It finally happened.

Hello, loves!

I was supposed to get this most fantastic of mystery tattoos last week, but the artist had to reschedule for yesterday.  My appointment was at 6pm, but we didn't get started until 7:30.  It was a long, grueling process, and it is definitely in my top 5 most painful ordeals, but at 1:30am, I walked out with a magnificent piece of artwork.

Ladies and germs, I present to you...the top of my ass and my #1 stay-in-shape secret!

I'm going back in 3 weeks to put more yellow on the butter, and do more shading. He'd already gone over the yellow six times and couldn't bear to put me through any more last night. After six hours, Cody and I were both pretty spent. Needless to say, I'm still feeling pretty spent today. All of my muscles are sore from clenching and unclenching, falling asleep, latching tenaciously to the headrest, the table next to me, and/or Brandell's hand. I'd like to say I was a total badass about it, but I wasn't. I was in too much pain to make up any good swears.

It was totally worth it, though. I've been wanting to get some sort of Size Acceptance related tattoo for about a year. I had this idea and just...never looked back. It was only a matter of time. I come from a long line of southern cooks, and margarine is a dirty word in my house. I think there's a nice element of just...owning what you've got in there, too. And man, next time anyone dares fat shame me, I'm gonna show 'em my ass.

<3

Self-care of a different sort.

This is still not my OMG SQUEE AWESOME WEEKEND post, but bear with me.  I'd rather go ahead and purge the negativity so I can be in an appropriately pleasant mindset to describe what was one of the best "reunions" I've ever had.

As everyone learns throughout the years, some friendships and some people are toxic.  You love them dearly, and you try to help them see and understand their issues.  Where they're going wrong.  Why they're offending you and others.  You tolerate and forgive because you see the person's heart and know it's good.  You explain until you're blue in the face.  You forgive and forgive because it's hard to imagine your life without the person in question.  Personally, I've wound up staying in too many toxic situations just because I believe so firmly in the goodness of the person in question.  My persistence has been both punished and rewarded.  Such is life.

But at what point do you decide you're done?  Empathy and forgiveness are components of any successful relationship, friendship or otherwise.  But there have to be limits.  Everyone has a breaking point.  There's only so much aggression and negativity that can be accepted and forgiven before the whole situation becomes hideously codependent and unhealthy.  The longer the timeline, the more difficult it becomes to cut ties and to know where that invisible line between "good friend with problems" and "sociopath" lies.

As for me, I have my own problems, mental and physical, both of which I'm taking an active role in understanding and treating.  Frankly, it's exhausting, because I'm not the sort of person to just kick back and let the pills do the work.  Thinking that medication is a panacea, especially for mental issues, is the acme of foolishness.  There has to be actual real-life work done to succeed.  For me, this includes making myself actually talk to people (or the internets.  Hai, Internets!)  rather than stewing in my own juices, confronting my phobias, being aware of my mood, being mindful (and honest with myself) about what may have triggered my current state, and eliminating as many triggers as possible.  Toxic people and the drama and stress they bring are most definitely triggers.

So this begs the question, exactly how much should a person tolerate in hopes that the person they once had faith in will get it together, stop projecting their issues, stop creating drama, and deal with conflict in a mature way?  There's no easy answer, and every situation is going to be a case-by-case basis.  Whereas one friend may have committed such morally despicable actions that you decide, without speaking to them, to simply cut off contact (did this with a confirmed sociopath on my wedding day--happy marriage to me!), another may deserve a warning.  And another warning.  And another chance.  Enter the slippery slope of faith and false promises.  Faith that no, really, there's a good person under there somewhere, and maybe this was one last outburst, one slip into lashing out at you when they're really angry with someone or something else.  But how long do you operate under that mindset?  How long do you tolerate the abuse, not to mention live with the constant specter of this person's eventual explosion into unjustified rage?  I don't feel it's possible to have a functional, healthy friendship if you're just waiting for the next time your "friend" is going to take a (figurative) swing at you when you've done little to nothing wrong.  And woe be unto you if your false friend loves to make a spectacle of personal drama on the internet.  Please, someone tell me why in the hell anyone should accept treatment like that from anyone.  At some point, you have to make good on your word.  You have to drop the hammer and be DONE.

Do it for your health.

Foolishness.

I had a fantastic weekend, which I'll post about later when I'm in a better headspace.

I got home without being jinxed or cursed or murdered by my car, so that was cool.  Then today, a steaming pile of drama hit, completely undoing my weekend zen.  RUDE.

After so many abuses of my good nature, though, all I can do is cut ties and walk away, for now at least.  I sincerely hope this isn't a permanent thing, but I'm not holding my breath.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and never, ever mistake kindness for weakness.

Ugh.  I'm cried out.  I need sleep.

GTFO, take two

I rescheduled this week's stitch-n-bitch date with Jeanette to today since I won't be around on Friday.  I made Shrimp, Crab, and Corn Bisque for lunch, which came out better than any other time I've made it.  I impressed myself.  And Jeanette.  And Brandell.  I made a full batch, as in, enough for meal-sized servings for 6 people.  Between the three of us, it was polished off by 6pm.  Glory!  I taught Jeanette some of the basics of crochet.  It's been a really mellow day, which is what I needed. 

I'm still continuing to improve.  My overall pain level has decreased, and my doctor had the wild idea of using a small dose of an appetite suppressant as a mild stimulant to help cut through the fibro fog, and that's working out pretty damn well.  My mental state...well...it's fluid as always.  At least it's not stuck on "Heinous."  Things are pretty good, though.  Can't complain.

I'm going to be out of town for the next two days, so I'm just going to leave you darlings with this.

We have a backlog of soda boxes.  Our roommate had a bad day.  Bring on the hilarity.

To anyone who reads this, please send me happy, calming thoughts and good traffic mojo for tomorrow.

ps  I'm getting my Super Secret Hilarious Tattoo on Tuesday.  Just so ya know.  XD

Love Letters: Surrogates.

I've lived my life with a long succession of surrogates.  My sister-in-law came into my life when I was three years old and has always been my surrogate sister and a damn fine friend.  I claimed an older couple at church as my "grandparents" since I grew up 500 miles away from my extended family.  I several brothers from other mothers and sisters from other misters. I even have a surrogate dog who comes to visit a couple times a week.

My desire for and inclusion of surrogates in my life probably stems from the aforementioned 500 miles separating me from grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, not to mention being the youngest of two by 13 years.  But never mind the reasons, I have a really awesome hand-picked family of some of the finest people I know.

Well, I have a new surrogate.  Steve's mom, Jeanette, and I have decided to be each others' surrogate mother-in-law/daughter-in-law.  Jeanette was best friends with Sue, my mother-in-law.  The fatal wreck that took Sue happened while she and Jeanette were out farting around one afternoon.  I'd met Jeanette before that day, but keeping in touch with her seemed like the thing to do at the time.  She was dealing with survivor's guilt plus injuries from the accident.  I guess I just wanted her to know that B and I did not hold her responsible (the other driver took responsibility at the scene) or hold any resentment towards her.  She's been sort of...on the periphery of my life ever since. 

Back in October, her father, who was in his 80's, passed away.  She and Steve don't have any family in town, so from the moment Grandpa's health took a turn for the worse, I glued myself to Steve's side, like it or not.  When he passed, I told Steve to get in the car and take me to their house so we could get it ready to receive guests.  We cleaned and cleaned all day.  Steve's best mentally when he's busy.  By the time his folks came home with a bucket of KFC, we had that place fully in order and ready to deal with whatever the next few days threw at them.  And I stuck by Steve's side every day, right up through the funeral, until the pictures, flowers, and mementos were taken from the church and unloaded into the house.  Jeanette thanked me for taking care of Steve and keeping him level and mellow, and for all the help.  Without even thinking, I said "That's what family does."

In the days following the funeral, Jeanette asked Steve if she could trade in her current daughter in law (her other son's now-ex wife) for me.  That I was the kind of woman she wants as a daughter-in-law.  Steve told me about this, and it really made me think.

Here I am, 30 years old, with all my older-wiser female figures hours away.  And I miss my mother-in-law like mad.  We acted more like friends than in-laws.  We had cross words exactly once in the three years B and I were together before she passed away.  She was my homegirl, my co-conspirator, a culinary inspiration, and a Jill-of-all-trades with an amazing wealth of life experience.  There hasn't been a day to go by that I haven't thought about her or wished I could call and ask her advice on so many things.

And here's a woman who I love and respect who has many of the same things to offer who wants someone to have that kind of relationship with.  And me?  Well...I really wanted that, too.  So, the other night, I told her (very awkwardly, of course) via text message that I was adopting her as my mother-in-law.  She was delighted.

Since then, we've chatted via text nearly every day.  We've formed a tradition of a weekly lunch and stitch-n-bitch.  She taught my how to knit (and I'm doing it very, very badly, I'll have you know), and I'm teaching her the basics of crochet this week.  I really enjoy our time together.  She has so many stories and a wicked sense of humor.  I feel like something has really fallen into place for me.

Nobody can or will ever replace the one and only Sue, but I think Sue would be really pleased to see that her daughter-in-law and her best friend have found such an awesome friendship with each other.

Love Letters: My favorite teacher ever

 In the spirit of Tori's DonorsChoose contest (DonorsChoose for teachers--Go! Enter! Now!), I decided to dedicate my first official Love Letter to Ms. Deaton, the best history teacher ever.


Somewhere around the second grade, someone decided I was smart.  From that point on, it was "gifted" this, "accelerated" that, and "early" the other.  By the time my junior year of high school came around, needless to say, I was burnt out.  Worn out.  I felt like my brain was crammed full, and that there was no possible way I could fit anything else in there.  I was also fighting ADHD, undiagnosed at the time, so lecture classes were always my worst. 

My junior year, I opted to take Dual Enrollment US History instead of the more strenuous AP program.  History was never one of my academic strong suits, but what can you do but suck it up and muddle through?

It only took a week or two to realize that this class was going to be different.  Note-taking was usually my only saving grace in lecture classes, but I noticed a pattern developing.  I'd start the class diligently scribbling notes, and maybe 30 minutes in, I'd put my pencil down, kick back, and just...listen.  The way she talked about history was so incredibly engaging.  It was storytelling, not just recitation of names and dates.  She liked to slip in those "naughty" facts that the history books leave out, too.  By the end of the first month, her class was my favorite and I was maintaining an A average.  She engaged us.  For the first time ever, even with a history teacher for a father, I LOVED history.

Fast forward to just before the second semester of my senior year.  I sat in the vice principal's office with my current schedule and a course catalog.  I explained that while my four of my classes were year-long and ongoing, I had two periods to fill.  I'd squeezed out all the academic juice my high school had to offer.  I proposed a solution--night classes at the community college in exchange for leaving after my second class of the day, around 11am.  College algebra and--you guessed it--World Civ with none other than Ms. Bonita Deaton, the best history teacher.  The VP went for it, and the next thing I knew, I was a part-time college student.

The World Civ class was no different, better even.  Engaging, thought-provoking, history-as-storytelling.  Even better, Ms. Deaton became my friend, since college doesn't have such a strict culture of division between students and faculty.  I was sad to see it end, sad that in the fall, I'd be leaving for South Carolina for college and that I wouldn't get to plunder the course catalog for every single class Ms. Deaton taught. 

I haven't seen her since, but I feel that without her, I never would have developed an understanding of our past as both a country and a planet.  I'd have no frame of reference for politics or world events.  I'd be just another sheep bleating "Four legs good!  Two legs bad!"  She found a way to reach me that no previous teacher had, and for that, I am eternally grateful to her.

Happy things for a happy Monday

First and foremost is the hilarious site my beloved Alexys linked me to, which explains why cats are not doctors.

Why cats are not doctors

Has some idiot already pissed you off?  Well this is for you, then.



Maybe you're feeling a bit lost, and just need some guidance.

Hillbilly Psychic Readings

Or perhaps you work for a moron?  Maybe this will help.




But if you can't bring yourself to laugh today, at least lament your predicament in style.

Sad Trombone

Happy Monday, guys!  Try to make it a good one.

P.S.  Why not do some good to balance out the ick?

Make a difference for schools and teachers.

Doggie Auntie

Steve and I were talking about our animals earlier this week, and I mentioned that I'd love to have a dog, but that I can't count on myself to be in good enough shape at all times to properly care for a dog.  I adore dogs, all dogs, but I have to be able to give them back.  He had the idea of bringing Hercules, his Westie-Chihuahua mix, aka one of the most mellow, well-behaved dogs I've ever encountered, over here a couple times a week while he's at work.  Hercules and I know each other very well.  We're total homies.  And honestly?  Getting out, moving around, getting some Vitamin D via sunlight sounds pretty damn good today.  I'm thinking booty shorts and a tube top to annoy the uptight neighbors.

Here is our day so far:

"Aunt Julie, what are you doing?  I am a dog, not a football."

"I have a new toy and a snack because I was a good boy on my walk.  

NOW WHO'S THE MACK DADDY?"

I am pleased to report that Hercules and I both survived the day intact.  I couldn't find any of my tube tops, so I had to suffice with a tank top and shorts.  Heaven forbid!  We had a slight run-in with a beagle when we went for a walk.  The beagle came running up to him, and knowing Herc's history with other dogs, I immediately scooped him up like a football.  Exchanged pleasantries with the beagle's owner, and off we went.  He was completely pooped when we got back, and spent the rest of the afternoon being lazy on the couch.  I felt he was on to something, and joined him in that.  

The only sucktastic thing to report is that my back now freaks the fuck out if I just walk around the block.  I don't get it and it's fucking rude.  I've been doing so well lately.  It might have been a shoe issue.  I'm limited to two pairs for flats until my kitty tattoo heals, and both of them may as well be made out of cardboard and vinyl.  No support whatsoever.  I think I'm going to start taking walks to the park.  I can sit down, stretch, and rest for a few minutes in the park before I head back.  I can't wait until it's warm enough to swim again.  I feel like a nice float in a cold spring would make my back feel immensely better.

Once again proving my love of excess.

I am strongly considering making these tomorrow:

Maple Bacon Biscuits. Hail Satan!

I'm also considering getting my labret pierced this coming Thursday.  My teeth are shite, but I keep hearing conflicting reports about whether or not they screw up your teeth and/or gums, and fuck it.  Fuck it.  You only live once.  Piercings for ladies are $15 on Thursdays at Condemned, and it's time I go ahead and just...own and embrace the fact that I'm on a body mod kick.  What say ye?  Does this spell dental doom?  Would it look cute enough to justify the risk?  Please, for the love of loafcats, TELL ME!

Close up.  No makeup.  Clearly I'm more balls than brains right now.

And just for shits and giggles, how about a list of tattoos I currently want to get!

• Squid
• Octopus
• A Dalek with the quote "The Daleks have no concept of elegance!"
• Another squid, this one tangled in some sort of flowering cactus
• My super-secret, crazy-hilarious tramp stamp
• A ton of variously shaped and drawn stars around my triple goddess moon
• A Robot
• An old-school swallow.  I know, I know.

Also, I'm buying this vacuum cleaner ASAP.

Excited about a new vacuum cleaner? Mammy old.

And for now, that is all.

A few good days!

Before I tell you anything about the last few days, I'm gonna need you to all read the funniest true-life story EVER, written by my amazing friend Tori. Door-to-door evangelists get more than they bargained for.

 Wednesday, the roommates were gone, so Brandell and I spent the day acting like an Actual Newlywed Couple.  I made pan-grilled salmon with toasted polenta for dinner, and it was fantastic.  It was the first time in FOREVER that I've felt well enough to stand over a stove willingly, not just because I'd promised someone some sort of food.  We had chocolate chip cookies for dessert.  YUM.  I can't lay claim to those, as they were break-n-bake, but that doesn't make 'em any less delicious.

Of course, when I posted this picture to facebook, my friend Scott had to say some ignorant shit about the "poop on the plate".  I informed him that it was olive tapenade and that he would be kicked squarely in the nards if he called anything I cooked/served poop again.

Thursday was crazy-busy.  I'd tried to pay the water bill online the night before, but for whatever reason, the payment refused to go through.  So, Thursday morning we woke up to no water, so Brandell and I went to the water office and paid the bill and the reconnect fee.  Le sigh.  Usually that joint is mobbed and the customer service folks are surly, but there was one person ahead of us and the lady at the window was sweet as pie.  Thanking god for small favors and whatnot.  I didn't want to get in a foul, gonna-choke-a-bitch mood because Thursday was my day to run around and do fun things with Jenny.

Oh, and that we did.  Our first stop was Natural Foods, a market with a self-explanatory name.  I stocked up on Kind Bars, grabbed a couple new flavors of Clif Bars, and a couple Chai Sodas.  YUMMM.  On the way there, we'd seen a couple girls on the side of the road by Condemned Tattoo and Piercing that said "$20 tattoos for ladies".  I ate a Clif Bar and drank my chai soda and we headed in there.  The one hang-up is that you had to pick your tattoo out of this notebook of flash, but I actually found something I liked.  A winky kitty face with two stars.  WHY NOT, MAN.  I got it on my right foot. 

Now this--this was an interesting experience.  I get bad cramps in my hips, legs, and feet when I have them at a disagreeable angle.  I was sitting in a chair with my foot up on another chair when my entire right leg seized up like a mofo.  I jumped up, almost tripping over the foot rest on the chair, and flattened my foot out on the floor until the cramping let up.  I sat back down, but nope, it fired up again.  So, wash, rinse, repeat, and I decided to proceed standing with my foot on the chair, Captain Morgan style.  I really wish there was a picture of this silliness.  After the outline, I sat my fat ass back down.  All the while, Jenny and I were chatting with one of the artists who was hanging out in there with us, and she seemed like a really cool chick.  She took pictures of my spoon tattoo and my foot-kitty, and showed us all of her ink.  As much as I love Diabolik Ink, I will absolutely go back to Condemned in the future.  I really liked how many female artists there were there.  Tattooing is definitely a male-dominated industry in this town, and while I really don't give a damn about the gender of my tattoo artist (or doctor or bus driver or gynecologist, etc.), seeing women in typically male-dominated spaces always makes me happy.  They're going to be doing another tattoo for me in the next couple weeks--all I'm going to say is that it's a tramp stamp, and you will likely pee yourself laughing when you see it.  This is a crappy picture, but I'm sure I'll be able to get a better one once I no longer have to put highly reflective petroleum products on it.

So, Foot Tattoo Pain Report:  It's really no worse than anywhere else, except for one little thing.  See that star right there at the very edge?  The one that's DIRECTLY ON TOP OF MY PINKY TOE KNUCKLE?  Yeah, I'm surprised I didn't pee myself.  That was murderous.  Jenny even said I was making Psycho Murder faces.  So, moral of the story...avoid your joints and it's all good.  I freaking love this silly little tattoo.  Need to know if I'm a crazy cat lady?  Just look at my foot.  Yes.  Yes I am.

After we were done at Condemned, Jenny and I decided we were hungry so we summoned The Husbands and went out to dinner at Passage 2 India.  Despite my ingrained hatred of businesses who substitute numbers for actual words in their name, I think this place is my favorite restaurant in Valdosta.  I am addicted to their Dabba Ghosht.  I order it every. single. time.  Brandell orders something new and interesting, then we share.  So it works.  Because all four of us are such frequent patrons, the waiter kept bringing us little plates and dishes of things to munch.  In addition to the usual plate of veggies and raita, he brought us a plate of fruit and each couple got a small bowl of some sort of rice pudding, heavily seasoned with cardamom, for dessert.  OMFG YUM.  It was far more liquid than any rice pudding I've had before, but I swear to you, I will figure out what it is, find it in the new Indian cookbook Jenny and Jeff gave me for my birthday, and make some asap. 

Yesterday was just...bizarre.  I woke up at 10am, farted around on the internet, did my usual waking-up thing.  I started to get sleepy, so I laid down for a nap before my therapy appointment.  Had my appointment, got my meds refilled, came home, got on the internet, fully intending to post here, spent maybe 30 minutes screwing around, and my eyes started to cross, so it was Bad TV Time.  A few shows in, I fell asleep.  Brandell woke me up and fed me a couple burritos.  I didn't even feel hungry, but this fattie doesn't turn down food, so I ate them, and all the sudden, I was AWAKE!  More bad TV and crocheting, and sure enough, a few hours later, I fell asleep again.  This time, my wonderful husband woke me up with some really tasty baked fish and corn on the cob.  (It should be noted that I love corn on the cob more than life itself.)  I cleaned my plate, then more bad TV and crocheting, and I was back in bed by 1:30am, which is crazy-early for me.  I didn't wake up until noon today.

I have a theory, though.  I'm hypoglycemic.  I get sleepy, REALLY sleepy, when I'm hungry.  However, baclofen, my muscle relaxer, has the side effect of anorexia.  And I haven't felt a legitimate hunger pain in days.  So my body is no longer telling me when to eat.  I just go to sleep.  Yes, this sucks, but at least I know what's going on now.  When I get sleepy before 3am, I need to just shut up and eat something, lest I nap myself into a hypoglycemic coma and have to be hauled off to the hospital.  Sheesh.  With fibromyalgia, you learn something new every day.

AND we have a new development with the Dueling Loaves.  Peace at the food dish!  Behold!

Previously, we fed them in separate rooms because of fighting, but I guess these two are finally forging a peace treaty.  Yusss!  Also, Scotti has decided that being a neck pillow on my computer chair isn't enough.  He must attempt to cushion my back, but as he's not quite as loafy as Fizzgig, this doesn't work out so well.

Silly cat.

Well, I'm getting sleepy so I think this means I need to go put on Real Clothes and go out to lunch with Krystal.  Good times!

Bottom line of this is, of the 12 (no shit) things I'm taking on a daily basis right now, SOMETHING IS WORKING.  This is amazing.  I feel better than I have in a long time.  This pleases me.