the adrenalin surge when I got a butt-hurt email from the strata council president, in which she threw around the term BETRAYAL! and ended with "SHAME on you, Chibi!"  Yeah, bite me.  (I'll get into that more tomorrow.)

Add to that the tender that closes today and the estimator barking because he doesn't have prices from this contractor or that contractor, demanding phone calls WHILE I'M ON THE PHONE ALREADY, and my nerves are just shot.  I was literally shaking between the caffeine and adrenalin.

Tuesday, you're fired.

Last week wasn't bad: we managed four walks after work, and I used the Wii Fit afterward on three of those nights.  Unfortunately, we didn't walk at all this weekend due to an EXTREMELY busy Saturday and the migraine on Sunday.  My water intake has been good; my snacks were on track for the most part as well.  Friday night's date night didn't go *quite* as planned (Avatar was sold out for six different showings in two different towns), but I brought home half of my dinner for lunch the next day.  I was marginally bad on Thursday due to PMS cravings, but not off-the-chart bad.

This week could be... not great exercise-wise.  When the week started, we only had one engagement on Wednesday evening.  However, we were dealing with Chebbar's watch (Christmas gift) and had to go back into the store before dinner (I'll elaborate on that one tomorrow, too).  There is a good chance we will be attending a birthday dinner for Chebbar's best friend tonight (who leaves town on Thursday for two weeks, so we can't postpone it until the weekend).  And then there's the Special Meeting for the strata council on Wednesday (mind you, after the nasty-gram today, I may take my neighbour up on her offer to take my proxy in for me).  That will leave me with Thursday through Saturday, which isn't bad, but I don't like going SIX DAYS with no concentrated exercise.

I still need to get a handle on my night time snacking.  I'm finding myself eating even though I'm not hungry - and I recognize that I'm not hungry: I just *need* something sweet after dinner.  Does anyone else experience this?  What do you do to curb it?  Or, do you satiate yourself with something small?  So far, the big glass of water/waiting 20 minutes/distracting myself trick isn't working.

Hi ho! Hi ho! It's off to work I go!

When I was 15, my mother issued an ultimatum: either you get a job, or you go live with your father.  Logically, I knew it was an empty threat and that she'd never send me to live with a man who had shown little to no interest in me for the majority of my life; however, it put enough fear in me to get my ass out pounding the pavement.

I can't even begin to recall how many applications I completed or how many resumes I forked over.  I know it was many; I know as the summer wore on, I became more demoralized every time the phone didn't ring - I started to think there was something inherently wrong with me.  It was my first taste of the unfairness that is "experience required": how on earth was I ever going to gain experience to get a job when no one would take a chance on me?  That being said, I had uttered the spoiled brat decree that I would NOT work at McDonald's.

Silly, silly little girl.

After much *ahem* prodding from my mother, I took my resume in to the nearest location and dutifully asked to speak to a manager.  When she came up to the counter, she decided to interview me on the spot.  It was a short interview, but a good one: she told me that she had a few more to do, but that I could expect a phone call within the next couple of days.

Two days later, I paced nervously beside the phone.  All of a sudden, the place I was too good for was the only place I wanted to work.  I stayed at home, inside, the entire duration of that sunny Saturday until Mom insisted I accompany the rest of the family out for dinner.  When we got home, I raced to the answering machine, only to have my heart drop to see no flashing indicator.

I thought I must not be good enough after all.

After moping around for the next two days, Mom insisted suggested I go back and let them know that I was still interested in a job if they were hiring in the future.  I trudged off in the hot summer sun, feeling like an enormous tool - I was preemptively embarrassed by what I was going to do (little did my 15-year old know-it-all self know just how important following up would be).

My face started to burn as the same manager who interviewed me approached the counter.  Haltingly, I managed to stammer out the bit about still being interested in work in the future as I thrust my resume at her as if it was on fire.  She looked at me, puzzled, before asking if I had not received her message.

Her message?

It would seem that she left the message at a wrong number.  I had gotten the job, and orientation was THAT DAY - in 20 minutes, actually: was I able to stay?

WAS I?!?  I tried to maintain my glee as I hot-footed it out of the building and walked until I found a pay phone so I could tell my mom.  It very well may have been the first (but certainly not LAST) time I admitted she was right.

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Just don't turn my crank

This week we're talking about those celebrities that others find attractive, but we don't... share the attraction, shall we say?

First up (simply because I'm going in the order in which the computer saved the pisc because I'm lazy like that), Madge:

from Todays Top Trends

Now, don't get me wrong: I'd kill to be as smoking hot and toned as Madonna, but I think she may have gone a leeeeetle too far.  O_O  There are some beautiful pictures of her, but the majority of them leave me shaking my head wondering WTF.

from Nothing Rhymes with Lydia

I chose this picture of Matthew McConaughey because he looks particularly greasy and slimy (and I couldn't find any of the naked bongo pictures).  Unfortunately, once I hear a story about how a star doesn't particularly like to shower or wear deodorant or what-have-you, I'll never get it out of brain.  Ick.

from Bunny with Fangs

Ah, Pammy.  *sigh*  You train wreck, you.

from Gossip Check

Now, before Fanpires get all up in my grill, I just don't. get. it.  Robert Pattinson either looks like a slimy douchebag, or a 12-year old, neither of which appeals to me.  Sorry.

from Babble's Fame Crawler

I've NEV.ER. found Tiny Tom attractive, even before Teh Crayzee infected his brain via Xenu on Oprah's couch.  He's just... UGH.  I totally have the heebie jeebies just thinking about him.  Thanks a lot.  *shudders*

My past haunts me

Jenn of Princess Prose has been writing a very educational and thought-provoking series on relationships.  Part 4 hit particularly close to home because it involves trust.  Recently I wrote about wondering if I'm good enough, and how trusting myself is a struggle.  I know that a lot of my issues (or a large portion of my issues) could be chalked up to childhood, growing up, what have you; however, there is one piece of the puzzle that overrides everything.

When I was 18, I met a guy named Matt who was younger than I, but his... "extracurricular activities" made him experienced far beyond his years.  He had brilliant blue eyes that flashed devilishly, and a dimple deep enough to fall into when he'd turn his disarming smile your way.  He was trouble, all right.  A whole lot of trouble.

The relationship was bad from the start.  Right from go, we hid it from friends and family because of the age difference (as well, there was no way I could tell my family that I was involved with someone with the "pastimes" he participated in).  He had a violently explosive temper that was quick to ignite; I was never afraid of him, but I was scared by his angry outbursts - I stood frozen in his doorway one night as he raged around his bedroom, yanking the phone out of the wall before chucking it out the window, and ripping the closet door off its hinges before launching it down the hall.  He would be a heaving mass of adrenalin-driven fury one minute, and a sobbing puddle of remorse the next.  I was always uncomfortably on edge around him, never knowing which version of Dr. Jekyll I would be spending time with.

He was my first.  The first guy I was in a relationship with that lasted more than a month and a half.  The first guy I slept with.  The first guy I said "I love you" to.  He fucked me up so badly, some times I'm amazed I'm able to participate in a healthy relationship today.

You see, he had another girlfriend.  That's right: the entire year and a half we were together, he was still seeing (and screwing) his "ex."  At first, he'd play the game where he'd pick a fight with me to give him an excuse to not speak to me for a few days; during this time, he'd go back to her.  I'm not sure if the crawling back routine (which was more a grudging, pissy phone call on his part than a tail-between-the-legs apology) was because he missed me, or if he was just tired of his other plaything.  That went on for quite some time until he either got sloppy or just couldn't be bothered to hide it anymore: I discovered that he was still sleeping with her by spotting the hickies all over his body - I'm sure she was sending me a message, too.  He messed around with a number of other girls during his tenure, as well, all girls who apparently knew he had a girlfriend (whichever one of us was "lucky" enough to bear the title at the time); he wore his philandering like a badge of honour.

Even though I confronted him quite loudly, he laughed in my face, at that point basically opting to have two girlfriends at the same time.  I would threaten to leave him; he would challenge me, telling me to go ahead and try: I'd be back because no one else would want me anyhow.  At 18 years old, I believed that I was worthless, useless, ugly, and unlovable, all at the hand of someone who claimed to love me.  In the meantime, I was competing with a girl who was hell-bent on stealing "my" man (who, in retrospect, obviously considered him HER man).

Self-esteem issues?  Check.  Trust issues?  Check.  Major suspicion, distrust, and fear of any female to show the slightest bit of attention to "my" man?  Check, check, check.

It's been hard for me to trust: myself, my partner, people I don't know well.  In the beginning, it took a conscious effort on my part to trust Chebbar; I don't know that we ever would have gotten to where we are today were it not for his unwavering, amazing patience and understanding.  I still struggle with trusting "new" people, though, particularly those of the female persuasion - the above wasn't the first time (nor, sadly, was it the last) I was burned by the "fairer" sex.  And because in all of my infinite teen-aged wisdom I never thought I'd ever be one of those girls who ended up blinded by a quasi-abusive relationship, I still struggle with trusting myself: are my suspicions correct? should I even be suspicious? am I right to trust him? to trust her? can I even possibly rely on my own instincts and judgement?

I've known all along that my first "real" relationship was a bad one.  Hell, deep down, I knew it was bad while I was in it.  I've stood tall and been proud, asserting that it was a learning experience that allowed me to figure out what I would and wouldn't put up with going forward.  I've fooled myself into thinking that, because it's over and I feel I've moved on, it doesn't affect me anymore.

With some of the events of the last little while, I've realized I couldn't be farther from the truth - that my past does still play a large role in who I am and how I react today.

HYC: Week 1

Update: That 5.2lbs?  WAY. OFF.  We bought Wii Fit Plus awhile back; it recognizes our country of origin (Canada) and converts everything into metric figures.  Not only was the kg to lb ratio messing me up, I also added weight for how much my clothes weighed instead of removing weight.  DUH.  I gained 0.2lbs.  That's it.  To top it off, I lost a total of 4.5 inches.  I'm COMPLETELY shocked.  O_O

Happy New Year!  I hope everyone had a great holiday season.  I know I did: so great, in fact, that I "gifted" myself with 5.2 lbs for Christmas!  Wasn't that NICE of me?  lol  Some of that could be monthly weight gain, as well, but I didn't hold back over the holidays.  Not sure what that brings me up to because I forgot to check last night (I'm still using the Wii Fit for weigh-ins: it tells you how much you've gained/lost, but you have to go to a different screen to see the actual weight), but I'll check after work and update.  I also forgot to take measurements like I meant to - attention span of a gnat, I tell you.

Anyhow.  New year.  New beginning.  New goals.

I wrote yesterday that my only real "resolution" was to be kinder to and gentler with myself.  Neither my head nor my heart was into making grand proclamations regarding weight loss, etc.  However, I do have a few things I want to focus on.

Goal: To get a minimum of 30 minutes of activity a minimum of 3 times per week.

Plan: To walk after work every day with Chebbar (30 minutes), plus do either my Tae-Bo tape or use the Wii Fit while he makes dinner (20-30 minutes).

What I won't do: Beat myself up if circumstances arise that prevent me from completing an activity.

What I will do: Plan my work-outs accordingly based on my schedule (for example: we'll be heading straight out after work on Friday, so I'm planning a walk/Tae-Bo for Saturday); be honest with myself if said "circumstance" is a bogus excuse to sit on my ass.

Goal: To make healthier food choices wherever and whenever possible.

Plan: To eat small, healthy snacks between meals to keep my metabolism going and to prevent over-eating; to cut out the mindless snacking/eating (particularly after dinner).

What I won't do: Starve myself.  Drive myself crazy by counting calories.  Deprive myself.

What I will do: Listen to my body and pay attention to what it's telling me.

Goal: To be kinder to and gentler with myself.

Plan: Try my best to stop being so. damned. hard. on myself; cut myself some slack.

What I won't do: Disparage myself.  Cut myself down.  Refer to myself in negative terms.  Slap my ass/thighs/stomach in a derogatory fashion.  Treat myself in a way that I would never DREAM of treating anyone else.  (Total light bulb moment last night: I'm not going to say/think/do anything to myself that would be too rude or nasty to say to Chebbar, my mom, etc.)

What I will do: Breathe.  Remember that one slip-up doesn't equate to failure.  Be patient.  Like myself.  Love myself.  Accept myself.

Goal: Prevent additional (credit card) debt while getting Chebbar through school.

Plan: Research student loans/grants/scholarships.  Set up a new budget.  Redo said budget when our financial situation changes.

What we won't do: Dine out as quickly/easily/with no thought as before.  Spend frivolously on unnecessary items.

What we will do: Enjoy ONE dinner/movie/activity out per month.  Ensure our basic needs are met.  Save every penny we can.

It's only Day 2 of Week 1, but so far, so good: we walked after work yesterday and I used the Wii Fit while Chebbar made dinner; I did cave and eat Oreos last night, but - while being honest about it - I'm totally copping out and blaming Aunt Flo.  Today, I've only been able to eat what I brought to work (and stuck to three hours between meals/snacks, even though I *thought* I was hungry earlier - I did the glass of water and waiting 20 minutes trick, and my stomach didn't feel hungry, but my damned brain was still whining for food); we will walk after work, and I'm hoping to try Tae-Bo while Chebbar makes dinner tonight.

(I think I do need to be relatively careful - again, listen to my body - because I'm still experiencing issues with my left ovary.  I do have an ultrasound scheduled, but that won't happen until April 16.  (Not having to pay for said ultrasound is GREAT, but the three and a half month wait?  Eh, not so much.))

So, there you have it!  Happy Week 1, everyone!

Kitchen gadgets of AWESOME

Mom likes to put a magazine in our stockings every Christmas (last year, Mrs. Funnypants thought she was hilARious when she put a Today's Parent magazine in mine - way to waste $5, Mom).  This year was definitely better with the holiday edition of Food Network magazine, specifically for the amazingness found together in one little article...

Self-Leveling Measuring Spoons

Ohhhhh yeah, baby: spoons that level themselves.  No, that's not lazy, it's GREEN!  If my spoons leveled themselves, I wouldn't have to dirty a knife to do it, therefore SAVING on dish washing!  And at $13.75 for a set of four, they're economical, too.

Ack!  Looks like the manufacturer isn't making them anymore.  :*(  However, The Spoon Sisters have promised to find a comparable product in 2010.

Taylor Digital Measuring Cup

THIS little beauty has a digital read-out on the handle to let you know when you've hit 1/3 a cup, so you don't have to do the back-breaking job of bending over.  But seriously, though: who else pretty much GUESSES and HOPES she's hit the right mark?  What, just me?  MY EYES ARE BAD, PEOPLE.

Stirr - the automatic sauce stirrer

Okay, this one seems like a little more of a stretch in the justification department - I just like it because it's neat!  Pop it in your sauce pan, and let it go!  Easy peasy lazy squeezy.  Or however that goes.

Resolve

According to Wikipedia, "A New Year's resolution is a commitment that an individual makes to a project or the reforming of a habit, often a lifestyle change that is generally interpreted as advantageous."  We commit to lose weight, save money, improve ourselves with such hope for change; however, apparently a staggering 88% will fail (and if jokes are given any credence, most will fail by January 2nd).  

What is it about a new year that instills such an inherent need to change?  Why weren't we good enough before?  What makes us think that this year will be different from every other?  Hell, what is it about a Monday that inspires us to start a diet or exercise regime?  Again?

I wish I knew: I feel like would be in possession of one of the keys to the universe if I could tell you.  I have mentioned numerous times my predilection for starting "next Monday" and my tendency to give up if I slip part-way through a week.  I know it's disordered thinking, yet I feel incapable of changing it.

This year, I struggled with the entire concept of resolutions.  While I know that publishing my inner-most desires will make me more accountable to myself, the thought of people silently shaking their heads as they witness my failure is enough to do my head in: there's something both liberating AND silencing in blogging.  

I went back and looked at my entry about resolutions from last year (days late, I might add).   I didn't do a very good job.  I'm sure I made a passable effort on some of them, but I know I didn't master all of them like I would prefer.  Failure (or my fear of) is an over-arching theme on this here blog - in my whole life to date - and I'm scared to fail both myself and the handful of people who read my writing.  As well, I am a master of self-flagellation: I am not harder on anyone else but myself.  There is no such thing as cutting myself slack.

To resolve is to come to come to a definite or earnest decision about, or to determine to do something.  This year, the only thing I resolve is to be kinder and gentler with myself - to love myself for who and what I am at this exact moment in time, with no reservations and no strings attached.  I don't need to be better, thinner, smarter, richer: I am perfect just the way I am, and I will convince myself of this, too.  

Did you make resolutions this year?  Why or why not?  How are you doing with them so far?

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