maladies #9: oh, how i've missed you

Some of you may remember this post from almost exactly a year ago. The post wherein I explain that my pelvis was all wonky and subsequently one of my legs was longer than the other. I proceeded to go to weekly physical therapy sessions for up through last November, when, um...I stopped going because I had more pressing medical concerns (see this post regarding the heart issue which made me nearly insane).

Anyway, to sum it up: I stopped going to the physical therapist. I should not have. And now due to a weekend of indentured servitude to my parents I am once again left with a wonky pelvis and one leg wanting to be longer than the other. Oh, and the pain is the unbearable, throbbing, makes you sweat if you think about it pain. Yay. And I have to go back to the physical therapist and get chastised for not continuing to see him. I did the exercises he prescribed, I just didn't go in for follow-up appointments. I was wrong, and now I'm being punished.

The "injury" happened August 13 and I can't get in to the therapist until August 29. There was too much lifting, twisting, and standing on concrete. I thought the issue would resolve itself, that my pelvis would magically shift back into place. It didn't. The pain has gotten progressively worse and I'm now wishing I had made my therapy a priority over work responsibilities. If I had taken the time out of my workday to actually continue going to the therapist, this wouldn't have happened. Hindsight is 20/20 - but now I can barely see through the pain.

I'm not whining, though it may sound as though I am. I am just so disappointed that I put myself into this situation again. And moreso I'm frustrated that as I quickly approach my 27th birthday, ultimately no progress on my medical/hip situation has been made.

the musicians, not the sugary treats

If Cake and Eminem had a baby, it would sound like this. I'm loving this song right now and can't wait to hear more from Flobots.

a bit edgier than normal

A very perceptive coworker has heard a very tense tone in my voice this week. I say very perceptive because I haven't confided in this coworker about anything other than a general distaste for a few aspects of my job. It is true, I've been edgier than normal. And tense. And stressed.

Lately I've been contemplating the future. My future. My future career and where I want to be. More importantly, why am I not there yet?

A lunch date with a friend/former coworker has helped me to put my life into perspective. It is always amazing to me that I can meet with this friend for a few minutes and walk away from the conversation with an entirely different attitude about the goings-on of my life. It is one of the things I like most about her. I've reached a conclusion: I might not be sure about where I want to be, but I know why I'm not there yet. I've set unreasonable limits on myself and on my career aspirations. I've been content to stay in the same place and be unhappy without trying to better my situation. This is not how my personality usually manifests itself. Because I'm not normally one to just wade in despair without seeking change, I've been making myself even more miserable and in turn I'm projecting my misery onto those around me, whether they are already dreary or not. I'm a downer and I don't want to be a downer anymore.

It seems that it is about time that I take the advice I'd been dishing out to my friend Kristen for the past couple years - do what you need to do to make yourself happy. Make happiness a priority. I haven't quite figured out how to do that, but I'm going to try.

goodbye to a friend

Estelle Getty of Golden Girls died today. This is a very sad day. I've been a fan of the show, and particularly of the quick-witted and snarky character Sophia Petrillo, since it aired in reruns after school while I was in late elementary and middle school. Perhaps not the best choice of subject matter for a preteen girl, but I loved the show and forged a connection with the characters.

Ever present in my life, this show ran in syndication while I was in college and got me through many sleepless nights. It has been a constant source of comfort throughout my life, always there waiting on the Lifetime channel to be a good friend when I needed it. A shared love for the show cemented my friendship with Kristen, whom I plan to someday live with when we are old and widowed and golden.

Goodbye, Estelle, and thank you for being a friend.

one, two, three

You may notice a slight change in the layout of my blog. I had noticed it was quite heavy with sidebar content, so I decided to utilize a 3-column layout to alleviate the need to scroll down.

what i'm listening to these days

I've finally got a pretty good playlist going at Project Playlist, the wonderfully amazing site where you can set up a music rotation free of charge. I'm sure many of you are already using this marvelous site, but if not, go set up the 2008 version of a mix tape. Mine is here, if you are interested in what I've been listening to while at work lately. I've kept it rather mellow and work appropriate. Unfortunately, a number of the indie bands I like are not available through this service, at least not yet. Anyway, check it out for a random sampling of what gets me through the day.

For those of you who don't share my taste in music, I've spared you by not loading the playlist directly to this site. There is a link in the left sidebar if you are so inclined to visit it often. Also, it makes it easier for you to check my blog from work without alerting the others in the cube farm.

wisconsin welcomes you!

I'm happy today. No, I didn't win the lottery. Yes, I'm going to go to work. No, I'm not taking Prozac. Then, why am I happy, you ask? My wonderful friend Kristen is moving back to the land of cheese from her eight year stint in what I consider the state of discontent (also known as Minnesota). I know, not all of MN is bad, just the part where I lived during the time in which I lived there.

Anyway, as I said earlier, Kristen will soon be moving back to her homeland due to a new job opportunity. Yay for her! I couldn't be happier. She'll still be a few hours away, but she will be much closer, and the distance will be much more bearable than the 7 hour drive into hell had been.

I'm planning to help her and her devil dog Ella (her description, not mine) unpack in a few weeks. I foresee many fun weekends in the future. Our college years were a study in frugality - it is amazing all of the things we did without a lot of money. Three years later, we are still slaves to a budget, but we are older and wiser and hopefully even more creative in how to pinch pennies. Perhaps I'll even stop acting like a 70-year-old shut-in.

what color are you?

i am lawngreen #7CFC00

Your dominant hues are green and yellow. There's no doubt about the fact that you think with your head, but you don't want to be seen as boring and want people to know about your adventurous streak now and again. Your saturation level is very high - you are all about getting things done. The world may think you work too hard but you have a lot to show for it, and it keeps you going. You shouldn't be afraid to lead people, because if you're doing it, it'll be done right. Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

living room wrestling entertainment

Yesterday when I got home from work, the house was empty with the exception of the dog and cat. I decided, for some odd reason, that it was the perfect time to clip the dog's toenails. Perhaps it was because the clippers were in the same drawer as the scissors I was looking for to snip the end off of my icy pop. No, the scissors and dog nail clippers were not touching, as that would be gross.

So, there I was, wearing the dress I had worn to work, preparing to give the dog a pedicure on the living room floor. The first three feet were a breeze, she didn't mind at all. The front left paw, however, is a different story. That paw is the paw she licks ALL THE TIME, despite me spraying it with some sort of anti-lick potion that obviously does not work. In other words, that paw is apparently tender, or magical, or something, and she didn't want me to go near it with the clippers. I was not going to leave the dog with some nasty looking, 3/4 finished pedicure. I wouldn't paint the nails on my toes and one hand, leaving the other hand to look sad and bedraggled and I wasn't going to allow my dog to walk around that way either.

If you had entered the living room at the time of the last paw nail-cutting, this is what you would have seen: a 26-year old woman in a dress sitting atop an Australian shepherd dog who is writhing and twisting to escape the wrath of the nail cutter. Jammer escaped multiple times and I grabbed her by the back legs so she couldn't run away. The sofa sectional is subsequently stumbled into and separated into two pieces. My foot is wedged under the coffee table and the dog is using her untrimmed toenails to drag herself by one leg away from me. The poor cat is sitting atop the sofa with a concerned look on his face.

The dog breaks free, leaving me a wrecked contortion of a person on the floor with an assortment of clippings stuck to my bare leg. (Now is the time I wish I would've turned the air conditioning on before striking out on this endeavor.) This battle continues for at least another ten minutes, rolling and twisting across the living room floor, me jumping up to get a better hold on the dog, the dog turning into a boneless, flailing beast that is able to thwart my every grip. Finally, Jammer breaks free. We are left looking like two gunfighters in a duel at high noon: the dog panting, sitting on one side of the chaise lounge and me, pissed off and looking like a hot mess on the other side of the chaise. It was time to bargain.

Me: Now listen, I'll give you a treat. Do you want a treat?

Jammer: [head cocked to the side, liking the sound of the word treat, proceeds to jump excitedly onto the chaise]

Me: I see you want the treat. You can't have it until you let me cut your other nails. Come here and sit down. [all this is said in my sweetest possible voice, though I'm sure it was said through clenched teeth and I was all the while prepared to lunge across the chaise and grab the bitch by the collar - literally, she's a bitch, I wasn't really being that derogatory]

Jammer: [turns head to other side, begrudgingly gets down from the chaise and sits next to me as if it was no big deal at all]

Me: You realize that if I weren't overjoyed by your agreement I'd be extremely pissed that you didn't just agree to letting my cut your damned nails, which I've been trying to do for 25 fucking minutes, before I mentioned the word treat.

Jammer: [again, looks at me because all she heard was "blah blah blah treat"]

I proceed to cut her nails while she sits unbothered. After I have finished she takes off like a rocket into the kitchen where the treats are stowed in a cupboard. She is no worse for the wear, while I am a sweaty mess of dress and flesh and dog hair. If this isn't considered parenthood, then you can go fuck yourself.

it has begun

I spoke on the phone to a very good friend last night. I friend from graduate school who once stayed with me in my one bedroom apartment for a while after her divorce. That is how good of a friend she is. This friend is now pregnant, and while I'm quite happy for her and her husband, it is marking new stage in my life as well. What is that stage, you ask? The stage where the friends I have chosen in my adult life are now choosing to create babies on purpose.

I don't dislike kids, I just dislike the thought of kids coming out of my body and then wanting me to take care of them. I like my nephews (more posting about the holiday weekend will follow when the thought of the events of the weekend stops making me throw up in my mouth a little). I am not worried about this particular friend changing as a result of the baby, but I do worry that I'm about to become that friend "who doesn't understand because she doesn't have kids."

I've had friends with children before, but they have always already had the children when we've become friends. And yet, I've still become "the friend who doesn't understand."

The question is, how do you "understand" when you are purposely protecting yourself to avoid ever having to "understand" what it is like to be a parent?

i love it when you call me big poppa

This week has been interesting in terms of children and the man. We attended a familial baptism party on Sunday for the man's cousin's spawn (yes, that was hard to follow). There was an abundance of children running around: not our idea of a fun time. The cousin's 3-year old kid, when asked if he knew the man's name, quickly called him"Daddy!" I was out of the room, but I guess it was quite humorous. At least for everyone other than the man. Then the kid realized it wasn't his dad and called the man by his name. Still, weird situation.

It is also evident that the man's father wants to be a grandfather. As the man's half-brother will not be impregnating anyone until they develop an XBox with a sex hole, the burden lies solely on us. Me and the man. Procreation. Needless to say, this is not going to be happening. I like my sex to be recreational. Anyway...the man's father keeps asking us when we are going to fill the house with kids and get rid of the roommate. Again, not going to happen. The roommate behaves like a child and that is about all we can bear. This event once again epitomizes the reasons why I don't enjoy the man's family gatherings.

As for awkward situations with family members, here's another: On my last visit to my parents, I was cornered by my dad and questioned in regard to "my future." Questions flew in regard to when the man would ask me to marry him, why he hasn't asked me yet, and how my dad can't die until I'm "settled." Keep in mind that my father is 54 years old and is in near-perfect health. I told him that if he plans on dying after I get married, I won't get married for another 35 years. Also, I reminded him that he raised me to be independent and not to need a man to support me...I guess that all backfired now that he wants more grandkids and a married daughter.

Did I mention that we are going to visit my parents and attend a family reunion for the 4th of July? Well, we are...with the side of the family who believes in marriage before sex. And despite me not knowing half of them, these distant relatives all seem to feel comfortable asking me when I'll get hitched. I think I'm going to laminate a sign and stick it to my back reading as follows:

1. My name is Trish.
2. The uncomfortable-looking guy standing next to me is my boyfriend.
3. Yes, he's quite a bit older than I am.
4. We live in sin.
5. We like it.
6. We don't know if we'll get married.
7. We don't want kids. Even though I know we have the potential to make beautiful children.
8. Note: If you talk about your kids, I'll talk about my cat and dog as if they are as important as your children.
9. I graduated from college a couple years ago. I'm not done with my master's thesis yet.
10. I have a job. I only like it sometimes.
11. My boyfriend has a job, which he likes most of the time.
12. Did you notice that my brother is here and he has two kids whom I'm sure he would love to talk about? Yes, you should go look for him.

I'm thinking the items above will cover all the normal questions that nosy family members like to ask. And, as an added bonus, I'm directing people to harass my brother, who has had the fortune of living out of the state and missing the last five family reunions. He must be punished.

It'll be nice to be home for a couple days and to see my brother and his family. I hope the man and I live through it.

things i need to know

And I thought I was cheaper than this:

$5190.00The Cadaver Calculator - Find out how much your body is worth.

I'm glad to see that I can still fetch a pretty awesome sum - at least enough to pay off my credit cards. Time to rethink that insurance policy and go with cadaver mongering.

Moving on...you know my distaste for most children and my fear of anything in large numbers? Well, the survey I took below gave me information that could one day save my life in the event of the above dislike/fear combo confronting me on the street:

20
You know, it is always good to know your limits. As long as our school system keeps a cap on kindergarten class enrollments, I'll be safe. (thanks goes out to Tracy, who supplied me w/ the links)

ready

I just spent five minutes trying to determine if a piece of debris on my desk was the product of vigorous pencil erasing or the carcass of a dead bug. I am so ready to be on vacation from work until Tuesday.

P.S. it was scraping from the pencil eraser.

add this one to my list of abilities

I came home Monday night from work to find a horrific sight. There was garbage everywhere. In the kitchen. Under the dining room table. In the hallway. In the living room. Behind the sofa. By the fireplace. Pretty much everywhere downstairs, with the exception of the laundry room, bathroom, and roommate's cave. Where was the dog? The only one who could've knocked the lid off the trash can and tipped it over? Nowhere to be found.

I was trying to keep my shit together while looking for the dog. She never does this, with the exception of that one time this winter, which I blame on stir-craziness from the never ending snow and iciness. I finally found her upstairs in the den hiding behind the futon. Or rather, wedged halfway beneath the futon. She has never hidden from me before. She knew she had done a very, very bad thing. She always knows when she has been naughty, and even if the man nor I know of said naughty behavior, we can read it from her body language and she gives herself away every time. That bitch (literally) has no poker face.

Note: Neither the man nor I have ever, ever lifted a finger to the dog and she has no fear of any sort of physical abuse. She does, however, hate the disappointment that we exude and cowers at the thought. She cowers as we open the door to find her on the sofa (where she shouldn't be). She cowers as we walk up the stairs and find her eating cat food, etc. She's like I was in school, so afraid of the disappointment from my parents for untoward behavior that I rarely did anything considered "wrong."

So, I coaxed the dog out from behind the futon, led her downstairs and was about to take her outside to keep with the daily routine of letting her relieve herself. Since there was trash all over the house, she could obviously see what she had done. Apparently she was quite frightened of the tone in my voice (aka borderline hysteria and pissed-offedness) as I instructed her to "make potty outside now." This is an instruction that I give her multiple times per day.

Today was different. Today, when she was so eager to redeem herself. Today, on garbage orgy day, she cowered as we walked to the door and upon being surrounded by the trash or her binge, she pissed on the floor. Just a little, but still, she PISSED ON THE FLOOR. In her 7+ years of existence, she has never pissed on the floor. She must have missed the part where I said "potty OUTSIDE." The man seems to think that since the dog has never heard me so pissed off before, the utterance of that simple command caused her to lose it.

I let her outside, where she did the rest of her pissing, and in the meantime cleaned up the garbage and the piss (did I mention that she pissed on the floor?). As I picked up trash, I looked through everything to make sure there was no evidence of ingestibles that would hurt her, and upon finding none of those items, tried to compose myself again before letting the dog back in the house. Let's just say that cleaning up piss doesn't create a sense of zen for me.

Side note: The slovenly roommate eats fast food nearly everyday and leaves remnants of those meals in the garbage can (not in the compost, where they should be). These nasty tidbits must have sent the dog into a frenzy, and drunk with lust for scraps, she destroyed the sanctity of good manners, general hygiene, and overall not eating garbage in the house I just fucking cleaned the day before.

So, to sum up the event, the dog went on a day-long garbage bender and then was so embarrassed and/or guilty that she proceeded to piss on the floor under my disappointed gaze. And yet I am the one who ended up feeling bad. My tone alone is enough to cause incontinence. I wonder if that should be listed on my resume as a skill or an accomplishment.

is there an eco in here?

I've been working diligently to both beautify my surroundings at home and get rid of some junk lying around in an eco-friendly way. Also, I'm sure I mentioned that I'm into sustainability lately, which is great because I am poor. It is easier to admit that I "up-cycle" because it is good for keeping things out of the landfill, but that is just a bonus. The main thing is that I'm too poor and/or cheap to go out and spend exorbitant amounts of money on sub-par items. Old things really do seem to be of a better quality, I must admit. And I'm not just saying that because I get my jollies from a man 11 years my senior.

But I digress, I've long been a fan of fixing old things rather than spending money and resources on new things. So, long story shorter, I decided to spruce up a horribly disgusting and nasty dining chair I found in one our outbuildings (left by previous tenants whose butts shat out razor blades that seem to have cut open every chair they left). The result of my stress-induced need for calm has been two new chairs for my living quarters.

Below is the dining chair that had been missing a seat and fabric and had an odd smell and all-around was ass-nasty. I completely tore it apart and made a new seat and back, salvaging only the frame. Say hello to my new desk chair:

The photo is a bit darker than I wanted and there is a piece of ? on the floor that the cat batted into the shot. Oh well. At least I was able to get one picture without Cat Named Jack smelling the chair. Victory!

The other chair is just a side chair and is now in my upstairs den. It too had seen better days and was a lovely shade of mold. I removed all the nasty, painted the frame, and out popped a very comfortable chair. I've decided to go with a black and white fabric to keep things looking crisp...also because I love throwing around color so much that I thought I'd better keep it simple to avoid a constantly acid-trippy feeling when I walk into the room. That, and it isn't comforting to feel like you walked into a bag of skittles.


As you can see, Cat Named Jack makes an appearance in this photo, but at least he isn't smelling the chair. You'll see that he is wearing his Jackson Pinkerton III tie for the occasion.

out and about

I made note of a number of things that had made a particular weekend both pleasant and not-so-fun. Here are some photos to further elaborate on the wonders of the world outside my house.

I noted that the man bought me flowers. Since their relocation, they have been thriving, as you can see below:

These are just a couple of the flowers I planted. If you look closely at the photo, you can see a dandelion seed has found its way into the shot. The dandelions are the man's own personal hell. He is now talking about buying special lawnmower attachments to destroy said dandelions. Here is one of the evil doers:

I'm not a fan of just throwing money into the yard like that. As long as it is green, it's a yard. We don't have neighbors on our "dead end" road. From the road, it looks like lush grass and you don't even notice the dandelions. But the man notices them. And he has vowed to kill them. I think I'm going to have to bet against him on this one. Also, I see that I may be hypocritical, spending money on flowers, but flowers are different and and should be considered investments into my happiness. Just don't give me a bouquet, I'd prefer them alive and potted.

The last thing I mentioned in my list was that a hot air balloon made its way over our yard and nearly touched down in the field behind the house. Here's my proof:

After about a minute of trying really hard to hold her shit together, the dog was convinced that the world was coming to an end and sat shivering in the garage until I made a mad dash with her into the house, away from whatever the fuck she thought was falling from the sky to destroy us all. At least I got some good photos to commemorate the event.

visitation

I once again have taken Friday and Monday off from work. Yay! However, 8 hours of the weekend will be spent in the car, due to the fact that I'm going to visit my parents and other members of my extended family. It will be the first time I've seen anyone since Christmas. When was Christmas? Over 5 months ago? Oh yeah, I'm an awful daughter. I only live 4 hours away and I haven't been home in over 5 months. But I do talk to my folks multiple times per week, shouldn't that make it all better? The answer is no. Another 'but.' But...I am happy to report that I will not only be visiting them this weekend, but also once in June and once in August. Then, I will likely see them again for the baptism of my new nephew. See, I just stockpile my visits and then rapid-fire them out in a three-month period. Maybe I'm not so bad...or maybe I'm overcompensating...hard to say which.

Anyway, you know you've been gone way too long when your parents e-mail you multiple times per day to confirm that you are, in fact, still coming to visit. Then they tell their friends and neighbors about the magical homecoming of their wonderful only daughter whom they haven't seen in ages. And then they bribe you with promises of "treats" and fun-filled days of various hometown activities so you'll want to return again and again...and maybe will procreate so they can get their paws on some more grandbabies. Because, those AARP people, they feed off babies. I will not give in to their demands, however, and plan to exit this life with my lady bits in tact.

Moving on. I'm quite excited about visiting. It has been too long since I've been "home." (Thank you gas prices, for keeping me from the people who spawned me and for forcing me to put more charges on the credit card I thought I wouldn't need to use anymore.) I will be bringing more of my stuff and things and objects home with me. And hopefully a couple things that I can pilfer from my parents and then rejuvenate to make me feel like I am not poor and that I have "new" things.

When I return I will be posting photos and some rapid-fire, stockpiled posts detailing my projects and the various goings-on in my not-so-exciting life. Why? Because that's how I roll. I save up posts and visits and whatnot and when you least expect it...WHAM, BANG, POW...you are overcome with the glory that is the life of Trish. And you, in return, will pretend that I am fabulously amazing and delightful. Why? Because I already think you are fabulous and amazing and delightful. What a fun interchange it will be.

the end of the fucking world

Why doesn't anyone seem to care that Clay Aiken is procreating? I have this nightmare where Clay Aiken's baby and a baby produced by Josh Groban get together, mate, and create a musical horror that brings the world to its knees...and not in a good way. This nightmare is the result of this.

things that made this weekend good and/or bad

1. The man and I had plans for Friday as we would both be home early from work...I was not done early...he was not done early = bad
   
2. At approximately 6:00 pm Friday, I started having severe stomach pains for no apparent reason. No nausea, no indigestion, just pain. I couldn't quite stand up straight without the pain causing beads of sweat to build up on my forehead. The pain is still there, but is now bearable. Overall, unidentified stomach pain = bad
   
3. I finally watched Chicken Little, which happened to be on Disney channel as I was curled into a ball on the sofa (due to the abdominal discomfort). It was a cute movie = good
   
4. One of the man's old friends from high school decided to call drunk at 3:00 am Saturday morning while the man was out fishing and I was home alone, sick, and barely able to sleep. Plus, he couldn't understand who I was and why I was answering the phone at the man's house. What I should have said: "Dumbass, I fucking live here and get off the damned phone before I reach through it and pull your scrotum up over your face and tuck it into your eyelids." I wanted to say that, but I didn't = bad
   
5. Saturday morning we drove to the nursery and picked up flowers for my flowerbeds, all of which were purchased by the man so I couldn't say that he never buys me flowers = good
   
6. I felt somewhat well enough to go with the man while he fished on Saturday afternoon. I must say that I was quite amazed at his skill. Also, being outside made me feel less like dying = good
   
7. Some weird people from Illinois stopped where we were fishing and offered to buy the fish the man had caught. We gave them the fish for free. The man insists he is like Jesus, giving people fish and feeding the masses. I explain that Jesus probably didn't try to feel up his girlfriend for good luck before fishing, and also that two people are not exactly "the masses." Still, it was nice to do a good deed = good
   
8. We built a toad house in one of my flowerbeds and actually found a toad to live in it...and he stayed in the house through Sunday afternoon (and might still be there) = good
   
9. The roommate managed to stay on the couch for two straight days, making it unbearable to be in the downstairs area of the house, as he kept insisting that my stomach must hurt because I'm pregnant. There is no way that I am pregnant, but he is an asshole. I wanted to tell him that by judging the size of his expanding man-breasts and gut, he looks more pregnant than I. I didn't share this observation, though I wanted to = bad
   
10. A hot air balloon floated less than 100 feet above the house, which was really cool = good...and bad because the dog was scared out of her mind.

and i wouldn't even wear gloves

It is Friday, finally. I've only been in the office three days this week, but they were long days. Long days filled with incompetency and drama. But, the week is on an upturn because the office is very skeletal today. Only myself and one other staffer, plus a student worker for half the day. It's like I won the lottery (and not the lottery where your friends and neighbors stone you in the middle of the town square, but a lottery where they give you free money!).

I've been getting so much done, it makes me want to work alone every day. Human interaction is overrated. People suck. Every day. Everywhere. And they can't be trusted to perform up to their abilities. And if they can, their abilities are often sub-par. Every day. Maybe not all people, but oftentimes it is the people whom you rely on to get shit done so you can get your own shit done. But I digress, today I am alone without supervision, able to do my work in peace. I love you, Friday, and I wish you would come more often. I'd offer you tea and might throw in a foot rub, even though I think other people's feet are disgusting. That is how much I love you.