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.

Relative to what? {Facebook Stupid}

I promise that this is to the best of my memory.  



The Exchange:

So, tonight, a friend's status was about a possible 2012 presidential candidate.

First comment is a non-committal agreement.

I was second. I offered up a casual but firm disagreement.

Friend laughingly states a rebuttal.

I state a piece of information that supports my previous disagreement.

Friend concedes the point, as my information was factual, but states another reason she likes said candidate, a sound bite of rhetoric that's exited the blowhole of every presidential candidate since I started paying attention in the year 2000.

A man, likely an older relative, made a rude statement, calling me ignorant for not sharing his political beliefs. It was deceptively kindly worded, so as to trick the reader into not realizing they'd been insulted.

I replied that Friend's reason was something stated in every election cycle, and then that Relative ought not call strangers ignorant. That it was rude, and did not look good on him.

Friend deletes my comment.

I reply "You deleted my comment? Coward. Enjoy your brainwashing." then unfriended her.

I understand that it's awkward as hell when friends and family clash on Facebook. My personal policy has always been to watch the discussion, whether I participate or not, for anyone being rude and/or unfair. If things got out of hand, I'd delete the status, but I've never had to do this. A different former friend of mine called one of my family members out on a homophobic statement. In fact, on a completely different post, 5 of my friends called out a family member for homophobia. There have been some heated debates, but everyone on my friends list has played (mostly) fair so far. In fact, I've even directed friends/family to rude comments made on my status, just because I knew they'd have something hilarious or awesome to say about it. I don't expect everyone I know to agree on all subjects at all times. It's not possible to not discuss politics so I dive right in, for the most part.  I feel that people should be free to openly disagree with one another. The vast majority of my friends are smart, witty, and opinionated. These are traits I adore in my loved ones. The prevailing unspoken code seems to be one of respect.

A person who feels it's ok for a relative to insult a friend for no good reason, then cosign that bullshit is not a friend. I don't care how "respected" this person is, or how old, I'm not going to just accept their insults. Just...no. I'm an adult. Your relative? I wouldn't know them if they kicked me in the ass. There's a tiny-ass picture and a name. Respect is earned. And if you don't instigate drama, there's no reason to feel badly about calling out an insult. Period. Some people are bullies. Some of them don't know any other way to be, so they get old, bitter, and hateful. Shit happens. I'm too old myself to tolerate a bully, or to silently acquiesce.

So tell me, ye who do not suck, what is your policy on friend vs. family verbal projectiles on Facebook? No seriously. Write it in the comments, anon if you don't feel like registering/signing in/having your name associated with your feelings on the subject. Even if all you have to say is "ignore it." I want as many opinions as possible on this.

Kthanx.

ps - Yeah, fighting on the internet, stupid, whatevs. Humor me.

So this one time, I totally abandoned my blog...

...Sorry about that.  Saying things have been hectic is the understatement of the year.  Biggest news:  B and I opened a gaming/comic shop with a couple of our friends!  Friday was our first day open, and it went phenomenally.  And I use that word without irony or hyperbole.  The three or so weeks leading up to our opening were filled with planning, painting, and sheer exhaustion.  I couldn't form sentences well enough for Facebook, let alone write a blog post with paragraphs and whatnot.  I can't believe it's real, y'all.  "Run my own shop" has always been pretty high on the list of things I'd like to do with my life, and it's happening.  Now, I could go on about the pain I've dealt with for the duration of the remodeling of the store, but I really have no desire to bitch and moan.  Yes, I still hurt.  Yes, I blew through my month's worth of pain meds in two and a half weeks.  Yes, my doctor is an incredibly understanding man and wrote my refill early.  But I pulled my weight, did my part, and I'm still around to tell the tale.  I'll take it.

But suffice to say, everyone in the House of Round Cats was completely exhausted today.  We're closed on Monday and Tuesday, so this is our first day off in forever.  Brandell has been playing games on his computer with Caleb literally all day.  Ryan and I have been spending quality time with Gray's Anatomy on Netflix.  However, Ryan did take a moment to punk anyone and everyone with any intention of using the hallway bathroom.

With so many people living here and spending time here, we always have a plethora of empty soda 12-pack boxes.  Often, they're used for wall-building, as was shown in a previous post.  But tonight?  It was time for something different.

Jared went to use the loo, only to find this:

Yep.  The toilet seems to be missing.

Oh, and it's not hollow either:

We voted for Krystal to be the one to undo Ryan's handiwork, since she's the cutest.  Destruction ensues!



So, I'm pretty pleased that this is the extent of the grand excitement of my day.  Aaand, it's time to get back to the living room before my spot on the couch gets cold.  <3

Last stop, this town

I am most definitely in a state of transit.

Since I no longer have a stylist, I've taken my hair care into my own hands.  He always said I wouldn't look good with blunt, thick bangs, especially if they extend past the corner of my eye.  Guess what I have now?  I cut 'em myself a few days ago.  They're definitely...challenging when they get unruly, but I love them.

He also told me that he hated the way my hair looks when I dye it blue, so I did that today.  Krystal took some pictures for me on our way to go run errands this afternoon.

So yeah.  New hair.  Major love.

So, since I started rockin' and posting pictures of my fatkini, I've had many people ask questions about the source of my confidence, so I decided randomly to start The Fatkini Mafia on facebook , then got sparky and started Fatkini Riot..  I'm not sure if it's activism or sheer hubris, but both projects sound like tons of fun (hurr hurr) and I hope I can get some co-conspirators to submit photos, guest posts, and engage in discussion.  

If you're interested in the least, join the group, check out the blog, and hit me up and let me know what tickles your pickle.  And yes, I would be more than happy to do some Q&A/advice posts, so hit me up with questions, too.  Anon commenting is enabled, but at least give me a pseudonym and enough details to work with without revealing who you are if you'd rather keep your privacy.  Also, if you can think of questions you would have liked to have answered during your early days of Body Acceptance, I'll take a stab at those, too.  Where to shop, relationship advice, tarot readings--I'll hook it up as long as you're willing for it to go public without your name attached.  I've always had a secret daydream of being an advice columnist, so indulge me, k?

In other news, I about climbed through the drive-thru window at the CVS to choke a bitch.  Here's the story, if you care to read it.  It happened about a week ago, so I'm mostly over it, but damn, y'all, you are RUDE.

Also, I got a new fatkini.  But y'all know where to find that.

Through all the crazyness, the busyness, the pain, the loss, and the scary new symptoms, I'm still alive and kicking, shooting my mouth off, and blistering the eyeballs of fatophobes everywhere.  I'd say I'm doing pretty damn good, yes?

On yelling.

Contrary to popular belief, I hate yelling.  More specifically, I hate being the one that has to do the yelling.  I used to be a big fan of yelling, back when I drank like a fish and couldn't see what a fucking train wreck I was turning into.  But now, thanks to quitting drinking, therapy, and medication, I just...don't yell.

But goddammit if two people haven't pushed me to the point of yelling this month.  And not even a shouted sentence or two, a full-on, lung-bending, blood-boiling, black-out RANT.  I don't even know what the fuck is going on with the universe right now.  This month alone, I've had to cut four people out of my life.  I'm not as into astrology as I used to be.  Are we under the star of douchebaggery or something right now?

Only one of these losses truly makes me sad.  That would be my surrogate mother-in-law, who reacted to my olive branch by alienating me in cliche form.  Yeah, the same one I wrote a love letter about a couple weeks ago.  Chosen family is only family until you're under the influence of a lie, then they're disposable family.  Oh well.  A new alpha fag has been chosen, and a new surrogate mother-in-law will come in time.

I hate that I feel such a strong need to have that sort of a relationship with someone in my life at all times.  At 30, I still don't feel like much of a grown-up.  Adult matters make me feel like Bambi on wobbly legs.  I don't need someone to baby me or to do things for me, I just want someone who's been doing this grown-up thing for awhile to be my friend and well...I guess a mentor, of sorts.

But back to yelling.  It sucks.  It makes my head hurt.  The adrenaline rush usually renders me useless for 5-10 minutes, then once it dies down, thus begins the withdrawal migraine.  I yelled last night and actually woke up with a sore throat today.  WTF?  But physical shit aside, it's just so unseemly.  It shouldn't be necessary, ever, but sadly, it is. 

I guess I should just be grateful that I've ceased being a doormat, and that I'll actually stand up for myself now.  That's major progress.  I suppose this is the inevitable backlash, though--after spending so many years of running from conflict or just trying to smooth things over, I suppose it's only natural that upon waking up, I come out roaring.



p.s.  I have a new fatkini!  Springs trip tomorrow--hopefully I'll have some pics then!

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.

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.

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.

Alarm fail.

Well, suffice to say, my ass is NOT in Tallahassee right now.  I set three alarms.  All of them were within two feet of my head.  I also had Jenny call me twice, and did not hear the phone right next to my head, either.  Fail, fail, fail. 

I guess part of my problem is that the post I made last night got me thinking.  I thought about what's mandatory, what's obligatory,  what's optional, and what I really, truly, legitimately want to spend my spoons on. 

Time, effort, and energy are precious commodities to anyone, but doubly so when one runs smack into the reality that it's not a matter of laziness or being antisocial...the mind is willing but the body says FUCK THAT.

For example:  Can I comfortably sit on a bar stool or stand for 4-5 hours?  Hell no.  Can I drink with everyone else?  LOL, no.  Do I enjoy being sober around drunk people?  Do I even have to answer that question?  Do I really think I'll be able to spend quality time with the person I came to see?  Yeahhhh no.  Will I be relaxed and comfortable in a loud, unfamiliar place?  Not at all.  Logical conclusion?  Send regrets and possibly a thoughtful gift.

Today, I'm going to Diabolik Ink to set an appointment to have the Tree of Life I had outlined over a year ago filled in.  It's effing huge.  It goes from the ankle to the knee on the back of my left calf, and is wrapped in a banner that says "I have seen in a forest of myself little books from tall trees", a quote from Release, my favorite Blackalicious song.  I'm going to have the artist add in some wisteria to the branches, too.  And if there's an artist free today, I'm going to have a wee spoon tattooed on my left wrist.  It just seems like the thing to do.

I suppose it's time to break free from my mentality that I'm a shitty friend if I can't make it to all the things I say I will.  I get so excited, so very very excited, when I hear about fun things to do.  I don't consider my limitations.  I don't think about the realities that said situation will entail.  I need to learn to say "That sounds like fun.  Let me get back to you on that." and stop agreeing because the annoying-ass idealist who lives in my brain forgets my current reality.

Well, I should be in bed...

I'm supposed to be on the road to Tallahassee by 10am with Jenny, Jeff, and Brandell.  I'm definitely better than yesterday, but I still feel like I was beaten by a bag full of hammers.  TJ left to go back to Denver today.  I spent a good chunk of my afternoon speed-crocheting a dice bag for him.  Steve came over for a few minutes.  The day was pretty chill, but I have no idea where it went and I don't feel rested at all.

So why the hell am I even considering this trip to Tallahassee?  New Leaf Market, my dears.  It's literally the closest thing, both in distance and in concept, that we have to a Whole Foods around here.  And while B and I aren't afraid of trans fats and yellow #5, we dig the meat selection there (all the normal critters, plus lamb, goat, bison, venison, rabbit...the list goes on) and all the fancy cheese.  Food snobbery and being a fatty tend to go hand in hand.  We've made the agreement that we're going to choose things that don't take long to prep or cook.  We spend way too much money eating out, and hope to rectify that.

I also want to pick up a few home remedies for fever blisters.  I was born a carrier because my mom has 'em.  I had my first one at 16, and this, my darlings, marks #2.  Yes.  Less than a week until my 30th birthday.  I'm going to turn 30 with some shit on my lip that's got some shit on its lip.  RUDE.  I've been running damage control with medicated Chap-Stick, and so far, that's kept it at bay.  Thankfully, I have propolis on hand, which is a natural, bee-produced anti-viral, anti-bacterial, anti-fungal WONDER SUBSTANCE.  Seriously, that shit took care of an abscessed tooth at one point.  Lysine and licorice powder are also on my to-buy list.  FULL ON ASSAULT.

So I'm going to just...shut up and go.  I have a Monster Java in the fridge, and Brandell's word that he'll drive on the way back, so I can totally do this.  It's making me rethink other things I've committed to over the next week or so and wonder--is this really the best use of my spoons?  Well, what the fuck else would I use them for?  But that?  Really?  Sigh.  I'll strike a balance one day.  Until then, I'll do my damnedest not to over commit myself, and drive that lesson home by making myself keep the commitments I make when humanly possible.

I guess the fever blister really drives home the point of my current stress levels.  The last time I got one, it was one of those worst case scenario times...for a 16 year old, at least.  I guess I'm a bit more frazzled than I'd like to admit.  Lately, I haven't even wanted to bother calling bullshit on scenarios when it's greatly deserved, which is highly out of character for me.  I've forgiven when I probably should have stuck to the promise I made to myself.  I've taken a deep breath and let some dumb shit go.  These are all probably things I should have been doing all along.  The only problem is, when I don't speak up, I internalize shit and stew about it.  I have an incredibly hard time truly just letting shit go.  It burns a fucking hole in my gut until enough time has passed for me to lose some of my give-a-damn.  It can be hours, it can be years.  And don't tell me to journal that shit, because it would all go right here (pen and paper writing, at least in the quantity that would take for me to purge this foolishness, is hell on my hands) and I would lose friends and alienate people.  The fucking quandary of the thinking woman, I suppose.  It's a shame people don't respond well when you grab them by the face, stare into their eyes, and say "YOU ARE BEING STUPID".

Aaaand cue my back hurting like hell again.  O hai, PMS.  Joyyyyy.

/Negative Nancy

The Rise and Fall of One Magnificent Weekend

Now that I've become conscious of what's going on with my body, I'm learning pretty quickly that there's two sides to this coin of feeling better.  I decided to have my birthday party a week early this year.  My dear friend TJ came to town this week, and since I'm going to be out of town on my actual birthday, why not rally the troops to hang with TJ and to celebrate me getting hella old?

So, me and 12 of my nearest and dearest got together Saturday night.  Since I can't drink due to my meds and I'm slightly bitter about that, the party was BYOB.  Thankfully, if I take all my meds together, it's like taking a trip without leaving the farm, so I was a good little patient.  My husband grilled hot dogs (and veggie dogs) and Kristin brought potato salad and her AMAZING olive dip--seriously, the stuff is THE BEST EVER and if you eat enough, you smell like a salami the next day the first time you sweat.  God, I love garlic.  Pretty simple spread that required very few spoons to get together.  I even bought my cake, which would have been unheard of previously.  So glad I did though--Publix Bakery makes a damn fine Caramel Pecan Crunch cake.  Leftovers?  There are none. 

I'd had some fancy-pants party outfit planned, but I wound up staying in my t-shirt and cut-off shorts.  I dunno, I guess my priorities are slowly but surely rearranging themselves.  I wanted to be comfortable and have fun with my friends and not have to act ladylike in the least. 

And the guest list--oh good god, some of the finest human beings I know.  Brandell and myself, OF COURSE, and TJ, who lives in Denver and we get to see him maybe once or twice a year, Jenny and Jeff, who brought Rock Band and always make for a lively gathering, Eric, the fantastically hilarious artist who I hadn't seen since training class at the failed experiment which was my employment at Convergys, MY GREGGIE PIE, who's been my BFF since age 12, drove up from Jacksonville.  I spent a good portion of my night attached at the hip to Greggie, including making Two-Headed Snuggie Monster while watching Gorillaz: Demon Days Live at the end of the night.  And of course, Jared and Steve and Scott and Samantha and Kristin and all those fantastic people who make my world go 'round.  Try to show me a finer group of human beings and I'll call you a goddamn liar.  I'm so grateful to have all of these people in my life, and to have them all show up to celebrate with the old gimp who's politicking on the alcohol?  I feel loved.  <3

So, we stuffed our faces and played some Rock Band, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't indulge in a bit of herbal refreshment.  Hey, if this were California, I'd be prescribed it by my doctor to help mitigate my pain, so why the hell not, especially on a night when pain is the last thing I need.  And god, that was good times too.  There's something magical about the campfire circle, how it can take a group of people who don't know each other and turn them into friends by the time the joint's out.  Especially those moments when everyone is quiet and you look at the faces of those around you and think of how lucky you are to be surrounded by these people, folks who probably never would have come together were it not for that one common interest.

And since I wasn't drunk at the end of the night, Brandell and I got all the food put away and the house mostly restored to its pre-party state.  I crawled into the bed and was asleep by the time my head hit the pillow.

Yesterday morning, the other side of that coin came down HARD.  The grocery shopping trip/Kohl's run (because TJ needed a party outfit, ain't that sweet), what little party prep there was, plus being all over the place all night, sitting in uncomfortable positions, and generally acting the fool took its toll on me.  My back was screaming.  Muscle cramps and spasms that reached into my lower abdomen and hips.  I spent most of the day trying to find a comfy place to sit.  Couches?  Fail.  Comfy computer chair that ALWAYS helps my back?  Well, I found the exception to that rule.  I think the most comfortable place I wound up was sitting on the edge of my bed, a pillow behind me, leaned up against the wall.  Thus, I spent a good chunk of yesterday after Greggie left in my room crocheting.  Not a bad deal, if you ask me.  Still, the pain was nearly unbearable, even with all of my meds.  And...I just had to deal.  I distracted myself as best I could.  More importantly, I accepted that after a big, busy, active day, this will likely be the fallout. 

So, lesson learned.  Go on, have fun with your friends.  Do the things that you want to do.  But don't overestimate your spoon count.  Schedule relaxation time, and if you can't schedule it, take it anyway.  People will understand or they won't.  It's that simple.  I feel incredibly lucky that I do have so many understanding, supportive people in my life.  Anything that enhances my gratitude for what I do have and the things that are going right can't be entirely bad, now can it?