Reawakening.

So, it's been awhile.  Lots has transpired since last time I updated.  Obviously.  The way of the universe is, life goes on, whether you're ready for it or you want it to or not.  The shop is doing well.  I took a 2 1/2 week trip to California to visit friends, which did wonders for body and soul.  I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to see, but I guess that just means I have to go back next year.  I kept a (paper!) journal through the whole trip, and I plan on writing some posts based on those journal entries, very soon.  And you all know that for me, "very soon" can mean tomorrow or next month.

Yesterday, I made amends with a friend I'd been fighting with for the better part of two months.  We got the yuck out of our systems, talked about things like grown-ups, then spent the evening hanging out like no time had passed.  That's the mark of a good friend, dears.  You get the hell over it.  Forgiveness is hard, and forgetting?  Well, forget it.  But moving on is truly where grace lies.

So it's that time of year where enough of it has passed to look back and make broad, sweeping judgments about it.  This was a bad year for friendship, sadly.  A good year for personal growth, but a horrific year for friendship.  I can't hold myself blameless.  My fault mostly lies in the "not just saying what you feel, when you feel it" department, vis a vis my proclivity to befriend people, then help them, and not speak up when the first signs of my good nature being shat upon appear.

That's what it always boils down to in my life, folks taking enormous dumps on my good nature.  It's always the people I try to give a hand up that suddenly decide I'm a heinous bitch for whatever reason.  I don't think I want anyone besides my husband to live with me ever again.  Those are the worst slaps in the face.  I've got two rooms in my home trashed right now because clearly, asking for rent after MONTHS of saying we're having financial issues is just rude, and expecting to use one's own living room before midnight when there's no less than 3 other places in the house to sleep and clearly, headphones do not exist is downright unreasonable. The really shitty thing is, I don't merit talking to about these things.  Nope.  Let's just leave our shit all willy-nilly and fuck off and shit talk the only person who was willing to help in your hour of need.

I'm done with shitty people, y'all.  Just done.  I'm up to something like 6? 8? people that crested the top of my shit list and rolled off the other side in 2011.  Folks I thought were good friends and good people.  Is it just me?  Does this happen to anyone else when you lend someone a hand?  Maybe it's just misdirected stress and anger.  I'm here, and thus, an easy target.  Makes sense, but it doesn't make it right.  I'm kind, and thus, a mark.  THAT is fucked up.

And, to make up for all the shittyness of this post, here is Scotti-cat in a hoodie.

Onwards and upwards. Bigger and better. Good things are coming to me. I can already feel it.

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.

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.

Tu-tu Tattoosday!

After my earlier post about spoons and learning to evaluate reality before agreeing to every offer of fun times that comes my way, I decided that the spoon tattoo was definitely happening. I got a quick shower, put on a fun outfit, decided makeup was unnecessary, and got the hell out.

So, we got to Diabolik Ink and I discovered that Bob, my usual artist, wasn't working today. However, Erik, who did Jenny's tattoo about a month ago, was available. This sort of caught me off guard. Bob's been there every time I've been in since the first time he tattooed me. I sort of stammered out "Well. Uhh. You're good, right? Duh, what am I thinking, of course you're good, Jenny's tattoos look awesome." GOD ALMIGHTY AT THE FLAVOR OF SHOE LEATHER. He seemed unfazed by my unintentional rudeness, and we talked about what I wanted. He got the initial drawing done, and Brandell and I left to go grab a burger since we'd barely eaten and I'd hate to pass out, and when I got back, I decided to be a mega-dork and email myself with some content for this post. LOL

Currently sitting at the shop waiting for Erik to prep everything. I'm getting a spoon on the inside of my left wrist. Told him why, and the drawing came back with some red liquid in the spoon. Spoon with meds? Fuck yes, even better. So yes, I am tattoo-cheating on Bob today, but this...this just had to happen. I feel like it's important to cement my new reality in my head in a very real, permanent way. It will be a reminder to consider how I actually feel and my current mental and physical state before over committing. That sometimes, it's ok to put my needs first. And I'll always have an extra spoon when I'm running low.

Right about then, Erik bee-lined for the door to smoke a cig, so I followed him out for "Smoke 'em if you've got 'em" time. We went back to his booth, and I saw he'd added a red and orange sun behind the spoon. Oh sweet lord, yes.

See, all I'd told him earlier was that I'd recently been diagnosed with fibromyalgia and wanted a tattoo of a spoon. He didn't know what fibromyalgia is, or about the whole "spoons" concept, or that being diagnosed after three years of misery really is like the dawn of a whole new life for me. As he worked, I explained all of this to him, and we both thought it was definitely...interesting that he'd come up with that without any input from me.

What I'd requested as a simple line drawing just grew and grew in complexity and color and depth. This is by far one of my most beautiful tattoos, hands down. It's number 10 for me, and I hate to say this because it almost always jinxes me (the artist moves to a bigger city), but I think I've found MY artist.

There's just no words for how much I love it. The detail is impeccable. The treatment of transparent and reflective surfaces is unlike anything I've ever seen. Holy balls, Batman, this guy is GOOD.

(Never mind the mirror images, I was screwing with FXCamera on my Droid and wound up getting a better picture than the previous one. LOL)

After a trip to Big Lots in which we purchased everything but what we meant to purchase, we stopped by Captain D's to pick up some dinner. We were both beat.

After we ate, Brandell used the cat as a pillow while I took my meds and changed into my pajamas.

...I gotta say, it was a good day.

<3

Yelling into the void.

It's been an interesting week or so, adjusting to the news that was dropped on me on March 8th.  It's cool, though.  I'm cool.  Oddly enough, I'm somehow comforted by just knowing what's wrong with me. 

I'm a bit off my ass on meds right now, but I wanted to go ahead and get this up and running.  I've been promising myself forever that I was going to start my own blog.  I suppose I've just been waiting until I had something substantial to write about on a regular basis.  As fabulous as my rants and diatribes are, I'm not the angry person I used to be, and would have zero luck trying to keep an active blog based on sheer piss and vinegar.

So, about me.  I have nine days left of my 20's, and one of my best friends flew in from Denver to help me celebrate.  I have two epic weekends lined up, and I feel incredibly lucky that I'm currently receiving the medical care I need to be able to keep up!  I've been married for about a year, but my husband and I have been together for seven years and have gone through what seems like more than our fair share of things getting really real.  We are owned by two parakeets, two cockatiels, and two very round cats.  We don't have kids, and we have no intention whatsoever of having kids.  We strongly suspect our house was built by Dr. Frankenstein, and we share it with two resident spirits.  I have a pretty...eclectic personal style, and haven't been able to keep my hair a color found in nature for more than a month or two in the last decade.  I adore piercings and tattoos, and I'm mad as hell that pretty much any oral piercing will likely offset the delicate balance that currently keeps my teeth in my head.  I think I'd look amazing with a labret.

I recently realized that I have exactly zero recurring commitments.  No job (due to Crazy), no church (due to an aversion to religion), no clubs (due to being a total misanthrope), no volunteering (I used to volunteer at the animal shelter, and getting back into that is a goal of mine for once I'm feeling better)...just...nothing right now.  I've been declining for probably five years, with the last three being a pretty quick downhill slide.  More and more things kept disappearing from my life due to frequent migraines, constant back aches, and killer fatigue.  I don't like that.  I want to do things.  I want to go to school.  I know for sure that I want to go to tech school for something like graphic design, veterinary technician, cosmetology--the list goes on and only gets more random.  I've been terrified of choosing a program, getting enrolled, and finding out my body and/or brain simply will not allow me to go to school or function once I get there, or be able to perform in the real world once I'm done.  But I'm going to make this happen.  I've had a sealed copy of my high school transcripts in my desk drawer for a few months now.  It.Will. Happen.

I try to keep myself out of trouble, though.  Clearly, I am an internet addict.  I also love cooking (when my back will let me), crocheting, jewelry-making, and sewing.  I have a shopping habit that's more useful for getting me into trouble than keeping me out of it.  And my roommate and I spend the summer trying to cram in as many trips to Madison Blue Springs as possible.  It's a spiritual thing.

I'm vain enough to carry on about myself for a few more pages, but I'm going to quit while I'm ahead and go sleep somewhere that won't involve waking up to a keyboard face-waffle in the morning.

<3