Amy the Wombat

Alrighty, here we go. When we last left off, I had just adopted a new dog and met a cute waiter that was trying to work things out with his ex-girlfriend.

If you’ve been watching Jane the Virgin, you will totally get that I referenced the recap of the show in my opening monologue of this post. I am that much of a nerd. But seriously, can we talk about Jane the Virgin for a hot second? I thought the premise of this show looked improbable and mind numbingly dumb, so I waited until this month and became so curious that I couldn’t not watch it. Now I’m catching up on past episodes and I am in love. The humor of the show is right up my alley. If you haven’t seen it, allow me to give you a quick recap.

Jane is a virgin (obviously), who, during a routine gynecologist visit where she was to get a pap smear, ended up accidentally artificially inseminated by a doctor who was filling in for her own doctor and had never met her, hence the mix up. Oh, and the doctor had drinking problems, had been in legal trouble once before for malpractice issues, and found her girlfriend cheating on her the night before. Said doctor inseminated Jane with her brother’s sperm (The doctor’s brother, not Jane’s brother. Jane doesn’t have a brother.), which was supposed to go to her brother’s wife, and had she properly checked the charts before entering the room, she would have known her sister-in-law was waiting for her in the next room. Right after the artificial insemination comes to light, Jane’s boyfriend, who doesn’t know about the baby yet, proposes. After she tells him she’s pregos and he decides he doesn’t want to keep the baby, and she decides the biological father and his wife should have it, she accepts his proposal and decides to call the baby growing inside of her “The Milkshake” so she doesn’t get attached. This doesn’t last long. Her boyfriend is a cop who finds out that the sperm donor’s wife is cheating on him, and knowing that Jane wants the baby to go to a two parent home, withholds the info from her. She finds out and decides not to marry him, while the sperm donor decides to divorce his wife. Did I mention the sperm donor is her boss that she once kissed five years ago? And her dad is a a mega superstar on a Spanish soap opera? And she got a job student teaching at a catholic school where the nuns advertise she’s a pregnant virgin?

There is something so wrong with this show that it’s right. You have to watch it. It’s insanely ridiculous and ironically hilarious all at the same time. I’m in a serious non-romantic relationship with this show.

Speaking of relationships, I know some of you are dying to know what ultimately ended up happening with the Cute Waiter. In all my time of non blogging, I knew I was going to have to address this in the next blog, because my readers and friends always come to me curious when I don’t follow up with something I’ve previously blogged about. I’ve debated how to go about writing this post and what to say six ways to Sunday, and the truth is, I don’t have a good answer on how to address this. I always tell the whole story, written plainly for everyone to read, because I believe if you’re going to heart blog, you should do it with full disclosure. Someone out there will understand what you’re going through and connect with your post. I believe in connecting with people, and that’s why I blog and always has been why. This situation is a little different, and certainly something I haven’t dealt with before, so, for that reason, I’m going to keep the answer simple and discreet.

Cute Waiter and I met at a Starbucks on a Thursday night for our first face to face. We had been talking through text for a couple of weeks. When we met, the connection was immediate. We both agreed on this afterward – we had insane chemistry. And that caused issues. It caused us both to be a little weird with each other and a little crazy with the way we handled things. He walked away, apologized and came back. I let him. I saw him one night at his workplace after I had major surgery and was still on some painkillers. I don’t remember much of the night or what was said, but apparently I was an ass, and he walked again. Again, he came back. Again, I let him. In the meantime, during all of this, he and his girlfriend decided not to work things out. Two months after we first met, we finally, and I do mean FINALLY kissed. Things got muddled from there, and I’m sure there was a clear delineation of events that I will never quite understand that led to us not talking. Which was never my choice nor what I wanted. It is what it is.

Maybe that’s not the post you all were hoping for when you asked about what happened, but it’s all I can give. This is the first time I’ve felt the need to protect a situation and I have to go with my gut on this one. No one was the bad guy. I’m not mad and I don’t hate him or have any bad blood with him. I just keep telling myself that it is what it is.

My life has been busy and very happy and full. My little business is doing pretty well, but I make everything by hand and can’t keep up. It leaves little time to blog, but my heart is in my blogging and writing – something that I’m no longer willing to give up for this business. My goal in the coming year is to write and blog more – to take time for myself, doing what I love. What is your goal for the coming year? How was everyone’s Christmas?

Oh, and in case you were wondering, the name of this post comes from what someone once told me. I was explaining to that person that I wasn’t a typical girl, and that I should have been an awesome gay guy or black girl. In turn, they said, “You’re not a typical girl. I don’t know what you are. You’re a wombat.” Wombats are my people, apparently.

The Crazy Baby Dog Lady

I am a horrible blog owner. My blog feels lonely and neglected. I think it has even tried to find a new owner behind my back. I can’t be sure, but I saw some scandalous signs around the internet that seems to point to my blog whoring itself out just to get attention. So much has happened in the last nearly two months. I will give you a quick rundown of the holy terror that life has rained down on me, before regaling you with a funny and odd story that only my life could produce.

Since my last post, all Hell has broken loose. It’s like Supernatural up in here, and I find myself without a Sam or a Dean. The day after my last post the contractors started on our house. Walls came out, all of our ceilings came out, things we didn’t think would get broken did, and it was general chaos. We have a very small house and pets, so we were living in a construction zone and it wasn’t fairing well. Add in my chronic bronchitis with insulation and dust flying everywhere and you have the perfect crap storm. The contractors just recently left, so I’m thankful for that. We basically have an entirely new house that has no mold and I’m able to breathe much better. I’m looking on the bright side for this one.

The same day our construction workers started, our dog Leo suddenly fell very ill. He’s the dog I’ve talked about in previous posts that had to have surgery to remove cancer in his shoulder last July. The day he fell ill, he just sat down, started to swell up, and couldn’t stand back up. It all happened so fast, and our contractors, who are wonderful guys and we actually miss talking to, carried him to the car for us. We lost him that day. He had rapidly began internally bleeding out of nowhere that morning, and though I noticed it immediately and had the training as a vet tech to know something was wrong and get him to the vet right away, there was nothing that could be done. We miss him terribly.

During all of this, I ended up getting violently ill again and having to pull out of a prior commitment, and then a few afterwards. I couldn’t leave the house and had no peace, because the contractors were here. After an absurd amount of trips to the hospital, urgent care and doctors offices, we found I had a bad case of H Pylori and my stomach wall was twisted. I had to get a shot in my stomach and go on over 3000 milligrams of antibiotics a day, along with other medication. That high amount of antibiotics crashed my autoimmune system after ten days and sent me into seizures. Did I mention I blacked out and fell during all of this and had to rotate between wearing a rocker boot and air cast while trying to manuever the construction? My ankle is healed, and I’m feeling better now. I’m just tired because my autoimmune system is still trying to recover.

As if it couldn’t get any more hectic, our one dog Helena began to fall into a deep depression and even become mean. She wasn’t herself since Leo died. Greta, who is a loner in the dog world and a mommy’s girl in the human world, couldn’t care less either way, but she also wouldn’t play with Helena. Greta’s idea of playing is passing Helena in the back yard to come inside and get a treat. Helena’s depression got so bad that we thought we were going to lose her. We came to the conclusion that we had to get her a new friend that would play with her. I found a friend online that I was in love with and wanted Helena and Greta to meet. Our dream dog turned into a nightmare due to an issue with the shelter’s outside source that checks vet references. The source kept insisting that our vet had told her we hadn’t been there since 2012 and our dogs had all these diseases, despite us having basically moved right in during the last year with Leo and his cancer. When I called the vet’s office, who were aware this woman would be calling, they told us she had never called. Long story short, the entire thing turned into a debacle, and by the time it finally got straightened out (7 hours later.) we were so uncomfortable adopting from them that we decided to look elsewhere. To this day the third party will not admit she did not actually call our vet, because when she actually did, we got, in her words, a “glowing recommendation.”

Helena picked a new friend at a shelter down the road from us and we couldn’t be more in love with him. His name is Monkey – a name he’s had his whole life and I’m delighted with. He is six years old and was surrendered by his owner. He loves long hugs and being a really good boy. He moved right in without nary andaccident or any arguments from any of our pets. He was comfortable his first day here and it’s as if he’s always lived here. We couldn’t be happier with our new best friend and feel like he was meant for us. As for Helena, she’s pulled out of her depression and is back to her old self, so we couldn’t be more thrilled. I will be doing a blog about his cute little face hopefully soon, though my schedule is crazy busy.

All of that is why I haven’t had a chance to blog, and isn’t even half the story, but it does bring me to tonight’s story. For those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile, nothing about this odd story will shock you. You know my life thinks it’s hysterical.

Last week my friend was in from out of town. Every time we go out, we have ourselves some adventures. Not one adventure. Not two. Some adventures – plural and more than two. I guess I wasn’t fully prepared for the adventure I was about to have, because I’m still not sure if I would have swiftly aborted said adventure had I known about it prior, or if I like how it turned out.

If you know anything about me, you know about my misadventures with the Mars born kind. Everyone thinks I’m way younger than I am, which always ends with me getting hit on by guys under 20. They’re always adorable in that ‘I want to take you to the zoo and feed you a lollipop’ kind of way. I’m twenty-eight, so they’re also only cute in that ‘feels like jailbait’ kind of way. I can’t go there. I was not surprised when my friend and I encountered a perfectly nice fellow at The Dollar Store, who was fun and datable but probably under twenty. This is par for the course for me. Nothing to see here, folks. That wasn’t the problem with this adventure.

The problem was that I made an offhand comment about how cute I thought a waiter was in the restaurant where we were eating. He wasn’t even our waiter. I had simply noticed him cruising on by and thought he looked pretty okey dokey. What happened after that still confuses me, because it happened so quickly and I don’t have all the details on how this transpired during the parts I was absent for.

The next time our waitress passed our table, my friend began asking her about the waiter. Despite my protests, the waitress insisted I was awesome, the waiter was awesome, and we should totally date, so she scurried off and got the dirt on him. You guys, our waitress took my friend’s questioning and made the decision she was setting us up somehow. Only, I didn’t exactly catch on, because I thought she was just being polite. What was she supposed to do? Not be polite? Not go ask about him? Some people are jerks and would have not left her a tip because she simply said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t get involved in his personal life.” Not us. We would have tipped her anyway.

She came back, physically sat down at the table with us, and gave us all the info. I couldn’t have been more shades of red if I were a tomato covered in red paint. Then she left and I thought that was the end of it, because really, what else could she do? Not two minutes later, she came back with a piece of paper, handed it to me and says, “He apologizes for his handwriting. He said it’s not a reflection on his maturity.” I tried to ask her how she got his number, but stumbled over my words in all the confusion. She seemed to understand and told me she pointed me out to him and he voluntarily forked it over. Because nothing says awkward like pointing to someone and thinking, “I might want that one! Maybe. If they don’t smell.” Before I could process this, another waitress came out and told me I had to text him. I had to. Because he was awesome and I was awesome and aww. I still have no idea what clear delineation of events occurred between me mentioning he was cute, to me ending up with his number. I was involved in none of this. He was involved in more of it than I was and I’m sure this was less comfortable for him than it was for me. All I said was, “Please don’t. I just said he was cute.” The rest just happened without me.

We never spoke, me and this guy. Never said a word. He would look over and smile at me. I would turn more shades of red than were possible for a human, but completely so for a chameleon. My friends talked me into texting him, because I don’t date or get out much and I’m really a lot of fun, I just tend to have said fun by myself, but I have a lot of it. In other words, I didn’t see the problem. I decided to adopt my friend Sarah’s outlook on life. He was cute, so I texted. I didn’t hear back. Somehow this didn’t surprise me, because I have the kind of life where someone would voluntarily give me their number and then not text me back. This is just another Wednesday of Weird Shit for me. I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed, because though cute, I didn’t know this guy from Adam and it took all the guts I had in me to send that text. Then my friends all unanimously convinced me to try him again, because technology can sometimes be jerk. Turns out, the second time was the charm because, yes, technology – it’s a jerk.

To make a situation even more amusingly awkward, he seems like a super nice and mature guy……who, over the weekend, decided to see if he could work things out with his ex-girlfriend. This goes right along with things my life does to me, so I was completely unaffected by this. To be honest, I was kind of relieved, because we don’t know each other at all. It’s easy to see someone across a room and think they’re cute. That doesn’t mean they’re someone you’d want to date. He was completely up front with me abut the situation, as well as apologetic when he had no reason to be. We’re going to hang out as friends, which is kind of cool. How many times can you not even talk to someone and still get their number, and then try to become friends? Also, maybe he can explain to me what the heck went on that I missed, because there’s way more to this story than I was told, and I’m sure he’s still confused, too. He also assures me that the waitresses involved actually want to friend me in real life, so that’s awkward. Cool, but awkward. It’s just another weird situation for the books. As if my life.

In other news, I will probably be sixty years old with ninety-three baby dolls and four dogs, which would kind of make me the Crazy Baby Dog Lady, right?

Madder Than Two Rhinos Forced to Watch Barney On Repeat

I have never been so angry in my life. If you take all of the times I’ve ever been angry and put the together, they don’t even come close to how angry I am right now.

Let me back up and catch you all up on what’s gone on since my inaugural vlog, before I even get into the total b.s. that is today. First, I am back  home. I was back home the same night I was in the hotel for two reasons. One, the hotel was full of construction workers who, though they had designated parking spaces by their own building, chose to park right outside my room, a room that was in a totally different building than theirs. They were loud and disruptive and constantly in and out of their cars. Greta was upset and couldn’t settle because of it, so all that was happening was that I was getting aggravated by the situation and knew neither of us would sleep, so I came home. I can’t be alone because of my passing out and seizure like spells and must have Greta with me if there is no human to stay with me, so staying alone with no crying dog was not an option. Not to mention that the construction guys were a tad creepy and I was the only one in the particular building I was staying in. No big deal. We’ll find another hotel in the morning.

The next day we got a check in the mail from our insurance that was supposed to be for the hotel room, like the insurance agent promised. We come to find out that by, “The insurance will pay for your hotel room,” and I do quote that, he actually meant they would send up an advance on the money to repair the house, and we would still owe the difference the hotel room cost us in the end. We don’t have money for a hotel room, and the fact that our house isn’t done yet is entirely the insurance agent’s fault. He’s awful. He has no idea what he’s doing or talking about. He told us we couldn’t have mold from water leakage and water and dampness didn’t cause mold. Luckily our contractor knew better. He also had surgery and was off for awhile, but never passed on our case for someone else to look at and just let it sit. We still do not have our check for the repair work that needs done after two and a half months, going on three, to have the work done. Luckily, we called and explained the entire situation to the construction crew coming out, and the guy who owns the company, having worked with this particular agent numerous times, agreed to come out and start the work even though we don’t have the check. He is personally willing to fight with the agent himself for the check. God bless him.

This brings us to another debacle. Though we are thankful he is coming out, he promised us a few days notice. I’m obviously still sick and unable to clear everything out of my room and closet very quickly. I’ve been trying to rest and get better and was awaiting his call. Once he called, I would have a few days to pack my stuff at my own pace. He calls around noon today and says he’ll be out at 7:30 tomorrow morning. We’re so glad he’s coming out, but that meant that I had to get everything moved out of my room and packed, closet included, when I can’t walk around without my oxygen dropping, in less than twenty four hours. Add that to the fact that I had an appointment today and was going to be gone several hours. My room is partially finished and everything is, by some miracle, out of my closet. My chest hurts. I can’t breathe. I’m going to have to get up super early tomorrow and finish this, because I physically can’t tonight.

Meanwhile, I’ve learned many more things about my care at the hospital that have ticked me off. I finally got to pour over my discharge papers with a fine tooth comb. Not much is right on them, including that they tried to give me medications that I specifically told them I was allergic to, and all which I refused. Only they made it sound as if I were being difficult and didn’t want to take them. They shouldn’t have even been giving them to me in the first place. Nothing in my medical history was right, which ticks me off, because all of my medical conditions are already in their system, so I have no idea where they’re getting their information. They really did try to give me medications that had nothing to do with why I was there, like two different stool softeners for a breathing problem. They tried to give me a medication that I had tried before and there are extensive notes in the computer system about why I can’t take it. The list goes on.

The most important screw up was that they told me it was necessary to see a pulmonary doctor within seven days to get my test results, because they chose to release me without telling me what was going on, which should have never happened. I called my own pulmonary doctor and explained the situation. My doctor didn’t have anything until July, so central scheduling transferred the call to the office itself so that I could talk to the person in charge of scheduling and let them know that this was an emergency and I had been in the hospital and needed an appointment. The deficient girl who ran the office flat out refused to give me an appointment with my own pulmonary doctor until July. Clearly she is unsure how to do her job and what an emergency is. Being in the hospital = not a good enough excuse to need to see my own doctor. She kept insisting I was a new patient. Really, you guys, I don’t know where their computer systems are failing them. I know there is another girl with the same name and birth date as me in their system, however, I also give them my social security number, address, phone number and email address to avoid this issue. Apparently that doesn’t help.

On a good note, another nurse took over at my autoimmune doctor’s office and she actually calls me back, unlike this other girl who doesn’t even tell the doctor that I called, when the doctor is the one who told me to call. My autoimmune doctor, who can used the system, got in and saw the debacle I was facing and was kind enough to call in my prescription that the doctor in the ER prescribed, but never called in or gave me the script for. She also told me to see my pulmonary doctor. I explained the situation with my pulmonary doctor to her nurse, and both the nurse and my autoimmune doctor tried to get me in with my regular pulmonary doctor, but the girl still wouldn’t budge. We are all collectively befuddled by this. It was one thing to turn me down, but to turn down another doctor in the same building who is friends with my pulmonary doctor and telling them it is crucial I get an appointment is a whole other ballgame.

With no other choice, I called the pulmonary doctor whose number was on my screwed up discharge papers from the hospital. I made an appointment for Monday. Sunday night I was doing something fully unrelated and come to find out that the doctor they put on my paperwork as a pulmonary doctor was actually a general physician. I have one. I don’t need theirs. Not only that, but I didn’t care for the guy at all. He’s the one who kept trying to give me medications I couldn’t take, as well as medications for issues I wasn’t even having. He also tried to take me off an antibiotic I was on for a sinus infection without ever asking me what I was on it for. I had zero interest in seeing him. To give him the benefit of the doubt, I looked up reviews online on him thinking that maybe, since he had seen me in the hospital, that he could shed some light on what was going on. All the reviews on him were terrible. There wasn’t one good one, so I felt I was justified in not wanting to see him and canceled the appointment.

It took me some run around to find out who the pulmonary doctor I saw in the ER was. Once I found him, I called and explained to the super nice gentleman on the phone what had happened. He fit me in for a 4:45 appointment today, which I was thrilled and thankful about. Too bad that gentleman didn’t work at the office where my appointment was.

Let me start by saying that I wasn’t having a terrific day to begin with, but even if I was, what had happened at this office would have pushed me over the edge, considering I’ve gone a week without knowing what was going on with me and playing ring around the doctor with their offices due to incorrect information on my discharge papers. I went to get my migraine medication out to get it refilled on my way to the doctor. I had just taken it last night and had one left. I got to it today and there were none in there and it wasn’t in the same place I had put it last night. I didn’t take the last one. My mom is the only other person I live with. I was already ticked, and then I get into town to fill the medication and the bridge is closed with no warning, so I had to go way out and around. Now I’m concerned I’m going to be late, and I have to wait for the medication, because this specific pharmacy is family owned and closes before I would be home from my appointment and I need the medication.

I get my medication and haul ass to my appointment. I’m concerned I’m going to be really late. I’m trying to get there as quickly as I can. The building isn’t exactly where they say it is, but I find it and I get there with fifteen minutes to spare, at 4:30, by some grace of God. I go in, prepared to fill out new patient papers since I had never seen this doctor outside of the ER and thankful that I’m early enough to do it without holding anyone up. I get into the office, walk up to the front desk, smile and say this exactly. “I am here for my 4:45 with Dr. Lanz.” The woman looks at me and very coldly says, “You mean your 4:15 appointment. You’re late.” I keep trying to smile and say, “No, I am here for a 4:45 appointment. I double checked with the person who made the appointment yesterday and my appointment is definitely at 4:45.” She again reiterates that I’m late and then gets up and walks out of the room.

I’m already suspicious that something is up. I double checked my appointment time, wrote it in two places, and it’s also listed as 4:45 in their own computer system that patients have access to their records through – a system automatically generated by them when an appointment is made so that this doesn’t happen. She never bothered to ask me my name or anything about me, and I was a new patient there, so she had no way of knowing who I was, yet she was insistent that I was late. Not only that, but I’m only fifteen minutes late, by her account, even though I know my time is correct and I am fifteen minutes early. Doctors always, always run over, so fifteen minutes is hardly anything to get concerned about and I probably wouldn’t have even been in the with the doctor even if I had gotten there at 4:15. I know something is up, and then she comes back and proves it.

She proceeds to tell me that I will have to reschedule and that the doctor doesn’t have 4:45 appointments and already left to go to UPMC East, the hospital I had previously seen him at. I tell her that I have just driven forty five minutes for an appointment that I double checked on yesterday and was told was at 4:45. I was not rescheduling, I know she had just been in the back talking to the doctor, because I heard them, and I need to be seen. I say this all very nicely, but firmly. She proceeds to cop and attitude with me and tell me that this is my fault and that I should have known the appointment was at 4:15 and not 4:45. She never once apologized or took responsibility for our own office’s error. Clearly I am supposed to be that kind of psychic. I had enough of her attitude, enough of the situation, enough of today and did something I never do – I lost on it a customer service agent. I am fully against doing this, since I’ve been in that position. I would not have done this had she not chosen to lie to me and cop and attitude with me. I know she went in the back to talk to the doctor. I could hear them. Not only that, but something was still up. Had he had other patients ahead of me, I really wouldn’t have been all that late considering all doctors run late. It also was not my fault that I was given the incorrect time on two separate occasions by their own office. I really felt like he just didn’t care to see patients that day. They were essentially making a big stink over fifteen minutes, since I had gotten there at 4:30. It just simply didn’t make sense, and there was not a soul in the office.

Then, the woman tried to rebook me for the next day. I told her straight out that I do have a life and contractors coming to the house the next day and can’t just pick up and leave because they screwed up and won’t admit it. They clearly can’t keep anything straight, considering their the ones who put 4:45 in their own system, as proven by the system I have access to which shows my appointment was put in by them as being at 4:45, and she still hadn’t asked me my name to confirm the appointment, so she had no way of knowing if I was actually late or not since she didn’t know who I was. I would never, ever be back to their offices. I was not going to risk driving another forty five minutes to be turned away again because of their own screw up.

I have never in my life been that angry with a situation, and had the woman not copped an attitude with me, this could have all been avoided. Since I was only a few miles from UPMC East, I decided to hop in my car, go up there, and talk to someone. I was completely done with this situation and not knowing what was going on with my own health and getting nothing but a run around. I decided to talk to a hospital administrator to let them know everything I’ve been through since their hospital discharged me without any diagnoses and then royally screwed up all of my paperwork. I had been waiting a week for a diagnoses because of them, when I should have never been let go without being told what was going on. I was kind and polite, but let her know that I was very angry and was not leaving the hospital until a doctor told me my results, since this was their fault. I had no reason to yell at her, because she had nothing to do with the issues I was having, nor was she anything but very kind to me. I asked specifically to talk to the doctor of whom I had an appointment with that day and explained what had happened and that his receptionist told me he was here. I left out the part where I had actually heard his receptionist talking to him and just decided to see what the administrator had to say about him being in the hospital that day. I wanted to have solid proof of her lie.

Long story short, I found out two things. One, the woman at the first doctors office was a liar. The doctor was not scheduled to be at UPMC East that night, nor did they know why I was told that, so the receptionist telling me he had left to go there was completely false, further proving this office, and more specifically the woman who copped an attitude with me has not a clue what is going on at her own office. I was flat out lied to, and I still don’t know the reason why she would tell me he was gone and at that hospital when I even heard her talking to him, but now I had proof she was a full fledged fruit loop and the hospital also now knew it.

Two, I learned that the administrator was very helpful and apologetic, and it really wasn’t that hard to get my results. She made a few phone calls and had a doctor come talk to me. She made it so easy when everyone else was giving me such a difficult time over something so simple. I didn’t care who read the results, but since they were pulmonary results I needed a pulmonologist to do it. Luckily, hospitals are full of those. If you get the right person, they’ll even let you talk with one without admitting you into the hospital or ER.

Turns out, I have chronic bronchitis, which can be very dangerous and would have been very important for me to know before I even left that hospital a week ago. It was also equally important for them to call in the medication for me or give me a script for it, which they had failed to do. Chronic bronchitis can either be caused by smoking, which I don’t do, or airborne allergens such as mold. Ding, ding ding, guess which one I have! That’s right, mold. So basically living in this mold for all this time caused me to have chronic bronchitis, a condition that will never go away and will flair up on and off for the rest of my life. This brings us back to the fact that had our insurance agent done his job and turned our case over to someone else when he was gone, this would have been fixed months ago and this never would have happened. I wouldn’t have lived in the mold long enough for this to form.

Madder than a hornet, y’all. I might even be madder than a rhino. It’s warranted.

The Day That Two Absentminded People Equaled One Half of a Normal Person – In Public

I’ve learned several life lessons from Aunt Bev. None greater than “If someone is weird at twenty, they are three times weirder at sixty. Think about that when you date someone.” There was no way I wasn’t passing that one along.

Now that I’ve gotten your attention, let me share the ways my life currently thinks it is hilarious. People on Craigslist who email me to ask me if I still have an item, but never email me back once I tell them I do? Check. A car insurance agent that gave me incorrect information about my car insurance payment and has me scrambling to come up with more money than I was told I would have to? Check. Paranormal problems that are causing a connection to someone that is making me super sick? Check. Finding myself eyeballs deep in dog cookies? Check. A ceiling that is caving in and walls full of mold that are causing us to have to have our whole house literally ripped apart and put back together? Check. Having awkward conversations with people in your life because you say inappropriate things to each other? Check. Getting myself into a big mess? Check. Having an awesome dog named Greta Hayley laying beside me to cuddle with? Check.

Truth be told, even with all of those things going on, I’ve sat down to write a post several times, but was unsure of how to follow up the last post. A situation worthy of the last post fell into my lap. It was a learning situation for the ages, and one that told me I had found my own ground. It needed written about and shared, and we all know that I have a no holds barred attitude about that sort of thing. The fact that I decided against writing about it is a testament to the relationship I have with the other person involved. Writing about it would mean betraying someone and their trust, so ultimately I decided against it for the sake of their relationship and ours.

Basically, now I’ve got no good material. All I’ve got are emails from Aunt Bev and stories of the day we spent together. Hold onto your hats, we’re going for a ride.

Last week, we shared an email conversation concerning what day we were going to get together. Ultimately, Aunt Bev decided Thursday would be better than Wednesday, because there was a windstorm coming in Wednesday and she was concerned we would be blown away and end up in Afghanistan. Naturally, I told her that may not be such a bad thing because there could be some cute soldiers in Afghanistan that could protect us and we could fall madly in love with them. She decided we should get blown away to an island instead. We still went out on Thursday.

Today, she emailed me about Shaun White. Apparently I’ve accidentally convinced my 66 year old Aunt Bev to be ShaunWhiteSexual. She literally emailed me about his hair, you guys. I just like his personality. This is getting very awkward.

We spent our Thursday together last week, as a previously mentioned. I forgot five things on my way to her house, only four of which I remember that I forgot. She wasn’t faring much better, yet we still decided to go into public together. This was clearly a wonderful idea for anyone who needed a laugh.

We went to Giant Eagle to fill ink cartridges. It was the guy who works in the photo and ink department’s day off. Neither of us called to check.

We went to Target. I did okay, but Aunt Bev had a thousand and seven coupons to go with her one that let her get $10 off if she spent $40 on cat food and litter. Coupons were thrown all over the place, totals were added wrong, a poor kid stocking shelves was pulled into the situation and it was pretty much a half an hour of utter catastrophe. But she saved $28. That’s all that counts, right?

We went to PetSmart. We stared at the area where cat wormer was. We didn’t see cat wormer. We involved an employee. It was exactly in the area we had spent five minutes staring into the abyss of and missed it. Then we debated cat wormer for another ten minutes, even though they only had two kinds. Aunt Bev couldn’t find her PetSmart card. We got out of there without injuring anything but our own common sense.

We went to TGIFridays. The menus were different, the waiter was confusing, we had no coupons, I drank too much soda, and we had conversations about Bible studies, doctor’s offices, inappropriate relationships, exes and Shaun White’s hair. All of those things go together, right?

We went back to Giant Eagle because it occurred to us that we needed cake. We went through every single one of the cakes once to find the one with the latest expiration date, and then again to find the one with the most icing. We then weighed the pros and cons of both and ended up with a cake with the most icing. Aunt Bev is diabetic.

We went to Walgreen’s. There were almost no mishaps. Then we went to the checkout. The well built, fabulously lovely gay man opened the register across from us, calling us over since we were next in line. In an immediate rush to want to friend him, I started walking toward him. Aunt Bev, not paying attention, started walking forward. We smacked into each other, I turned her around, and the poor man had to keep from laughing at us out of professional politeness and whatnot. She had also couldn’t find her Walgreen’s card, but when it was all said and done, she had a coupon that made her item free.

After that we went home. We know better than to test fate. It’s amazing that there’s not some kind of law about us going out in public together. Between the two of us, we couldn’t even make a half of a person that day. Sheesh.

Valentine’s Day Memes For the Anti-Valentine’s Day Girls

Full disclosure: I hate Valentine’s Day. I’ve never had a Valentine to call my own, but even if I did, I’m still pretty sure I’d hate it with a Grumpy Cat-like passion. The second my man tried to take me somewhere fancy or get mushy with me, it would be over. Not Valentine’s Day itself, but the whole relationship. I don’t do mushy. I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t like being dotted over or have someone drop a lot of money on me. All I want is someone I can trust and count on. Everything else is just material.

Because I got out today, I am in a particularly non-snarky mood for this holiday. Then again, the township kind of got their own eff you and trying to keep people blew up in their face when temperatures soared to a balmy forty some degrees and all the snow melted. Everyone left their houses anyway, and the township was forced to lift the Declaration of Disaster Emergency. So, like I said yesterday, their so called emergency was a bunch of bologna, no offense to bologna. It was a little zoo-ish out there, but I like when the weather sticks it to the man, so I went out anyway and supported it.

In honor of Valentine’s Day, and my first Valentine’s post in the ten or so years that I’ve been blogging, I’ve decided to go an unusual route. Since I have nothing to gush about, I’m just going to post a bunch of adorable memes that represent different sides of the holiday so you can squee over them, because meme squeeing is the only kind of cute squeeing I want to do on Valentine’s Day.

The most natural valentines to start with are those done up by my girl, Grumpy Cat. There are many more of these online, but these are the ones that I would actually send to people, and I’m sure they would send them back with a nasty letter. Nonetheless, I would send them. My favorites are the two stating “I think you’re…” because it totally goes with my Team Even My Compliments Are Kind of Accidentally Mean that I started in yesterday’s post by, of course, total accident.

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Grumpy10

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It’s totally bizarre when you grow up and realize that every single human sees this holiday differently and loves different things. Take, for instance, Jennifer Lawrence. She don’t need no man.

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And even if she did, let’s just be totally honest about the sanction of love.

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And when you can’t get a date, just remember the below things, because they’re so true. And someone somewhere is really missing out and doesn’t even know it yet.

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And if that person does finally figure it out and they screw up, well, there’s always this option for making things right. Especially if you go in and yell nine on an alphabetical scale.

image-8With those nine on a alphabetical scale flowers should come this, because girls love punny things earmarked with cute animals of any kind.

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But remember, if you love something and it doesn’t love you back and leaves, it’s okay to feel like this squirrel.

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But after the initial devastation wears off and you decide you’re never dating again, please, oh please, do NOT take it out on your cat.

image-3And do not date guys who are kind of okay but also a little weird, because they could actually be related to this cat, and no one would want that.

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After you do date that guy in your period of bad judgment, you can come home to the one thing that always understands you, no matter how bad things get. The one thing that will not judge you.

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Because even if you think your cat gets you, he or she doesn’t. That’s why they don’t meow back, leaving you feeling even more rejected and alone.

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When your cat doesn’t get you, it’s important to remember that your dog is feeling the same rejection as you are feeling from your cat.

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At the end of the day, you can all come together knowing that, when relationships don’t work, the bed cradles you but never listens to your feelings, and the cat doesn’t meow back, the dog always has your back. As long as you have a dog, you have a Valentine of your very own.

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This is mine.

Greta Outside

Even if she did have a brief affair with Stitch the cat.

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And Mr. Giraffe the stuffed animal.

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And even if she is a little weird.

Crazy Stretch

I have no regrets. Best Valentine ever!

 

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The Winter Olympics and Snowopolis the Second

I am so into The Winter Olympics that it’s not even funny, and it’s probably not healthy either. I could literally sit on the couch all day, every day while the games are on and watch every single sport. So obsessed, don’t care. Obviously that’s not a feasible option in real life, which really ticks me up, but (not so) luckily for me, we have been snowed in for the thirty thousandth time this season. It sounds like I’m exaggerating, but if you lived here, you would completely know that it feels like at least that long.

The first few snowstorms we didn’t bother to name. The one we got hit with just a mere week and a half ago we named Snowopolis. Hence how we are now on Snowopolis the Second. Snowopolis the Second is actually just a mini version of Snowopolis the First and the crazy snowstorm prior to that, which had a whole life of its own and need not be named. This snowstorm actually deserved no name at all, far more a name of its own, which is why its name is a rip off of the first Snowopolis. (Did you get all of that?) The only reason this snowstorm has become of importance is because I live in a township run by people more likely to get drunk and fall asleep in the snow than to actually actively weather a township through the storm.

Our township has been complaining since November that they are running out of salt. However, more than two months later, they have not actually gotten any salt. To the township, this also means that there’s no need to even go scrape the roads with the snowplows. Instead, they decided to impose a Declaration of Disaster Emergency for our township in a snowstorm that is a mere sliver of the ones we’ve been getting. The roads are not bad at all, and this is actually the best our road has been following a snowstorm since they started rolling in in early November. (Yep, you read that right, our township was nearly out of salt right after the snowstorms started. This is because they are famous for salting our roads in warm conditions when there are no snowstorms being predicted.) Our road is always the worst of the township roads and the last road touched. Everywhere else but our township, including areas that have been hit much, much harder than us, are open with no Declaration of Disaster Emergency so much as pending. So when I say the people who run our township are idiots, I am really not making a mountain out of a molehill.

There’s zero reason for any of this, and to make matters worse, they’re sticking us indoors until Saturday. That would be fantastic, except I have to get to the store tomorrow. We are living in a house with nothing to eat and have run out of dog food today, which has never happened before. I have medication to pick up. I am not typically an irresponsible adult who does not pick up things ahead of a snowstorm. There were duel problems with this scenario, however. One was that it is impossible to shop without money, and I wasn’t getting my money until today. Money is really, really tight and I didn’t have the spare money to go out and pick up food without charging it on a credit card, which I only use for emergencies. The second is that the news did not call for this snowstorm, claiming it was going to miss our particular area and we were only going to get a “light dusting” of snow today. I saw no reason to run out on Wednesday and unnecessarily charge things on my credit card when I could go out today and buy the stuff forthright. It snowed so hard today that it was dangerous to even attempt going out. Tomorrow is going to be a perfectly clear day, but the township is saying we aren’t allowed to leave, even though it was just dandy if we went out in the snowstorm today. No Declaration of Disaster Emergency was issued during all the snow. I have news for the township. I am going out tomorrow, because I refuse to starve and let my dogs starve for absolutely no reason.

What the township is failing to see in this instance isn’t only that they have little reason to declare a Declaration of Disaster Emergency, but that you can’t tell people they can’t leave their houses, even if they have an imperative reason to do so. Just because someone doesn’t have to go save a life with their superhero like job doesn’t mean they don’t need life saving things, such as medication and food that they were, by no fault of their own, unable to obtain prior. If given a hard time, I will simply explain to them that I am on disability and must go get medication. If they’d like to argue with me, they can take it up with my doctors and maybe gain some common sense in the process. You can not, under any circumstances, keep people from getting things they absolutely need to survive. And yes, I am cranky, because I’m living off of the little bit of food we do have in our house. Also, we’ve been going back and forth with the township over the issue of them leaving a sheet of ice at the bottom of our driveway, instead of properly plowing it out, as well as them fixing a pipe that belongs to the township and is causing the ice, so I’m already pretty ticked at them.

The only shining star in my day that lacked communal common sense is the Olympics. It’s safe to say that when I saw the weather man had lied to us yet again, I curled up on the couch for a day of Luge, Figure Skating and Slopestyle. I literally can not help myself. There has to be some kind of therapy for this. I’m beginning to fear that when the Olympics are over that I’m going to spend the rest of the year in my psychologist’s office looking for condolences over my lost love of The Winter Games. It will be the worst breakup ever and I’m already dreading it. Since they will be gone from our TVs in just over a week, let’s talk about them.

I just want to start out by saying that I think everyone who makes it to The Olympics is incredibly talented and should be so proud just to be there, whether they medal or not. They are already amazing! The only way I would be making it down those hills is to lay down and roll. Otherwise: death. If I tried to professionally figure skate, I’d break something three feet onto the ice. If I, by some grace of God, made it more than three feet: death. All of you athletes representing every country around the world, I am in awe of your talents. That being said, let’s be brutally honest together in the spirit of critiquing our teams knowing that if we even merely tried to do what they excelled at: death.

In previous years, my sport to watch in the Olympics has been Figure Skating. I would get all twinkly eyed over it and cancel plans for the day to stay in and watch them. This predates the time of the internet and On Demand, so I was super serious about my Figure Skating. I remember all of the skaters trying to land quads and gaining an incredible amount of points when they were able to. I remember pairs skating so fast you found yourself dizzy just watching them. This year is just not the good old fashioned ice skating that I remember. So much has changed since the last Olympics and I’ve been perplexed on how they are scoring and judging, so I’ve decided this pretty much isn’t my sport to watch anymore. Though still wowed by the skaters, I admit I have little idea of how all of this works, and really no one is pulling out the quads or skating fast. Instead of being twinkly eyed, my eyes are glazed over in confusion.

Even with my lack of understanding in this newfangled world of Figure Skating (Man, those words make me feel old.), there is one team that has left me perplexed throughout the competition. It is that of Marissa Castelli and Simon Shnapir, aka: the really tall guy and the very miniscule girl. The perplexity does not just come from the height difference in the pair, but the scoring. The pair is, no doubt, insanely talented, but the question remains, were they ready for the Olympics? They have been earning what is said to be “record breaking” scores for the pair, yet are consistently fifteen to thirty points behind all the other teams at any given time. If these are their highest scores yet, but they are that far behind, are they in the same league as their competitors? Did they ever have a fighting chance coming into this? Also, Marissa has either fallen, gotten caught on her skate or the ice, or not properly stuck her landing nearly every time she’s come out of a jump, throwing her off of rhythm with her partner. There are webpages dedicated to how many times she has fallen, and she’s become known around the internet and in my group of equally obsessed Olympic friends (And those not so equally obsessed, who still spent several hours talking Olympics with me today. What’s up, Ashley?), as “Oh, her.” Everyone is beginning to know her for this reason. Given another four years, I think the team could have been real contenders to medal, but this year, I feel that they were just not ready for a competition of this magnitude.

With the gleam of Figure Skating behind me, where my undying love for the Olympics really comes in is in the snowboarding and skiing events. Mainly, the Halfpipe and Slopestyle. These are the sports I understand. I get the tricks, I get the scoring, I know what the judges are looking for. I get really crazy about it and start yelling at the TV when I think they deducted points for the wrong reason or ripped someone off of points when they had a good trick. I even yell when they don’t land the trick properly, but the judges let it go. I completely turn into a guy during the Superbowl, minus the facial hair and farting.

The real disappointment going into these competitions was that the Olympics had promised to pay heavy homage to Sarah Burke, but failed to do so. Sarah was a pioneer in getting the Superpipe Skiing event added into the 2014 Olympics. Sarah landed on her head in January of 2012, after pulling out of a trick in Park City, Utah. She appeared to be okay, but went into cardiac arrest moments later, while still on the pipe. She was resuscitated and placed in a medically induced coma, but had irreversible brain damage and succumbed to her injuries nine days later. In death, she donated her organs and tissue, something she had requested be done if she were ever in this situation, and saving the lives of several others. To simply skip over doing a tribute to her, no matter how small, was not in the spirit of what the Olympics are all about. Her family and husband even made the trek to Russia to cheer on her former teammates, which is so inspiring. Even though they couldn’t cheer on their own daughter, they were still there for her friends.

That wasn’t the only frustration I found with this year’s events. The majority of my yelling stemmed from the nasty course conditions the Olympians were up against. I spent the entire Women’s Halfpipe competition cringing and hoping no one got seriously injured. I thought the women handled talking about the condition of the course on competition day well, simply stating that, “The conditions were the best they had been,” but you could see in the way they were moving down the halfpipe that the conditions weren’t what they should have been. The girls were getting little air compared to what they should be, and consistently getting slowed down on what has been called the flat section of the pipe, when a flat section should not exist in the middle.

The course first took out Arielle Gold, who was poised for a medal position, according to the media. She was knocked out of the competition during the training round with an injured shoulder, ruining her chances of competing in the Olympics. When Kelly Clark took her fall during her first of two runs in the finals, it was very reminiscent of Sarah Burke’s fatal fall in 2012. Had Kelly come down just a half a second sooner, or a few more inches to her left, we could be looking at a repeat of that situation. It was a hard couple seconds, watching her slide down the half-pipe unmoving and wondering if she was going to get back up. Thankfully, she did and went on to do a successful second run that earned her the bronze medal, but no one should ever have to be frightened by a scene like that strictly due to the conditions of a professional course.

Granted, any great athlete could fall and be seriously injured any day, in any place, in any conditions,  just as Sarah was, but forcing athletes out in conditions they knew weren’t ripe for the halfpipe was asking for trouble. A lot of people would say these girls had the option of backing out, but they came thousands of miles from all over the world for this. They are counting on those responsible for the courses to tell them when it’s unsafe, a choice that Sochi refused to make, leaving these athletes open ended to fates much worse than anyone has endured thus far in the competition. If they’re told the course is safe, they’re going to compete, because they are, above all else, athletes representing the world. The high temperatures and melting snow have left the workers continuously trying to find ways to refreeze the courses, leaving the competitors little idea of what they are getting into each time they go out to compete. The fact that no one has been fatally injured goes to show what amazingly strong, controlled and incredible athletes made it to these games. It’s their skill alone that has kept the accidents fairly tame compared to what they could easily be.

With all the controversy going on in these events, the biggest line of contention in this year’s Olympics has undoubtedly been surrounding Shaun White, and for reasons listed above. A day before the competition in Sochi began, Shaun made what quickly became and unpopular decision full of criticism to pull out of the Slopestyle competition due to the questionable safety of the course, a course he was also injured on. He has been heckled by nearly everyone in the media, as well as his fellow competitors, including two young Canadians, who showed unsportsmanlike conduct by shooting harsh words toward a fellow athlete. The only respect he seemed to gain was from that of the Men’s Halfpipe winner, Iouri Podladtchikov (If you can say that five times fast and correctly, I will pay you.), who thanked Shaun for making the sport what it is today.

Personally, I think Shaun made the right decision in pulling out of Slopestyle, and I commend him for having the balls to do it when he realized the sport just wasn’t working out for him. I think what everyone is failing to  understand when they bring their judgement toward his decision to the table is that he is up against kids ten years younger than him. At twenty-seven, his body just isn’t working like it did when he was sixteen or seventeen. As someone who is a year older than him, I can attest to the fact that your body says no to a lot of things it used to say yes to. (Running when something isn’t chasing you, for instance.) Add this to the fact that he’s had two open heart surgeries as a child and has also been a crucial support system for his sister, who has gone through nineteen brain surgeries as a child. This is someone who is not just physically strong, but mentally, and knows what he can and can not handle. If he backs out of a competition, it doesn’t necessarily mean he is incapable of winning a gold medal in that competition, but that he feels it’s not something he can safely handle without the chance of straining his body past its limit.

Picking on someone who knows their limits makes you the weaker person. Him not responding to what others had to say already made him the winner, whether he had gotten the gold, or earned fourth place in the Halfpipe. For years he has taken gold in this sport and has shaped the sport into what it is, earning his fame, recognition and his spot as one of the most prolific snowboarders the sport will know. He doesn’t have anything to prove, especially not to those who are at their first Olympics, or have been there before and failed to win. They are just getting started. Their time will come, but it will come slower if they feel the need to constantly criticize those who helped build and shape the sport.

Unfortunately, that’s not the only thing Shaun has gained flack for during the competition. What’s important to remember is that the media goes into these games with a plan. They watch the contenders and know who will likely end up on the podium and who will not. They formulate their media around those people before they even board the planes to Sochi. Because Shaun has always been the forerunner in his events, their campaigns centered on him as a shoo-in to win any competition he went into. When he dropped out of the Slopestyle, the frenzy started. The media had already planned on reporting on him, so they had to quickly turn things around and start a scandal. They decided the real story was in how the other snowboarders hated him because he was so stuck up, when the story could have been about an athlete who, though not old, is considered to be in sports that require this kind of athleticism, and how with that age came the knowledge to really know his body and what he could handle. It could have served as an inspiration to other competitors on how to know when to pull out of a competition before you seriously injure yourself, and how it is okay and smart and respectable to do so. And also how you are still a winner just for making it to the Olympics.

I think it has been in poor taste to say he’s “too big for the sport,” or “doesn’t want anything to do with the rest of the snowboarders.” When I trained for horse shows, a far less brutal sport, I trained alone. I didn’t want bothered either, and it didn’t make me stuck up. It made me a focused athlete who went in to have fun, but also to do the best that I could do, which was win. That’s what sports are about, being all that you can be, and when someone takes that seriously, suddenly they are stuck up. They don’t deserve what they have. It’s sad and pathetic, and it’s also poor judgement, especially from media outlets who have never been present as part of the snowboarding clan at events and are going on hearsay alone. As media personnel who have never partaken in the sport a day in their life. As Shaun’s mom has said, “It’s funny: They will tweet things, but up on the mountain they will be right next to him and not say anything.”

I’ve always been a fan of Shaun White for his undeniable talent; not his personality, not his persona in the media, but his plain and simple talent. I don’t know him personally, so I can’t judge the kind of person he is, but when you love The Winter Olympics as much as I do, being a fan of Shaun White goes right along with that. I’ve been disgusted to hear the media go from saying nothing but good things about Shaun, to nothing but nasty things since he dropped out of one competition, and even worse things when he didn’t win, completely missing the point that making it to the Olympics alone already showcased his talent and spoke for itself. What many reporters except for this guy from the Washington Post fail to point out is that he does give $1.2 million dollars to St. Jude’s Hospital every single year. The reason he went ahead and cut all of his famous hair off was also for charity. He takes time for his fans, even if it means skipping the press and further pissing them off. In other words, Shaun rightfully doesn’t give a hoot what you think or the press thinks, because you don’t know him. But he does give a hoot what he thinks of himself, how he takes care of himself, and what kind of person he is, and that’s all the media needs to launch a tirade at anyone. It’s completely undeserved, media. Completely undeserved.

While we’re on the subject, what does everyone think of his hair? Serious question. My friend and I (What’s up, again, Ashley?!) spent over an hour debating his hair today, because crap, you guys, we are stuck inside and going stir crazy. She hates it and thinks that he needs to bring his long hair back, because his short hair is too “preppy.” I like it. To be honest, I never actually knew what his face looked like. I could identify him on hair alone, and that was the only way I identified him. I flat out did not recognize him with his hair cut, and his face doesn’t look like I thought it did. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean either, but it just didn’t. His face isn’t that bad. I’m Team Haircut. I’m also team, Even My Compliments Are Kind of Accidentally Mean.

Aside from all the crappy (and sometimes funny) things happening in Sochi, like bad course conditions (crappy), unfinished hotel rooms and the partially complete Olympic Village (crappy + funny), and media attacks on star athletes (also crappy), there’s also been some really amazing things happening there as well. You have the two female skiers, Tina Maze and Dominique Gisin, who tied for gold in the Alpine Skiing event. The odds of this happening are ones I can’t even begin to fathom, but to tie down to a fraction of a second was really something to watch. Both girls were so gracious about the entire thing, sharing the podium, hugging and smiling. It was a true show of sportsmanship and unity of the world to watch these girls become comrades, without boundaries or politics or jealousy.

Another really unique thing to see was three Americans sweep the podium in tonight’s Men’s Slopestyle in skiing. The most remarkable part of this story was based around Joss Christensen, who won gold against all odds. Just six months ago, Joss’s dad, an avid skier who introduced him to the sport and supported him through his Olympic dreams, passed away. He pushed through the emotional pain and continued to ski. When his mind was grieving, it was also focused on getting him to the Olympics, for his dad. He competed with a picture of his dad in his pocket, a father who I’m sure couldn’t be more proud of his son right now, even from Heaven. These are the kinds of stories that you just can’t make up, and what makes me love the Olympics so gosh darn much.

I also have to admit that I’m a little bit of a jerk in the way that I also love the Olympics because people falling is funny, as long as they are not hurt. I would like to say that again, it is funny as long as they are NOT hurt. Someone falling and getting hurt is never funny. People losing is also never funny, so yes, I am a total jerk when it comes to this, but I was accidentally more of a jerk than I meant to be this evening when Swedish Freestyle skier Henrik Harlaut took his turn at competing. Not only did this kind dreadlocked sir find himself unable to keep his pants up and save our eyes from continually getting flashed by his electric blue and black underwear, but he also said he was keeping an egg in his pocket for good luck. I made the offhand comment that I hoped he fell and broke the egg, simply because I thought it would be hilarious to break an egg in your pants.

You guys, he fell. Hard. I’m so sorry Henrik. This is totally my fault. I won’t make it up to you because I don’t know you, but I will give you the advice to wear pants that fit you better so that you never flash anyone again and we can call it even. Trust me, it’s useful advice.

I’m Stunned Without a Kerfuffle

Y’all, I had this really great, entertaining idea for a series on my blog. It was approved by several people. It was a go. And then it up and went topsy turvy on me. I don’t know how to act. I’m fact, I’m nearly speechless.

Let me back this up with a little pretext, since you’re not all mind readers. In the last post, I mentioned dating and that when I find the right guy I will write about it. No one get excited yet. That didn’t happen. I have been fortunate enough to be out of the woods with my PTSD and functioning like a normal, cheery person. I really want to get back out there and date. I’m ready. I’m excited. I hate dating, so this is kind of funny to me. I don’t really know how to date, but my psychologist gave me homework to get out there and go for it. So I am. I have the confidence to do this and to just say no to people who aren’t right for me.

The only problem was, I had no idea how to meet people. I’ve tried online dating before. I failed miserably. I don’t get out to meet the right kind of people though. I joined some groups on Meetup, and on a whim decided to give online dating one more try. I’m not going to lie, I kind of tried it because I figured it would tank horribly and I’d end up with a handful of fun stories like I did last time. I would then blog about these fun stores, and my bad dates could be your laugh of the day.

Only, it hasn’t gone that way at all. Plenty of Fish has added a filter so you can weed out people right off the bat. Because of this, I’m not getting twenty year old frat guys trying to sleep with me and fifty year old creepers trying to convince me I want to date them. I’m getting age appropriate guys who can spell, are nice, and form complete sentences. Most are even funny and interesting. I’ve never met anyone online that I wanted to meet in person, but I could see me meeting a few of these guys. I’m stunned speechless, because no kerfuffle has broken out yet. If one does, you know I will write all about it. We can laugh together.

You Say Bad Date, I Say Endless Free Entertainment

I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving full of turkey comas and enough pies to make you go up a jean size. Our Thanksgiving always consists of watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade from the comfort of our home and in our pajamas, and then pretty much doing whatever we want the rest of the day.

Today, I worked. Not out in public like most people, for whom we should bow our heads and pray that they don’t get pancaked by a stampeding crowd. I never left the computer, therefore, I “worked.” I have been selling stuff to help pay for my dog’s surgery for the last couple of months. He had a cancerous tumor on his shoulder, and if he didn’t have it removed the cancer would have spread or he would have been unable to walk, because the tumor was growing. Not having the surgery was not an option, though it was very expensive. I have a small website and webstore called Hello Leo, and I’m trying to be hip and keep up with the times, so I arranged a sale on the site during the weekend. The fact that I just used the word hip shows just how well I am keeping up with the times.

I really enjoy that I’m able to pay for his surgery this way, and we’re almost halfway there (Oh oh, livin’ on a prayer.) in paying off his bill. I’m not able to have a real job because of my medical problems, but being able to do this gives me something to do on my own time, when I feel well. It’s been a great experience for me, but when I do feel well, a lot of my time goes into it.

I miss writing. I miss working on my novel. I feel like I know where I want my novel to go, but not how I want to write it. I never get time to write anymore; to really sit down and plug away at the novel. I decided to try to remedy that with attempting to blog more. I don’t have to have a ton of time, nor do I have to sit through pages of notes and force all my ducks into a somewhat crooked little row to blog. All I have to do is have stories. This is fortunate, because boy do I have stories.

I could start with the story about how I have two bulged disks in my neck, and how funny that is since I can’t physically do anything that could have caused it. It’s kind of a dead end story, though, because apparently the bulged disks showed up in a 2009 MRI. No one told me, so instead of trying to fix it and going through therapy, I went on with my daily life, and now those disks are angry. So, thanks, neurologist that I had at the time, for not telling me this important information I needed to know. Now I’m in pain, on medication and going through therapy. Fun times, my friends.

Instead, I’m going to tell you my stories about my minimal adventures in dating over the past year from a sunny side point of view, wherein we make fun of my misfortune instead of complain about what horrible dating luck I have. These stories may not have been funny at the time, but they certainly are now. Some of them are absolutely my own fault, and I’m not afraid to make fun of myself.

As you all know, I went through a bad breakup last year. That story isn’t fun, so let’s skip it. Instead, let’s go straight to the long story short of the guy my ex’s best friend set me up with. Nice guy. Wrong time. I put the bitch in psychotic bitch. I wasn’t ready to date. I tried too soon. I ended up actually really liking the guy. I pushed him away. I say a few Hail Marys for the kid every now and then, hoping he’ll find someone better than me. We have all had this issue at one time or another. Up until this incident, I thought I was immune. You can laugh at me. It’s cool. I’m not afraid to admit that I would have ran from me too if I were him. I tried to run from me, but I kept smacking into myself.

Directly after this incident, my friend at the time tried to set me up on a date with her relative. He evidently mistook me for a porn star. Not even thirty minutes into our first text conversation, he began asking me explicit sexual questions and begging for naked pictures. Dumby over here, *points to self,* decides to give him another chance. He just went through a bad breakup too. Maybe he was upset. Maybe he wasn’t himself. Definitely, I was stupid. It should come as no surprise to anyone that this tanked. Horribly. Epically. Hilariously.

We talked things out. I agreed to meet up with him. I mostly did it because he was my friend’s relative, and I thought if she set me up with him that he must be a really nice guy and I should give him a chance. I told him that I could meet him any day or time. He picked the day and time on his own. The day we were to go out, I woke up in the dead of morning sick. By noon the next day, I was still hugging the porcelain throne. I let him know that likely I wouldn’t be able to come out that night, mostly because commodes aren’t portable or a sexy accessory. He told me he hoped I could make it. This should have been a sign, you guys, but I was too sick to be smart. Or just too stupid. He never even asked me if I was okay.

Rewind to later that day when I knew that I still was not going to make it. It was still several hours before we were to meet up, so I texted him and let him know that I was still sick as could be. Instead of being a gentleman, or any kind of decent human being, he went on a tirade about how he canceled plans for me. I found this interesting considering he was the one who picked the day and time. I also found this to be a flat out lie for the same reason. I told him off about it, because momma don’t play that game. He got super mad and basically showed his crazy, unhinged side that was inexcusable and made me nine kinds of glad that I hadn’t met with him that night. God did me a favor that night. I never thought I’d be so grateful to have been sick.

A little while later, the same friend tried to set me up with a friend of hers. It’s a known fact to people who barely know me that I like older guys and that I do not drink or like guys who get drunk all the time. The friend she sets me up with is just turning 21 and new to drinking, and he was quickly becoming buds with the bottle. His second text to me ever was to tell me that he drank an entire case of beer the night before. As in, he was bragging about it and expected me to be impressed. His entire Facebook was literally filled with nothing but posts about how hard he parties. Instant block. Also, there are reasons she and I aren’t friends anymore. These two incidents and a few other ones on the side were proof enough that she really paid no attention to anything I said, nor did she respect me enough to set me up with relationship material gentleman.

Somewhere in between this hootenanny of a hailstorm, I tried online dating. I know, I know. You don’t have to say it. It was super entertaining, though. I saw no penises, so that was a plus.

One of the first people to hit on me was a 50 year old guy with no profile picture or information on his profile, who immediately came at me telling me I should date him because age was only a number and I shouldn’t be stuck up and bitchy like other women. (Way to flatter a girl.) When I pointed out that this was coming from a guy twice my age with no profile picture, he told me I was being unfair to him and started telling me to submit to him. It became obvious very quickly how controlling he was. It also gave me the ha-has to find out that the situation didn’t go both ways. If I were 50 and he were my age, he would think I was too old. I guess when you’re middle-aged and lonely and don’t find women your age attractive, you have to bully people in to dating you. Never gonna happen, dude. For the record, had he started a nice conversation with me and been a gentleman and had information on his profile, I would have given him a chance. Age is only a number, when you’re not a chauvinistic jerk.

I met a few people here and there, but no one that I clicked with or had potential any kind of long term potential with. There was one guy who I talked here and there, not so often, for a few months. We hadn’t talked enough to really meet, but he was one of the only people who got my real email address, and overall he seemed alright. I’m overly cautious about online dating, what with Catfishing and scary rapists and murderers who troll these spaces, so it took until we started talking on the regular for me to give him my phone number. I’m no Penelope Garcia, after all.

Almost immediately I seemed to be talking to a different person. This guy who told me he was more of the stay-at-home artsy type was suddenly asking me to come out at meet him at the bar to drink, where he was alone. At a bar. On a Saturday night. On weeknights. Texting me the whole time. This was happening a few nights a week. I had a Johnny to my June once, and I couldn’t do it again. Not only that, but wanting to meet a girl for the first time in a bar in the dark seemed sketchy to me. His texts often came in at midnight or so.

Suddenly I was getting the picture that he wasn’t quite who he had told me he was, and now that we were talking about meeting, it was coming out. I should have backed away then, because men who sit at bars alone several nights a week have never been my type. Not that I have anything against them. There are lots of guys who don’t like girl-at-home types of girls. But not being a girl who enjoys bars and being asked by a guy to come to one several times a week is usually a sign. I’m so glad I didn’t back away, because this has become my favorite story to tell any and everyone who will listen.

One night, we happened to be talking about a little of this and a little of that, including this mysterious job that he had, but wouldn’t tell me what he did and never seemed to be anywhere but at the bar. But I digress. The topic of religion came up. It’s pertinent to tell you that I am religious. I am far from a Bible thumper, but I have a strong faith in God and want a partner who also has a strong faith in God. This was in my dating profile. From things that this guy had said to me before, it was clear he had read my dating profile. Unfortunately, reading and paying attention do not skip hand and hand off into the sunset. Boo.

Out of nowhere, he brings up that he feels God and religion and the Bible have no place in modern society. Uh, what now? When I think back on it now, I realize he had read my profile, and he was saying this just to be a jackwagon. Otherwise, who just comes out with something like that out of nowhere? Troublemakers, that’s who. His grandma would be embarrassed. I don’t know her personally. I’m just flying by the seat of my pants on this, because I know a lot of grandmas. None would agree with his behavior.

I told him that I disagreed, and that it was in my profile that I was looking for someone with a strong faith in God to date. I was over and done with him there and then. He had spent the last several months lying to me about such things and pretending like he had faith in God just to reel me in. I wasn’t even mad that he didn’t believe in God, but the lying is what did me in; the pretending to be someone else in more circumstances than just religion. I don’t understand what he thought he was going to get out of this, but I ended up being the winner of this situation. I will gladly take the prize of a good story any day.

It quickly came out that this guy was, in fact, atheist. I really don’t care if you’re some made up religion that prays to Martians that may or may not exist. You could wear hats and dance naked every day at 3 PM, regardless of where you are. I don’t give a hoot. I will be your friend. Some of my best friends are atheists. I’ve dated men of different religions than myself. Judgmental I am not. However, it’s a personal choice for me to want to raise a family with a man who also has a strong faith in God, whatever religion that faith may fall under. That’s all it is; a personal choice. When looking for a mate, you have to know what you want and what you don’t, and you’re entitled to have non-negotiables. That was one for me, hence why I put it in my dating profile. Heck, y’all, I would even take a guy who wasn’t religious but just had a faith in God. Seriously, not picky here.

He proceeded to berate me for this decision, telling me I was missing out on really great guys because of this. The fact that he chose to flip out on me over a personal decision said everything I needed to know about him. There was a control factor entering the picture when he didn’t get what he wanted. I was not judging him for being atheist. I never cared. I had made a personal decision, which I was up front about as to not lead anyone on, regarding wanting a partner who shared a faith in God. He went on about how he was raised religious and he knew the Bible inside and out. Then, you guys, he said inarguably the best thing I’ve ever heard to sum up an entire situation in my entire twenty-eight years on this planet. And I quote:

“You’re the kind of person that makes Jesus roll over in his tomb.”

I tried to explain Easter and Palm Sunday and resurrection to him gently, but none of those things rang a bell. He flipped out about how me saying Jesus has risen just showed that me, the “supposedly great, religious girl,” as he would put it, knew nothing about the Bible, and that he, the “atheist,” knew more than I did.

Obviously I blocked his number, because this kind of crazy I did not need. But I’ll be forever grateful for that little incident. And so will Jesus, who is not in his tomb and literally gave me an open joke at his own expense. This, folks, is exactly why I love the man upstairs.

I want to date, but then I reminisce about all of this and I think, nope, I’m good single. But man do I love the stories. I date for the stories.

As for the good dates, when I find one worth writing home about, you can be sure I will.

 

Help! I’m Turning Into Rachel Zoe! (And Am Secretly Okay With It.)

As women, we grow up learning that our first love is our family and friends. Then we get older and find boys, and we talk about love and marriage and children. We love boys, who turn into heartbreaks, and then men, more heartbreaks and, if we’re lucky, the real deal. But for those of us who find boys and love and heartbreaks and not much else, there’s still hope for us. There’s shoes. They’re the third kind of right kind of love. (Try saying that three times fast.)

Taylor Swift once said, “I don’t know if you know who you are until you lose who you are.” Love her or hate her, she’s absolutely right, and every breakup teaches you to do that. A breakup from true love does so much more. True love is something that last, unconditionally through all time and space, interweaving into your life and never ending. You could hate your ex and hope a gorilla eats him. Getting back with him could be the like, ever kind of never ever. If you were going to talk to your ex in only cat memes, these might be the ones that would represent what you had to say best. (I’ve used the last one. I’m too nice to use the other two.)

photo 1

photo 2

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Regardless, no matter how definitively you’ve moved on or how much you’ve let it go and watched it run away, and how happy you are in your life, you will always love that person somewhere deep down inside, no matter how much you hate them on the surface and think they’re a piece of dirt. It’s those kinds of relationships that leave you feeling bare and empty and sad when they’re through. Something has to change, and you realize it has to be you. Back to me without you. (“You made grief my chief emotion. Why’d you have to do what you thought you had to do.”) Me. That’s who I need to find again.

We’ve all been there, so we resort to who we were before we got lost in trying to love the things he did because we loved him, and strip ourselves to the bare essentials, becoming a better us for it. It’s easy to get caught up in being “us” and lose yourself as part of a team, but when one team member quits, it all falls back on number one. It’s this incredibly saturating feeling to be the best you, and now even better; stronger.

This is a lesson it took me so long to learn, and I remained stuck in the past for longer than I’d like to admit, even if I had moved past the person. I started looking ahead and realizing that it wasn’t him that had me stuck, but I had myself stuck, because I was surrounded by my past. I’m one of those people who doesn’t throw anything essential out unless it’s completely ruined. One day I opened my closet and found that none of my clothes were me. That’s probably because every article of summer clothing, at least shirt wise, was something I had owned since I was in high school, prior to getting sick, a whole thirteen years ago, save for the few vintage pieces Aunt Bev had given me. I look young, and I was dressing like a kid. I hated all of my clothes and half of them didn’t even fit right. It was time for a change. It was time to find a new love that wasn’t a boy. It was time to really love myself.

So I changed my wardrobe and got rid of stuff that had sat in my closet for years without being worn, and the stuff that didn’t fit me right, and I found a few great pieces that were me. It killed me to give away shirts that were in perfectly good shape, but they were pried out of my hands by my mom, who insisted I did, in fact, look as ridiculous as I thought. I was feeling better about myself already. Even though I knew the ex wouldn’t have been attracted to me in the clothes I wore, that brought me peace, because I was finally myself. It showed me how many miles apart we were and how glad I was to have had the chance to part from him and get back to me. I felt lucky to have a chance to find someone who would love me for me; someone who appreciated the mature way I dressed and wasn’t looking to relive their high school days.

What I never planned on doing was changing my shoes. I’ve never been a shoe person. Even when I worked at a shoe store, I wasn’t a shoe person. Shoes were just some stupid things I had to spend money on so I didn’t walk around barefoot and was allowed in stores. I bought the cheapest ones I could find that fit and called it a day. That could be why, when I went to clean out my closet, I noticed all of my shoes were falling apart. I mean literally losing their souls, or discolored, or badly worn. I change out my tennis shoes every six months in order to keep good padding in my shoes and keep my back aligned, but I’ve had the same shoes for at least ten years when it came to every other kind of shoe, save for my cowboy boots, which were now also pretty dead to the world. I also had one pair of dress shoes that actually fit me right and didn’t care if they matched what I wore when I needed them. I had three pairs that didn’t fit. There was a lot of horrible going on.

Begrudgingly, I decided to set out on a search for shoes. I don’t even like shopping for tennis shoes, nor do I care what they look like, so I just go to Ross and find a cheap pair. However, the last time I bought tennis shoes, I got some fancy Skechers shoe and I love them. They’re so light and so comfortable, but I digress. It was time to go out in the world and buy actual shoes that actually went with my clothes and completed my new, adult look. However, every time I think of shoe shopping, I can’t get this out of my head, which wasn’t helping me take shoe shopping seriously.

One pair of shoes I don’t mind shopping for are cowboy boots. They’re kind of my trademark, but the last time I bought a pair, I got a cheap, not so authentic pair, and they died over the last year because I wore them all the time. I’m picky about my cowboy boots and couldn’t find a pair I liked, until I came across an authentic leather pair made by Laredo. When I was a child, I rode horses and lived in Laredos, so I knew that they were comfortably padded and guaranteed to last, unlike my other pair. I didn’t want to spend the money on them, but I found a terrific deal and went for it. I am truly in love with these shoes, which isn’t unusual since they are cowboy boots. They’re so me.

Cowgirl 1

cowgirl 2

Then, to sweeten the pot, I found a leather jacket on clearance at Target that matches them perfectly. Since I was in the market for a new jacket, they became the perfect pair. The cutouts on the jacket are the same as the ones on my boots. This picture, for whatever reason, came across with a weird glare that caused it to look vintage, but I like it.

cowgirl 3

Boots were the easy thing to shop for, because I was going to do that anyway. I wasn’t planning on replacing my other shoes, simply because I hate shoe shopping. I never find anything I like, so I buy cheap and go on with my day. This time, I decided I was going to buy shoes I actually liked. I knew this was going to be a disaster and a half and require a ton of online shopping, because I didn’t have the energy to scour stores, and the few I did, I hated everything. I felt like Grumpy Cat. My other problem is that, with my medical problems, I need something comfortable or I just get completely annoyed and won’t wear them. Every good woman can tell you that beautiful shoes are not comfortable. I also wasn’t willing to spend a fortune, so I was pretty much on a mission bound to fail on the principle of asking too much.

I decided to start the shoe search I didn’t want to do with sandals. This sounded easy, but royally sucked. Those things that go between your toes? I don’t do those. Apparently almost every shoe does. I had the perfect pair that didn’t do that and were as comfortable as all get out, but also just as ugly and the soul was coming detached from the part you slip your foot into. I also had another pair that broke at the buckle and had to be tossed.

I decided I didn’t want to shoe shop and only wanted one pair of sandals, so they had to be cute, go with everything, and be a little classy.They also had to be flat and easy to slide on. No one carried them, naturally. By accident, I came across a pair on Wal-Mart.com that they didn’t carry in stores. They were also Dr. Scholl’s, so they should be comfortable. Who knew Dr. Scholl’s made cute shoes that weren’t just for the retirement village folk? They were flat and soft on the feet like my one pair of old ones, but also had the pink buckle like my other pair. They were perfect. The only issue I found is that you can’t wear them if you’re going to walk all over the place like I could with my old ones, because the buckle will dig into your foot some. I was bummed about that, but learned long ago that sandals were not really made for long walks anyway, so they were sufficient for what I needed. Plus, they were only $15, so I was a happy camper. That’s more my price range. Actually, zero is my price range, but that’s how I ended up with crappy shoes I hated in the first place.

Pink Sandals 1

Pink Sandals

Just like that I threw out two pairs of shoes that were falling apart and I didn’t like anyway and replaced them with one pair I did. That was great and wonderful, but I really sucked at buying high heels for several reasons. I can stand a high heel, but I can’t stand the pumps in the front part, because that’s when I fall over and either break something or kill myself. My ankles swell because of my blood disorder, so straps were completely out of the question, as they end up digging into me. I just wanted a straight, basic pair of high heels. Apparently fashion has taken a couture turn in the past couple of years, because this task started to feel more like recovering The Ring from Mordor than buying something pretty.

Let me preface this by saying that I’m very pro Taylor Swift’s adorable style and that’s the kind of girl I am, but I never wear heels. This is because mine don’t fit and I can never finds ones I like, so I just don’t do it and I end up looking frumpy and not at all how I feel on the inside. Investing in heels I loved was something I was serious about, but also didn’t want to spend $50 for a pair of heels, so I had to be cautious about finding cute and inexpensive. I was dooming myself again.

A little birdy by the name of Fate told me that Forever 21 carried some cute classic country pieces, so I stopped in and picked up a few new shirts so I wasn’t so 2000. While I was heading toward the checkout, the heavens open and I about fell tit over ass over a display with shoes on it. There, I found shoes that were so very vintage Americana, and so very me. I fell in love instantly, and these came home with me. It was meant to be. Better yet, they were only $27.99, which, men, is cheap for heels. If your woman ever comes home telling you she spent that for heels, praise her and take her out for dinner. Take her somewhere she can wear those heels to.

Cherry 1

Cherry 2

Cherry 3

I have some very pretty dresses and shirts that would go amazingly with these heels, but with the pattern, there were some things that just weren’t going to have any of that at all, meaning I needed to find a plain pair of heels for those everyday events. I wanted just a classic black pair, but nothing boring. I was hoping for something with a little lace, but all of those were peep toes, and homie don’t play that. Discouraged post trying on several pairs of shoes that I found boring, I knew I needed to change things up.

I happened to be minding my own business when an incredibly obnoxious commercial come on. Lo and behold, it was advertising shoes, so I went to the website to find out it was Rachel Zoe’s website, Shoe Dazzle. I love Rachel Zoe in a weird kind of bananas way, so I signed up and took a look-see. The shoes seemed reasonably priced, but out of my cheapo price range, so I went for the clearance rack. There, I found a flowered lace pair of black high heels, with a shiny metal toe that can be used for kicking people you don’t like strongly in places they don’t like to be kicked, at the wonderful price of $25. Done.

Romance 1

Romance 2

 

Romance 3

My only mistake here was that I had looked through all the clearance shoes while looking for this perfect pair, and there I became completely obsessed with shoes, because I found a pair so perfect, so divine, so worth obsessing over and falling in love with multiple times a day for the rest of my life that I was nearly shitting kittens. I finally, FINALLY, understood being obsessed with shoes. It was just that I didn’t need them. Unlike the black high heels, they wouldn’t go with everything. The  problem was, I was already in love, and they were also on clearance for $25, so I splurged when I knew I shouldn’t have. Once I got them, though, I officially became completely shoe obsessed like every other woman. They are that perfect. They are, single-handedly, the shoes that made me realize shoes are more fun to fall in love with than boys, and definitely the perfect fix for loveless times after you lost a love. These make me feel so classy and grown up, but still young.

Love

Love 2

Love 3

While I was ordering from Shoe Dazzle, I decided to search the clearance boots, as fashionable boots have long been a staple in my winter wardrobe, but mine had detached from their souls and found their death. All the boots I was finding were ugly and made me unhappy, but then I found a versatile pair for $13 on Shoe Dazzle. They’re so versatile because you can wear them below the knee and buttoned, or above the knee for a new look whenever you feel like it. These weren’t easy to photograph myself in since they have to be on to show the true potential, so I used stock photos from the site. Not very creative. Sorry!

Obsess 1

Boots 4 Boots 5

I am completely and absolutely enamored with shoes now and Shoe Dazzle. The transaction was quick and easy, I got my shoes quickly, the prices were great, and they had shoes that no one in my area is sure to have, so I can be unique. I just have to remind myself that I can’t keep buying shoes. Thank you, Shoe Dazzle and the perfect high heels for making me cray-cray about shoes, or just plain crazy. This is problematic for me. I can’t tell you how obsessed I am with heels, especially that specific pair, and shoes in general. I’m practically as obsessed with shoes as Rachel Zoe now.

Sometimes you have to invest in you. It’s not a waste of money to make yourself feel good. Buy things you love, but buy in your price range and you’ll be happier for it. How you look on the outside is just a showpiece of how you feel on the inside. If you’re going to wear it, it’s okay to spend some money to update your wardrobe so you’re absolutely you. And someone will love you for it.

On a separate note, this song makes me so happy and the video is so cute. It gives me hope and makes me completely jealous of these kids all the same. Great, now I’m jealous of eight year olds.

If none of this stuff helps you get out of your breakup rut, because you are fabulous and need a guy who appreciates you, let me help. If you’re tired of listening to Johnny Cash to make you realize that, hey, you don’t have it that bad, then I suggest My Blood by Ellie Goulding. It got me over everything, even in the roughest times.

“And God knows I’m not dying but I bleed now, And God knows it’s the only way to heal now,
 With all the blood I lost with you,
 It drowns the love I thought I knew”

Everything But the Books

I don’t know what is wrong with me lately, and at the same time, I do. I’ve written and scratched out, crossed out, rewritten and deleted posts. Some are still hanging in the balance of the edit circle, where I don’t want to backtrack in my life to go over them before I post them, and only want to move forward. Our eyes face forward so we’re always looking ahead in life, not behind. It’s not the way God intended life to be.

Things have been strange lately. Not that they’re ever not. My life has a way of doing funny things and I’ve learned to expect the unexpected and roll with the punches. Health wise, I think I’m barely hanging on. I’m handing it better on the outside than I am on the inside, and most people don’t know there’s a thing wrong with me. I have a rare blood disorder that is causing an even more rare pressure on my brain. It’s one of those, “we’ve all heard of this, but we’ve never seen it” situations amongst my doctors. There’s not much that can be done. If they don’t break up the blood, the pressure will cause a hemorrhage, or worse, a stroke which will lead to a hemorrhage. If they do try to break it up, that will also cause a hemorrhage, since too much blood will be loose in my brain.

I also had an autoimmune neurological test come back positive, though the doctor who did the test has taken a month to let me know the results, and won’t discuss what positive results mean and what kind of treatment plan there is for me until my appointment in August. She knows we’re waiting on clarification on the results to move forward with treatment for the issue with my brain, as the positive test results greatly affect what route they can take to get the pressure off my brain before it does hemorrhage. Waiting three months isn’t acceptable and it could be too late by then. Clearly, it’s time for me to find a new doctor who cares about what’s going on with me. There is also something going on with my heart, and I have a pre-existing heart condition. She also won’t discuss that with me until August. No wonder I’m stressed in the moments where I’m supposed to stay away from everything stressful as not to cause more pressure on my brain. Doctors aren’t supposed to stress you out worse.

I’ve had a lot of weird side effects with the issue with my brain; anything from loss of vision, to blacking out, to severe dizziness, to barely being able to walk or stand, and also not being able to control my emotions due to where the pressure is sitting. Possibly the weirdest is forgetting people; ones I have known that have meant so much to me. A good example is Craig, my ex. I remember how I felt about him, I remember moments and things that happened between us, and I remember things about him. I just don’t remember him. When I try to recall him, he’s just a blank. I couldn’t tell you what he looked like to save my life, and it’s very strange. It’s a bit scary, too. I wonder how bad things will get or if this will or can cause any permanent damage before we are able to solve the issue at hand; if we’re able to. Every route we think we can take meets a roadblock because of my other health problems, and I’m scared. I can barely function right now and I’m worried about what could and will happen to me. Yet I still know there’s people out there who have it worse than me.

I’m not supposed to be using the computer, really, but I’m bored half to death, which isn’t funny considering. I’m trying to write my novel now that my heart is telling me what novel I was meant to write, but if I stare at the screen for more than a half an hour, my vision goes on me. I’ve been trying to brush up on paranormal stuff, ordering and reading books about the history – both paranormal and non paranormal – of the area so that I can piece together some absent parts of past cases I’ve worked. I have sewing to do and lots of Little Miss Suzy Homemaker types of things to occupy me, but I can barely move from the couch most days.

Little Miss Suzy Homemaker fits me fine. I found a part of me that I lost nine years ago when I realized that people can hurt you just to do it and not give a damn. You can’t find yourself until you lose yourself, and the last eight months have ripped me at the seams. I may not be the long-haired red head that dresses in jeans and rock shirts anymore, but I am a curly haired blonde who loves the south, Johnny Cash, June Carter, Lemon Breeland’s style and vintage things. This is who I am and have always felt like I wouldn’t be accepted for. But when I go to the store wearing a vintage dress that’s so very June from the 1950’s, guys still talk to me and bitchy women avoid contact with me. It’s a win. I’ve gotten rid of the old; the things I didn’t like and thought I should, and replaced them with things that make me happy and are so very me. That includes people. I’m more me than I’ve been in a long time and very grateful for that. I’m certainly not the same woman I was a year ago. Someone will love me for exactly me, and I’ll be my best me with them. I don’t know if that’s what I want; I may want to just be alone. I don’t need another Johnny to my June. I don’t want to parent my significant other through parties and too much drinking again. Only time will tell.

I’ve had a blind spot when it comes to the paranormal ever since I got sick. I was backlogged six months in cases before I got sick, and now it’s more like a year. Things have started to come back to me slowly. I can see Sarah again. I can hear Lauren. I’m trying to slowly get back into taking cases, without stressing myself out. I’m still not where I used to be, and I can’t sense things like I normally can. My friend thinks that, when I get better, I’d make a great television show. Maybe I should start taping what I do, I don’t know.

But I ask, dear readers, as I try to find a niche with my blog, should I tell my paranormal stories on here? Should I make a section for it? Should I do updates with videos instead of typing, and also include some of the cover songs I’ve recorded? What would you all like to see this blog become?

Through the years, I’ve had to learn a lot about stressing myself out, and this also comes from the paranormal side of things, too. I’ve always felt obligated that, since I could see and speak with the dead, I had to help everyone who had a paranormal problem, and I’ve always done it for free. This has recently led me to learn why people charge. I’ve taken the cases where the people couldn’t afford to bring in help, and most of the time it has gotten me talked back to from completely complacent, unappreciative homeowners who want nothing to do with getting rid of what is in their home, and don’t understand it’s a process in which they have to be involved, as well as a process that takes time. When someone pays you to get something out of their house, they are truly prepared to do any and everything it takes to get it out, because they are serious about it. I still don’t have the heart to charge, though, especially because sometimes I get the most wonderful, grateful people who are so delighted to have help and truly become such beloved friends of mine. They make what I do worth it.

I’m not going to be able to see to keep typing much longer, so before I go I will share a short story. Please let me know what you’d like to see more of on my blog and what you think is a good niche for me. Everything has changed and I’d like to start over.

I don’t wonder why the U.S. Postal service is going bankrupt. Our local post office is like a tiny violin playing the soundtrack to their own little movie, which would undoubtedly be some twisted, weird sequel to Dumb and Dumberer, just minus all the original stars and completely unscripted as cameras follow our mail carriers and postmaster around. I’ve told you stories before about leaving packages out in the rain and inside flower pots full of water, and then lying about there being something covering them. I’ve probably even told you about how they will never alert us there is a package at the post office for us, and only when the original sender gets it sent back do I find out they never bothered to do their job and simply returned it to sender. I’ve contacted the head office several times, but they keep kicking back the complaints to our postmaster. They don’t seem to realize that she is the problem, no matter how many times I’ve politely told them.

With not feeling well, I’ve found myself having to order things that I need online more and more because I have more bad days than good, and I can’t exactly go to the store when I’m having issues getting around. This has brought on a whole new stupidity of our mail people called, “we shall steal her mail and she won’t notice.” But I notice. Knowing how our mail people are and that most places don’t give you a cost efficient alternative to shipping besides FedEx Smartpost, I’ve downloaded all the apps to keep track of my packages. Still, they have a whole new plan of action.

Fedex’s website will tell me that my package was dropped off at my local post office, with a date and time. Oddly, my package will never arrive. I give it five days or so and give things a chance, but the package never shows up. I go to the post office with the tracking information and typically get the postmaster. Though I have the information right in front of me saying that the package was delivered and checked in by our post office, she tells me it’s not there, refuses to look up any tracking information on it, or look for it in the post office. She’s actually told me I was lying and refused to look at my phone to see that they did, in fact, check the package in. This doesn’t surprise since the one time there was a package with my name on it sitting two feet to the right of her and she refused to give it to me, saying it wasn’t my package, though I could clearly see my name on it, and then sent it back to the shipper.

With no help from her, I go to Fedex down the road, they print out all the necessary paperwork saying that yes, it was checked into our post office, and I take the paperwork back to the post office, where I’m still met with disdain and the lack of help. A few days later the package mysteriously turns up at my house, badly repackaged and re-taped, missing any packing materials and receipts. I’m not saying our post office workers are stealing my packages, holding onto them, lying to me about it, and then, when I get all up in their grill, putting them into a box and delivering them…oh wait, yes I am. And from the way the postmaster acts when I try to retrieve a package that I know is there, I’m also accusing her. Nothing gets done about it and I get to lather, rinse and repeat this cycle often since the higher ups still don’t get that she’s the problem and she will not help me when this happens. She also seems to have no shame about the fact that this keeps happening and I have to keep going over there when my packages don’t show up after five days or a week. I’m fair. I give them time to deliver it before I go over there. They just don’t deliver it, is the problem.

It’s only certain things that go missing. Stuff that comes from pet supply places I typically get. Stuff from Amazon, depending on the size of the box, I occasionally get, however, I’ve switched to Prime to avoid my packages having to go through the post office. Things from Kohl’s packaged in shipping bags I get. Things packed in boxes, I don’t. Anything from Wal-Mart is sure to go missing. I’m wondering if my order from Shoe Dazzle will too. I’ll know tomorrow or the next day.

But you know the one thing they never, ever, ever take? Books. My books come one by one, as I order them from different sellers used from Amazon. They always come in paper mailers and it’s obvious they’re books. With having ordered over twenty five books, not one has ever gone missing. This says everything about why our postal service is going bankrupt.