New Life

These socks are from the very beginning of my mother's sock making career and I wore them almost everyday when I was in the hospital with The Meningitis. They made me feel loved and safe. Plus, they look smashing with a back-open hospital gown and an IV stand.

I'm planning to sleep most of the weekend away. The Monkey Plague must go.

Oh, and I hadn't heard from Mr. Internet since I called him Monday night and I finally got an e-mail this morning. Don't know if I'll see him or not. I think it's fading.

One of the things I do every day is clean out the biohazard garbages.

Since I still have the awful pain associated with bathrooming, my doctor called in another antibiotic for me to take - a one time dealy that dissolves in water that you then have to gag down. Here's a run-down of what I am to expect.

Moderate to severe diarrhea....
Shakiness and dizziness....
Headache, nausea and vomiting....

I'm SO pleased, I could just puke.

In fact, I might.

Part of the reason for the emotional meltdown on Saturday and Sunday could be the fact that I have come down with Crissy's Monkey Plague. When I don't physically feel well, my head tends to give in to the crazies. All day yesterday was, sneeze, sneeze, blow nose, owie my ears hurt, oh and my whole body hurts, hacking coughing and hot and cold. If you are physically well, I hate you.

I have a bazillionty hours of sick time to use up, so I figured a good day in bed will cure me. Only when I woke up, it was ALL SYSTEMS FAIL because I couldn't pee and when I did, it hurt. A lot. And that only means one thing. So, after Therapy Tuesday (which I couldn't miss since the calvary got called in on Sunday night to soothe the voices and if I don't show up, I'll get the crazy police after me and I'm NOT going there.) I call my doctor's office and believe it or not (I love my doctor) I can come in immediately. I pee in a cup, I listen to the nurse, "Blahbitty Blah blah, you should quit smoking, blahbitty blah blah your blood pressure is very high, blah blah, pee in a cup and be sure to wipe front to back, yadda yadda yadda." Then the good doctor comes in and announces that I have a urinary tract infection, pokes and prods at my stomach and then tells me I probably have a kidney stone and did I know that's the worst pain known to man, as I'm wincing while he's palpating my innards. Could the day get any better?

The day gets better. Yes, it does. I pick up the medicine and as I'm reading the possible side effects, I see what I'm up against.

this medicine may cause serious lung problems....
may cause drowsiness or dizziness....
the medicine may color the urine brown.....
moderate to severe diarrhea....
headache, gas, nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite (SWEET!)
blurred vision, joint or muscle pain, tingling or numbness in fingers or toes....
Bloody or black tarry stools, bluish skin or nails, chest pain, confusion...
depression, mood or mental changes.... (GREAT)
unusual bruising or bleeding, blistered or peeling skin...

And of course, I'm already short of breath and feeling dizzy and bluish and freaking the fuck out just because I can. They're trying to kill me.

I had a lot of fun at the Halloween Dance. I love, love, love dancing. I don't remember doing much of that in college or in my early twenties. I worked for the church for God's sake. I didn't have time! So, any chance to wiggle it just a little bit is very welcome in my life today. Now, I'm just waiting for the Christmas Dance.

I really miss Jason right now.

Here's the next installment of ASMMM (Awesome Socks My Mom Makes.) Because if I have to wear them, you have to appreciate them.

I changed my mind about the Halloween costume for tonight. My boring friends have decided that they're not really that interested in dressing up this year, so no floor length gown for me. I'm going simpler. I'm doing Sexy Schoolgirl instead. Plaid skirt, above the knee white stockings, mary janes, white button down shirt with lacy bra and pigtails. Mr. Internet is coming as Perverted Professor. I'm sure I'll end up in detention....

This is me yesterday...

Happy with my four inch roots from the highlighting job I had done last April. Add to that the fact that I rarely get my hair cut and I was looking pretty mousy. Not bad though, for not doing anything to my hair for six months, don't you think? As I've said before, I'm not all that into hair and makeup. It takes too much time.
Here's the Paris Hilton highlight job I had done last night.

If you've been reading for any amount of time, you know that I take medication for my crazy head. And you probably also know that for the first time in seven years, my psychiatrist suggested that it might be time to start tapering off said drugs because and I quote, "You haven't had any major breaks with reality in the last two years...." Ooohhhh. Thank you. That's a vote of confidence right there. Now don't get me wrong. I love this man. He kept me alive when all I wanted to do was die. When I went to see him while I was in treatment and told him I thought maybe most of it had to do with the drinking and then the lying about the drinking, he got this mischevious grin on his face, opened up my file and started slinging his pen around. Almost giddy.

"Well, you don't get any more of THIS. (crossing things off) And hey, I bet you don't meet the criteria for THIS diagnosis anymore! Oh, and no more of THIS sleeping pill or THAT anxiety drug....."

I'm sitting there half crying, half trying not to laugh and I say to him, "If you knew I was an alcoholic all along, how come you didn't say anything?"

"If I would have told you, would you have done anything about it? Very unlikely. It was my job to keep you alive until you figured it out on your own. You forget I've been doing this for thirty years."

So, this man of thirty years' experience tells me that it's time. And I agree, finally, to let this man conduct the symphony that is my mental health. No more arguing about drugs and diagnoses and hospitalizations and recommendations. I just let him have the reigns. And because I agreed with that, I am now taking something new for my stupid head. And it scares me. It's still a step in the right direction; he saw the fear outlined in my furrowed brow and he stepped in to reassure. I don't have to like it, I just have to follow his lead. So once again my friends, if I'm going crazy, you're coming down with me!

Therapy Tuesday has ceased to be the bane of my existence for the time being. Apparently I'm more "calm" and "peaceful" and I don't "appear to be overly worrying about things that I have no control over." Oh? I finally stopped freaking the fuck out over every little thing and I'm cured? Thank you. Thankyouverymuch.

You know that the transition from flip flops to socks and shoes has been very hard on me. Yes, it has. Today we are to receive inches and inches of rain and possible snow overnight and into tomorrow. Yes, snow. If you didn't wear a winter coat, hat, mittens and a scarf over your Halloween costume as a child, you did not live. It's a given in the Midwest. So, to celebrate the Midwesterness that is snow in October, I broke out my boots. Not just any boots mind you, but the ones that make me feel sexy, powerful and oh-so-desirable whenever I wear them.
Just right for slipping and falling on the ice. Yep. In my life, falling down is inevitable; a given. So if I'm going down, I'm going to look good doing it.

Okay Boys and Squirrels. I know you've been waiting all morning to hear about my weekend, but seriously people, I actually had WORK to do at my job. I know *sigh* what is that all about?

We decided NOT to go camping. Factor in that it's been below freezing every night for a week already, sweet M's boyfriend broke up with her and she pretty much sits and stares either at the tv or cries most of the time, and I was too exhausted from the week to get everything packed up and ready to go without her help? We called it off. I thought briefly it might help to take her mind off things, but really - when your heart's broken? You just want to sit and wallow in it for a bit. We had coffee Saturday morning and a few smiles were thrown about. She'll make it. She's a toughie.

Mr. Internet has made a return entry. He's never been totally gone, but really - the man is barely divorced. He's got some stuff to deal with that I am not involving myself in. But, he took me to an SDSU football game on Saturday night. His friends have season tickets and since it was the pheasant season opener here in SD, half the world was out shooting things so we got to sit in the reserved seating. Eight rows up, on the 50 yard line. It was awesome! I mean, I don't mind football, but I can't follow it very well on tv because I can't figure out who has the ball. Up close and personal? I know whose got it and whose chasing him and why. I loved it! I got to meet some of his friends and apparently they approved of me when I got up to go to the bathroom at the bar afterward. Plus, there was lots and lots of hand holding and talking in the truck on the way home. Lots of hand holding. I don't think he let go for even an instant. Then there was the kissing in the truck. Can I just say? That look of desire? Almost evil, almost soft, almost I don't know. Very purposeful. I like being wanted. I really like KNOWING that I'm wanted. Wild Monkey Sex ensued. What can I say? Holding hands for an hour and anticipating it? It was even better. I like having sex. And I think I might like him some, too.

So with that said, I called him at about 8:30 last night and told him I had just gotten home from a road trip and had been thinking about the night before and was - well - kind of turned on and did he want to come over and take advantage of that. And guess what? HE DID. I think I just made my first booty call! Is that so wrong? Is it?

If you recall, I hate wearing socks and shoes. I wear my flip flops and slides well into the fall and usually up to the first snowfall. But if I have to wear socks, I'm a lucky girl, my Mother makes these babies for me.

I got tagged by Coconut Girl AND by Malaise for the Seven Odd Facts About You thingy, so here goes.....

1. I was 34 years old when I found out that I'd been wearing bras two sizes too small for many, many years. I always thought I was flat chested. Um, no.
2. I have size 11 feet.
3. Sometimes I secretly wish Gay Boyfriend wasn't gay.
4. Occasionally, I think that recovery is just a crock of shit, but then I go to a meeting anyway.
5. My only goal in life was to get married and be a stay at home mom. You all see how well that turned out, no? I've been trying to find other goals, but no dice. That's still the only thing I want.
6. I have to do the same getting ready routine every single morning, or I get really, really out of sorts. This is how it goes: Say my prayers in bed, go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, feed the cats, go upstairs and have a cigarette and read my daily meditation, come back downstairs, brush my teeth, make my bed, shower (which is another routine), put on most of my clothes, put on makeup, take my medicine, blow dry my hair, put on the rest of my clothes, curl hair, leave. Anything out of that order makes me not have a good day. How this happened? I do not know.
7. I haven't eaten chocolate for almost a year. No idea why.

Just so you know, I'm all about voting for Crissy for hottest mommy blogger. She makes me laugh. She makes me totally laugh. And she apparently was just as unpopular in high school as me. So please go vote for her. If she gets hottest mommy blogger, I might win some cool stuff.

Last night, after a horrid day at work with patients that kept calling while I was trying to surf the internet, I met my friend at a coffee shop. Being my usual silly, I started reading the advertisements on the bulletin board outloud while we waited, trying to make them sound dirty. And guess what? This guy sitting in the corner on his computer? He was TOTALLY checking me out! And I NOTICED! I never notice these things! Never! So I practice flirted. At least that's what my friend said when we got in the car to leave. She knows how backward I am about dating and men in general, so practicing flirting with someone I have no intention of giving my name or number to? It was good for me. So good, that I think I might have to try another coffee shop another day. Am I old enough to be called a cougar - or whatever that name is for slutty older women?

I spent most of the day yesterday cleaning my tiny dwelling. Floors scrubbed, carpets vaccuumed, dishes washed, furniture dusted and oiled, bedding washed, closet sorted, summer clothes put away and winter clothes brought back out. I even scrubbed some ceilings. Seriously. I was freakycleaning. But before I started, I made my grandma's chili, so I could smell it all day long while anticipating suppertime. Yummy!

Here it is:
3 1/2 lb.s combination of kidney beans and ground turkey - you choose the amounts
2 onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 28 oz. can diced tomatoes
2 c. beef broth
1 6 oz. can tomato paste
3 T. chili powder
1 1/2 t. dried oregano
1 t. ground cumin
1/4 - 1/2 t. cayenne pepper
1/2 t sugar

Brown turkey with onions and garlic, throw that and all the rest of the ingredients in a big pot, heat to boiling. Reduce heat and simmer 1-2 hours. Or you can just put it all in the crock pot after browning the meat. I serve mine with shredded cheddar cheese and sour cream (when I'm feeling naughty).

And that picture above? That's my coffee table when all was said and done. I'm working on a new collage. Multi-media sort of things which involve markers, clippings, beads, ribbon, the whole nine yards. The last one I made is now matted and framed in my living room. So I thought I'd try again. I love it when I get in that mood. Absolutely love it. The cooking, the cleaning, the art project? It was a fabulous day.
Oh, and Febreze apple cinnamon candles? They smell like fall. Swoon.

Remember that game you played at third grade birthday parties where they'd put a bunch of junk on a cookie sheet and let you look at it for a minute, then cover it up and make you write down all the things you remembered seeing? Do you? Please tell me you do, or I'll be convinced yet once again that my childhood was horribly warped and twisted.

Let's play another version of it. Okay? Let's look in my purse. This is Fall Purse Number One. Of second hand store $4 fame. It's classy. Yes it is. Plenty of room for crap, and I can tuck my recovery book into it when I need to. I like that in a purse.
Doesn't look too full, does it?

Therapy Tuesday. Bah! I didn't post yesterday since I had nothing good to say. Nothing.

I took my laptop to work so my co-worker and I could peruse match.com (It's blocked on our work computers. Imagine that...) and after I started deleting people left and right because of spelling errors in their profiles she said, "Is Therapy Tuesday a good day to be doing this?" and I finally laughed and said, "No. It's not. But if someone was really serious about finding a partner online, wouldn't you think they'd at least check their SPELLING?" And she turned off the computer.

But I'm asking you internet. Seriously. Am I such a bitch that I think grammatical errors say something about a person's character? That if they have things like want2bethe1foru as their headline, they're probably imbeciles? I get all judgy about that. Might explain why people don't respond to my profile? Maybe my headline should be "Miss Prissy Pants Needs Someone to Burst Her Bubble" or some such nonsense.

I try to be open minded, I really do. Really. Or I might just be lying to myself....

I think I've turned the corner on the medication change for now. So? Let the party commence! October is smack full of fun things to do and my family will be traipsing all over the United States, vacationing and sometimes running into one another. My brother and his wife are going to Philly for their anniversary weekend, and will at some point take a train into NYC to visit my sister. My mom and dad are going to visit said sister in upstate NY at her house the week after that and me? I'm going camping. Right here in South Dakota. Where I belong. And going to the Halloween Dance AND to the symphony thankyouverymuch. I got asked by a good friend in recovery who likes pretty women and sparkling conversation. I fit the bill. I told him I'd be sure to wear something that revealed the girls and he could gaze longingly at them and I'd feel all validated. Or something like that. Plus its free dinner with someone who opens doors for me and has a brand new zippy little convertible. Top down, heat blaring. That's my style.

And I'm thinking of adding these plates to my list of "I hate you."wedding gifts. Wouldn't you love eating your pie and coming to find one of these words underneath it?

I started reading a new book about addiction and recovery. Broken, by William Moyers. Sometimes I get depressed, being reminded of my active alcoholism, but I do like to read others' stories of the struggle it took to get sober. In fact, I like it so much that I think I'm going to start writing out my own story and struggling with it. This is so very much Carrie's fault, much like my new foray into Facebook, which I very much blame her for. (*wink,wink* I love you, Carrie!)

I spoke at the club last August. That's a super huge deal - being asked to speak at a Saturday night meeting, especially this early in sobriety. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not all that in recovery. It was JazzFest here in Sioux Falls that weekend, and they couldn't find anyone else. Seriously. But I figured it was as good a start as any. I'd rather speak at a relatively small-ish meeting and be bad my first time than really mess up at a winter meeting when there's nothing else to do on the snowpacked plains and the club is packed to the rafters. (*shivers* just thinking about it) I'm a very good speaker. I know this to be true and I don't play around denying it. I figure different people have been given different talents. One of mine is speaking. My sponsor? She HATES it and she sucks at it and she knows it. So with that said, I agonized over this speaking engagement, wrote out story after story of my drinking and recovery and was not happy with a dang one of them. I finally left it up to God to speak for me and wouldn't you know, I got a standing ovation. That was amazing.

But there's something about the written word that speaks to me. I'm not the world's best writer and I want to be better. So there. I'm giving it a try. And you're invited to come along for the ride! My stupid weight loss blog (of which I lost nothing) will now be the place where I post and re-post and write and edit and edit more of my story. Feel free to drop by with suggestions. I need all the help I can get.

So, Joan and I went to all the Goodwills and Salvation Armies and St. Vincent DePaul's last Tuesday night looking for the goods for a Halloween costume for moi. I was thinking bride or medusa, as you may recall. But what I found was even better. I'm going to be "The Bridesmaid From Hell. I Will Make Your Wedding a Nightmare." (That's my motto for the night. Now you know. Run and hide, thankyouverymuch.)

And no, I won't be wearing that bra. In fact, I don't think I'll be wearing one at all, and if I'm like Crissy's Pimp, I may not wear underwear either. Mwhahaha! Tell me you can see it. The eggplant dress replete with dead flowers, black lipstick, pale face, super messy falling down updo with big black bow to accentuate it. Yes, I get very excited about dressing up for Halloween. Just about as excited as your six year old. Humor me here.

Oh, and the dress was $4. I win in all things second hand store.

Just want to point out that I'm trying this on at work. And that if I get the new job I'm interviewing for today? I think the party might be over.

You know you're getting old when you start taking things like this:
And drinking things like this:

And grasping at any straw known to mankind to lose weight because your metabolism has slowed.down.so.very.much.

Or I could exercise. But that's just not fun.