Went to the doctor today about the latest Sarc swing and this freaking dizziness. (Learned that riding in a vehicle makes the dizziness much worse!) Not sure what is causing what's happening, but I am reassured that my doctors are on it. I have to say once again just how lucky I was to get the right doctors at the right time. I have often wondered what would have happened to me if I had been away from home and people who care about me. I have seriously thought that had I still been with Tim or in Texas, that I would probably be dead. Scary.
I was going to post about the whole Sarc thing and how it's making me feel (scared, crazy, confused, worried....), but decided to stay positive and upbeat. Might as well start letting my mood match the wonderful weather. So, instead of being a cold-water rain, I will be sunny and tell you something encouraging:
Remember how (either here or on G+) I have talked about putting yourself out there when it comes to saying what you feel? Well, I spoke up (or rather wrote out) about how I feel to a person I care about. Do I feel it was risk? Sure. Do I regret it? Nope. That's because, no matter how the person takes it - whether they feel the same or feel opposite - at least now they know. Also, I think that everyone appreciates knowing that they have made such an impression on another person. I bet that, no matter what, the person I'm talking about is going to feel good every time they think of what I said. The most important thing to me is not how this all makes me feel (sad or rejected, etc.) but that it makes the other person feel good. If they are in a situation where they are not appreciated, well, at least they know now that someone thinks the world of them. If they are ever having a bad day, they can feel better knowing they mean something to someone. (And you all know what I mean. Which one of us hasn't been crushed on by someone? And didn't we like it even if we didn't crush back on the person? Go on, admit it. lol)
I'm trying to think of whether or not I want to share here in this post what I did say to this person... I don't think I will because I promised that the words I did say to them now belonged to them. It will stay that way. A gift.
Of course, I second-guessed myself right after I gifted the words, but in talking with folks over on G+, I got a lot of insight. Between about four of us, we came up with the idea that it's better to go for what is right than to wait for what is perfect. Hell, there is nothing perfect anyway. I am flawed, why should I want something or someone perfect? So I can feel smaller? So I can always be so worried about meeting impossible expectations rather than enjoying the good and now?
So, my thing today is all about the Push-Push. Push for being happiest in whatever life is going to bring - in health, in the heart, in the head... Whatever. No more being passive. Push-Push.
That old dog has chained you up alrightGive you everything you needTo live inside a twisted cageSleep beside an empty rageI had a dream, I was your hero Damn, I wish I was your loverI'll rock you till the daylight comesMake sure you are smilin' and warmI am everything, tonight I'll be your motherI will do such things to ease your painFree your mind and you won't feel ashamed, oh, ohOpen up on the inside, gonna fill you up, gonna make you cry This monkey can't stand to see you black and blueGive you somethin' sweet each timeYou come inside my jungle bookWhat is it just too good?Don't say you'll stay 'cause then you go away Damn, I wish I was your loverI'll rock you till the daylight comesMake sure you are smilin' and warmI am everything, tonight I'll be your motherI will do such things to ease your painFree your mind and you won't feel ashamed Shucks, for me there is no otherYou're the only shoe that fitsI can't imagine I'll grow out of itDamn, I wish I was your lover If I was your girl believe meI'd turn on the Rollin' StonesWe could groove along and feel much betterLet me inI could do it forever and ever and ever and ever Give me an hour to kiss youWalk through Heaven's door I'm sureWe don't need no doctor to feel much betterLet me inForever and ever and ever and ever I sat on a mountainside with peace of mindAnd I lay by the oceanMakin' love to her with visions clearWalked the days with no one nearAnd I return as chained and bound to you Damn, I wish I was your loverI'll rock you till the daylight comesMake sure you are smilin' and warmI am everything, tonight I'll be your motherI will do such things to ease your painFree your mind and you won't feel ashamed Shucks, for me there is no otherYou're the only shoe that fitsI can't imagine, I'll grow out of itDamn, I wish I was your lover Just open up I'm gonna come insideI wanna fill you up I wanna make you cry(Damn I wish I was your lover)Gettin' on the subway and I'm comin' uptown(Damn I wish I was your lover)Standin' on a street corner waitin' for my love to change(Damn I wish I was your lover) Feelin' like a school boy, too shy and too young(Damn I wish I was your lover)Open up I wanna come inside, I wanna fill you up, I wanna make you cry(Damn I wish I was your lover)Gettin' on my camel and I'll ride it uptown, ooh(Damn I wish I was your lover)Hanging around this jungle, wishing that this (Copied from MetroLyrics.com)
{I had never actually known any of the lyrics - outside the title. Damn, this was kinda racy.}
As you know, G+ is an addiction of mine. The people are super-chill and there is a group or a page or a something for everyone. All mu buddies over there are supportive & they don't freak when I stop making sense while going through a Sarc moment. (Having one of those now, so try to read around any weirdness here.)
I just now went over to the G to see what was up & once again, I have a bunch of Adds that I neglected. I need to keep up with that. Here's the thing about people who Add me on G: some are so compatible with my way of thinking that I get why they did an Add. Some are just spammish, trying to get their marketing out to you. Those are funny because they are usually sneaky enough to throw a couple of interesting & normal posts in every now & then before they blammo you with their adverts. Some folks are way different from me, but still have a sense of humor or sweetness or artistic something that appeals. But some are just plain creepy. I shiver when I see the ones who have that crazy-looking picture on their profile & a bio that makes me want to call 911.
When I was offline for a couple days recently, I didn't expect that I'd be going back to a totally revamped site. Google is rolling out some changes to the look of Plus. I like it so far, but sure hope they don't go all Facebook on us & start changing everything up every ten minutes. I have a hard enough time focusing as it is.
So...
I have no idea what the heck this post was going to be about. I had an idea when I started, but it's gone now! Damn this 4a.m. wake-up crap. I promise to get my brain back on track and do a more coherent posting soon.
One of my BFFs (J) called me today & we got to laughing & talking about being free of old stuff. while trying to be open to new stuff.
Stuff.
Yeah, okay. Stuff is work, love and laughing.
J has some new "stuff" (of the heart, if you know what I mean) and I've been giving her a lot of crap about it. Because it makes her smile and blush. So dang cute!
Anyway, we have both recently been cleaning out old stuff. We were talking about old loves & such & it dawned on us how much a part music plays in any kind of emotional "big-moment" situation. Think about graduations & the music. Weddings and the music. Funeral and the music (especially in my "Holy Roller" background!) Not so much for births, but I guess that's because it's usually some kind of romantic music that got the drawers dropped in the first place. (Sorry, I am being crude for some reason.)
A n y way...
J and I admitted to some of the songs that have gotten us a little carried away in past romantic situations. I thought some of hers were kind of odd (I mean, Peter Frampton is a guitar GOD, but, um... I don't see how anybody gets all heated up from his music.)
Some of my old favorites were so good to me, I actually went back and listened to some today. There was Van Morrison's "Tupelo Honey" (don't ask), dang near anything by Lenny Williams or Teddy Pendergrass (as the comics say: Lenny cried you into bed with his "I love you, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!" & Teddy damn near made you jump in the bed with his "Turn off the lights!" Couple times I'd be mad at my husband & I'd forget what about once Teddy started crooning. I mean, really - "Turn off the lights, and let's get cozy" - what woman doesn't like to cuddle?), Barry White & Prince could just get nasty. Man, that's for grownups only. Al Green makes you want to snuggle a lot. And I love some Natalie Cole singing about how she "can't say no," but I start selling jewelry to support some bum when I listen to her. I can really just listen to some Shai or even some jazz to feel a mood... But that all kind of appeals to the body only. That kind of thing is great if you're twenty. At this age, I need to get my head and heart involved. (Don't ask me to tell you what J needs for that. You would fall over laughing and start Googling mental conditions to figure it all out. I will just say two words and leave you to gape: "Weird Al.")
Back to me and other semi-normal people... Some music just makes two people want to move in closer and just be together. Nothing complicated, no freaky-deaky, no mental gymnastics. Just a pure I-love-you-like-you-am-crazy-about-you-even-when-you-have-sleep-gunk-in-your-eye.
(Sorry. I don't know what's with me and the word-chaining today.)
My all-time favorite gets me deepest probably because it's good for it all from I-just-love-you-so-much to I'm-sorry-I-was-a-bit**h (cos, um, I'm a little moody). Listen & tell me if this doesn't want to make you want to be in love...
*sigh*
I'm not even sure what the heck she's sorry about and I don't care that she's probably singing to a woman. Dang, that song just melts my heart.
By the way, I told this to J & that heffa stole my song! I tried giving her Prince, Etta James, Al Green - I was even willing to loan her Van Morrison, but noooo... She's decided that my song fits her and her new man. That's all right, I will come up with something new. Won't be telling J about it tho!
I was trying to think of the song in some commercial (for dryer sheets or laundry soap?) that goes like: "Take me back, take me back, to my family, my family..."
Wish I could think of it. That would be the perfect song for me this morning. I am back home from that overnight at the hospital. It feels good. I am starting to count hospital stays. Had almost made it to a 1-year anniversary of the first (and I hoped, ONLY) stay. Just a couple months more...
This sounds crazy, and I do realize that, but I am almost afraid to mention any symptoms or worries to the fam a friends now. They are so quick to rush me off to the doctor - and the docs, of course, are quick to want to find out what's wrong. Yes, I know - they are being rational and I am not. I am just being me.
Here's a funny thing: once again, nearly every doctor I saw in the ER was so new that they had to check their notes to figure out which questions to ask me. Maybe not just because they are new, but also because of the Sarc. One of them seemed kind of excited when he told me I'm the first person he's met with the disease. Not the first patient - the first person. *shrug* I think I was kind of happy for him. *SMH*
Th other thing that's going to be fun is having the higher dose of prednisone again. And higher methotrexate. Yay. This is now an equation set of my life for a while:
More prednisone = more weight, more awake, more bitchy.
+
More methotrexate = more sick.
and
weight, awake, bitchy, sick
=
HELL for those who care about me
So, yeah. Yay.
Did I mention that right now I can't drive? This. Sucks. Skunk booty.
Tried to post this from the Blogger app on my phone Saturday night. My brain was still too foggy then, but here it is, D.J. in his favorite place - my sister's lap.
This D.J.
It's a quarter to six. He's been this awake for about an hour & a half.
The only dude I'm happy to wake up for right now...
Might be a while before I post again, but I am determined to do this one.
I woke at about 4:30 this morning because of a strange pain behind my left eye. Scared hell out of me. Have always feared getting sick or something while everyone else is asleep. The pain would not go away, but I didn't want to panic (even though my easily worried and half-hypochondriac self immediately thought of aneurysm, stroke, this damn Sarc!)
The pain went away (mostly) after about half an hour, but on my way out of bed and to the bathroom, I noticed a weakness in my arms and legs, and unbalance in my movements. Went past Scared Mode and into About To Be Terrified.
It's now about 7 a.m. I feel shaky still, typing is super-tedious, and I will be damned if this is the one morning my nephew wasn't up for work at the crack of dawn. No one is up - not the baby, not my sister down the hall... Of all mornings for everyone to turn Rip Van Winkle on me!
I am going to sit here very still and quiet. Have already mailed my one niece (who is up because of the time in North Carolina). Have checked in on G+ (am I too weird or what?), and have checked my email. Someone here should be waking up soon. I suppose I might have to do in to the hospital, but I am sitting here just praying that I am going to feel better before that has to happen.
And what is on my mind? My blog, my living and being and doing until I absolutely cannot. Will never go down without a fight for the life God has given me.
Do you know how when you are feeling down (or sick or panicked or whatever), you don't feel whole? As if you or your soul is out of focus and sort of there-not-there? Like Captain Kirk and Scotty when they are about to "beam" up? Well, I've been feeling that way for so long that I was unaware until something happened to make me feel solid again.
I've probably said it before (I am sure that I have), but there are times when this disease has made me feel as if I have gone insane. There is the terror that people will think that I am not in any way intelligent, that I will meet someone important on one of my bad days and they will walk away wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
Yesterday I met with someone who does not know me and, hopefully, had no prior reason to judge me outside a professional capacity. They declared me not "crazy. Oh, God bless them! They can;t know that I was having a pretty bad day with the disease. How I wish I could have made them understand how important that was to me.
I think - actually, I know that I have isolated myself quite a bit since this whole business of the invasion of my body. It's hard not to. Probably it's my pride, but I really don't like getting outside my little circle of comfort: family, friends, places, pursuits. This person I met with made me realize that when they asked about what kind of support I have and what kinds of things I enjoy doing. I had to struggle to think of anything. There was a time when I could have rattled off a thousand things. There was a time when I was so busy and occupied (and those are two different things, you know!), but now...
What I need to do is just allow myself to fail. I need to at least try things. I realize that and I'm going to work on it.
What kinds of things do I enjoy? Why can't I keep doing them, at least to the point that I can?
So, I'm going to try to read more, no matter how little sense the words make and no matter how hard it is for me to see them. I am going to get back to crocheting my sad, useless little trails of stitches to be unraveled and re-done. I am going to spend more time with my fam and friends. I'm sure they won't care what my mood is. Ha! I know I can count on them to let me know if I am in a decent enough mood or not. I am going to blog and write more fiction waiting for the words to be perfect. I don't think that you guys will be too annoyed, will you? I am going to start back going to church. If start to panic or get bothered by the crowd, well, the congregation can pray for me!
I am going to stop hiding from myself inside this disease. I am going to start being as much me as I can manage. I don't know if this disease can kill my body or not, but I'll be damned if I let it kill my spirit.
Yeah. I so wish I could thank a certain person. I might never see them again, but I will keep them in my prayers always.
I had to look twice when I saw this Neil Gaiman quote:
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”
Wow. That made me think, laugh, feel happy, sad, young, old, wise and ignorant - all at the same moment.
I'm not in love, but I am in Silly Crush mode. I thought crushes were only for the young, but since crushes are only anticipated and imagined romantic possibilities, I suppose they are for everyone. I know now that crushes are about as exciting and horrible as being in love. Yeah, so I'm with Neil on this one: I hate crushes.
Hmmm.
I suppose I need to take a big, humongous, scary, heart-stopping, death-of-pride-defying leap of a chance. I need to take a deep breath and exhale some deep words. At least then I can get on with being either happy or sad, smiling or crying. Knowing would be good. I can drown in ecstasy or wallow in broken hopes and survive either one. I can't handle my mind wondering and pondering, my heart tossing and turning and just not knowing. I need to say some specific things to a specific someone, specifically soon...
But not today. Today I'm going to just deal with the idiocy of it all...
I have to brag on the clinic I go to. The people there are the absolute best and I can prove it. For one thing, I continually bug the piss out of them and they have remained ever so patient with me!
Example: My doctor called me probably a week ago to let me know there were concerns over my recent lab results. He has me set to go see a nephrologist. Great. A kidney doctor. I get this particular call from my doctor while I am with my sister at her dialysis treatment. I literally felt sick to my stomach. I was shaking while I was on the phone and felt like I was going to cry if I talked much, so I couldn't do more than verbally nod and mentally stutter. I have been afraid of the very idea, though and remote possibility of dialysis for myself ever since my mother and two of my siblings have had to have it.
I am pretty sure that my doctor explained every single thing about those labs and his reasons for wanting me to see a kidney specialist. I can be so sure because my doctor always explains everything to me. The problem is I barely heard what he was saying and what I did hear, I forgot. I do that - forget things. A lot. I remember that I forget things, but...
Anyway. I was pretty freaked out by the news, and I couldn't even think straight. I was trying to imagine how my life will be if I end up on dialysis. Totally over, comes to mind. That sounds shallow and stupid, but I am trying to be honest. The only thing that kept me from crying was that I was in a roomful of dialysis patients. I've gotten to know a lot of these people. I didn't want them to see me bawling. I did what I do when I am feeling my worst: smiled and made small talk.
On the outside, I was one big public smile. Inside, I felt like a human mass of mess.
I traveled in my mind to the outer edges of a place I call Next Door to Freak Out World. I spent most of the weekend sleepless, crying and burning all kinds of nervous energy. My niece hid the coffee and anything else with caffeine. My sister had a full-time job in keeping me from freaking out on a nuclear scale. It was a mess. I was a mess.
Then I get the lab results in the mail - standard practice. These are the same results my doc told me about, no surprise. The clinic always mails out a copy. (Told you they were good.) I guess seeing results in black and white sent me from the outer edges to the inner Land of Freaking Out. I kept looking at the results and trying to get them to make sense. I sometimes can't get regular words to make sense; these were codes and acronyms and weird numbers. (I'm really, really bad with numbers. Acronyms and initials weird me out because my brain tries to make them into whole words.) Anyway, everything on those pages started blending and blurring and swirling around. They were incomprehensible to me. I hatethis fucking disease!!!! I just wanted to be able to understand what I was seeing.
And then...
I got this bright (or stupid) idea to go to the internet.
Did you know that if you type into Google Search the words "CBC labs" that 13,500,000 results will come up? Did you know that I only used one of the results to find out more than I initially wanted to know about my labs?
Good mercy. This internet-world-at-your-hands stuff is scary.
Tell me why I get these bright ideas to research this particular thing on a Friday - after hours... I immediately wanted to call my doctor, but couldn't - not without sounding like such a panicked, paranoid head case that he'd next be referring to a psychiatrist. I didn't want to say anything to my sister because she was resting up from dealing with my neurotic, sometimes-hypochondriac ass all week.
Damnit.
Turns out I didn't have to tell my sister. Or at least I didn't have to bring it up. She pretty much guessed that something had me back visiting my imaginary friends in Freaking Out. So, I admitted what I'd done. Once I got started telling her, I did what I do when I start talking: kept going on and on until my mind and mouth were pretty much emptied out.
Dumbass.
That's my favorite word to hurl around at those who annoy me. My sister took it from me and beat me over the head with it. After that, she questioned whether I deserved to have access to the internet. Then she insisted that I just write down my questions and call the clinic.
Yeah, like I want to admit to my doctor that I'm a raving idiot who forgot everything he probably had already explained to me. I wasn't going to call. I don't want to be "that" patient. I swore I wouldn't call.
I called. Just a little bit ago. But I was sneaky. Instead of trying to reach my doctor, I decided to speak with his Medical Assistant. The assistant is a sweet young lady. I think she thinks I'm being treated for a mental illness along with my other problem. She might know something I don't. Whatever, I figured she would be the one other than my doc who'd know what was up with the lab tests.
This was a great plan until someone answers the phone. Right off the bat I'm told that the M.A. is on another line - and I'm told this by some lady who says that she can help answer questions about labs better than a medical assistant could. Well, hell. I don't know this lady, but I figure she must know something.
This woman has some good info. It's not like she told me not to worry at all, but she did answer the questions I had. She also told me not to be freaked out. And she didn't seem to think that my questions were silly or unusual. Whew!
Can you spell "relief" without being corny like a commercial? Wow. I guess I need to just chill. The lady explained things in pretty general terms, but I think it was her own sense of calm that helped get me down off the chair where I was stringing up a rope.
I feel better. Kind of. Actually, I still feel a little bugged out, but I'm trying to stay chill until I have the appointment.
My advice to anyone who is tempted to use the internet as source of serious medical information: Please don't. It will drive you insane. If you need to know something, call your doctor. You're going to need one anyway if you get hold of just a lit-tle bit of knowledge.
I saw something over on G+ and, as usual, I have more to say about it than fits in a comment box. This is the Cantonese proverb that was imposed over a sketch of a woman.
"When sleeping women wake, mountains move."
That touched me. Hard. How could it not?
Then I read the G-Plusser's own preface of : "It's not about shoes, finding the right guy, or worrying if your butt looks too big in those jeans."
I get the point they were trying to make. Really, I do. First of all, the sketch and proverb shows as coming from a Christian site.. (*shrug*) I am, believe it or not, a Christian. For a while, I was so hard on myself - trying to be a super-Christian. I even blogged about it (from my high horse, of course). I tried not to think of anything that even smelled of sinfulness. Tried to be a water-proof, bullet-proof, totally immune Christian.
Guess what? I couldn't do it. I couldn't not be human.
I am a woman, I am flesh and blood. I do think about things like food, water, shelter, warmth, love, touch, sex, sad, happy and right and wrong. I do think about finding the right guy, worrying if my butt looks too big (or small), or if my hair is pretty or if I smell nice. Of course I think about all that. I just try not to make it such a priority that I become a worthless human being, no good to anyone else because I'm too busy thinking about myself, but... I hope you get my point. (By the way, I ended up going back in and deleting a lot of those self-righteous posts on my blogs. I even shut down one of the blogs entirely.)
The way I see it, Jesus died for my sins, for my being human, and he didn't stop loving me when I become his. I become Christians, but I didn't stop being human.
Now, do I go out looking to be "bad"? I don't, but I had to stop trying to be perfect. If I ever do reach "perfect" then I won't need Jesus. But I do need him. I need him as much as I need to be human.
No offense intended toward the G+ poster, and I don't even know for sure what their personal comment meant. I just wanted to address - for myself - what it made me feel.
You know that feeling you get when a person you like says just the right thing, looks at you in just the right way, or does something innocent but intimate?
My heart trembles.
Marvin Gaye and other soulful singers created that feeling through their music, but it's so much nicer when it comes from that special someone and, you know, in your actual reach.
~sigh~
Okay, enough with the mush. In the real world, there are some things that can really get you in trouble. A man says or does just the right thing, and before you know it, you're sling-shotting your underwear across the room and getting your hair all messed up. That's all right - if you are in a committed relationship, not drunk or doing anything against your will or better judgement. Not only is that all right, it's a good thing.
I said all that just to tell you about something really nice that I saw on G+ yesterday:
I don't care who you were, I don't care where you been. I care about who you are and who you plan to be with me.
Now, damn! That's what you call a nice rap. Get a couple of drinks down, have the Sade going - you're going to get in some trouble.
When I saw that posted, I had to comment that if the right man said that to me, I'd hurt myself making him mine. Don't know why I'm playing. If the wrong man said that to me, my knees would probably wobble.
-
Anyway, that line was so good, I called up one of my best friends (B.B.) to tell her about it. After she cussed me out for calling her so late, she told me I was just being susceptible again. (She really talks like that. Sometimes. Sometimes, she talks like Moms Mabley or Nina Simone. She is the woman who got me and the other BFFs calling each other "bitch" as a term of endearment. She says you have to really love someone to call them a bitch only because it's easier than saying "I love you, girl." But I'm wandering again.)
I guess I am susceptible. B.B. says I have to be very careful right now about letting my knees get wobbly. When I first left T, I crashed with B.B. and her sister in their place outside of Houston. I hadn't slept well for months because T's favorite form of abuse was sleep deprivation. He'd get drunk and threaten to rape me if I dozed off or he'd stomp around the house, ranting and raving about anything-nothing, so I'd be afraid to sleep with him there. I am ashamed to say now that I sometimes slept with him just to make him leave me along. When I got to B.B.'s, I was tired and jumpy. After I got caught up on my sleep, B.B. and her sister T.D. (now my sister too) tried to make me remember what it was like to enjoy life. I think this is when B.B. first realized she'd better warn me not to get caught up in my weakness.
We went to a wine festival somewhere out on a ranch/winery and I got drunk just doing a taste-testing. When this ninety-something year old guy told me I was pretty, I damn near swooned. B.B. dragged me to the dining room and started feeding me goat cheese canapes. She tried to make it look like we were just chatting when she was really pinching my earlobe and threatening me under her breath.
"Sober your drunk ass up before you end up in a hay pile with Father Time," she warned. "If I ever knew CPR, I've forgotten it.You're going to give that old man a heart attack while we're out here in Klan country."
I thought that was funny (because I was drunk), but B.B. wasn't playing. "You know you're scared of dead bodies, " she reminded me.
I looked over at Colonel Sanders and he grinned at me. Dirty old man. What the hell had I been thinking? Ew.
Susceptible.
Yeah, and that wasn't the worst. The worst had to be when we went to some trendy dive in downtown's "art district" to see a drag show. We had to walk four blocks from where we parked and I turned my nose up at every guy trying to hit on us along the way, but when I got into the bar, I became "susceptible" again. I got into a deep and meaningful conversation with some guy I'll call Jessie.
Sitting in the middle of a roomful of superfreaks, Jessie and I were talking about everything from molecular design to quantum thought. If you want to know how ridiculous that is, know that I had to use a dictionary to spell "quantum."
Right when the discussion was getting good and I got all caught up in what nice hands Jessie had, he suddenly excused himself. I'm sitting there, ignoring B.B.'s mama-glare, sipping Couvoiser (as if I'm such a connoisseur), listening to the music and thinking what a nice guy Jessie is, what a sweet guy.
The drag show started and the first act came on looking a whole lot like Jessie in a cheap wig and shoes that I to this day want to buy. He can have the ugly ass dress he was wearing.
Damn. Really?
B.B. damn near fell off her stool laughing. She was laughing so hard I thought we were going to be asked to leave. We left anyway, but still... T.D. didn't laugh at me, but she did want to stick around and ask Jessie where the hell he got those bad-to-bone shoes he was wearing.
"A drag queen," B.B. crowed. "You were getting hit on by a drag queen!"
Susceptible.
I kind of cooled out after that. A couple of days after the Jessie incident, we girls went to a festival of street art by black and Latino artists and I completely behaved myself. Flirt that I am, I even controlled my impulse to let some junior politician seduce me with his talk on funding for some project or other. I think I even yawned at some point. This made B.B. a happy woman.
"Good girl," she encourage. "Keep those knees steady."
That heifer. When I called and told her about that smooth line about smooth line from G+, she let me go on and on before she got sick of it.
"Baby," she said. "I have two words for you: drag queen."
I had one word for her, but she hung up before I could tell her. She is right though, I need to get myself into check.
Peace
--Free
P.S.: The line from G+ made me think of this one by Melody Gardot and I'm going to post over there. You need to check her out. That little young gal can put it down. I like Worrisome Heart because I do have some troublesome ways.
I haven't done the "Random Riff" thing in a while. Here goes:
I feel so fat that I don't like my body at all.
I'm starting to like my short hair. I can always weave some in if I want more.
This winter damn near killed me. The cold, the dark and the sarcoidosis. Yuck.
Life really scares me right now. Some days I think I'm going to be all right, some days I can barely face getting out of bed.
I really, really need to be in love again.
I want to be in love again.
I believe that humans are meant to love.
I believe that we need love as much as we need air and water. Maybe more.
I am kind of scared to trust anyone enough to be in love.
I'm a little bit scared that no one will ever really love me the way I need to be loved.
How do I need to be loved?
I don't know the answer to that last question.
My "sweet tooth" has gone away. I rarely crave chocolate anymore.
I find that I'm in one of my cussing modes lately. I'm talking the hard stuff: You bit*h, f**k you, stupid ba*tard... Wonder why I cuss so much sometimes & can't stand it other times.
I would like to have a puppy. One just like my poor little Rags...
I used to still love Tim even when I wasn't in love with him anymore. I don't love him anymore.
That's a strange way to feel about someone I once loved so much.
Isn't it?
I threw out my finished trilogy. Had to clean all the Tim out of my life.
My cat acts like he can understand when I talk to him. About cooking, writing - anything.
That whole cat-thing up there sounds a little crazy.
I have been neglecting my best friends lately. I need to stop that.
I dream about my mother and father a lot lately & don't know why that is.
I really don't want to be sick anymore.
I have run out of things to say right now. That doesn't hardly ever happen to me.
I went on a little shopping expedition last evening with my nephew. J.P. is mid-twenties, funny, thoughtful, real and kind. But you have to be a thick-skinned person to take him shopping with you. I wanted to cruise through Burlington's to scope out possible summer outfits (you know, because of this weight issue I have going on). Here is kind of how that went:
Me: (Stopping at the entrance and deciding where to head) "Hm. Maybe I should ask for some help?"
J.P.: "Maybe you should just head that way. (Pointing toward the "Women's Plus" section.)
Okay.
After some 6 months of shopping for larger-sized clothes, I still have not mastered my vanity. I usually do a sort of Pink Panther routine of sneaking through the other sections of a store before I kind of slink into where the "big girl" clothes are.
J.P., obviously unaware that my approach to that particular section of a store is a slow, um process, just tromped right on over to that "Plus" section. And, just in case at least two of the fifty other people in the store hadn't noticed us, he practically shouted my name when I wasn't moving fast enough.
"Here are some big, roomy blouses!" he yelled. "Cheap, too!"
Damnit. Really, J.P.? Why don't you repeat that so the cute guy halfway across the store didn't hear you? (This is where I started being really thankful for my super-hero ability to go emotionally numb at will.)
So, okay, the clothes in the "Clearance" section for larger-sized women was not as dowdy as I expected. When I shop at Walmart, the bigger clothes are either super-freak loud or dowdy as hell. These were nice. I saw a lot of different prints, nice color combos and super cute styles. Those $7.99 price tags didn't hurt a damn thing.
It only took me about five minutes to pick out a few tops that I could work around the "roomy" jeans I got for Christmas. I was almost enjoying the shopping experience. J.P. was busy looking at a starved-looking heifer a couple aisles over. Yeah, she got to shop in the regular "Misses" section. No big, glaring pink "Plus" signs over there.
Me: "Okay, I'm going to go try these on."
J.P.: (Glancing at me only long enough to notice one particular selection) "You're getting that?"
Me: "If it fits." I kind of liked the animal print, even if the hangar had a purple "L"stamped on it big enough to be seen from space
J.P.: (Shrugging and already back to scoping on the skinny chick) "You're gonna look like a pregnant cheetah, but, hey, do your thing."
That little shit. I used to change his diapers and I still love him to death, but I hoped the girl he was checking out had a boyfriend. A big, burly, thuggish boyfriend.
I went in and tried most of the 6 tops. I could have stopped after the first one. They were all marked "Large" but it was becoming clear to me that I was going to need something in "Extra Large." The tops were cute but tight. (Tight when you are a size 6/8 is se-xy. Tight when you are a - well, my size... Not sexy. From the neck down, I looked like Homer Simpson.)
If I wasn't paranoid about germs, I'd've sat on the dressing-room floor and cried. Still, I couldn't help myself. I tried on the animal print top. I think I need to ask my doctor about my tendency toward masochism.
J.P.: (Eyeing yet another girl and barely noticing when I came out of the dressing room): "She's cute, isn't she?"
Me: (Dumping all the tops in the Return cart) "Yeah. Cute. Let's go."
J.P.: "You done?"
"Yep."
"For real? Not going to look at anything else?"
"Not tonight."
We got all the way to the parking lot before J.P. asked, "Looked like a pregnant cheetah, didn't you?"
"With triplets."
He slung his arm over my shoulder. "It's gonna be all right, Auntie. You're going to lose the weight and be really healthy again."
Man, I really love my family.
Peace
--Free
Note: My intention is not to put down large sized people. This blog and my postings about my health issues are just my way of dealing with things. I surely don't want anyone practicing unhealthy eating habits to meet unrealistic expectations. Please, do what looks good, feels good and is healthiest for you. I'm aiming for a healthy weight. I am working my way back to what is natural for me. I am under a doctor's supervision for my health issues. (I still might need a psychiatrist, but this blog is cheaper therapy!)
I was talking the other day with someone who is very thoughtful and wise. He mentioned how my health situation has sort of matched the seasons.
I was diagnosed in the summer and my illness took me through the most changes over that summer and fall. Winter was the roughest, physically and emotionally.
Here comes summer again.
Hopefully, the coming months will bring good things. I am trying to get life back on track. Clean slate. Get the marriage officially over with, get my mind in order and get well enough to look forward to work and just being happy again.
Everyone goes through life seasons, I suppose. I really hope all of us are through the harshest ones,
I was talking to one of my younger nieces the other day about her problems with meeting decent men. She is in her mid-twenties and living in a large city in the Lower 48. Should be easy to at least connect with one or two nice young men.
As we talked, I could hear her frustration, but then I remembered something about her (and about myself when I was around the same age): the types of men she was looking to date had nothing to do with the type she might actually be happy with. Going from there, I gave her advice that came from my own personal experience. (Too damn bad I had to learn all this after going through hell.) Anyway, my niece thought that my advice was good enough to share with others. I felt so good about that, I'm going to give it a shot...
First, try thinking of what you like about a guy- any guy, not just the ones you'd want to date. I have always had close male friends in my life. These are guys that I wouldn't dream of dating. They are just great friends. For whatever reason, we are only attracted to each other as friends.
Think of the men you know and really like. What is it that you like about them? For me, it's personality or sense of humor or smarts. Those are just the things I happen to find attractive about men. However, when I was younger and dating, I always looked for other things. I was all into whether they guy was "nice-looking" (and sometimes not even by my own standards). I was looking for the guy that I thought would make me look good or better just because I was with him. I was an idiot then. I'm a little wiser now.
So, my advice is this:
1- Look for what you like in a man. Is it a sense of humor, the way he smiles, a sweet personality or maybe just the way he makes you feel special? When you are out and about - shopping, at the movies or gym, in church or wherever you generally expect to meet a man - don't limit yourself. Out of any number of guys you might meet, only so many of them are going to be some kind of Adonis, but more of them are likely to have other qualities you want. Understand this: there is a reason some guys are called "bad boys" and others are called "nice guys."
2- Look for a friend who can end up being more. (I myself only used to believe in love at first sight. I have actually experienced deep liking at first sight.) It makes no sense to try being with someone you can't have a whole relationship with. A guy might be loaded with money, droolingly gorgeous or have a reputation as a great lover, but what happens outside of all that? Try to find someone you can talk to, listen to and just vibe with. Wouldn't it be better to look for someone you can count on to be there for you no matter what? If you get the right guy with the right qualities, money and physical attractiveness won't be the best thing in your relationship. I don't care how great a lover a man is supposed to be, for most women good sex comes from how we are made to feel before we get near a bedroom.
3- Don't worry about what other people think of a man you choose to be with. He might not be what they call handsome or desirable or whatever, but if he makes you happy, then be happy.
And, probably most important
4- Look for the man that respects you, truly likes and cares for you and wants to be happy with you. You don't want a guy - no matter what he looks like or how much money he has - to beat you down, break you down or take you down.
I hope this helps. Like I said, it took me a long time to learn this. I've had heartache like you wouldn't believe. I've had the man who wanted to break me down - and he did, for a while. I don't want any of my friends or family to go through that kind of hurt.
I want to end by sharing a sweet little story with you.
When I was traveling back home from Texas a few years ago, I overheard a couple sitting near me in the DFW terminal having a minor argument. The argument seemed to be over something petty and finally, the wife wouldn't even discuss it. She folded her arms and turned her back on the her husband. Poor guy, he sat there for a minute looking like he was praying to understand the female mind. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry when, after a few quiet moments, I heard him pitifully tell his wife, "All I want is for you to be happy."
Wow. That's the way I want a man to feel about me because that the way I want to feel about a man.
I am kind of tired these days & my sense of humor is not always steady. For a while, I am going to be recycling old posts. I hope I don't lose my favorite visitors. You know who you are & you've hung in with me for a long time. I'll get it together & be back soon as I can. Til then:
"What's Wrong With Folks" (3/26/2009)
I thought that the story involving sex and a power tool was going to be the one to go down as Most Bizarre. I was wrong. I often am.
THIS attention-seeking genius right here is going to serve 90 days in jail for **wait, wait - I just need to crack my neck**
...For performing a sex act with a car wash vacuum.
Yeah, you read that right. I did not say that he was having sex with another person or that he was vacuuming out his car, but - performing a sex act. With a car wash vacuum.
Now, I know that some people might get a little lonely or frustrated or - I don't know, strung out on those sexy late-night commercials. But how lonely do you have to be to turn to a vacuum? What, you can't find something to get relief in the privacy of your own home? You don't have your own, um... appliances? What? I just don't get this. I mean, I don't like having sex with my husband in hotels where the walls might be a little thin. I sure as HELL ain't going out to the local Wash 'n Scrub to get it on with a vacuum. And even if - let's just say I am that kind of person and DID want to spice things up with the possibility of getting caught - even then, I don't think I'd want to use a vacuum hose that has been who-knows-where sucking up who-knows-what out of other people's nasty cars... (Or - here's a thought - maybe those other people have been doing the nasty with that same hose...)
I mean, damn. I don't really like to use those vacuums to VACUUM. I'm the one who always wraps a paper towel around the hose while I try to suck up gravel and grime from the floor mats. (Lemme quit lying: this is Alaska - my car only gets washed about twice a year anyway. The rest of the time, I just leave it to the other cars splashing me in traffic, run the wipers and call it a day.)
Maybe I have missed something about sex. Maybe I haven't lived enough or paid enough attention to what's going on with other adults. If so, someone please explain to me whether or not a guy having vacuum sex AT THE CAR WASH (with a car wash vacuum) is strange or not. I hope while this dude's in jail they don't give him mopping duties. He might try doing something weird with that little squeegee thing on the bucket. Then, when he obliterates his hanging happies, he can sue the city. Then he can buy all the women - or vacuums - he wants to help with... Oh, wait. I don't guess he'd be all into sex after that.**smdh**
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