I don't generally post when I'm feeling happy,'s been awhile.

Moving on. I'm putting my celebrity sex list on the permanent internet. Maybe one of them will see it and call me.

In no particular order:

Robert Downey Jr,
Anderson Cooper
Johnny Depp
Alan Alda
Jude Law

Who's on your list?

30 Can Bite Me.

Today, while coloring my hair to get ready for my big Canada trip, I discovered that my roots are almost entirely gray. Seriously? I'm not a baby boomer! I'm the last of the Gen-X'ers! A few gray hairs would be fine, but y'all, I'm Betty Freakin' White. Emphasis on the white. The root touch up stuff might not cut it anymore. There are so many roots now that an entire bottle of color is going to be required. Am I too old now for pink streaks? For multiple ear piercings? OH MY GODS, am I going to have to give up flip-flops? Crap.

Other symptoms of old age:

The arthritis (YES, arthritis!!) in my wrists has gotten so bad that if I paint for a couple of hours, or write with a pen, the pain is so extreme that I have to wear non-flexible wrist braces and take heavy(ish) drugs to keep from weeping.

I think teenage boys have stupid hair.

The music of my adolescence is on the oldies station.

My favorite TV shows from high school and college are on Nick-at-Nite.

 I like hanging out with my parents.

I take a multi-vitamin that doesn't look like a cartoon character.

I use anti-aging moisturizer.


Meet Nancy Upton

She's the size 12 model who won American Apparel's "plus size" (XL) modeling contest. But they didn't like her, and so chose a non-winner instead. 'Cause they're jerkfaces. She also has a blog. Which is awesome.

Here, read this excerpt, and then go read the rest.

In case you don’t know her,
let me introduce you to the modern lady liberty:

The average American woman
makes less than 30 grand a year,
masturbates at least twice a week - at least! -
has a crush on George Cloony, Johnny Depp, or that guy from Mad Men,
believes in gay marriage and the right to choose what happens in their nuclear reactors,
and doesn’t believe in prayer to save us now.
And while we can say
that we love the size of our breasts
and that we are comfortable naked,
even with the lights on-
on any given day in the United States,
approximately half of the women are on a diet.

Letters That Should Have Been Written, Episode 1

November 23, 1963

Dear Texas,

So, the President of the United States was assassinated on your watch yesterday. Not just any president either, a pretty good one! And while, we'd really like to just kick you out of the Union and be done with it, you have most of the oil, cattle and cotton. We like those things, so you get to stay.

However, you have to be punished for what really amounts to negligent homicide. Really, you didn't think to check for snipers in tall buildings?? Anyway, we've decided that an appropriate action is to pass a law saying that nobody born in, or claiming Texas as his/her home state can run for president. We wanted to make it FOREVER, but have decided to say 100 years. Surely you guys will have straightened up by then.

And yeah, we realize that Lyndon Johnson is from Texas, but he slipped in before we thought to write the law. Too late now...what's the worst that could happen? 

Yours Sincerely,

The Members of Congress, The Supreme Court and the Pope, for good measure.

{{Appx. 18 months later, the office of the letter writer...

Aw crap, he did what? Vietnam? Who joins a land war in Asia? Crazy Texans. Thank goodness -that- won't happen again!}}


A neighbor around the corner from us has this in her (his? I don't know) window.

Apologies for the picture quality, it was taken sneakily, with my phone.
You're looking at a baby doll-- dressed as a patriotic teddy bear, a gigantic "support our troops" sticker, a four of clubs with a picture of Elvis Presley on it, a parade flag and a greeting card with (I think) some sort of prayer or Bible verse on it.

Every few weeks the collection grows. It started out as just the creepy baby. Since I took the picture, it's expanded to include her front door as well, with a peeling flag sticker, and a badly tied, yellow-mylar ribbon that looks like it might have been rescued after a baby shower. Or from the dumpster.

Initially we assumed that she had a husband/son/brother/sister/daughter/lover/whatever in Iraq or somewhere, but that doesn't explain the Elvis card or the prayer thing. And why are these things in the window? Creeps me out. Especially the baby. I might have to put a call into Hoarders about this.

Up too Early for Anything Useful

A. Age: 30 (eeeek!)
B. Bed size: Queen. I'd like a king, so that I can sleep diagonally without crowding Marlowe.
C. Chore that you hate:  Laundry. I wouldn't hate it if we had a washer/dryer in the house though.
D. Dogs: Marlowe and Maybe.
E. Essential start to your day:  Diet Coke
F. Favorite color: It changes pretty regularly. Right now I like gray and magenta.
G. Gold or Silver: Silver. Gold makes me look jaundiced.
H. Height: 5’6"
I. Instruments you play: Currently, I don't play anything, but I've dabbled in piano, harp and clarinet.
J. Job title: None. I'm free as a bird right now.
K. Kids: Not for me, but I like them, on an individual basis.
L. Live: Lubbock, Texas.
M. Mother’s name: I have two moms. (Not in the fun, lesbian way. Unfortunately.) They are Sharon and Sussan. In order of appearance in my life.
N. Nicknames: Bee, Susy, Susalou.
O. Overnight hospital stays: One for pneumonia when I was 5 or 6. 
P. Pet peeves: When people ask me for advice and then don't do what I tell them to. Actually, people not doing what I tell them to, in general. I'm bossy.
Q. Quote from a movie:  " I had tempted fate, and fate had accepted." (Sarah, The End of the Affair.) Also: "I hate you, God. I hate you as though you existed!" (Maurice, also from The End of the Affair).
R. Right or left handed: A little of both, but I usually write with my right.
S. Siblings: 4 younger siblings. 2 brothers, two sisters.
T. Time you wake up: Eh, whenever. I seem to be on some sort of cycle. Trying to switch to a day schedule for my trip to Cape Breton.
U. Underwear: Typically, black "hipster" panties.
V. Vegetable you hate: All those weird textured legumes. Lima, wax, butter beans, etc. Blech.
W. What makes you run late: Bad hair days.
X. X-Rays you’ve had: Both arms, full back, both legs, ankles...pretty much everything. Someday I'll start glowing.
Y. Yummy food that you make: Chicken tacos, great spaghetti, chicken enchiladas, Poppyseed chicken. Twice baked potatoes.Those are all the things I can make.
Z. Zoo animal: Giraffes are my favorite. I also love llamas, alpacas and okapis. All the things with long necks.


This is the crap I think about as I fall asleep.

1. So, if the gray goo thing really happened (You know, where nanobots recreate themselves uncontrollably,  and consume the whole world), couldn't we just use a giant, powerful magnet to stop it? It would erase their hard drives, and they'd forget what they were doing! Did I just save the world? You're welcome.

2. Continuing with the save-the-world theme, Buffy saved the world like, 7 times. Shouldn't she have been given a Nobel Prize...or a Starbucks gift card? SOMETHING? We are a nation of ingrates.

3. I'm going to Nova Scotia in 26 days. I managed to pack 10 days worth of stuff in a 24" suitcase. This is unprecedented, people. Someday, I'll be able to pack a month's worth of stuff in a carry on. I aspire to be Maggie Mason. We all should.

Breakouts are a Good Thing. Apparently.

I started "jogging," if you can call my short spurts and relatively slow speed trundling jogging, last week. It seems to have boosted my weight loss somewhat, or at least broken my plateau. The thing is, I hate it. I hate it the entire time I'm out there (or in here, if the weather is bad and I'm running in place). I hate sweating. I hate workout clothes. And I hate the ache in my knees while I do it. BUT I love how I feel afterwards. I like the pleasant ache in my muscles. And, after the sweat has been washed off, I like the endorphin rush. I do not, however, like what my weight loss and exercise has done to my skin.

Estrogen is stored in fat. When fat is burned, the estrogen gets released into your (my) body. Which wreaks havoc on my skin. (And my period, which was all but non-existent after I got Implanon, but is now back in full force. For weeks at a time.) Even when I was a teenager, I had good skin. Clear and pale, with just a sprinkle of freckles, it was peaches and cream all the way. Even when other things about me have been considered "unattractive" (my weight, my attitude, my teeth) my skin has always been a good feature. Now, I'm a girl with bad skin. It sucks. But I'm down (almost) 20 pounds, 3.5 inches on my waist and 4 inches on my hips. Which is awesome.

Review: Crazy, Stupid, Love

It's been a few weeks since I saw Crazy, Stupid, Love, but I'm still thinking about it, which never happens, so I thought a review might be in order.

I didn't think I was particularly interested in this movie. There was something else out that I wanted to see, but my friend, who was going with me, doesn't see anything that's rated higher than PG-13, and this was the compromise.

Steve Carell was, as I've come to expect, funny and endearing. He continued the streak that began with The 40 Year Old Virgin, making his character likable, and more than just funny, a skill which so many comedians seem to be lacking. The real stand out in this film, however, was Ryan Gosling. He brought a depth to his performance that was completely refreshing. It would have been easy for him to play the character as just a playboy; An ass with no real motivation. But he didn't. Long before the end of the movie, the viewer really starts to like the guy, and root for him. It was startling.

I'll also say again, that I fully believe that the new crop of "starlets" (although, I think they'll amount to much more than that) including Emma Stone, Amanda Seyfried, and Mila Kunis are here to save the romantic comedy from empty headed performances by the likes of Katherine Heigl.

So Much Cooler than Creationism

 I read this today on Augusten Burroughs' home page.  I love, love it. So much better than believing we were created by a nameless, faceless god or gods. Beautiful.

 "The calcium in your bones came from a star. We are all made from recycled bits and pieces of the universe.  This matters because origins matter.

For example, if you were born to a reigning monarch but kidnapped by the black market baby underground shortly after birth and sent to America where you were raised by common, unremarkable people from Ohio, and when you were in your thirties working as a humble UPS driver, dignitaries landed their helicopter on the roof of your crummy apartment building and informed you of their thirty-plus year search for you, His Royal Highness, the course of your life might change.

You know?

Our familial genetic origins -medical histories- inform us of medical conditions which exist in our families and when we know about these specific conditions, we can sometimes take certain actions to prevent them.

Which is why I think it's important to consider that billions of years before we were students and mothers and dog trainers and priests, we were particles that would form into star after star after star until forever passed, and instead of a star what formed was life; simplistic, crude, miraculous.

And after another infinity, there we were.

And this is why for you, anything is possible.

Because you are made out of everything."

90s Movie or Prophecy?

Lately, I feel very much like I'm playing in scenes from Reality Bites. Except nobody smokes anymore.

Somehow, I always knew it would end up this way.


For once, actually my feet.
I haven't lost any weight this week. I haven't gained either, but I'm still not happy. However, that's not what this post is about, so moving on.

I've dropped half a shoe size. How does that happen? Were my feet fat on the heels and the ends of my toes? Have my arches suddenly reappeared? (Nope, still flat footed.) Did I just suddenly start buying the wrong size shoes several years ago and not notice? (This, unfortunately is the most likely explanation.) Anyway, now I'm in an 8.5...which is good, because, you know, small feet, but bad because it's the most common shoe size in America, which makes it super hard to find shoes that fit. Which is probably why I started buying 9s to begin with...hmm. Anyway, the 9s aren't working any more, and I'm a little baffled.

Justin's pretty certain it's just an excuse to shoe shop. It's not, but had I thought of it, that would have been brilliant.

A Prickly Issue

I do not believe in body hair on women. It is a evolutionary throwback that we simply don't need anymore. Potential mates no longer smell each other to determine how fertile they might be. (Note: if your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/significant other starts sniffing you, you have a problem.) Most of us don't romp naked through the fields, so we no longer need hair to protect our delicate areas. Razors are cheap. There are coupons for waxing all over the internet. (Don't try to do it yourself. Learn from my mistake.)  Nair is like $4. Get rid of the hair ladies. (Obviously eyebrows, and a reasonable amount of arm hair are fine. ARM not UNDER ARM, note the difference!)

Whenever I see a hair on the seat of the toilet in a women's restroom (which is what started this little rant), all that says to me is that someone wasn't taught proper grooming. And then I throw up a little. Shave your legs. Shave your pits. Get rid of the rest. You can have hair on your arms, if you insist, but onlyif it's blond. (ARM not UNDER ARM, note the difference!)

 Keep your eyebrows (obviously). And get rid of everything else. Being lovely and smooth is what separates us from icky boys. It's what makes us fragrant and delicate and clean. No more of this natural crap.  There's a reason that we don't live in the woods anymore.

Happy 4th

And for those of you who seem to have forgotten, here's our motto:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Stop trying to kick and/or keep people out.

A is only better than D if it's a grade.

Since May 25 I've lost 13 pounds. Yay.

Since May 25 I've gone from a DD bra to a C. Not so yay.

Since the beginning of time (ok, since the beginning of my adolescence), I've determined whether I look presentable based on whether my boobs were bigger than my belly.

I've now lost all of my boobs....and like 1.5 inches of belly.


Pet Psychic

Cats are generally a mystery, they function on their own terms and do their own thing, and occasionally deem you worthy enough to pet them. But today, I'm about 98% sure that this is the conversation that went on between Astrid and George.

Astrid: Hey! You've got something in your tail! I'm just gonna get that....

George: Back off bitch!

Astrid: No really, it's just right there...

George: I said hands off you crazy cow! (hisses and runs away)

Astrid: Waaiiit!! (hot on her tail)

By the by and not for nothin', I'm down 13 pounds. The program stole a hundred of my calories. I'd call it a bitch, but it seems to be working.

Small Changes...

I haven't weighed tonight yet, but based on my progress so far, I'm assuming I'm down about 10 pounds since I started with My Fitness Pal. As far as I can tell, my clothes fit pretty much the same. Except for my bras. Why do boobs always go first? That's the one fat place I'd like to stay fat, but whatever. It also appears that I've lost most, if not all of my double chin. Here are some pics for comparison:

May 20                                 June 19

8 Pounds

I'm 8 pounds down. That sounds better than 3, certainly, but it gets even better when you realize that 8 pounds is the same amount as this baby:

Please note: Not my baby.
So far, it's been pretty easy. Almost too easy, and I'm beginning to get a little suspicious. Of what, I'm not sure. Obviously the weight is coming off. Obviously I'm eating better and exercising a few times a week...but it doesn't feel like dieting has in the past. I had a cheat day last week, which seems to have bumped me past a small plateau, and the combination of tacos for lunch and Popeye's for dinner made me super, horribly sick. A few weeks ago, that would have been a pretty normal day, so if nothing else, it appears I've broken the junk food addiction. Occasionally I crave a brownie (who doesn't?), so I let myself have a brownie. I count the calories, and that's that. I no longer feel compelled to eat ALL the brownies. So yeah, it's going.

Justin starts work on Thursday night (as opposed to all the orientation he's been doing the past week). A week after that, we'll get his first paycheck! Three cheers for disposable income!! Hip, hip, hooray!

Slow Going

 Since being denied for weight loss surgery for 14 more months, I sort of gave up on losing any weight until then. It seemed pointless. And promptly gained 7ish pounds. But then my friend, Juliana, started with a program on her iphone and had really positive results (although, healthy, non-extreme results) in just a week. I decided that, besides the fact that it will make the surgery easier when I do get it, it would be a good idea to go ahead and start eating healthier. Just to get myself into that mode for post surgery.

Note: Not my feet. Not my scale. Not my Hello Kitty tattoo.
On Wednesday, I signed up for My Fitness Pal on my phone. It takes your base metabolic rate, based on your weight, age, and activity level, and it tells you how many calories to eat to lose weight at a rate of around 2 pounds per week. It also lets you enter your food for the day into it, and keeps t
rack of the calories for you. Sounds easy. Sounds like something I (and everyone) should have been doing all along, right? Duh. Except that the idea of keeping a food diary always seemed so oppressive before. It's much easier to type the information in, and magically have the calorie count done for you, than to hand write it, and try to figure out your servings and calories etc all by yourself. Especially for something like fruit, which isn't conveniently labled for you. And, there's the added bonus of not having to carry a stupid journal around with you. And losing it. And then throwing the damn thing away after you spill a margarita and queso on it for the 15th time....ahem. I digress.
Moving on. The program seems to have most restaurants' menus, and if it's not in there, you can usually find something pretty close, or just ask the management and enter it yourself. It also lets you enter exercise, and "gives back" the calories you burnt off, if you want to have an extra slice of cake, or whatever.

All this to say: I've lost 3 pounds in the last 5 days.

Which is pretty much a snail's pace, but 3 pounds is 3 pounds, and it's certainly better than not losing, or, gods forbid gaining 3 (more) pounds, right?


The Burning House

If your house were burning, what would you take out with you? (Objects only; assume your people and pets have escaped of their own accord.) Similar to Found and PostSecret, The Burning House allows people to post pictures of what they most need or value. What would you take?  It has inspired me to make my list (and take my picture), but it's also reminded me to make sure that these things are reasonably close together. And to purchase a small external hard drive for my computer to keep in my purse, along with my passport, which is currently residing somewhere at the bottom of my closest.  Here's my stuff:

Clockwise from top:

1.Handbag containing wallet, camera, glasses, passport, etc.
2. Photo of me, age 2 with my dad.
3. Favorite outfit: Orange sundress that gives me perfect boobs. White shrug if it's chilly. Comfy Bra: not shown.
4. Crazy Pills
5. Kindle
6. Cell Phone
7. Box of special memories
8. Laptop.

I made this list under the assumption that I would be wearing something (probably pajamas) and underwear (and wedding ring, duh). Otherwise, those things would obviously be on the list. I'm also assuming that I'd slide on flip flops on my way out the door.

Make your list, take a pic, and send me the link!

5 Years

I can't believe we made it. It's time for our real lives to begin...shooting for 5 more. The easy ones this time. I love you Beest.

(PS: I couldn't add music for free,so start the mp3 at the bottom if you want to hear the song that goes with!)

But Where?

I'd really like to have this tattooed somewhere...sans the orange box, of course.

Bursting With Pride

Justin graduated from Nursing School last night. It marks the end of three super stressful years and the beginning of our super real lives.He also won the award for mental health nursing. (Probably because he's used to living and dealing with The Crazy.) I have never been more proud of anyone in my life!!

It Happened

I turned 30 on Friday, and, as it turned out, I didn't have a breakdown. Which isn't to say that I wasn't having lots of them during the lead up, but I didn't have one yesterday, and I haven't had one since.

Actually, I'm feeling pretty good. Interesting.

Happy Ishtar!

Please note that this is not intended to be offensive in any way. It is a joke. Tongue in cheek. A play on words. Stop taking yourselves so seriously. Nobody needs to freak out. Thank you.

Bad Day. Shitty Insurance.

I found out today that my insurance won't cover the bariatric surgery that I want/need to have for 15 more months. And even at that point, they won't cover it with the doctor that I'd prefer. They insist on using the whack-a-doo who refuses to do anything laparascopically. The guy who hangs out at bars with 19 year old girls. I feel like I can't do anything else with my life until after this happens. I want more schooling, but I'm not going back as the old, fat girl. I can handle one, I can't handle both. I'll be 30 in 18 days. I wanted my 30's to be fabulous, and, as it turns out, they're just going to be crappy.

It would also be nice if every time I was emotional about something, my husband didn't ask me if I was taking my medication properly. I'm allowed to be pissed about this, okay? I'm allowed to be pissed that the hospital I work for would be happy to finance (the other option, when insurance won't cover something) a boob job, or a face lift or an appendectomy, but not a lap band.

The Crazy

This was a PostSecret this week:

It never occurred to me before, but now I'm wondering if it's like this for the people I love, and the people who love me. Something to bring up in therapy.

Life List Updates

It's time to update the life list again. In one month, I'll be 30. Nobody cares (except me) because everything happens in May, and there's too much other stuff to pay attention to. One of the things on my list was "have a fabulous 30th birthday party," but it looks like that's not going to happen, so I'm going to take that off. I'm also adding a few new things and crossing off the things I've gotten done since the last update.

Develop a signature style  Hippie chick is here to stay.
Go to a fancy spa and get the works
Visit the Winchester Mystery House
Get perfect porcelain veneers  2/14/11
Work on a political campaign
Find just the right perfume Marc Jacobs Daisy and DKNY Delicious
Learn to like coffee
Live through a moment when real history is made  11/4/2008
Take my nieces to Europe
See Willie Nelson in concert
Win a hand of Blackjack in Vegas
Learn to make activated charcoal soap
Live in a blue state
Go on a cruise
Get meaningful words tattooed on my body
Attend Carnaval in Brazil
Bask in the sun on a beautiful beach
Have a drink named after me
Hold a human heart in my hands
Direct a musical Annie, July 2000
Own a professional grade camera
Learn to take really good pictures
Learn to make Nan's cherry cobbler 3/2011
Have a llama and a donkey as pets
Learn to make margaritas from scratch
Get asked to dance by a stranger 12/2010
Go on a real honeymoon
Throw a rockin' Halloween party
Personalize my own nail polish color It's called "Naked Fairy!"
Go to Disneyland
Go to the Tony awards
Hit 50 thousand visitors on my blog
Sing karaoke 5/2010
Ice skate in Rockefeller Center
Go one full year without falling down
Lose 150 pounds
Develop my digital photos
Own a Mac, see what the fuss is about (The iPhone counts)
Get a professional bikini wax Ow. Ow. Ow.
Read all of Ovid's Metamorphoses
Plant and grow strawberries without killing them
Own a hybrid (or fully electric) vehicle
Get rid of everything that I don't actually wear
Visit Monaco
Hold hands with Neil Patrick Harris
Start a collection Magic wands!
Purchase designer sunglasses 1/2010
Avoid losing designer sunglasses 2 full years!
Learn about my great-grandparents
Visit Salem at Halloween
See the Birth of a Baby
Live in France for a year
Find the courage to jump into the unknown (literally or figuratively)
Learn to make a really fancy dessert
Host a holiday dinner at my house
Catch Fireflies in a Jar
Learn to pair wine with food
Have a fabulous 30th birthday party Ran out of time.
Sit in on an autopsy
Sit on a jury
Visit India during Holi
Be part of a flash mob
Learn to ballroom dance
Take a pole dancing class

Fox News...

political pictures - fox news - fair-and-balanced-since-the-beginning-of-time
see more Political Pictures


I'm having an emotional affair.

With a handbag.

It lives at TJ Maxx, and occasionally I go visit it and stroke it's soft, baby blue Italian leather. I've never bought a very expensive bag before, and, as bags go, this one isn't the high end of the spectrum by any means. (It's $119...Half the regular retail price!!) It is, however, much more than I've ever paid for a handbag before. It has a bow. It's the perfect bag for spring, and we are meant to be together. I asked for it for my birthday from Justin. And then I hid it, lest it be kidnapped by someone who could never love it like I do.

Yeah...I've gone off the deep end.

Update:  I got it!! Today! We are watching Grey's Anatomy and cuddling on the sofa. (Not really...but almost.)

Some Things

1. I was returning a corset by FedEx today. Someone stole it off my porch, and Justin found the corset on the ground by the dumpsters. Box nowhere to be found. I'm ok with the theft, but not the waste. If they didn't want it, couldn't they just have put it back in the box and back on my porch? Could they possibly have been after just the box? Bizarre.

2. I ran out of comfy pajama tops and so slipped a semi-sexy lingerie top on with my regular sleep bottoms. When I saw Justin, I said "look at my sexy pajamas!" He said "is that a swimsuit?" Yeah, it's a real Roman orgy around here folks.

3. Justin got a job!(For when he graduates in May.) He'll be working at Heart Center 5, which is actually a Neuro floor. Hooray for strokes and head injuries! That's what we call job security.

4. If you don't know what "physician" means, you probably shouldn't be getting pregnant. I'm just sayin'.

5. Last week Justin saw a streaker in our apartment complex. He ran around naked, and then jumped off the balcony into the swimming pool. (He also didn't die, which was my first question.) We live in a weird place.

6. Vittoria: I still love my haircut and glasses and teeth. It's already time for a color touch up and a trim though, which is slightly more commitment to style than I usually like. The short hair also makes super cute pigtails.


I have new hair.
And new glasses.
They go very nicely with my new teeth. -grin- My house is beginning to feel like A Makeover Story, so I think that'll be it for now.

How we need another soul to cling to.

I love Valentine's Day. Even when I'm sad. Even when I'm lonely. Even when I feel so empty, I fear I might actually become invisible at any moment. I was never one of those girls who hated the holiday. If I was single, I hung out with my other single friends watching romantic comedies and eating chocolate and talking about the kind of love we wanted, or didn't want or thought we might want temporarily, just for fun. There were slumber parties and late night phone calls and flowers for each other. That was almost better than having a date with a significant other anyway. Actually, not even almost. It was totally better. Every time. This year, of course, I'm married. That's a built in Valentine, except that I'm working, and he's feeling overwhelmed and burnt out with school. Still, bring on the cheezy romance! And the chocolate.

A Little Romance

Is anyone yummier than Joseph Fiennes? No.
Ok, so it's Valentine's weekend. I guess...Valentine's Day is actually on Monday, and I'm working anyway, but for OUR PURPOSES it's Valentine's Day weekend. OKAY? Good. Justin's got me a gift, but he won't tell me what it is, and he changed his password for his bank account, so I can't even look to see where it came from. Mean. Anyway.

My plans for my own private Valentine's Day (Saturday night, Justin's working) include watching my favorite romantic movies. Number one on that list? Shakespeare in Love, followed by The End of the Affair and then Chasing Amy. (Apparently all my favorites are from the late 90's. not sure what that says about me...)

Here's my favorite quote:

My story starts at sea,a perilous voyage to an unknown land, a shipwreck… the wild waters roar and heave, the brave vessel is dashed all to pieces, and all the helpless souls within her drowned. All save one, a lady, whose soul is greater than the ocean and her spirit stronger than the sea’s embrace. Not for her a watery end, but a new life beginning on a stranger shore. It will be a love story, for she will be my heroine for all time. And her name will be Viola.

Just reading it makes me weepy. What are your favorites?


Apparently, poetry by E.E. Cummings makes me feel somewhat better. Interesting.

who knows if the moon's
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky--filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we'd go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody's ever visited,where

Spring)and everyone's
in love and flowers pick themselves

In the Dark

I want a sensory deprivation tank. At least then, I'd have an excuse for why I'm sleeping 18 hours a day, for 5 days at a time. Ridiculous, I know. The official diagnosis is depression (that's all they ever say). I suppose that makes sense, I'm certainly behaving like I'm depressed. I'm not interested in anything. Not sex, not food, not shopping, not even the newest episode of Glee (that's when I knew it was really bad). And then, of course, there's the sleeping. The thing that makes me reject the depression diagnosis (besides pride) is that I'm not actually feeling anything. I'm not sad, I can't even remember the last time I cried (can I even still do that?). Mostly I just feel...empty. Depression requires sadness, doesn't it?
Every time I'm bored, hungry, stressed or someone wants me to make a decision (any decision) I go to bed. I read for an hour. Then I fall asleep until something absolutely compells me to get up. Sometimes I can trick myself by making an appointment or lunch date with someone (yesterday my siblings did an excelleng job of making me get up), but most days, there's just not really a good enough reason for me to drag myself out of bed. Even if I do get up for a few hours, it's not terribly long before I'm back to sleep, or even just lying in bed, thinking about nothing.
 During The Sleep, I never get up to use the bathroom. I never feel over-slept. I never get that achey, been in bed too long feeling. Sometimes I wake up, but it's never even a question of whether I'll go back to sleep or get up. I just roll over, rearrange the pillows and doze off again. I'm completely not bothered by the fact that I'm wasting 3/4 of my weekend. And that is upsetting.

The Little Things

I've had a small horizontal chip in my front, right tooth since I was maybe 12 years old. It was the result of a fight with my mother, and I've felt bad about it now for more than half my life. Today I got it fixed. It's amazing what one hour in the dentist's office and a tiny amount of resin can do for self-esteem. I feel like a completely new person. It's wonderful!

The dentist, Dr. Dannenberg is also wonderful, even with her pageant girl looks. She's funny and kind and told me that I have beautiful teeth. I think that's the best compliment a dentist can give you,  right? Anyway, I am very happy.

Sofa Time

I sort of feel like dancing tonight. Unfortunate, as it's already past midnight, and I haven't spent enough time out of bed today to even shower, much less apply the amount of glittery eye shadow required for a night on the town. Instead I'm settling for popcorn and Ally McBeal. It sounds sad, but really, this is one of my favorite ways to spend a Saturday night. I am officially old. And, for the moment, weirdly content with my life.

A List Post!

I briefly considered writing a post about how I've increased my Effexor dosage and how I have a Very Exciting Dentist Appointment on Monday, but then I realized that there's been a lot of crazy-talk on here recently so instead I'm writing this post with lists. I know, just what you've always wanted, right?!

My Favorite Things!
  • Pedicures
  • Diet Soda
  • Pink Wine (Yes, I know it's not fashionable.)
  • Songs that I know all the words to.
  • Dr. Who
  • Marlowe
  • California
  • Sundresses
  • Tanning Beds (I know.)
  • Kitchen dancing
There's other stuff that I like, but that's pretty much the top ten list, at least for now
Moving on. I have a new dentist. I haven't met her yet, but I have an appointment on Monday. There are a couple of things that disturb me about this dentist, and dentists in general.

Dentist Stuff

1. New dentist is my age, and she's totally prettier than me. Like Texas Girl pretty. Really, go look.  I'm seeing the one called Elizabeth Dannenberg. Dentists aren't supposed to look like pagent girls.
2. In general, I find the dental experience very...intimate. Almost like going to the gynecologist. I mean, do you let people who you aren't sleeping with put their fingers in your mouth? I didn't think so. It seems like something that should at least wait 'til the 2nd date.
3. The entire staff of the dental office is female. I'm not sure why I think that's weird, but I do.
4. My last "regular" (as in, I saw him more than once) killed himself. And his wife. And his mother-in-law. Unfortunately, the Internet tells me that this isn't all that unusual for people in this profession. Baffling.
5. New Dentist promises me the BEST CARE EVER (sic). Very enthusiastic, that one.
6. They promise me "movie glasses," soft blankets and neck pillows. I had no idea that this would be so much like going to the spa. Also, what are movie glasses?

Your turn, tell me stuff that you like. And tell me about your dentist. (Or the other people you let put their hands in your mouth, if you'd prefer.) I know you're there. My stat counter says that I have a ton of lurkers, so speak up.

Not Fun at All.

Grief is bizarre. It's like being in one of those "fun" houses at Halloween where you'll think you're at the end, nothing left to scare you, and then a clown with a chainsaw jumps out and it starts all over again.

Coming Out

I speak here occasionally about my crazy. I don't know, though, if I've ever really spelled it out. My life is complicated by bipolar disorder type II, depression and anxiety disorder. (Of course, these aren't the only things that complicate my life, they're just the icing on the cake.) I am alive today because I finally got scared enough to get help. Driving to work one day, the only thing that kept me from swerving into oncoming traffic was fear. I went home the next morning and told Justin that I needed help. He helped me. He saved me by taking me to the doctor, by holding my hand, by making sure that I knew that he loved me, crazy or not, and that admitting that I needed intervention wouldn't change me. It would just make me myself again.
Last month was my 1 year anniversary of being properly medicated. My life has changed so much since that day. The biggest thing being that I no longer see a black hole when I look at my life. If you need help, tell someone. Get the help. If you don't have someone to talk to, call a helpline. They will help you, and it's not just because they're getting a paycheck. Even if you don't know it, someone out there loves you. Someone out there needs you. Speak out. Not convinced by me? Go here for someone else's story.



For various reasons, I've been having a difficult time for the past couple of weeks. I'm feeling much better now. When one major thing changes in my life, I always feel compelled to change other things as well. Over the weekend I cut 8 inches off my hair. It's a short, sleek bob now, barely long enough to get into a ponytail at the base of my skull. I kind of love it. I also dyed it jet black. That, I think, was a mistake. It's been this color in the past, but this time it seems a little too harsh for my pale skin. It also makes my freckles stand out like sprinkles on a white cupcake. I may  have to go for a color correction. I'm going to give it some time, and see if it lightens up a bit. I got two new pairs of glasses. They're similar to the old glasses, but one is a different color, slightly smaller and the other pair is more squared at the edges and purple. I bought brilliant green contacts. Overall, it's been a fun makeover. Now that I'm feeling better, I think the changes will stop, not that there's much else I can do for the time being anyway.


One small cardboard box.
Contains: (at least) One purple Nikon digital camera
One 2GB SD card
One pink foot scrubbie
One Ped-Egg
Probably some other stuff I haven't discovered missing yet.

If found: Please return to me. If you're reading this, you probably know how to reach me.

These are the only things we seem to have misplaced in the move. I know that seems like a random collection of things for a single box, but I'm guessing it's the box I packed at the last minute when we were running out of the house. This motley collection seems insignificant, the biggest loss being my camera. I'll replace that with my tax refund for a better one. In fact, the most troubling loss is my pink foot scrubbie. My feet are in seriously manky condition after 2 weeks of walking the dogs down rocky, dirty alleys in my flip-flops. Showering is not enough to make them pretty and smooth again, and I can't find a new one to buy anywhere. If I ever want to leave the house or sleep comfortably again, something must be done! Now go! Find my box!

A Medical Failure

Sometimes, when a patient has a serious brain injury or seizure disorder, doctors will put them into a barbiturate coma. This (for complicated medical reasons) allows the brain to heal. Occasionally, a medically induced coma is applied for other serious injuries, to protect the patient from unbearable pain. The patient eventually wakes up and has basically slept through the worst thing that's ever happened to them.
It seems like this is a tactic that could (and should) be used for emotional devastation as well. "A broken heart, you say? We'll let you sleep it off. When you wake up, you'll be right as rain."  Unfortunately, even if the medical community was willing to do such a thing, it wouldn't work. A person could sleep indefinitely, but when they woke up, the pain of heartbreak would still feel fresh. 

Someone should do something about that.

New Year, New Life

Over New Year's weekend, Justin (and my parents) and I packed and moved like maniacs, in the 3 days that our landlord gave us to find a place and get out. It was a bit of a nightmare, and for awhile, it looked like we might have to live with my parents for a month or two, but in the end, it worked out. We have a new apartment, which feels more like home than anywhere I've lived in years and years. It's beautiful, and will end up being cheaper than the craptastic place we were living in. I am completely in love with this place! Overall, I'm happier than I've been since we moved (back) to Levelland 6 years ago. Who knew that a 30 mile move could do that? I love that we live 10 minutes from my job. I love that we're 10 minutes from Target, and real restaurants, and my doctors' offices. Justin will finish school in May, and I think this is (finally!) the year when our lives really start. Seeing as I'll be 30 (eep!!) then, it's about damn time.

My theme song for this year is Dog Days are Over by Florence + the Machine. It begins:

Happiness  hit her like a train on a track
Coming towards her stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled...

I'm not gonna run from happiness any more. The dog days are over.