terrifying things

things are just not always 'right'.  i have a new job (well, it's similar to my old jobs, but it's better), i'm doing well in school, i have a great family.  we make enough money to pay the bills and enjoy a dinner out now and then.  i'm planning a family cruise this spring to scatter my mom's ashes.  i have four ridiculously amazing cats.

but still.  there are times when i NEED the tarzipan.  when things just aren't right and i don't know why.  when i get aggravated at someone or something and feel like i want to rip my hair out - literally, not figuratively.  when i WANT to be active in my addictions: i WANT to cut myself.  i WANT to find drugs to use.  i WANT to eat the entire bottle of tarzipan and not wake up.  ever.

i'm back on *another* diet/lifestyle change/whateverthefuckyouwanttocallit.  i'm using a new online tracking tool and tracking my calories in and exercise (which still isn't much).  to be perfectly honest with you all, my devoted readers, i am considered 'morbidly obese'. 

yes. even though i can walk in 4.5" heels and a size 20/22, i'm morbidly obese.  morbidly obese means 'fat enough that you about to die, bitch'.

and yet, my blood pressure is almost perfect - 122/80 at almost all times, a little lower in the early mornings and a little higher at the gynecologist because i get really nervous there.  my cholesterol is a bit high, but it's always been so - even when i was 5'7", 135 pounds and my doctor told me i could stand to hold a few more pounds on my frame.  i laughed at him. 

awesome husband turned into a kind of fit freak after mom died.  he works out 4-5 days a week, at least an hour at a time.  he watches what he eats (mostly) and takes all these pre work out/post work out shakes.  which i don't agree with in theory, but he's gained like 22 pounds.  yeah - he was trying to GAIN weight.  he always had that worn-in heroin addict chic look.

now his chest measurement is the same as mine: 42".

so awesome husband is 'lovingly concerned' about my weight and health.  that's what i keep reminding myself, not that he's going to leave me for a younger/fitter model.  not that he is embarrassed to be seen with me in public.  not that he is disgusted with and turned off by my body.

but that he doesn't want me to die young like my mom did.  56 is kind of young to die.  that's only 25 more years for me.  that would mean my life is half over.

and the problem is i'm okay with that.  i never thought i'd live to 30, and i'm 31 now.  so i figure i'm already on borrowed time.  i'd rather be fat and happy than skinny and miserable.

but the problem is that i'm never going to be skinny, miserable or otherwise.  my doctors have always told me that 150 is a good goal to shoot for.  i still haven't told you all how much i weigh because it's kind of annoying.  and i don't think i look like i weigh that much, so i think something is lying to me.  i think i have, like, dense, heavy bones because there is no way that i wear the same size clothing i did at 24 and weigh 50 more pounds than i did then.  the only thing that's changed is the size of my bra, really.  when we got married, i was buying clothes that engulfed me in a size 24 or 26 because i figured hiding myself would hide my fat.  then i discovered that wearing the right sizes - 20/22 depending where i was shopping - actually made me look more normal. 

now i'm on this diety thing.  again.  and i know i'll lose maybe 45, 50 pounds (like i have before) and hit a plateau.  i gained most of it back after i quit smoking and my mom died (about 20 pounds from quitting smoking, 15ish more after mom died.  which i think is good, considering).  so this time, losing that 50 pounds will get me a bit 'closer to goal' as it were, but i'll still have A LOT of weight to lose.  which is why i'm actually considering surgery for the first time ever.  but that's early stages still.  i figure i'll stick on this diet for a bit and see what happens.

so the whole lifestyle change thing pisses me off, just on principle.  i want to eat an entire bowl of buttery popcorn while reading a book, but i can't.  actually, i can have like 5 cups of air popped popcorn with 1tbsp of butter and it's not as bad for me as you'd think.  popcorn is low-fat and high-fiber.  but in addition to all this shit, i'm considering going to al-anon.  which is like alcoholics anonymous for the alcoholic's family members.  my dad is a recovering alcoholic with like 26 years sober and my step-father was an abusive alcoholic.  the al-anon website has all this info about if you think al-anon would help you.  here are a few of the questions they ask you to consider to see if al-anon is right for you:

• did you grow up with a problem drinker?
• do you constantly seek approval and affirmation?
• do you fail to recognize your accomplishments?
• have you had problems with your own compulsive behavior?
• are you uneasy when your life is going smoothly, continually anticipating problems?
• do you feel alive in the midst of crisis?
• do you still feel responsible for others, as you did for the problem drinker in your life?
• do you isolate yourself from other people?
• do you cling to relationships because you are afraid of being alone?
• do you often mistrust your own feelings and the feelings of others?

those are just a few that i was like 'OMG WERE THEY IN MY HEAD WHILE WRITING THIS LIST????'

so i'm going to be going to my first al-anon meeting soon.  i keep putting it off because i'm nervous and scared and isolating myself and don't really want to go alone.

now i think i may go eat an entire bowl of (semi-)buttery popcorn and watch a movie.  or nap.  either way.

bad blogger. bad, bad blogger.

sorry y'all.  it's been a busy, busy week.

i've started a new position with the company that subcontracts me and we were training/certifying new people all week.  i barely slept thursday and friday for scoring things.

ugh.  thank goddess for diet coke and coconut ices.

anyway.  i hope to get back on the wagon, as it were.  i'm having some personal-y shit going on and have been contemplating some more serious stuff than i usually do.  i've been thinking about going to al-anon to try and deal with my father and step-father's alcoholism and how i was affected.  i'm also back on the diet/exercise train tomorrow because i don't have to wake up early for class for the first time in a month. 

so some new things.  life is changing.

why do these things exist?

this is a copy of the live-facebook-status-updating i did tonight.  i have deleted part of my name because i try to keep this blog semi-anonymous.  so, you know, if i ever actually get a real job, my potential employers will not find this blog by googling me.  and other's names and faces have been changed because, well, you know. 

and this is serious - this was not for fun or anything like that.  there was a motherfucking earwig in my motherfucking living room.  awesome husband and my brother went to yankee stadium to see the big 4 concert (anthrax, stupid fucking megadeth, slayer, and metallica).  so i was, in fact, home alone.

at this point, the damned earwig resurfaced from under the couch.  and yes, i had moved my fucking sectional away from the walls - and back to where it belonged - and nearly had a coronary doing so.

victory was mine!

so i killed the damn earwig.  i then got eight paper towels and a plastic bag and disposed of it.

it then occurred to me that my cats fucking FAILED because, hello, shouldn't they be chasing/hunting/killing these types of things? really?

this is only the second time in my entire life i've killed an earwig.  the first time i remember seeing one, i must have been 3 or 4.  i asked my mom why they were called earwigs and she said it was because they crawled into warm places like ears.

which i know now is untrue.  they're called earwigs because when their wings are open, they kind of look like a human ear.

you didn't know they flew either, did you?  staring to see why i'm so terrified?

anyway, even at the tender age of 3 or 4, i could think of OTHER warm places on my body that an earwig may like.  and thus began my paralyzing fear of earwigs.

when i was 25, awesome husband and i had been married for a few months and were living communally with my mom and my brother (incidentally, only about four blocks from where we live now).  we had the best rottweiler named nibbler.  she was such a sweetie.  and she helped me kill my first earwig.  we were home alone - i had been in a car accident and was basically home bound and nibbler had lymphoma and was dying (i know, buzzkill) so i spoiled her rotten.  we even took naps in my bed together.  i saw her watching something on the kitchen floor - an earwig.  we were home alone.  i freaked out while she stood next to me and watched it move across the floor.  nibbler stood right next to me as i grabbed a fistful of paper towels, tossed the wad on top of the earwig, and then proceeded to jump up and down on it like a fucking idiot. 

i wouldn't have been able to do it without her.

but seriously, what is up with earwigs?  what is their purpose?  what's with the pincers?  because they are scary.  and what's with scorpions?   why the FUCK do they need lobster claw pincers AND a stingery tail bit?? i mean, can we say OVERKILL?? and what do they do?  bees help pollinate things, and spiders eat other bugs... you know, there have a purpose.

earwigs and scorpions?  none that i know of.  if any of my sciencey friends can find purposes for me, please share them

not that i'll hate the fucking things any less.  but still.

memories

ten years ago, the world changed.

i have a lot to say about this.  i'm a new yorker and i remember that day like it was yesterday. 

you know what else i remember?  the first anniversary.  i was working for a major international company and our office building had four moments of silence that morning. 

during one, the printer went off.  it was silent - you could have heard a pin drop - and a huge, industrial-strength printer just starts printing off a report.

and i cried at that moment, not just from sadness at all that was lost - but joy at all that was to come.

in the midst of grief, sadness, tragedy - life goes on.

reports needed to be run.  they needed to be printed.  were we changing the world?  not so much.  but it went on.  i remembered that for the second anniversary, and the third one.  we still observed moments of silence.  in other states, in other places, september 11 is just another day at work.  people remember it because of the news coverage.  in new york, in dc, and in households around the world with an empty seat at the table, it's not just another day.  it's a day where we look to the sky, and remember how it was just as blue and clear on that morning.  it's a day where we look toward manhattan island and remember how we could see the plume of smoke for months after the attack.  it's a day where we go about our lives as changed people.

remember that earthquake in dc a couple of weeks ago, how everyone on the east coast was freaked out - but no one more than dc'ers and new yorkers?  that's why.  when we feel buildings shake, we do not think 'earthquake'.  we think 'terrorists'.  all those west coast bitches who were calling us pussies?  yeah. 

but we go on, still.  we take our shoes off at the airport without complaining, we don't love the TSA's rules but we understand them.  we have seen what can happen - we have seen it with our own eyes, smelled it, witnessed the gaping hole in the skyline, the gaping hole that was in the ground.  we have watched bodies pulled from the rubble covered in american flags, we have looked worriedly to the sky when we hear a low-flying plane.  we have spoken to friends, family, co-workers, neighbors, who have lost someone there, rescued someone there, recovered someone there, or helped clean up the pit.  we have seen the things the media won't show you, and felt the things the media cannot describe.

but we go on, still.  we do what we can every day to go on, pushing the fear down and keeping our eyes on the sky, on the lookout for that stray bag that might have been left behind.  we go food shopping, we work, we sleep, we love our families and life goes on.

life will never go on for some.  ten years ago today, 343 FDNY lost their lives trying to save others.  23 NYPD officers died doing their duty.  37 PAPD officers were killed.  cantor fitzgerald - one company - lost 658 employees. 

guiliani attended 200 funerals in 2001.  98 FDNY vehicles were destroyed.  115 nations were represented by lost people in the attacks. 1,506, 124 tons of debris were removed from ground zero.  i'm going to type that out: ONE MILLION, FIVE HUNDRED SIX THOUSAND, ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY FOUR TONS

new yorkers are not as crass as we're painted to be.  36,000 pints of blood were donated in the days following the attack.  258 were used.  289 bodies were recovered intact.  19,858 body parts were found.  1,717 families have no remains from their loved ones.  1,609 people lost a partner.  3,051 children lost a parent.

it's estimated that over 400,000 new yorkers suffer from 9/11 related PTSD.

i'll repost what i posted this morning on my facebook, after i observed the digital moments of silence along with countless others. 


"we remember this day every year, but really we should remember it every day. instead of hating our differences and killing others because of them, we should celebrate them and love each other. there is no god-figure that encourages killing or hatred, there is no religion that condones killing those with differing beliefs.

there is no reason the twin towers had to fall, no reason the pentagon had to have a gaping hole in the side, no reason for a patch of scorched earth in shanksville.

and if we need to find a reason for these evils, let it be this: love each other. take care of each other.

let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me."

new shooz?

wasn't new shooz an 80s band?  had a song called 'i can't wait'.  or am i mixing them up with someone else?

anyway.  i got new shoes a couple of weeks ago and VOWED that i would wear them somewhere last friday.  instead of planning ahead and trying to like get a group of people together to go someplace neat i could show off my shoes, i procrastinated and asked my dad to go out to dinner with us last minute.  on thursday he said 'yes'.  on friday he changed his mind and was like 'i got caught up with shit at work so i can't do it tonight.  tomorrow?' and i was sad.

for a minute.  then i put on comfy pants (my brother was home, otherwise i would have been pantsless) and we ordered pizza.  so it ended up being okay.

so saturday night i wrangled my dad into taking us out to dinner at our favorite steakhouse.  we chipped in, obvs, but he had a gift certificate he was willing to share.  i had a margarita and a couple of mojitos and steak and baked clams and it was delicious.  as always.  we took our after dinner drinks outside so dad could smoke a cigar and just chat.  and i looked GOOD.

my new shoes.  it's hard to see, but the hell and the platform are covered in like glitter.

awesome husband sitting outside enjoying his irish coffee

me looking AWESOME. if not a bit top heavy.

then sunday awesome husband and my brother did some yardwork while i did some homework.  we also did some shopping at BJs and purchased our usual HUGE package of string cheese.  i had a pedicure at a salon that was showing star wars - sadly, the pedicure was worth every cent i paid for it - only $14.  i will not be going back there.

of course, i was thrilled to see that they used their autoclave.  one of the last places i went to didn't.  it was the second or third time i was there and i was having my manicure.  and behind my manicurist were the two autoclaves.  i thought it was odd that neither appeared to be on, but one didn't have a light on the front so i figured that one was on and the other was off because... well, maybe they only needed one at a time?  THEN i noticed that NEITHER MACHINE WAS EVEN PLUGGED IN.  and i saw two of the manicurists put their little box of tools in there and take it back out.  like they were PRETENDING to sterilize shit.

so i stopped going there.  anyway, i had my pedi and then i decided i needed to have mojitos.  apparently EVERY liquor store in the area closes at 5pm on sundays.  we finally found one place that drastically overcharged for bacardi but, whatever, i got my mojito on.  i tried to make one with truvia and it wasn't quite the same.  i might try again to see if i mess with the ratios it will be better. 

and now it's time to go to KFC.  awesome husband just decided he needs popcorn chicken and mashed potatoes.  i suppose i can be talked into a biscuit or two.  we're spending our labor day watching 'star wars' and drinking.  good thing we've not started drinking yet so we can drive to KFC.