Welcome to My Pathetic Life

I like my pathetic life.  I really do.  Its always been a rather dull existence, but I will take it over drama, drama, drama.  When things are calm, it means that everyone is well, people are happy, and life is good.  And my life is good.  Pathetic maybe, but good.  Even my teenage years were stable and consistent without the Jr. and Sr. High school shenanigans that plague so many teenagers. 

From my adolescence to my adulthood, here is a meager list to illustrate my pitiful life:

1. Most preteens and teens keep a diary of their own lives. They write about their daily experiences and thoughts about the world in which they live. While they were doing that, I was writing daily about the experiences of the residents of Salem. Days of Our Lives was a huge part of my teenage years and I kept a sorry diary about what happened between Steve and Kayla, Kim and Shane, Bo and Hope, and John and Marlena. I didn't even have enough going on in my own world to keep a sustainable diary so I wrote about the lives of others. And to make it even more pathetic, the people I was writing about were fictional.
2. When parents punish their kids, they will often "ground" them so they can't leave the house, hang with friends, do what teenagers do.  I was a homebody even when I was younger preferring the comfort of my own house to the big scary world at the mall.  Now, I never got into trouble much, but as a standing joke, my mom would try to ground me.  Only in reverse.  She would say, "You are grounded!  Go to the mall!"  What teen wouldn't love getting grounded to the mall?!?
3. My self esteem is largely based on being competitive and winning inconsequential games on Facebook.  In and of itself, that may not sound so despicable, but when we scored a PSII at work and acquired a Dance Dance Revolution game, my competitive nature came full out.  I had to go and buy myself a DDR so that I could practice at home in order to beat the teenagers at their game when they summoned me to dance with them thinking I would fail.  Well, I showed them!  I beat them almost every time.  Booyah!
4. I was never one for going to parties, and I still prefer a more mellow gathering than an all out gala.  Today my idea of "party" is having a friend or two over to watch Elf on an annual basis.  More commonly, a buddy and I try to get together weekly to have American Idol "parties" where we eat food, laugh, and watch those singers struggle to etch their way into our hearts the same way Adam Lambert did.
5. Sometimes after working the evening shift, a few coworkers and I will "go out".  For the  the younger crowd this means sprucing up in the bathroom to look their best for the bar scene.  For me, it means I am salivating at the thought of what I will order off the Perkins menu.  I'm a regular party animal when there is french toast involved.  Look out, world!
6. Most of my friends are married and dedicated to their spouses.  I am married and dedicated to my job.  Though I have got better at saying no guilt free, I still have a sense of loyalty which puts my job first on my priority list.  I'm working on it though, and my social life is starting to replace my job for that coveted number one position.
7. Finally, my reality show addiction is getting out of control.  First it was American Idol, then Dancing with the Stars, then Celebrity Apprentice.  The last of that deadly trio has me completely hooked this season, and I am already eagerly anticipating Sunday to see NeNe go off on Star Jones.  In addition to those, add in The Voice and X Factor and I won't be just pathetic.  I'll be Pathetic (with a capital P).
8. I know I sad "finally" on number 7, but I just couldn't end a list on an odd number.  Ironically that just rounds out the list nicely and gives more credence to the dismal life I lead. 

Like I said, my life may be undernourished with excitement, but it really isn't.  From Days of Our Lives to eating at Perkins, from American Idol parties to beating little kids at Dance Dance Revolution, each one of those experiences bring excitement and joy to my life.  Others may find it dull or boring, but for me its contentment.  And I wouldn't want it any other way.

When Grizzly Bears Strike

When I wrote my Top Ten Defining Moments post, I have no idea why this event did not even cross my mind to add on the list.  Maybe because it wasn't one single moment, but rather years of events.  Though it was a large chunk of time, sometimes it seems as though it never really happened and it does not stay in the front of my brain very often.  It isn't until it shows up in my dreams that I remind myself how significant all of it was.  Most of the dreams are not even nightmares, and instead are just gigantic reminders of the house, the parents, and the kids.  Always the kids.  If, as a witness, I am haunted by dreams and thoughts, I cannot even imagine what effect it must have for those who lived it. 

My mom went to work outside the house when I was around 9 years old.  In an effort to avoid my mean teenage brothers, I took up solace with the single mother down the street.  She had 3 children: four year old twins and a seven year old son.  I spent a lot of time with this family and have so many stories to tell, both good and bad.  This home became my second home and my second family for 5-6 years.  I spent the night there; I ate dinner there; I watched TV there; I helped clean the house; I listened to music with her; I laughed; and I cried.  In this, my second home.

Enter the Grizzly Bear.  On a rare evening out, the mom had found a boyfriend who began severely abusing these children.  I was witness to many acts of abuse of an emotional, physical, and sexual nature.  In time, it was me who helped remove these kids from their home, but I still held on to a lot of guilt regarding this situation. 

I initially felt guilty for not being the object of his abuse while all the other kids suffered at his hands.  There was ample opportunity for him to abuse me in any way he wanted as I joined the family on weekend camping trips, overnights visits to Minneapolis, and even spent the night in their house.  But he left me untouched and I was treated as though I was their golden child receiving special treatment.  It was I who was able to ride in the front seat of the vehicle while the others rode in the back; it was I who received positive words spoken, and it was I who did not get hit or touched.  As a child, I didn't realize how this must have made those kids resent the hell out of me.  Not only that, but I am sure they were looking to me for help.  Being afraid and powerless, I could only give them support.  Despite several phone calls to the authorities from several neighbors, teachers, and myself, the kids remained in that home far too long.

It wasn't until after a deliberate fire was set in their home (in an attempt to collect insurance money) that the authorities began to really question the welfare of the children.  It was then that I was contacted to give my detailed report of all the horrendous acts I had seen with my own young eyes.  Later, I felt guilty for being the responsible person for removing those kids from the home.  Even though it was an abusive household, the mom loved her kids and had been a loving mom up until the Grizzly Bear showed up.  She was overprotective, and looking back, I now see she probably suffered from paranoia or another form of mental illness.  When the kids were removed I lost all contact, but had heard they went to live with their biological dad in Colorado.  He had been painted  as a horrible man, and his name could never be spoken in the presence of her children.  Imagine the horror those kids must have felt to learn they were going from one hell into another.

Several years ago, the Grizzly Bear died of a heart attack.  The mom passed away a few years after that. Never did I stop wondering what happened to those kids who were like my siblings for so many years.  My feeble attempts to find them failed until recently.  Just a few months ago, I located all 3 kids on Facebook!  Uncertain if I should contact them or not, I reluctantly sent each of them an email.  I was so nervous awaiting their responses.  Did they blame me?  Did they resent me?  Did they hate me for sending them to live with their real dad?  Did they even remember me?

When I received the first email telling me how fortunate they were to have the opportunity to live with their dad, all these years of guilt lifted from my shoulders.   The oldest said his biological dad taught them how to live and gave them as normal life as possible after having spent their time bouncing from foster home to foster home.   The "kids" are all grown up with children of their own.  They all seem happy. 

Still, I can't help but go back and play the "what if" game, and I continue to hold on to just a little bit of that mostly lifted guilt.  One of the kids thanked me for playing the pivotal role in removing them from their mom, but really I should be thanking them.  It is because of them that I am working at a job I love (on most days).  If I can help another child live a better life, it is all because of  the lessons I learned from those three kids.

Skunk Saga Continued

There isn't much to tell, but I thought I'd write a quick update on the Skunk Saga.  My skunk guy came over last week to evaluate the hole I saw the skunk retreat into when I saw it.  To monitor the situation, he put a board loosely over the hole to see if there was any activity coming or going from the cozy little home under the shed.  Several weeks later, the board (and the opening) remained untouched.  From this, the skunk guy assumed that perhaps I had simply scared the little critter under the shed when we met face to face a few months ago, but the skunk did not take up a permanent residence under the shed.  What a relief!

So the skunk guy removed the trap and went on his merry way.  It wasn't much later that I realized, "hey!", I paid him $105 to catch a skunk.  He left without reimbursing me any money so I phoned him up to inquire if I get a refund since there was no skunk.  He said that he charges for a "set up fee" which is nonrefundable (to help pay for gas...whatever).  So out $105 I am.

When I first hired the guy, I was under the impression that he "relocates" the critters he catches, but when he arrived at my house he informed me they actually "put them down" because there are just too many.  Not to mention that skunks will travel far and long to return to their cozy homes (especially if they have a pantry awaiting them).  From another source, I soon learned that the manner in which they "put them down" is death by drowning.  This did not sit well with me, and I kept having visions of a pregnant skunk gasping for breath to save her own life as well as the lives of her unborn babies.  Too much.  Imagine my relief each day I awoke to find that trap empty. 

For me, its totally worth $105 to not have the drowning deaths of a cute little skunk family on my conscious.  My neighborhood has one lucky skunk mama in its midst.

Big Hair for (Not Even) a Day

My hair has always been one of my biggest challenges in life.  It never really does what most hair does in that styling it takes some creativity and patience.  And even with that, it never really looks good.  I'm still stuck in a boring and lifeless hair "style".  To use the word "style" is being quite generous.  It seems the older I am getting, the thinner and limper my hair is becoming. 

Yesterday I went to get my hair cut.  Nothing major; just a few inches trimmed.  Aside from cutting one side a bit shorter than the other, my hairdresser did a great job and even spent a lot of time with me and my hair.  She talked at length about what could and would make my hair fuller, ways to actually style it, and decent products to use.  She must have styled my hair 3 or 4 different ways (if not more).  Most were OK, some were cute, and others not so much.  By the time she was done with me, I actually had "big hair".  It was the biggest my hair had ever been and it was kinda cute.  I was amped that I had found a new style and was instructed on how to recreate that same style.

Like I said, my hair does not do what other hair does, and within 10 minutes of being at home, my hair just looked weird.  It didn't look like it looked at the salon, and I had a ton of product in my backcombed hair.  There was no way in hell a person could run their fingers through my hair, and it felt thick.  But it also felt dirty.  I couldn't stand the way my hair felt!  I wanted to comb it out.  No, I needed to comb it out.  Just as my hairdresser predicted, I combed my hair out, and because there was so much product in my hair, it got super flat and dull.

Thinking I could recreate a similar look to the one I had at the salon, I decided to rewash and restyle my hair.  Too much work, man!  I am not a high maintenance kind of gal, and styling my hair takes a lot of time and maintenance which I refuse to succumb to.  Plus it didn't look nearly as good as when it did at the salon.  So, this morning I went to work with the same lifeless, dull, boring "do" only a few inches shorter.  I'm thinking I might take up a permanent pony tail.

Actually, my main conclusion is that it isn't necessarily my hair that is the problem.  Its more my face.  This face combined with that hair just doesn't work.  And I don't know how to fix either of them.

Sicky Sickerton

Oi.  Still sickly, but on the mend.  I hope.  Waves of not feeling well still come and go, and I'm in a constant state of either being under water or floating.  Energy is slowly returning and my throat still looks like rancid meat with maggots embedded in it.  I attempted to take a picture of my throat, but it didn't really turn out and the only thing that really showed up was the hair in my nostrils from a wider angled view.  Needless to say, I deleted those photos. 

Anyhoo, my brain is basically mush from all the TV watching that has been occurring as a result of being couch ridden for almost 5 days in a row.  Still, I have learned a few tid bits from my journey in sickdom.  Here goes:

1).  Swallowing two tablespoons of liquid is about the grossest thing I have ever had to do.  Get your head out of the gutters, people, I'm talking about DayQuil!!  Apparently they have a capsule version of DayQuil, but I ignorantly bought the liquid form.  That shit does work, but its not fun going down.  I think I have a solid technique figured out:  Plug nose.  Take a sip of water (for a buffer).  Chug Gross Shit.  Chase with water. 

2).  Watching my temperature vary has been addictive.  When I felt my temperature rising, I used the thermometer every 15 minutes.  It was fun to watch  my temp go from 99.3 to 99.9 to 100.5 to 100.8.  When it got over the 100 degree mark is when my vocalizations increased.

3).  Speaking of vocalizing, my cats are quite tolerant.  Those poor creatures are still listening to me moan and whine most of the night.  Like I said before, my poor future nursing home roommate.  I'm quite annoying when I am sick.

4).  TV options on Saturday and Sunday is very limited even with Satellite TV.  There was nothing worthwhile on TV those two days which also happened to be my two sickest days.  Boring!

5).  I am never going to wish sickness upon myself again.  Instead, I will take "mental health" days throughout the year.  I say that now; let's see if I can follow through with that.

6).  Popsicle quality does make a difference.  I got myself some cheap ass generic Walgreens brand of Popsicles to help soothe my throat.  Though it was helpful at the time, those Popsicles are really gross!  Never again will I buy cheap ass Popsicles.

7).  Something is seriously wrong when I lose my appetite.  Not only did I lose my appetite, but I lost any and all desire for ice cream!  Gasp!  I had a few friends offer to get me some ice cream which did not sound good at all.  Yes, something was definitely wrong.

8).  Finally, Friends make it all better.  A lot of people say they have the best friends ever, but they are liars.  It is me who has the best friends ever.  Several people called me every day to see if there was anything I needed.  Some even called twice a day.  Everybody was very generous in offering to get me quality Popsicles, ice cream, medication, or food.  Most were patient with my incessant whining on the other end of the phone. 
And one was brave enough to make a face to face encounter to bring me some chicken dumpling soup.  Yes, It is me who has the best friends ever!

Now that I have been sick, I should be good for another 20 years or so.

Why I am Going to Make a Horrible Roommate When I Enter the Nursing Home

OK, I have learned my lesson:  be careful what you wish for.  I will never again wish to be sick.  After about two weeks of generalized not feeling well, I finally got knocked on my ass for four days in a row.  My throat is on fire, and you could play connect the dots with all the white puss sacs on my tonsils.  Well, you could if I didn't gag which is exactly what I did when I went at those white pustules with a Q-tip drenched in Peroxide. 

Oh, I did go to the Doctor.  Urgent care in fact.  Those who know me, know I don't go to the doctor unless I really have to, and I seldom have to.  The rapid and culture came back negative for strep throat which was so disappointing for me.  I wanted to be positive for strep in the worst way.  That may sound a bit odd, but had it been positive for strep, I would have been prescribed antibiotics.  Instead my prescription is "drink lots of fluids and rest".  They say its viral so no meds can help it.  Meanwhile my temperature is all over the map, my throat is swollen (and red with white polka dots), and I simply don't feel well. 
I am a very vocal ill person.  A good portion of my night is whimpering and whining.  My cats are putting up with it for now, but I'm afraid the poor sucker in the future who has to be my roommate in the nursing home someday may not be quite as tolerant.  In between whimpers last night, I coughed up phlegm and mucus so maybe I just need to keep doing that until all the infection is gone.  Gross I know.  Twice now, I have produced impressive,quarter sized bloody mucus globules.

Good news is that I got to use up one sick day at work.  One legitimate, quilt free sick day.  Bad news is, I have been sick every day of my 5 days off.  Super sucky.  I have decided that I am done being sick today at 3:30.  I have had it.  Enough is enough.  I don't want to be sick anymore, and maybe if I act well, I will slowly start to feel well.  For the first time in 5 days, I got dressed in real clothes (as opposed to pjs), ran an errand, and am not laying down on the couch today. 

The errand I ran was to fetch me some more Kleenex and DayQuil.  I have never before had DayQuil, but I had to try something.  I was excited to come home and take my first dose.  That shit is NASTY!  I almost vomited it all up, but I managed to get it down, and I think it may have helped.  It was either the DayQuil or the phlegm removal that has been taking place most of the night and morning. 

Aside from one day, the weather has made it easy to be sick.  Rainy, windy, and gloomy.  Today is no exception so I'll go gargle with some salt water, wrap up with a blankie in the chair (not the couch!), and drink me my fluids.

The Klepto in Me

The other day I ran a few errands at Wal-Mart, came home, and put my belongings away.  I get very distracted sometimes when I put away groceries or bags of newly bought purchases.  This day was going quite well, and things were getting put in their rightful places pretty efficiently.  Upon going through my bags, I realized that the cashier who kindly placed my bags in the cart at Wal-Mart neglected to put my fish tank filters in my cart.  It clearly showed up on my receipt that I paid for them, but they were nowhere to be found in the bags at home.

I gave Wal-Mart a call hoping they would be able to credit my card for the purchase rather than have me drive all the way back to the store to pick up what I had already bought.  I didn't need the filters that badly and gas is too pricey to make unnecessary trips anywhere.  So I give them a jingle and explain what happened.  The operator person tries to connect me to the service desk for some help.  Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.  I listen to the damn phone ring for 3 minutes!  I was annoyed and growing more frustrated by the moment.  I hang up, call back, and ask for the store manager this time.  I explain my situation, and also my frustration of not having my call answered the previous time.  The manager was very nice and connected me to the service desk where I again had to explain my situation.  Longish story short(er), they were able to credit my account for the purchase price of the missing fish filters.  OK . Done.

About 5 minutes later, I take a trip downstairs where I find the missing filters on the ledge going down to my basement.  Apparently I had set them down there when trying to shut the cats up while I was putting away the belongings.  Their cat food is on that ledge so I put the filters down next to the cat food.  Yeah, my memory is horrid.  In fact, I have now stooped to the level of writing myself notes and taping them to my bathroom mirror to help me remember the important stuff.  And even then, stuff gets forgotten. 

Anyway, Did I call Wal-Mart back and tell them my "oops", that I actually did have the filters and now I just technically innocently manipulated my way out of paying for them?  Naw.  I left well enough alone and figured I got me some free fish tank filters.  It was an honest enough mistake, and it was only around $6.  Mr. Sam Walton isn't going to go broke from that, and it isn't like the poor cashier is going to have to pay for them.  I still feel a little guilty about it though, and hope I don't turn into a regular kleptomaniac.

Oh, and sometimes, I push the elevator button to close the door when I know people are walking towards the elevator to get on.  Yeah, I'm a bad ass.