Christmas Movies

I decided this Christmas season to watch all those Christmas movies that people talk about.  They always say how wonderful they are, and how they look forward to watching them all year.  I was not impressed by any of these movies.

Miracle of 34th Street-This was my husband's favorite, and I have to admit there is a certain charm to it.  It helps that I love the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, which is how it starts.  But then it just meanders on and on...and as a whole it's a nice movie, but not one I'd ever go out of my way to watch again.

It's a Wonderful Life-So, I really thought that this movie would have more to do with Christmas, but really Christmas was just sort of there while everything else happened around it.  And, I'm sorry, but I'm used to seeing Jimmy Stewart not be a huge jerk to everyone, and I didn't like it.  He's much better talking to an invisible rabbit or making filibusters. 

White Christmas-Again, it was a movie, where Christmas just happened by.  A cute enough movie, of course, but I never care about seeing it again.

A Christmas Story-I just found this movie overly strange.  Why doesn't he ever bring in the rest of the mail?  Why does he want a BB gun so bad?  He seems overly influenced by the media, isn't that bad?  Why in the world would anyone make an award into a chessy leg lamp? Kids curse all the time, why is it such a big deal in this movie?  Don't people know that this movie is based on a bunch of articles written for Playboy?  I think he only got that gun because he wouldn't have shut up about it otherwise.

Now, this is the one that everyone thinks is fantastic.  About 15 minutes into the movie, I posted a comment on Facebook about how I was watching it, and so far it was overly narrated, which it is.  I don't know how that's even debatable. 9 comments later, I found that no one is able to be objective about this movie.

No one has any actual valid reasons for thinking this is a good movie.  They just stand by it blindly because it's been part of their childhood, the same reason no one can say for certain why they like "Wizard of Oz."  It's because they can't remember their life without it, they can't seem to be objectionable.

What I do instead of buckle down

I decided today would be the day I started writing a novel I've been thinking about.  Unemployment looks like it's going to last for awhile now, so I might as well have a project, something to look forward to everyday.

So I sat down at my brand new desk, opened a Word document...transcribed what notes I had taken about it into the document....

And then I started dicking around.

I checked Facebook.  I checked Twitter.  I checked Tumblr, even though that site isn't really my demographic.  I tuned into Logo and found a Nip/Tuck rerun marathon.

Man, that Quentin fellow was creepy from the start, wasn't he?

And then I wrote a paragraph.  I did some research to back up what I just wrote, then realized I hadn't quite set up Skype yet.

So I told my sister to Skype me, and we troubledshot (troubleshooted?) until I figured out the problem with my new webcam.  I still can't get Dailybooth to work with the camera.

Then I went back to writing, and turned back on Nip/Tuck.  Did you know that the new Kinex for the Xbox only works on white people?  Apparently it only picks up white skin.  There's gotta be a racism card someone can play and sue them for that...

I'm pretty sure my ADD is too bad to write a novel.  But, I'm sure gonna try.

Why I Never Subscribed to Marie Clare in the 1st Place

So, there is all this controversy surrounding this Marie Claire online article.  I heard about the backlash long before I actually read the article.  It was exactly as bad as I had feared it would be.  Basically she takes on the show Mike and Molly, which she has never seen, and she basically says that she can't stand to watch fat people, and doesn't think anyone should.  An actual quote:

So anyway, yes, I think I'd be grossed out if I had to watch two characters with rolls and rolls of fat kissing each other ... because I'd be grossed out if I had to watch them doing anything.

This made me so steaming mad I had to write about it.  Her, and the magazine she represents, are the problems with society dealing with people who are overweight.

I recently got paid to write an article about how my overweight ass has been treated in certain stores.  Just today I went in to get a pair of jeans and was treated as if I was sewage when I asked for my size (which they do carry, but they didn't have any in stock).

Not only is being overweight in my DNA (both my parents were obese, and their parents), but I've been made to feel like the scum of the earth because I was overweight. 

I worked out for 9 months straight once, 5 days a week, with a limited diet.  In fact, I had a friend with me doing exactly the same things I was doing.  She lost 25 pounds, and I didn't even lose one.  My being overweight is not for lack of trying.  And because of women like Maura Kelly, even though I try my best, I still feel like someone that can't even walk across the room without making someone uncomfortable.

Jackie Warner was quoted in this article: “We need to handle this as an addiction. It’s an emotional addiction, and that should always be handled with love.”

And she's right.  After losing my job, I feel like I can't spend money on anything, especially food.  Even though I know it's not good for me, I frequently go without meals in order to save money.  Our house is a house of condiments, and my husband gets free meals at work, so he is always taken care of.  Even when I had a job and was eating, I was frequently coming in at about 1,000 calories under what I should've been eating.  And it doesn't help.  I'm still overweight.  The scale keeps going up.  No matter what I do.

Everytime I want to eat, I look at my body, then I look at a copy of Marie Claire, and lose my appetite.  I want to be back to that glorious 115 that I was before my metabolism crashed.  If I leave the house, I have to face those people.  Those people that judge me, even though I'm just walking past.  They don't make it any easier to just go from day to day.  The trip to the mall today was so disheartening that I came home and didn't leave again.  I don't want to go anywhere, because it's uncomfortable being watched like a monkey in a zoo.  A fat monkey.  A freak show.

Women like her are the problem.  They make it harder to even go outside.  It's no wonder most people eat their feelings.

Friendship

My mom just sent me a link to a story for this book, which is out tomorrow.  Basically it started with this woman having a horrible experience in college where she was basically backstabbed in the extreme by a bunch of girls from a sorority. 

As I read the article, I became more and more relived to find that I wasn't alone.  I've had two female friends my whole life that haven't been backstabbing, horrible individuals.  I wish I was exaggerating. 

One was my best friend in 6th grade.  We weren't the same person, but we fit together, and we were always there for each other.  I know people say that kind of dumb crap all the time, but in this case it was actually true.  If I was upset about anything, she would be there for me no matter what.  I can only recall one fight we ever had, and that ended with us bursting into laughter and forgetting the fight the second after it happened.

Nothing ever happened to break up our friendship, we just started hanging out with different people.  We went through junior high and high school never even seeing each other in the halls between classes.  She wasn't the type to join Facebook or even really have a computer at all, so I never expected to see her again.  As my life went on, through college and afterward, my mind sometimes wandered towards her, but her name was too common to Google without much luck.  I always hoped she was happy and everything was okay with her.  I knew I'd never really see her again.

Cut to last month, when I went with my husband to Disneyland to celebrate his birthday.  It was the end of our annual passes, and we were getting the most out of it, staying at the Grand Californian so we could go back to the hotel room whenever we wanted.  Hubby had convinced me to go on the Grizzly River Run for the first time.  I had avoided it because it was a water ride, and I desperately hate to get wet and then walk around all day in wet clothes.  I agreed to go if we went back to the hotel and I could change into my bathing suit and a cover up.

It turns out it's one of those wet rides where you are in a big round rubber tube with a bunch of other people.  It forces people to be social, since you really can't be on your cell phone when water is coming down all around you.  We talked with our group until the end of the ride, but it was a little difficult, since most of them didn't really speak English.  We decided we were a little wet, we might as well go again, since this would be our last time in the parks.  The second time was fun as well, more people spoke English.

As we exited, Hubby said "Ready to go back to the hotel?"  And for some reason, I wanted to go one last time.  It had been so lonely at home since losing my job, and I was really craving some interaction.  So one last time we went, and after the ride and an embarrassing fall down the stairs afterward (my shoes became so waterlogged, I fell) I knew I had reconnected with my 6th grade best friend. 

She was in the ride with us, next to my husband, with HER husband, who was...get this...celebrating his birthday.  They were staying at the same hotel, on the same floor, and we were leaving the next day, they had just arrived that day.  If that one moment hadn't come to pass, we would have never reconnected, never came across each other.  In fact it was her mannerisms, and not her face, that I recognized.  It was my gut that somehow knew she was who she was. 

It was one of the coolest things that has ever happened to me.  I feel like, because everything else has sucked lately, fate saw fit to give me a piece of what made me myself back.

And, as luck would have it, Facebook brought my other best friend back as well.

On the relationship front, life is good.

Why yes, I AM stil feeling sorry for myself.

Today is the anniversary of Michael Jackson's death.  His music was everywhere, that heartbreaking clip of Paris as she broke down at his memorial.  A daughter losing a father, at such a young age.  It obviously struck a chord in me a year ago, and I remember being heartbroken at my desk.  A desk that I no longer have.

Even though I've lost 6 pounds in my 11 days of unemployment, I still don't fit into anything I own.  My fat pants don't fit.  This was fine when I had a job that took me as I was, but now I have to look fit, competent, and ready.

And I'm none of those things.  And when I'm alone at night, after Lover Boy has gone to work, and I have time to think, it's devastating.  I have a worthless degree, and 10 years of experience in worthless, stupid jobs.  That look horrible on my resume.

And it's fairly easy to keep a sunny outlook in front of people.  But the nights that I'm alone, It's impossible to fool myself.

All I've ever wanted to be was a writer, and it seems I'm about to be screwed for the last time on that front.  I suppose I should feel somewhat flattered that my work continues to be stolen, but I don't.  I feel cheated and not any good at the only thing I've ever been good at.  Perhaps I'm not even good at it.  It's never been confirmed by anyone but my mother and a great high school English teacher.  The people closest to me never even bother to read my blog, this or my public one.  At it's the people closest to you that are supposed to matter.

But I'm sure I'll lose them eventually too, with this attitude.

Start Out Crying, End up Smiling

I awoke to an email from my mother about my half-brother getting back to his alcholic ways.  It's gotten to the point where he called my mom (his stepmother, whom he's never really been close to), in a drunken state and she came over to talk to him.

His wife is leaving him, and taking the kids.  He goes to a bar after work and gets drunk, and then comes home.  He's been through rehab and remained sober once, after a DUI.

I cried in the shower that morning.  For my brother, his kids, my dad.  It just seemed like nothing could work out for anyone.

Then I got an email about a job that didn't exist that I had asked for anyway.  They are going to give me some assignments to see how I work out.  I'm not getting excited about it yet, but at least there is a ray of sunshine.

Don't Worry...Be Happy?

Today is Father's Day.  Depressing enough, right?  It doesn't even feel like he's been dead a year, but it has.  And this one has been hard.  It seems like every other email is something about Father's day.

But then, Monday my job got eliminated.  So I've been unemployed for 6 days now.  And since we have a mortgage, I had to file for unemployment. 

And I got less than half of what I'm making.  For six months.  Apparently luck is not on my side.

The only sure-thing job I've found is through a friend, and I know I'll hate it.  And I'll get paid at least $4 less an hour than my old job.

I want to hold out for a job that I will love, but this is the real world.  The world where I need to pay bills and keep my house and eat.  Dream jobs, especially in my field, don't just fall out of the sky.  I'm almost 30 years old, this life doesn't have a happy ending.  It's game over.

Golden Comedy

I was flipping through my Entertainment Weekly and came across the monitor for Rue McClanahan.  I read it, because  I adored the Golden Girls while it was on.  I'm fairly certain I've seen every episode, even though it's been so long I'm sure they'd all be new to me again if I watched them.

Or would they?

On the bottom of the page they had their favorite Blanche episodes, and one of them was when Blanche's father wanted her to come home because he was sick.  She refused, and he died, and she had to deal with the guilt at his funeral.  This struck a chord in me, because of my own father's death.

However, the next episode shocked the hell out of me.  Blanche has an elaborate dream in which she finds out her husband faked his death because he couldn't stand being married to her anymore.  Sound familiar?

I went onto YouTube and found the episode, and it was all there.  The emotions, the trama.  The only thing my dream had been missing was Sonny Bono.

My life is a fucking Golden Girl's episode.

If it wasn't so hilarious, I'd cry.

Loss

There was another "I'm quitting" email in my work inbox today.  Maybe it's because I've already dealt with a lot of loss in the last year, but I'm almost having a panic attack thinking that now there are several people that I see everyday that I will no longer see.

The possibilities of dealing with another person, a new person, figuring out what they are like...I don't want to do it.  All these people going away seems too close to death.  It's too much. 

Why can't everything just stay the same until I'm okay enough to move on?

Making it Easy

It's so much easier to get over a situation when the other person becomes a deliberately terrible person.  Thank you, for reminding me exactly what I'm missing: A person who only thinks of themselves, and will be rude and uncalled for at the drop of a hat.

It's official.  It's over.

I've been putting off celebrating because I was afraid it would all just come back and I'd have the same problem.  Now, its over. 

I'm so going out for ice cream after work today.  I don't think it's an exaggeration to say life is going to get much better.  I'm going to sleep without dreams of this coming back to haunt me.  I'm going to be happier, have the energy to work out.

Everything is going to get better.

Recovering

Even though I feel as if it's not quite over, I'm still going through a recovery process.  I didn't think ending a friendship would take recovery, I would just be better the next day.  The sun would be shinning, and I'd go on with my life.

But as the weeks went on, I was told by my friends more than once that I was over explaining things, that they understood.  It was then I realized how much who I was had actually been effected by the past couple years.  It made me think of the first Sex and the City movie where Miranda screams at Steve: "I changed who I was for you!"

For me, I hadn't even realized I had changed.  When it was pointed out to me, I was devastated.  Devastated that it had taken me that long to get out of, essentially, an abusive relationship.  I didn't think it was abusive until I was out.

So my heart goes out to all those girl's in REALLY abusive relationships.  It's so hard to see how bad it is when you are in it, I see that now.  And it's going to take work to get me back to where I was.  And that's so sad.

Cabin Fever

I got shin splints from using my Shape-Ups and playing Just Dance on the Wii.  I woke up on Monday and noticed my legs were really sore, so I went to work and didn't work out that day.  Then they felt worse the next day, and the next, and I had no idea what was going on.

It took my co-worker mentioning shin splints to me on Thursday for me to get it.  I looked it up on WebMd, and that's what I had.  I iced my leg Thursday and Friday night, spent all day Saturday video editing with a friend and keeping my foot elevated the whole time.  I didn't work out all week, nor did I even go anywhere, so I have this massive cabin fever.

Sadly, my leg still hurts to walk on.  One thing WebMd didn't tell me was how long this lasts.  Either way, it seems things like this always happen.  I go to work out to lose some weight, and end up on the couch for a week.  It's like someone out there wants me to be fat and unhappy.  Ugh.

Comment Whore

I got a comment on the other blog today.  It was nice, and it was from a stranger.  Betty White who?

I feel better now. :-)

Or, you could, you know...be a friend.

I made another blog purely for professional reasons.  My awesome cousin who freelances for a living was giving me tips on what to do to get more jobs, and one was to have a blog that looked popular.  She said "get it on twitter, get a fanpage for Facebook, stumble it, digg it, get it out there."

So I did.

I asked my friends to get the word out on Facebook, so I could at least have a fair amount of people on it as fans so that the widget would look good.  They didn't really do it.  After months of trying to get it out there, I've gotten a grand-ass total of 28 people.  I don't know 3 of those people.  The rest are people I invited.

So I'm mad today, because on Monday my friend decided to make a "Get Betty White on Glee" and she already has over 200 people.  Where were all those effing people when I needed hits to my blog?

I'm just glad I have this blog to complain to without worrying about updating it on Twitter and Facebook.  This is my sanctuary.

Deepest Desire or Worst Nightmare

This week my dreams have been particularly vivid.  Last night's emotional torment took an all-time high.

In my dream I started out in a bottom floor of a building.  Lover Boy took me to an escalator and told me we were going up.

I took a few steps up before I realized that there were no sides, and it seemed to stretch on forever.  Of course it also narrowed as it went up as well.  My heart started racing and I dropped to my knees.  As soon as I can't see where it began, nor where it seems to end, it breaks down.  I look down into the abyss and start to panic.  I can't go down, and I can't bring myself to keep climbing up, even though Lover Boy is a few steps ahead, tapping his foot impatiently.

After a little while I finally get the nerve to move, or more scoot, up the escalator until I reached the top, which was a huge house.  Sadly, because it had taken me so long to get there, we had squatters.  The people actually consisted of friends I had had in elementary school, and a few cousins I hated.

I found my mom and complained that she didn't take care of anything while I was away, and now all these people I used to be friends with are there trashing it!  She told me I was being too mean and I should let everyone live there.  It was bonkers.

But I still woke up with that feeling I was stuck on the elevator, too scared to look down, and too scared to look up.

'Cause When the Heart Breaks it Don't Break Even

I care too much. It's one of the worst faults I have. If someone says to me, "Yeah, but who cares?" There is rarely a time when my head doesn't scream to them "I DO! I CARE!"

It's become a detriment. A weight. And I've learned to not care about certain things. Well, not NOT care as much as realize that there are some things that aren't worth worrying about that much. If dishes sit around for a couple of days, the earth isn't going to rotate right off it's axis. Everything will be fine.

I do this with my friends too. I'm an extremist friend. If you are my friend, and you need help, I'm right there. I'm doing the right thing for you, whether it's tell you that the boy who doesn't like you is an idiot, or trying to win that idiot back. But if one of my friends is doing something really stupid, I'm not keeping my mouth shut. I'm telling them exactly what they need to do to remedy a situation. I'm a great friend.

Never in my life has anyone abused this like a recent friend. I found this site on the internet and the line;

No matter how many friends you have, if you are their pillar, you will feel lonely and lost at the times you need them most.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. That is exactly what has been happening to me. This whole friendship I've been giving and giving and getting nothing back. Not because she was a bad person, but because she just wasn't capable of giving anything back. And even though I do love to help, it's like my advice wasn't being listened to. She wasn't learning anything from my sound advice. And I wasn't getting a friend in return.

It weighed on me. With what I've gone through, what I'm still going through...I don't have the emotional capacity to be anyone's pillar anymore. I've gotta get out.

Off the Grid

I want so badly to be off the grid.  I go online and it's like idiot after idiot posting their stupid Facebook status updates.  Complaining about stuff they don't actually care about when it comes down to it, they just type to see themselves in print.

Whatever happened to only speaking if you had something to say?  It seems people just make excuses to speak now.  They say something without realizing what it is before it's halfway out of their mouths.

One of the people I follow on Twitter told me that he felt like he hit a moment of Zen when he walked away from Facebook for a week.  I'm thinking about that seriously.  I need to get off the grid and concentrate on working out and getting the new house ready for my Mom to see at the beginning of May.  I can't wait for her to come and see the new house and for us to go out and do stuff.  With the last time I saw her being the anniversary of my Dad's death, it wasn't exactly an exciting trip for the both of us.

It won't be that hard to go off the grid with Facebook.  Let's see how a week goes...

Like Going Home Again

A couple weekends ago, I went home for the weekend. It was actually half for work, and half for play. Mostly though, it was to be with my Mom close to the anniversary of my Dad's death.

Not that we had time to even think about that, as she was running an expo and we barely sat down with each other for more than an hour the whole weekend. I had to have a whole morning conversation with my aunt that I really didn't want to have, but that's a story for another time.

The first morning I had to myself, and I drove around downtown and thought of all the things I could do as I drove by. I remembered things about my childhood, my adulthood, things that happened just last summer.

The possibility of the day lay before me, and it didn't strike me until I was on the plane ride home, but that was happiness. I felt more accepted there, and I feel like more people know me for who I am, and respect me for it. It was a nice feeling to have for the weekend. Maybe someday I'll find that place again.

But not in this town.

Dodging the Bullet

I'm about to be shot, and it's all my fault.

I told everyone that if I got to a certain weight, someone needed to shoot me. I thought, "There is no way anyone would let themselves get to that weight if they could help it."

I'm officially two pounds from a bullet to the enormous gut. My great idea of actually hitting my caloric intake everyday was a bad one. In the past few months, I've gained a few pounds instead of lost them. Apparently, I didn't need the amount of calories that everyone said I needed.

So, for fear of being shot, I'm buckling down. And I'm doing it my way.

First off, the gym is too far away and the classes, the only things I go to, are at times that aren't good for me. So I'm going to cancel my gym membership. I'm also willingly letting the house go to seed a little bit. The dust will be there tomorrow, my health might not be.

In order to make a change, I geeked out and bought Shape-Up shoes. I didn't intend to buy them, but I had a coupon so I walked into the store, intent to get a $50.00 pair of sneakers and have something comfortable to work for the weekend.

On a whim, I decided to try on the Shape-Ups, and was shocked to find it actually had a high arch support. My arches are so high that it's almost impossible to find shoes. Somehow, the inserts that I buy never quite work out either. So, usually, my shoes are uncomfortable. I hate shoes.

I know. I might be the only woman on the planet to udder that sentence.

Anyway, the shoes were amazing. And I was mad that they were amazing. Because they look stupid. Stupid and embarrassing, and I'm going to need longer pants to hide the shame.

On the plus side, I have a new Spice Girl name, and will be going on tour in early 2011.

Sky High Expectations

Along the lines of the last post, Lover Boy and I had a disagreement last night. Every once in awhile I begin to feel like a self-imposed martyr.

I feel as if you get up in the morning, and go to work. It doesn't matter if you are sick (to a point), or you didn't get enough sleep the night before, or if you slept wrong and your arm hurts. You go to work, baring not being able to stop throwing up long enough to get to work.

Even throwing up sometimes means you still go into work. I had a job where I was the only one on shift, the store needed to be opened, and the manager refused to answer his phone. So, I left the bathroom opened, and helped customers in between running to the bathroom and throwing up.

You get home, and you start cleaning up after yourself/others. You make dinner, you eat it, you wash the dishes. You go through the mail and pay the bills and clean the bathroom and take out the garbage and do all those little things you put off.

I usually try to get things done before I do something fun like clear out the DVR. I'm not saying that always happens. I have days when I literally can't do it, and I eat a spoonful of peanut butter while watching "The Real World: DC." until about 8pm, when I climb into bed and read until 10 and then go to sleep.

This would be the perfect way to live, if I was living alone. Maybe, if I was living alone, I would actually slack off more. But, I feel I owe it to Lover Boy to keep the place relatively clean. After all, he works 12 hours a day to my 8 1/2, and I have the afternoon to do my things as apposed to his mornings before he has to go to work.

It's still a new house, though. We've lived there since late December, and we still have boxes. We still have things to hang up. Chandeliers that need to be re-placed, and light bulbs.

I guess these are things that I could do on my own, but the 50's housewife in me thinks the "man of the house" should do these things. He SAYS he'll do these things. Then, they don't get done. It was a joke about one of these things that lead to our fight last night.

I harbor all these emotions about how I have to do everything, and how it's SOOOO unfair. But, the truth is, I built these expectations. Just because I can go home and be a powerhouse about my stuff doesn't mean that he will be about his. It doesn't help that I ask him to do something, and then don't see him. We work opposite shifts, and our only day off together is Sunday.

He will do things in his own time, but I don't want to be a fishwife in the meantime. I don't want to have to nag for things to get done within the week. I'm tired of working so hard.

But I'm the only one pushing me.

Depression is NO excuse

I read this blog post this morning and it made me so mad. Mad about people with depression.

From a young age until I was a legal adult, I was depressed. I never sought help, so I don't know if it was clinical, or what. But I thought about suicide all the time, and I tried it without success once. But I was one locked door away from a roof and a jump, and I would've done it.

However, even in my depression haze, I knew I had responsibilities. If someone needed my help, I would be there. If I made a date to meet someone, I would show up and being as happy as I could be. I know I failed on that front. I know I was a horrible person to be around, but it was something that I couldn't see until I had lost all my friends.

It was when I was truly all alone that I could look at why I was depressed, and either shit or get off the pot. It was my way, and even though I'm not every going to be the happy-go-lucky type, I'm not the drag I was.

But when I read Sarah's post, it was the constant irresponsibility that infuriated me. It has always infuriated me that even in my deepest depression, I could never fully let go. I couldn't stop myself from not caring about other people. I couldn't not answer their phone calls or keep them hanging on an evening we were supposed to go out. Call that "not depression" if you will, but I don't think that being an asshole and being depressed are mutually exclusive.

Even if I'm in a bad mood and go to work, I still greet security with a "good morning" and a smile, because it's ME that's having a bad day, not them. If I walk past them without a greeting, then I've just ruined a part of their day. I refuse to drag anyone else down with me, if I can help it.

It seems that some people that are depressed (and some that aren't) think nothing of bringing other people down with them. They cancel plans and sleep in, and don't think about anyone but themselves. I say, if you want to detach from the world, do so. But don't let people down in the process. If someone wants to spend time with you, give a yes or no answer. Don't bring them down with you. Give them a chance to be happy, even if you don't want to be.

*EDIT* Before you comment on this post, which is my most popular post, please read it all.  Then read the comments.  Then think about why you put "depression excuses" into Google that lead you here.  In the end, I'm saying that you can't be a flake and blame it on your depression.  It turns out I do have depression caused by hypothyroidism, so I do know depression.

Dreams aren't always like this

It's not a sob-fest every night. For example, last night I had a dream I was going to some LA gym, and as I walked up I realized I forgot my lock.

I sat down at a table in front of the gym, which was completely made of glass. I could see the people upstairs running on the track, and swimming in the clear pool.

"Are you not going in" someone at the table next to me asked, and I looked over to see Garry Marshall. I am starstruck, but hold it together and tell him I'm "fixing" to go in. We have a laugh, then I look over and see Steven Speilberg talking to a little girl. He called her "Little Eddie" Barrymore, and was trying to make her feel better about a part she got.

I got up the courage to tell Steven that I was glad that he was not only a good filmmaker, but a humanitarian as well, and I was glad to meet him.

I turned around to talk again to Garry Marshall, who I really wanted to speak with, only to find he had left to go inside the gym. I was sad that I missed the chance to talk to my idol, and wasted my time with Steven Speilberg.

And I watched episodes of Lost last night, I have NO idea where that dream came from!

Polish the Stars

My parents gave me my love of musicals. Dad and I had been making the "jokes" in Mary Poppins to each other since I could talk.

The Music Man was my favorite musical to watch with my Dad. We would watch it over and over again. It was the the first live show I ever saw. We dressed up and went downtown to the show, but a train was coming and we had to run across the tracks to get to the show on time. I remember staring down the tracks into the bright light.

The show opened with the sound of a train, and a bright light came on the stage. I buried my face into my mother's neck, terrified we were about to be run over for the second time that night.

In later years, I asked my dad what his favorite musical was, fully expecting him to say The Music Man. But he surprised me and said Carousel.

To those who don't know the premise, a man up in heaven (which isn't heaven so much as it's a place you go after you die to polish the stars) gets one more chance to go down and put things right with the way he left his wife and child. As the story goes on, you see that he wasn't a very good guy. He was selfish, a jerk, but he fell in love with this girl and tried to stay on the straight and narrow path for her. It didn't work, and he got himself killed right after learning she was to have his child.

I remember at the end my dad always getting weepy, when even though he hadn't apologized or made anything better, he is sorry and goes back up to polish the stars.

My mom recently expressed a want to see it (since right before he died I thought it would comfort him to see it again and sent a copy) and I told her it needed to wait. That, along with so many other movies, would've broken us at the time.

I still haven't gotten up the courage to watch it, but every so often I think of my dad, looking down on me, and polishing the stars.

All is Quiet on New Year's Day

I started last year knowing that 2 people were going to die on me. They had issued my Dad the death sentence of 3 months, and my dementia-ridden Grandmother had stopped eating. Both had a DNR order on file.

I was also having horrible chest pains in the middle of the night that wouldn't stop. One lasted for 48 hours. The pain was so bad that, given the choice of dying or calling an ambulance, I would've rather died on the spot.

In reality, I'd been having these pains for years. I had dismissed them as panic attacks, and didn't dare tell anyone about them, for fear it would make me look weak. But, suddenly, in 2009, I couldn't spend a week without being attacked by this unbearable pain. I would spend most nights on the floor in the bathroom, crying for the pain to stop. Sleep would only come after 6 shots of vodka. Nightly.

Finally I went to the doctor, who assumed it was some sort of heart failure. He took blood, urine, EKG, and an, a stress test, chest x-ray, and ultrasound. The ultrasound revealed my gallstones. The doctor said I had more stones than gallbladder at that point. They must have been getting bigger since my first attack, at 16 years old.

But I had to wait. Everyone was on the cusp of death, and all needed to be settled before I could embark upon my first surgery. In fact, I hadn't checked into a hospital since I had pneumonia at 3 months old.

So, as the year wore on, and my awaited deaths occurred, plus one (my dear Nana), I found a doctor and went under the knife. I was terrified, but knew that 2010 could not start with a surgery. Everything needed to be clean and clear by December 31st, 2009.

And it was. With the inheritance that was left to me by my Grandma, we bought a house and watched fireworks outside our bedroom window, then went straight to bed.

My father appeared in my dreams that night. The family was all together and happy, planning a trip out to picnic. We gathered it all and started off to walk to the park, when I noticed that Dad hadn't followed. I turned around to look at him. I know my look said "Are you coming?" and he looked at me and smiled his charming Southern smile and said to me, "Ah, y'all can go on without me."

And I opened my eyes to the brand new year.

Well, That Settles That Then

Lane Bryant has been stalking me in the form of email ever since the cashier put me on the list. I just didn't want to say no to her, I agreed to anything to get myself out of there. Heck, I even donated to Haiti.

So when I got an email this morning promising me 50% off. Getting something cheaper will tip my ego in five seconds, and I was on the web site.

I found a shirt. I liked the shirt.

I went to choose the size from the drop-down menu, looking for my size.

And it wasn't there. At all. Lane Bryant starts 2 sizes above my size.

I breathed a small sigh of relief.

All About Bloggin'-A Survey

1. How long have you been blogging? I honestly can't remember. Sometime after 2000.

2. What made you start? , while I was in college, and my friends were doing it. I thought "That seems cool" and I started a blog. Then it got popular. Then people got mean. Then I got a stalker. Then, I switched my blog, but kept my information on there. Stalker found it. Had to go completely anonymous, and still had to switch a few times. I think I've finally shook him...but I do still have someone in Mountain View, California who reads daily and never comments.

3. Who inspired you? Well, initially my college friends. Then people I met through my blog really inspired me.

4. About how many hours a week would you estimate you spend on your blog? This blog? Usually if I think of something, I spew it on here and am purged. I don't really think about it a lot. My other blog I'm trying to market so that people DO read it, and I spend more time over there.

5. What kind of experience or background do you have with writing? I wrote my first novel in

6. Talk about how you come up with blog topics. Where do you get your ideas? Word Vomit. Everything that I feel like getting off my chest or what to talk about ends up on my blog.

7. What or who inspires you and your blog? Is it bad that I don't feel like any one person inspires me or my blog? I think striving to be yourself, but admiring things in others, is how one person should live their life.

8. Where and/or how do you do your brainstorming for your blog? Again, word vomit. Things happen, I talk about them. I wish I could say it was this amazing long process, but it just isn't.

9. Do you have any blogging rules or guidelines you follow? Not really. I'm not sure, do I?

10. Is there anything you will not blog about? I always try to stay away from religion and politics. I believe that is something personal for everyone, and no one has a right to tell ANYONE that what they believe (about something that isn't provable) is the right and true way. The way I see it, we'll find out when we get there. Until then, don't tell anyone they are wrong.

11. Do you have any sort of a publishing schedule in terms of day of week or topic? I try for 3 posts a week. But sometimes, nothing happens, so I just can't blog about it.

12. How many drafts of potential blog posts do you have right now? Technically 2, but usually I don't have any.

13. In what medium do you draft your posts? Since they started the "Save Now" feature on blogger, I do it right here. Firefox keeps my spelling in check, so it works for me.

14. How often do you completely scratch or delete drafts or blog post ideas? I think I've done it maybe once in my whole life.

15. If you had to leave your blog in your will to another blogger, who would you choose? He Loves Me Not Author Sarah. She'd leave her blog to me, and I'd do the same. Although, she'd junk most of them, and she would have every right to!

16. Are there other blogs that you feel are similar to yours in content, style, or voice? I'm sure there are, but it's hard for me to step away and look at my blogs. They are mine, and I stay close to them, so I don't have a lot of...what's the word...objective observance? That's not right at all...but it's close.

17. Has anything surprised you since you started blogging? How crazy a cyber-stalker can be. It's amazing.

18. What are your goals or plans for your blog going forward? Wait, I need goals??? Crap.

19. Do you make any money from your blog? No, but like I said, my other blog I'm trying to market so that I do make money.

20. What blogging system do you use? Blogger, tumblr, twitter (micro-blogging, don't you know), and a few others that lay dormant.

21. How did you come up your blog name? I read it somewhere and thought it was fabulous.

22. How many blogs do you have? What was your peak? I have five, but only post on two on a regular basis.

23. Are you having as much fun as when you started? It's been a roller coaster ride. Not quite sure.

24. Where do you find other blogger like you? Still looking...

25. What’s your one wish when it comes to blogging? That my other one takes off and is a major hit so I can make some money off of it, and that I never have to move this one again.

Subconsciousness

I had been saddled with the task of burying my father's body. His newly found will stated he wanted to be put in a special coffin and have it sunk to the bottom of the sea. The coffin was made of ship parts and where his head would lay was a submarine window.

The time had come where I had to put the body into the coffin. I didn't want to touch it, and it was horrible. I slid his body off the table into the coffin, and it slipped. I was going to have to actually touch the body to move it all the way into the coffin. I sat there, shaking, not wanting to do it.

And then he moved.

He started laughing, and stood up, and said "surprise!" He told me he had been faking his second death for 5 days, slowing his heart rate so everyone thought he was dead. He told me it was like a really long nap, which he needed since he faked his own death nearly a year ago. He paid someone to give my mom someone else's ashes, and he decided to go off and enjoy the world.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe my dad was not only alive, but he had lied to us...twice! The emotion of everything that had just happened was overwhelming. I screamed at him "You try and fake your own death again and I will PERSONALLY light you on fire myself!"

He approached me to comfort me, and I saw his big stomach, his laughing eyes, his mustache, and I tried to hit him. I wanted to hurt him for hurting me so much, I tried to hit his stomach, and I completely lost energy by the time my fist got to him. I sank to the floor and started sobbing. Big, wracking sobs; the sobs I'd only experienced before when my grandma had a heart attack and I saw her scar and realized what mortality was.

It was the big sobs that broke through and woke up my husband. He shook me awake and I remembered it all. Then it hit me it was back to the beginning; he was dead. Not twice, just once. Next month will be a year since his death.

And I started to softly cry.

Spanxed

I decided I could no longer go out someplace nice and look as dumpy as I did. I knew I needed Spanx.

The only place I knew that sold them was Lane Bryant. I've never stepped foot inside there before because I would feel more judged than if I walked into a modeling competition. Isn't it strange, that I don't care what those skinny ass bitches think of me, but I hate someone thinking that I'm that skinny bitch? I fear the wrath of the fat girls way more, maybe because I equate weight with intelligence. Because let's face it, most of the beautiful skinny girls are really stupid. In my experience.

So I walk into Lane Bryant with my head down, searching for the Spanx. I saw them in the distance and made a beeline. Suddenly, like a scene out of a horror movie, an overweight employee stepped out behind the wall and greeted me.

My face flushed and I say hi in return, and she asked me what I was looking for. Because I was caught, I said I'd just found what I was looking for, and pointed to the Spanx. She asked me what I needed to use them for, calling me "sweetie." I awkwardly explained that my stomach was sticking out in my dresses, making them look bad. "I carry all my weight in my stomach" I explained.

"Yeah, me too sweetie" was her reply. She looked me up and down and stifled an eye-roll while she said it, and I nearly hung my head in shame. I am overweight, but I know I have nothing on her.

And who knows? Maybe she wasn't judging me. Maybe she felt compassion for ANYONE who walked in the door, knowing they feel uncomfortable in their own skin. Maybe that's why she kept calling me annoying pet names.

On the way to the cash wrap she pointed out they had underwear on sale, and I politely declined, saying I had just gotten a bunch of underwear.

"Victoria's Secret?"

"Um, no...Wal-Mart actually. Gotta...love...Hanes...."

Was the Victoria's Secret thing a slight? Was she just being polite? Who knows! At that point I was buying a modern day corset for an absurd price, and I just wanted to get out of there.

Of course, there is a problem with the computer, so I'm left to look around while it gets fixed. It's then that I see....a lot of those clothes were really cute.

Then my mind split in two. One side was saying I should start shopping there. I could wear their smallest size, and then I wouldn't feel so uncomfortable all the time. And I'd look nice. I'd be able to go out looking nice and have a good time without worrying people looking at me because I'm overweight.

The other half of my mind was telling me; This is the slippery slope. You start wearing these clothes, you make it okay to be this overweight, and then you just start getting fatter instead of skinner. You need to be uncomfortable in social situations because it's the drive you need to lose weight. Sure, it's only about 30 pounds you need to lose, whereas the employee of Lane Bryant needed to lose about 100. I'm not THAT bad.

But I could be.

a 180 or a 360?

I've found lately that people expect me to be a completely different person. Last year when my dad died, I was sad. I'm still sad. It's not something you just get over. Especially since I lost the rest of my grandparents too, and that was the first time I've even had someone close to me die. In my life.

I'm still sort of processing. But it seems to some people, that I should be...well, "over it" already. People saying I don't seem "happy" to be there. Like they didn't know me before. I was never the type of person to "bounce" into a room, unless I had just drank 5 energy drinks. At Once.

I'm finding this "Life after Death" life somewhat strange. You are constantly assessing how you should be acting, making sure you aren't offending anyone. I've tried avoiding parties and functions with tons of people, because I'm just not sure how to react.

Mostly, I'm still me. I'm not really being different. But for some reason, I guess I should be acting like I just gave the world a Coke. Why do people think this way? I feel like everyone in the world gets to fall apart, but for some reason I'm just not allowed. Everyone gets a day off, except for me.

Original Reality

So, I discovered recently that The Real World was in D.C. this season. I imagined trips to the Smithsonian and maybe a group job at the Senate.

I know, I should've known better. As of this writing, they haven't gone anywhere except to bars. They have, however, brought up some ever so interesting personal habits.

I think this girl's name is Ashley, but man on man she is a hot mess. She is overly defensive and confrontational, and I get where she's coming from, but she doesn't understand where everyone else is coming from. She is such a contradiction, from going to church to screaming at people and saying she can't trust anyone because her mom told her she never wanted to see her again.

It makes me really think about when I was that angry, and I wonder if everyone thought I was immature and stupid when I thought I was being strong and bold.

All of the girls in the house are kind of a mess, if only because they back up this girl's anger. Don't get me wrong, I do see where this girl's coming from. I emphasize with her immensely. I still come off as a bitch sometimes in order to keep people at a distance. It's a defense mechanism that always works.

But she takes it to this amazing extreme that keeps me coming back week after week. Which, I guess, is why she was cast. I just hope she sees this show and it's a wake up call for her to drop the bitch act for awhile.

Fresh Panic

We handed in the keys for our apartment of five years on Saturday. We talked with the manager and she said we should expect a refund in the mail soon. Yesterday we got a bill in the mail.

We were expecting to lose the cleaning deposit. We'd been in there for 5 years, and even though we'd kept it as clean as possible, dirt happens. But we also had to put a deposit of $45 on a gate opener, and a $75 pet deposit. We were expecting at the very least, a check for that.

Lover Boy is going in to talk to them today, but last night it was still on my mind. I went to bed and was staring up at the ceiling. It was then I noticed how far away the ceiling actually was. How big our bedroom was. Suddenly a fresh wave of panic swept over me as I realized we were responsible for this whole big house.

No longer could we call the office if our shower-head was leaking. We didn't have a pool key. We had a huge house. What did we get ourselves into?

As suddenly as it came, it vanished. We did the right thing, and I was panicking because I thought we'd have to pay more money to the apartment, and had we stayed in the apartment, we wouldn't be dealing with it at all.

I've never been good with change. Technically, this most recent move was only my second in my lifetime.

But this is the first house where I've been able to pull my car into a garage. The first where I have to remember trash day, and I get to recycle without it being a huge pain in the ass.

I've already gotten so used to leaving my car unlocked in the garage that I actually found my car door wide open this morning. I was terrified I'd be late for work because the battery would be dead, but I was lucky.

I continue to be lucky. But after the last year, I think it's the least fate can do.

Gee, do you think they'll get it?

When are people going to learn that the direct approach is the best approach?

Yes, I'm bitching about Facebook again.

Now this stupid junior-high style bullshit is going around where females are posting the color of their bra as their facebook status, with no explanation. They are supposedly doing this to race breast cancer awareness, and to eff with the males because they won't know what's going on.

Yeah, the best way to raise awareness about something is to NOT MENTION IT AT ALL!!!!!!!

And what is it even doing? If you get everyone to do it, then what? So they know about breast cancer. Did you think they didn't know about it before? Do you think posting my bra color is going to suddenly made me find a cure, or get involved anymore than I already am? Nope. It's not doing a damn thing.

So knock it off.