Top Ten of 2008

Thanks to Kat over at Mama's Losin' It for the prompt for today. I've got all these little notes jotted down regarding things I'd like to talk about here (even more Arkansas dreams about the devil, how I zested my thumb, my goals for 2009), but to be perfectly honest with you, I don't fucking feel like writing today.


I'm going to participate in the Writer's Workshop instead. And instead of making an actual Top Ten list, I'm going to share my ten most favoritest photos from 2008. SOOOOO cheating, I know that, but I am both a cheater AND a pumpkin eater, so it works out nicely. Plus, you people are all lackadaisical with your blog posting right now - yes, I'm totally talking to you, where the hell have you been the past 10 days when I've been at work surfing the Internet for something to entertain me? I've been bored out of my damn mind, and it's all your fault. Comments are down, posting is down, it's really a shame when everyone puts their family and holiday traditions first. Before the crazy Interweb strangers. That shit hurts.

So here you go, you lazy, vacation-taking, family-loving fools -

My Top Ten Pics from 2008:

10) New Year's Eve 2007

(I won't be drinking tonight, so my smile will likely be about 1/4 of the size)

9) With Gray (his first time in Cali) in March

8) Our baby niece Angel Butt

We miss her every fucking day since she moved to Arkansas.

7) My quarter century birthday in April

There is no better way to celebrate than with Guinness, bowling, and licking things.

6) Huntington Beach boardwalk

Colors aren't bright like this right now, so my eye was drawn to this photo.

PRIMARY! COLORS! OHMYHELL!!

5) Camping by the Minnesota River for Memorial Day

4) Down by the Minnesota river

3) Visiting my dog Cola at her new home

I was so happy to know they torture her at least as often as I used to.

2) Rocking the dock

Back when everything was simple and backne was an urban legend

1) Just one of the many reasons Mac computers are superior to PCs.

Happy New Years everybody!

I'll try to suck less next year, but I'm not making any promises.

Death to "No Reply-Comment"

I was over at Mama Kat's site yesterday, and she linked to a blog called The Secret is in the Sauce, a website devoted to blog etiquette and tips. They just so happened to post about the very thing which was baffling my dumb ass last month: The No-Reply Comment email address.

You know when people comment on your post, and you get the comment sent to your email inbox, and you click "reply" so you can...you know...REPLY to their comment. But then you realize the email address says "noreply-comment[at]blogger.com". And because you're smarter than me, you realize that HEY! That's not a real address! This person won't get my reply if I send it there!

Yeah, well Heather and Tiffany at SITS explain how to fix that problem:

"Now, go into your profile page and choose "edit your profile".
Check the box that says "show my email address".
Then, on that same page under Identity, type in your email where it says "Email address". "

So, my bloggy freaks - the secret to THIS sauce is editing your own damn profile so that people can reply to your comments without jumping through all those damn hoops. Jesus, get with the program everybody! Go update your profile settings RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE!

I did mine last night. You're welcome.

Attn: Wal-Mart Complaint Department II

I may have mentioned the problem we had with Wal-Mart last week. Here's what actually happened:

1. Gray researched and found the exact model of laptop he wanted to buy for me.
2. He went to the only store in our area with that model in stock, which happened to be the Wal-Mart in Shakopee, MN.
3. He purchased the laptop on December 5th. The Wal-Mart employee explained the warranty options available for purchase and told him he had 90 days to come back and buy a warranty. They told him verbally there was a 30-day return policy on the laptop.
4. They did NOT tell him there was a 15-day return policy on all computers, although it was printed on the receipt.
5. He bought the laptop, came home, wrapped it up and stuck it in our gift pile (underneath the clip-art photo of a Christmas tree that I taped to the wall)((I'm such a festive fucker)).
6. I opened the laptop on Christmas morning and cried (the happy way).
7. The letter "m" was sliding around inside the computer.
8. We called my Jill to ask her advice. She told us that once a letter has fallen off a laptop keyboard, it never stays on quite right. She advised that we exchange the laptop.
9. I returned the computer to its box without even putting in the battery or turning it on.
10. On the morning after Christmas, before 7:00 a.m., Gray was on the phone with Wal-Mart to ask about making an exchange and find out which location had the same model in stock.
11. They did not ask him when he made his purchase even though he made it clear he wanted to exchange the laptop.
12. Wal-Mart in Brooklyn Park, MN had one in stock.
13. Gray asked if they could hold the computer in his name, and they said no.
14. Gray drove to the Brooklyn Park Wal-Mart, which is 29 miles away from our apartment, and the 9th closest Wal-Mart location to us. This was Friday, December 26th.
15. He was told upon entering the store that exchanges were being made at a different counter than the Customer Service counter. He made a mental note.
16. Gray went to the electronics department, where he was "helped" by a very rude man who refused to make eye contact or behave in any way that resembled helpful.
17. Finally, he located the right laptop, at which point Gray and the electronics guy began the trek to the exchange counter.
18. Gray attempted to make small talk with the employee. The employee literally refused to answer any of Gray's questions, look at Gray, or in any way acknowledge his presence.
19. Gray attempted to inform the employee that they needed to go to the exchange area instead of the Customer Service counter.
20. The employee DID NOT RESPOND in any way and led Gray to Customer Service.
21. At the Customer Service counter, they were informed that exchanges were made in a different location in the store. NO SHIT.
22. At that time, the Customer Service lady did check Gray's receipt and saw that the date of his purchase was December 5th, and as this was December 26th, he had exceeded the 15-day return policy.
23. The electronics department employee, upon hearing the news, angrily dropped both computers on the counter, turned around, and walked away without saying a word.
24. Gray asked what his options were.
25. The Customer Service lady said he could take it up with the manufacturer.
26. Gray left.
27. He went directly to Best Buy and talked to the Geek Squad guy to see if he could stick the "m" back on .
28. The Geek Squad guy spent 15 minutes attempting to re-attach the "m" for Gray. He was both helpful and polite, and expressed regret when he was unable to fix the keyboard because something was bent and wouldn't align properly. He told Gray that the manufacturer was usually very fast with repairs, wished him happy holidays, and sent him on his way.
29. We went to the UPS store, paid $78 to have the laptop shipped back to the manufacturer, and have to wait until at least January 10th to get it back. (the UPS store guy was EXTREMELY helpful, too, I might add)

Now, can I just say...WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH WAL-MART'S CUSTOMER SERVICE when the store where Gray dropped $500 on a brand new electronic device clearly doesn't give a rat's ass about Gray or his money or keeping him as a customer. None of the employees were even remotely polite or helpful, one was flat out rude, and no one took the time to make sure Gray understood the return policy AT THE TIME OF PURCHASE, even though it's CHRISTMAS and it's general knowledge - especially for a retailer - that people BUY GIFTS THAT WON'T BE OPENED IMMEDIATELY. (I wish I had been there, because I would have noted name, rank and number, and my pals at the H.Q. in Bentonville would have been getting letters about those particular employees and their terrible customer service standards.)

Then, at Best Buy, where Gray did NOT purchase the computer, where he spent NO money and had not called ahead, the Geek Squad guy went out of his way to try and resolve an issue that was in no way his problem.

(And, if you'll recall, my sister and I had a different problem with the Wal-Mart in Pineville, MO in November.)

I am seriously confused. Clearly, Wal-Mart does NOT want our business in the future, especially on big-ticket purchases like my laptop. Is my money tainted? Do I smell bad? Am I bad for business? Well I'll tell you fucking what, Wal-Mart: If I wasn't bad for business before, I've got a blog now, and I most certainly am going to do my best to be bad for business NOW, you assholes.

Ok...whew. I feel a little better now.

On a brighter note: Remember when I told you about how awesome the Minute Clinic was? Well, I have an update for you. About 3 days after my visit to the clinic, I received a hand-written Get Well card from my nurse Nancy. I don't know about you, but I love that kind of stuff. I was feeling better by then, and knowing that she took the time to drop a card in the mail made me feel just ::that:: much better.

Minute Clinic has an electronic records system that allows you to access your medical records online. I clicked the box for "yes" when I was signing in, so they set up an online account for me, and I received an email with my login instructions.

I guess there was some glitch in their system that caused that particular email to be sent multiple times - I had about 7 in my inbox if I remember correctly - which I didn't really even give a second thought. A few days later, I got another email from the Executive VP of Product & Information Services, apologizing for the duplicate emails and assuring me that my personal information was safe and secure. I thought that was kind of nice, although it hadn't occurred to me that there may have been a breach of any kind.

Now, when I checked the mail yesterday, there was a package from Minute Clinic. Inside was a letter which basically gave the same explanation as the email from the VP. There was also mini-first aid kit, included as, "a small token of apology for any difficulty our email problem caused you."

How fantastic is that? Minute Clinic is another example of a company that clearly values my business and my money, and has their shit together when it comes to customer service. I was extremely impressed.

Anyhoodle in conclusion: Wal-Mart sucks - let's all boycott! The Geek Squad is super nice and helpful! Minute Clinic can immunize me ANY day!

Ok, carry on folks.

Forrest Can Kiss It

Now I remember why I used to go running most days. I have to say, today was the first time I've worked up a good, honest sweat in about 9 months. And by "honest", I mean not sex or food-related. The community center in my little world allows people to use their walk/run track for free, which is awesome because I only pay for gym memberships when I have no intention of actually going, and therefore waste $20 a month to pay for the ownership of the little key fob that gets me into a building I never go to.

I didn't run far, all told - about a mile and a half - but that's pretty good for a girl who just quit smoking 10 days ago (less the two smokes I cheated with on Friday night), right?

There's something about the endorphins I get from lapping that old motherfucker in the fedora, and the knowledge that I can have a guilt-free glass of wine. It just really makes me smile.

So I guess I'm running again, at least for now. Don't expect too much - last year I "trained" myself to run a 5K, and I quit about 2 weeks before the actual event even though I was running more than 3 miles already.

I'm a lazy quitter, but damn can I drink wine with the best of 'em!

Mine Are Chipping Already

I have several, completely unrelated and questionably interesting topics to cover today. It's like my Monday mash-up or something. Happy Monday, by the way. And by "happy", I mean "what choice do we have"? Mondays after holidays = c'est terrible. I only worked three days last week, and now I'm back for a full five. Total shock to my system. No, I get no time off for the New Year holiday, unfortunately. That makes me the designated driver on Wednesday night, and we all know how fun that normally is. But with my new camera in tow, it might make for a highly productive photographic endeavor.

Gray won his fantasy football Super Bowl last night. I really don't understand how the whole thing works, because the fantasy teams have all these random players (who aren't randomly chosen, from what I hear) from lots of different teams, and somehow this web site tracks how each player performs in each game, then adds up all the points for each make-believe team...it really baffles my mind that anyone gives enough of a shit to do this. But people seem to love them some fantasy football. So YAY for Gray and his totally pretend team! He's getting lots of flack because he also managed his league, so since he won the pretend Super Bowl, it must mean he cheated in some way. But figuring out how to cheat at an activity that requires compiling so many different statistics every week...well then I'd say he deserves to win even if he DID cheat.

I asked him if this means I get my Super Bowl ring now, and he assured me I would indeed be getting a ring this year. So YAY for ME for Gray and his totally pretend team! (Incidentally, which finger does a Super Bowl ring go on, and can I get mine sized to a 4.5?)*

I had a dream last night that kind of freaked me out. I was with Gray and his mom, and we were at church, and they were trying to get us to become church members. It wasn't just any church, we were at a Super Church. You know, the monolithic establishments with parking lots bigger than you find at the airport? The kind that have televised services? Yeah, one of those Super Churches. And in no way should "super" be interpreted as "pretty neat".

I was sitting in the front row, and during the sermon, the minister (i.e. Send Me Your Money guy) locked eyes with me, then proceeded to "lay his hands on my head", which (if you grew up like I did, you've had this done countless times) entailed his clapping one hand over each of my temples, and speaking in tongues. I don't remember if he was praying for the holy spirit to fill me or what, but I was bound and determined not to let this guy think he was having any effect on me (most people fall down in a kind of "swoon" or begin weeping or dancing or some other embarrassing activity). So I stared him down. So he tried again. And I kept staring. Eventually, bewildered, he turned away with some comment about me being filled with the devil. Now, had this been real life instead of a dream, such a statement would have elicited a flurry of hand-laying and tongue-speaking and demon-casting. Instead, we flashed forward to after the sermon.

We were in the giant basement, which was really a huge store like Bed Bath & Beyond. Each new recruit got a certain number of "points" for attending the first service, and we used those "points" to "purchase" household goods from their basement store. Two women accompanied us around the store and helped us make our selections (me, a red and tan striped shower curtain and a new duvet). Gray and I were split up from his mother, and we met back up at the cash registers.

His mother was PISSED because they had only given her half the points we were given (we got more for arriving together as a couple, apparently) and the only thing she could purchase was a small white stool. She was going on and on about how she already HAD a small white stool in her living room, and now where was she going to put this one? We tried to calm her down as we strapped our new stuff onto our scooter (??) and took off for home (which happened to be Bentonville, Arkansas). Then I woke up.

Anyone want to take a shot at interpreting that dream? I'm not sure I want to know.

Finally, I went and got a mani-pedi on the Sunday before Christmas with the last of my holiday money from family. It was heaven (kind of) as I hadn't had it done since August (literally), but as always, I was a bit uncomfortable. This video will help explain why that was and oh my god is this woman funny.

This time, I was being interrogated about why I no like having my eyebrows waxed. And then my manicurist and the woman beside her proceeded to have that exact same conversation from the video. They were snippy with me until I tipped her (which comes before the nail polish), at which point they decided that whether I waxed my eyebrows or not, I was a damned good tipper and they'd better be nice so I come back and over-tip them again.

*Like how I threw that in here so that if he's paying attention he won't have to come up with a clever way to ask me that particular bit of information? I'm subtle like that.

Guess What? Answer

You people are too smart for me.

Congratulations Meredith (and Rachel/J. on her coat tails). Julie guessed flower, too. All ya'll win the grand prize, which is...um, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Good work everybody! (Cameron, I'm with you on the future toilets thing!)

Also, we watched Burn After Reading last night, and hot damn! Am I ever proud to live in the same state that produced those fucked up Coen brothers. Cinema was so vanilla before.

Anyhow, peace and love (and bullets through the head of likeable characters, unexpectedly) everyone!

Guess What?

Taken last night with my new toy, which I've named Sonya, and for whom I'm fashioning a sleeping crate made of pink silk and lined with down from a Do-Do bird, which are incredibly hard to find, but I hear it's the softest down in the world, and I refuse to use anything but the best for my Sonya.

So Guess What?

And no, it's not snow. We have no snow left. It rained yesterday because it was 38 degrees here. Which means we will soon have lots of ice, and not the kind that you put in your rum and cokes, which is the only good kind of ice there is.

Righteously Indignant

Well, it's begun.

I've had my laptop for an entire 26 hours now, and it's already heading to the Geek Squad for repair. Apparently Wal-Mart has a 15-day return policy on all computers (something they didn't mention at the time of the sale, because doesn't everyone read the back of their damn receipts?), and I think there was another stipulation about only accepting exchanges from leprechauns in blue, latex jumpsuits on the second Tuesday of every other leap year in HELL. Those bastards, I am seriously pissed off right now. Poor Gray got up before the sun to drive across the state to the one Wal-mart with the same model of laptop in stock, only to be told they will not exchange or return the laptop, and there may have been a "Neener, neener, neener" thrown in for good measure.

Everyone else I know with a PC laptop tells me they spend most of the time in the repair shop anyway, so I might as well get freaking used to it.

Otherwise, we had a splendid holiday with lots of coffee and kisses and family (i.e. total strangers to me) and food and gooshy stuff (you don't want to know). Gray woke up at 5:15 a.m. on Christmas morning and began the, "oh so subtle moving around and poking in order to wake up bed-mate without it being obvious that you're trying to wake up bed-mate" maneuvers. "Merry Christmas!", he said.

No way, no how, was I getting up at 5:15 on Christmas morning. SCREW THAT SHIT. So I forcibly kept him in bed until a much more decent 7:15 a.m. After that, I figured I was pushing my luck. He was all wired up like a kid, so we got up and opened our presents and had a grand old time.

Then we headed for (Timbuktu) St. Michael, to Gray's aunt and uncle's home, for a big turkey meal with all of his family (whom I've met twice). There were newborns. Two of them. 7 weeks old and 3 weeks old. I still can't believe I left without one of them hidden under my coat - those parents have no idea how lucky they are. Until Gray and I get married, those people aren't family, they're freaking strangers - lucky strangers who left with all of the children they started with.

On the way home, Gray turned and asked me, "So how are you doing? You haven't had any alcohol today..." To which I responded, "What the hell does that mean?"

Um. Well. To be honest, I'd prefer it if I were drunk right now, but all in all, I had a good time.

And now, a random photo of the Christmas Eve dinner I made for Gray and his mother. I'm posting this here because I spent a small fortune on the beef tenderloin. So much, in fact, that I'm considering having one slice framed to hang in the kitchen. Because it has to be made out of platinum or some shit. Seriously, no wonder I only make this meal once every two years.

Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday, and I hope Wal-Mart burns in hell.

Second Blog on the Left

Can a blog go too far?

New & Improved: Cat 2.0

Now, with wireless capabilities to torture, annoy and horrify you from the comfort of my bed. (Or while I'm driving, which is probably more likely.)

Featuring 8.1 mega pixel imagery for sharper, clearer, do-it-yourself pornography.

To avoid fainting, keep repeating: It's only a blog, It's only a blog, It's only a blog, It's only a blog

Ho, Ho, Ho

Jazz Hands!

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

The Real Slim Shady

There is just so much to report! (That's code for: this post will cover multiple, unrelated topics, and may or may not follow any sort of outline, so good luck to you all.)

Last night, Gray picked me up at the apartment and we headed off to see the Christmas House. I will post about that tomorrow, because it was KILLER and totally deserves it's very own post. Plus, we're going back to the Christmas house to see Santa tomorrow night.

Anyhoodle, after stopping at the Christmas house (which is responsible for the tiny glimmer of holiday spirit I seem to have found), we went to try a Chinese place called Asian Hon, which came recommended by one of the Non-sucky friends. I have a great weakness for Chinese food, and I've been searching high and low (not really, I've just been hoping really hard that an egg roll will fall into my lap) for a great place close to our apartment. This place, Asian Hon? OH MY GOD I'M IN SO MUCH TROUBLE BECAUSE THEY DELIVER AND THEY ARE FREAKING SO DELICIOUS. So thank you Tolz for that spot-on recommendation. You are officially hired as my Food Scout, for which you will be paid nothing but my undying love and affection. You're welcome and Congratulations.

My fortune cookie said, "Be prepared to modify your plan. It'll be good for you!" I'm suspicious of this fortune for two reasons: 1) I've never heard an Asian person make a contraction from the words "it" and "will" and 2) I'm leery of anything that sounds so unpleasant by itself that they have to tack an adage about how great that sounds-bad thing will really be if you just give it a chance. I'm hoping this fortune is NOT referring to my plan to drink lots of beer on Christmas Eve.

Well, it looks like Gray and I have decided to quit smoking. Again. If you'll recall, we quit smoking in August when we learned I'd been impregnated. It was easy for me as the person physically responsible for our spawn's health and wellbeing, but Gray didn't have too much trouble kicking the habit. Then, in October when the stress bomb fucking blew, I started smoking again and Gray was hot on my trail. Several times since, he's bemoaned the decision to light up again, and I often hear him mumbling under his breath about how he needs to quit again.

I realized yesterday morning that I hadn't had a cigarette (or even thought about it) since Friday night. So I counted in my head and found that three days had passed and I hadn't had one craving. Hmmm. Maybe I should just quit? You know, since the worst of the withdrawls and cravings generally happen in the first three days anyway...Yeah, I guess I'm just going to quit. So I threw out my half-pack and that was that. I still haven't wanted one, which is odd because it's reminiscent of my pregnancy-induced quitting. Except I can assure you quite readily that I am not pregnant.

Ok, so here's the main reason for my post today - a picture of me as a baby sitting in Santa's lap - let's see, born in April, so I was about 8 months old in this photo:

I found the photo last week in a box of other childhood pictures, and I kept going back to look at it again. Something seemed...amis. First of all, you will all note that my attire is about as far away from Christmasy as you could possibly get. It's not warm, it's not holiday themed, it's not even holiday COLORED. It's more appropriate for Easter. That's because we lived in Bellflower, California when I was little. It was probably 85 degrees and sunny outside. Californians have a strange sense of style. Mystery solved. But...no, something else doesn't seem...quite right....let's look closer:

Is it me, or does Santa look...like a drunken crack whore? Look at the big circles COMPLETELY SURROUNDING his eyes! Look at the grimace! He's clearly one of the worst Santa's in the history of Shopping Mall Santas. How could my parents stick their innocent 8-month-old, first-born on the lap of this derelict?

Oh no! It gets worse! Take a closer look at the first picture....you'll notice this was not taken in any shopping mall. It looks like someone taped up a piece of red felt in front of a doorway IN THEIR HOME, pulled a drunk hobo off the street, stuck him in a rented costume, and put me on his lap.

I am so bringing this to the attention of my psychiatrist - this photo could be the key that will unravel the mystery that is me.

100!

Yeah, I'm just as surprised as you are. No one believed in my ability to fail miserably and give up blogging as much as I did. I know myself that way, I guess. But today! Is the day! Of my 100th Post! (let's pretend that the 5 posts from 2006 and 2007 count. they count, right? let's pretend there wasn't a full year-and-a-half in between my last post in 2007 and the first post in 2008 - that doesn't matter, right?)

I almost drafted a celebratory post last month when I saw my Edit Posts list was nearing the big 100 - fortunately I took a minute to actually THINK before I acted, which is a new skill I'm honing with the help of my psychiatric team, and I realized that a good 17 of those posts were just drafts of posts that I never published, and even I know those don't count.

So YAY! This is 100!

I thought about doing one of those memes that list 100 Things About Me, but I realized that none of you truly give a shit about what I'm wearing or if I sleep naked. So what I've done instead, is listed 100 of My Most Embarrassing Moments. (oddly, some of them involve what I'm wearing and whether I sleep naked.)

And if you're drinking hot fluids (DIANE) or eating breakfast or involved in anything that may result in choking, snorting, or dying: Please go ahead and read this, and then email and tell me about anything that may have flown out of your nose, because I love knowing that I have a real impact on my readers.

100 - When I replied to "no reply" emails and had to fess up about it
99 - When I blew snot out of my nose at a table full of cute boys in the 6th grade
98 - When, at my first ultrasound, the technician blamed our inability to see a heartbeat on my "very full bowels"
97 - When I comment on someone's blog, then read the comments, and realize someone else already said exactly what I said, and in a funnier way
96 - When my credit card is declined
95 - When my credit card is declined and the clerk makes an announcement about it
94 - When the Victoria Secret workers want me to tell them my bra size out loud
93 - When I leave home without makeup and don't realize it until it's too late to go back
92 - When I start to call someone by the wrong name, but correct it half-way through, making a kind of hybrid name that is totally unrecognizable as an English word
91 - When I'm getting ready in the morning, and I'm on my period, so put in a new tampon, but then forget I'm wearing it, and proceed to walk around naked for the next half hour with a rope hanging out of my lady bits
90 - When I'm out of high-necked shirts to cover the freaking huge MASS of post-D&C zits all over my freaking body, and I have to explain to my co-workers that no, I do not have the chicken pox
89 - When I hit "Publish" when I mean to hit "Save Draft"
88 - When I realize I'm the one with the snotcicle
87 - When I pull up to a curb and scrape the underside of my bumper so loudly that people in two adjacent buildings turn to see if there was a wreck outside
86 - When we have to pay for dinner with dimes and nickles
85 - When I get a collection call about a bill I completely forgot about paying
84 - When I have three glasses of wine and start calling everyone I know to talk about Inflation and Death
83 - When I butt into conversations to add a funny anecdote, then realize they aren't talking about constipation, they're talking about salami
82 - When I get into a debate about the war with a soldier, and realize I have no fucking clue what I'm talking about
81 - When I called my dad to tell him I was engaged to the same man I once called and asked for my dad's help escaping from
80 - When I filed my divorce papers at the city hall in front of a crowded lobby
79 - When I got written up at my last job (along with ten others) for playing a game called, "Guess when Stacy will leave today"
78 - When I got the human resources lecture on bullying (see above)
77 - When I had to talk down a security guard and corral my plastered husband back to our room on the cruise ship on our honeymoon
76 - When I was busted drunken-eavesdropping on my ex and his friends (covered in dirt from laying on the floor underneath a truck)
75 - When I cry in public
74 - When I yell in public
73 - When I have to poop in public bathrooms
72 - When someone tells me I have "stuff" on my pants so I ask them to help brush it off, but realize it's on my ass and they're all horrified at the thought of brushing me there
71 - When I confuse someone's husband with their ex-boyfriend
70 - When I forget to ask parents if I can give their kids candy/gum/whiskey
69 - When I was busted searching my mom's room
68 - When my mom slapped me across the face in front of my boyfriend
67 - When I'm tardy to class
66 - When I was trying to lean back in my chair and tipped over backwards in the 3rd row of a 100+ student lecture hall, in the middle of a lecture
65 - When I fart in my sleep
64 - When I overcook chicken, which is often
63 - When I offer someone dinner and they frantically refuse to eat it
62 - When my pants are too short
61 - When I remove bras/thongs/lingerie from the washer in our apartment laundry room and shock the little old Russian Baptist ladies
60 - When we get yet another memo about "prohibited" activities in our building, activities that we've been engaged in, and for which the memo was necessary
59 - When I wore The cat piss sweater
58 - When I forget to shave my armpits and then wear a cap-sleeved shirt
57 - When I go to Fantasy Gifts to buy porn and they ask for my ID
56 - When I was in Vermont with my ex, and we didn't have a credit card, and the rental car place wouldn't loan us a car, so we had to call the DJ from Drive 105 who gave us the trip to Vermont, and he had to leave a party on Friday night, drive to his office, and fax a form authorizing the rental place to use his personal credit card so we could rent the car and not be stranded in Vermont
55 - When I forget my dear friends' birthdays (forgive me Neenee!)
54 - When I eat something spicy and then proceed to smelly-burp all night long, in public, especially in close-quarters
53 - When I tripped on the treadmill, did a flip in the air, landed on my back on the still-moving belt, slid off onto the floor, did a backwards somersault, had a stranger jump to my rescue while my ex laughed his ass off on the other side of the room
52 - When I had to go back to that same gym, get back on the same treadmill, and pretend I didn't realize all those same people were there watching to see if I'd do it again
51 - When I got pulled over for driving with no headlights
50 - When I called 911 about a drunk driver, then changed my mind at the last second and hung up, and they called back because the connection had already been made
49 - When I was at lunch with a co-worker and he confessed that he was gay but that he wanted to keep it a secret at the office, and I didn't know what to say because NO SHIT SHERLOCK, everyone already knows you're gay
48 - When fat people complain about being fat because they want me to contradict them, and I don't know what to say because yeah, they're fat (but I love them anyway) so anything I say will be total bullshit and they know it
47 - When I was eleven and visiting my dad in California for the first time as a "woman", and I had to tell him that we needed to go to the store and buy pads
46 - When my dad's face turned eleven shades of red and he almost had a heart attack and died (see above)
45 - When I was 18 and my dad interrogated me about my birth control, and then proceeded to tell me that he and his wife "double up" on methods to ensure they don't have any more kids
44 - When my mom does almost anything when we are anywhere with anyone
43 - When I have to do karaoke or look like a stuck-up jackass
42 - When I asked for directions as I stood outside the very building I was trying to find
41 - When I try to tell a joke and can't remember the punch line or the plot or anything about the joke, but try to salvage the joke by adding, "Oh god it was so funny, really!" like somehow telling them that the joke was funny is enough to actually make them laugh
40 - When they laugh (see above) because the only reason they could be laughing is that I'm a giant moron who tried to tell a joke I know nothing about
39 - When I talk about how awesome a movie is, how funny, how sad, how touching - and then I force the person to watch the movie with me, and I realize it's really a shitty movie
38 - When I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of a movie, which requires walking past a bunch of strangers, trying not to sit in their laps, not tripping on the stairs in the dark, and then finding your original seat upon returning
37 - When I can't find my original seat upon returning (see above)
36 - When I trip UP the stairs
35 - When I go out of order at a 4-way stop, but don't realize it's out of order until I'm already through the intersection
34 - When other drivers flip me off
33 - When I misspell "pens" as "penis" on a paper for school
32 - When the professor leaves a smiley face by my misspelled word (see above)
31 - When the situation warrants my visiting the bathroom multiple times in a short time period, and my co-workers are visibly intrigued by the frequency of my visits
30 - When the auditors ask to see a particular invoice, and it's the one invoice that isn't anywhere to be found
29 - When I start to get comfortable with a co-worker and no longer know where the boundary between "appropriate" and "are you out of your fucking mind" lies, so I tell them a story about something they don't want to know, and they quickly change the subject and then never speak to me again
28 - When I try to regain that co-worker's friendship in a pandering and stalkery manner
27 - When, as a waitress, I brought food to the wrong table
26 - When, as a waitress, I dropped plates, spilled food, dumped drinks, and otherwise ruined a perfectly good dining experience for anyone who was directly responsible for the percentage of my tips that day
25 - When, as a waitress, I was taking a drink order from a large woman who apparently needed to nurse her infant RIGHT THAT MOMENT, pulled up her shirt to her neck, picked up one massive breast and SET IT ON THE TABLE, then stuck her child onto the breast and proceeded to order a cherry pepsi
24 - When I had to apologize to all the other patrons for the gratiutous boobage (see above) when their children asked, "What's that mommy?"
23 - When another patron asked what the boob-woman was eating, it looked good - and I had to explain that she hadn't ordered food yet, she was nursing her baby with her boob on the table.
22 - When I wasn't asked to go to prom one during high school
21 - When my grandmother threw a fit that I wasn't going to prom and I had to pretend like it was my choice
20 - When I gleek at the table and people notice
19 - When I have cold sores
18 - When I gained a little weight and all my pants were visibly distressed at having to accomodate my big ass
17 - When I went to a water park with my cousins, went down the huge slide, and had my bathing suit top fly off and land several feet behind me
16 - When my hot cousin, his friend, and a group of strangers witnessed my top fly off on the water slide
15 - When my ex's cousin slipped on the stairs and fell loudly, and everyone at the party shouted, "OH MY GOD WAS THAT CAT? DID SHE GET WINE ON THE CARPET?"
14 - When I tried to eliminate my widow's peak by shaving it off
13 - When my crush asked why I shaved my widow's peak off
12 - When my orthodontist asked me, "How'd you break your nose?" every single fucking time I went to see him over the course of 4 fucking years
11 - When I misspelled the word "distinct" in the third grade spelling bee, on stage in front of the entire school, because I was convinced it was one of those "trick words"
10 - When I cried (see above)
9 - When my aunt busted me looking at my cousin's Playboys
8 - When I light the filter of a cigarette by mistake
7 - When I broke Gray
6 - When I tried to talk dirty for the first time and kept saying "undies"
5 - When a co-worker had something on his shirt and I didn't say anything to him about it, but he called me ten minutes later to yell at me because he saw me staring at his shirt and went straight to the bathroom to see what I was staring at, and how could I not have told him about the thing on his shirt?
4 - When I went back and re-read this list just now (in anticipation of you people reading all of this)
3 - When I'm on the phone and I choke on my own spit and have a coughing attack, and even once that's over, I still can't talk and the person on the other end of the line is asking if I'm ok
2 - When I was getting a gynecological exam at a free clinic downtown, and the nurse let go of the speculum to do something else with her hands, and I could feel it slowly slipping out but I didn't know what to say (um, the metal object you're attempting to violate me with is going to squirt out of my pudunda at any moment lady), so I just kind of tried to flex those muscles and hold onto it, but the flexing had the opposite effect, and the speculum went flying across the room and clattered on the floor
1 - When the nurse said I had good muscle tone (see above)

Now that I'm utterly mortified myself, my work here is done. If you'd like to participate by commenting about YOUR most embarrassing moment, I would be much less likely to stick my head in the oven later.

Rocky Rocky Pock-Markey

I'm totally blaming hormones for the ups and downs of my weekend. I say "my weekend" like it's in the books, but really it's 5:30 on Saturday night, which means my weekend isn't even half way over yet, and already I've been acting like a crazy person. I've gone from laughing and drunk...right on down the line to sad, crying, depressed...headed on over to reckless abandon and self-indulgence...and ended up where I am now, which is general laziness, inability to concentrate, and desire to watch P.S. I love you (so I can just have a good old cry, god dammit, and get over myself already).

Last night, we headed down to have an early Christmas celebration with my Jill. She did the whole holiday dinner, turkey and all, and we ate like cows and drank like fish and behaved like primates - we basically had ourselves a Zoo of a time. I was really looking forward to it because since Gray and I moved out of town, we only see the "old crew" once every four or six weeks.

Aw. Now isn't that the cutest damn thing you've ever seen?

My Jill and I, we both have what you might consider a "problem" with taking pictures. You know those people who walk around with the little cell phone ear pieces on their head? Because they're on their cell phone every minute of the day? If there was something like that for cameras, head gear that would keep our camera's strapped at eye-level, we'd both totally buy those.

She's saving up for an elective surgery next spring to have the camera detached from her hand. She loves it, but it's really hard to take a bath in her condition.

Yeah, I've got it too. In this picture, it looks like I'm focusing on lining up a shot. What I'm really doing is trying to murder my crappy, broken camera with my laser eyeballs. It's the best super power ever.

On the way home last night - I don't know, possibly because of all the beer - I started getting all weepy and mopey and woe is me-y. It was really obnoxious. Total first-world problems I've got going on. Lost my first pregnancy. Boo hoo! I never seem to make a dent in my credit card balances. Soooo sad! I'm just so tired of the backne. Grow a pair! I woke up feeling equally as mopey, but for less specific reasons. I get really pissed with myself when I'm like this, because who the hell goes around bursting into tears for NO.REASON.WHATSOEVER. Seriously, what the hell is with that? People cry for reasons, Catherine. Not just for fun, or to kill time, or because your shoes weren't where you left them.

Gray and I went to buy his mother's Christmas gifts - anytime you shop with Gray it involves going to Best Buy - and I ended up going TOTALLY BATSHIT CRAZY and buying myself 3 CDs - The Smiths, The Postal Service, and the soundtrack from Once - and 3 DVDs - Jerry Seinfeld stand up, Superbad, and Lars & the Real Girl. I must have lost my mind in there or something, or the hangover totally negated my physical inability to buy something frivolous for myself without feeling MAJOR guilt and possibly returning it two hours later so I can sleep that night. I can't even remember the last time I bought a CD for myself - I literally have no idea when it was or what band it might have been. But I figured, for my sanity, that I'd better do something to pull my ass out of the funk I was in (how better to do that than listening to angsty alternative music?). My dad sent me a check for Christmas - usually I just deposit that check and use it to pay bills, but this time I figured I'd go ahead and actually buy myself something I wanted instead.

And it feels so good to be bad. I'm still on a high from the exhilaration of handing over my Visa for the purpose of dropping $100 on music. FOR MYSELF. This must be how arsonists feel.

So I've spent the entire balance of the day farting around on the computer, wrapping presents, ripping my new CDs to iTunes, and posting photos from last night. I've thought about starting to read my new Stephen King book - THANK YOU JILL OMG I'M SO EXCITED I FEEL LIKE PRINCESS DI WITH ALL MY NEW STUFF - but that would have required concentrating on words, pages and pages of words, and I decided that I'd rather save that for tomorrow. I opened a beer instead. Tomorrow Gray will be at work, and he did all the laundry yesterday, AND he cleaned the apartment for me, so tomorrow I can lay around and read the new SK and listen to my new music.

So I think it's really obvious now why I'm so weepy today. I'm spoiled fucking rotten and because I'm rotten, I smell so bad that my eyes are watering. Sucks to be me, huh? GAWD.

Vindicated

Doctors never believe me when I tell them I'm sick. It's probably one of the reasons I never go to the doctor anymore. It's terribly frustrating to describe my various symptoms in gross detail, not just once when I call and make the appointment, but again upon arrival at the doctor's office, then again when I'm called by the nurse who takes my blood pressure, and AGAIN when the doctor FINALLY comes into the exam room. After all the explanations and repetition and pointing to various afflicted areas, to have the doctor say, "Well, you seem totally fine. It must be a cold virus, there's nothing I can do, go back to work and call me in a week" - well, that freaking pisses me off.

Never mind that I know my own body, doctor, don't listen to me. Please, don't take my medical history into consideration, it's really not necessary. When I tell you that this head cold will, beyond the shadow of a doubt, become walking pneumonia next week? I'm sure that's all in my head, pay no mind. It's not like I've ever been sick before, no, not I.

The lack of willingness to listen to their patients paired with an increase in the number of so-called professional who FUCKING GOOGLE stuff they should know? That doesn't exactly promote my confidence in the medical profession, you know what I mean?

Yesterday, after stumbling around like a drunken fool all day at work, I finally decided that enough was enough. I was going to the Minute Clinic at my local pharmacy. I've never been before, but several co-workers have, so I knew my health insurance would be accepted. Plus, it's right down the road, not even a mile from work, and no appointment was necessary.

I headed over there, physically restraining my urge to point the car towards home and give another, "eh, I'm probably fine" to make myself feel better about it. Instead, I thought of all the people I see at work everyday - people who really want to have a Merry Christmas next week, and don't plan on catching whatever hell bug I've been spreading around the break room. So I went, against my better judgement, to the Minute Clinic.

I walked into the pharmacy, located the sign for the clinic, and headed that way. There was a notice that read, "Minute Clinic Patients: Sign in on the computer". Already, I took that as a good sign. One less instance of human interaction I'd have to endure in my cranky, dizzy state. I entered my name and addresses, verified that I was indeed over 18 or accompanied by an adult, and then I took a seat.

On the wall was a list of services they offer (flu shot, strep test, wellness tests, etc) and their respective prices. I don't think I'd ever seen a list of prices for medical treatments before, and certainly not in ADVANCE of the treatment. The prices listed were for those who do not have insurance, as they don't take co-payments into account. But still, I knew before I even got in there that my consultation was going to cost $59 before insurance. Amazing.

The door in front of me featured a sliding plaque that reminded me of porta-potty "occupied" signs, and it read "With Patient". I waited, and after several minutes, the patient emerged, followed by a smiling nurse who introduced herself as Nancy. Nancy waved me into her office, which was basically a glorified closet, and I took a seat. She asked for a few more medical details, I gave her my list of symptoms, and she did a quick exam.

"Sinus infection, you poor thing," she said. She typed up an Rx for antibiotics and emailed it over to the pharmacy desk next door. I asked if she could also prescribe diflucan (ladies, am I right?) to accompany the antibiotic, and she sent that right over to the pharmacy as well. She recommended cough drops with zinc, saline nasal spray, and Sudafed. Then she reviewed the Rx instructions, asked if I had any questions, and ran my credit card through her computer for my insurance co-pay.

I was ushered out of the closet (that's what she said) and sent on my way with a sympathetic smile and a, "Hope you're feeling much better soon, dear."

Seriously? That's all? I just...walk over to the pharmacy counter and pay for my prescriptions?

Yeah, that was all. I was in and out of there in less than 30 minutes with my Rx's and headed home. Best of all? This lady actually admitted that I was sick! Thank you lady! I know I'm sick, thank you for believing me!

I HIGHLY recommend the Minute Clinics to you people. I don't know if they are all over the country or not, but if you have one in your area, or something like it, TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT! I may never go to a doctor's office again for the rest of my life.

Guess What? Answer

A pig at the Minnesota state fair, nursing her piglets, which she delivered as we stood and watched. Props to my Jill for getting the EXACT right answer! Probably helped that she saw the same pigs at the same fair on the same day. Also correct: Kari & Dawne, Desi and Claire, and all of you who guessed "teat" related guesses. Huh. Will have to try harder to make my Guess What an actual mystery next week. All in all, a very good effort everyone!

The Miracle of Life center at the state fair was cool, in an incredibly disturbing kind of way. When I give birth (hopefully to just ONE baby at a time), I would prefer not to do so in front of hundreds of gawkers (rules out a webcast, I realize). The piglets were coming out, and blood was kind of...squirting everywhere, and they were all clamoring for a nipple even as the umbilical cords held them together. It was like watching a really bloody, pink octopus in action.

Mmmmm baby bacon.

Guess What?

This one seems fairly obvious to me, but I'm all doped up on Sudafed and Halls and I can't be bothered to come up with something more challenging today. There's this fruit fly in my office, and it won't leave me alone, but I seem to be moving in slow motion today. Mr. Fruit Fly is dodging and weaving, mocking my attempts to clap him to death. Assuming, that is, that I am not simply hallucinating the fruit fly all together. Which is totally possible, based on what the talking purple crayon told me.

So anyways....Guess What?

XXX Gray Choking the Chicken

Lots of bloggers seem to do this "Wordless Wednesday" thing, and since it's Wednesday, and I have absolutely nothing of interest to say, I'm hopping on that band wagon.

Thankfully, The Turds Stayed Put

After work yesterday, I ran to the hardware store to buy a new plunger. Oddly embarrassing, standing in line at the cash register. I might as well have been wearing a sandwich board that said, "POOPS GIANT POOP! TOILET EMERGENCY!" The cashier commented about my purchase, "That's one of the most important tools you can have at home!" Thanks, I've already discovered that for myself.

One plumbing problem - the garbage disposal - was taken care of. The maintenance guy stopped by while we were at work and "dislodged the food stuck in the drain". So that was nice.
I entered the bathroom, plunger in hand, ready for battle, and was nearly bowled over by the stench. Seriously, who knew that one day sans flushing could result in such a terrible smell. It was go time.

I plunged away, not really seeing any progress, but unable to get a good look amidst the swirling shreds of toilet paper in the foggy water. I plunged some more. Then I decided to give it a go, and (with a trembling hand) I flushed the toilet. And stood there in horror as the water crept slowly up the bowl. I was momentarily frozen in place, trying to remember what to do in this situation. The situation where the disgusting toilet water was on the attack.

I threw the box of toilet paper from the lid of the tank, shoved the lid over as far as it would go, and reached into the darkness, grabbing blindly for any apparatus that might halt the onslaught of the merciless turd water. I felt something snap loose - NEVER A GOOD SIGN - and simultaneously knocked the plunger from it's perch in the bowl out onto the floor of the bathroom. Along with a big splash of toilet water.

I stood and watched as the water in the bowl began to subside, still holding the mystery apparatus in my hand, my arm bent at an odd angle under the lid of the tank. I surveyed the damage - wet socks, wet floor, wet shower curtain. Stench. Toilet paper bits littering the soggy floor. Wonderful!

Reluctantly, I let go of whatever I was holding onto in the tank and stepped back. The water stayed put. I removed the tank lid and put it on the floor so I could get a good look inside. I plunged again, and with zeal. It seemed like the plunger couldn't get a good seal going with the toilet bowl due to some strange curvature, but still I plunged away.

Finally, it seemed like I was making progress. I mustered all the courage I could find in my damp, smelly heart, and hit the flush lever again. Water from the tube in the tank sprayed the wall, and I dove to point it back into the tank. The clog was defeated!

Fortunately, I hadn't permanently broken anything in the tank, and I was able to reattach the hose thingy to the tube thingy after studying the inner workings of our other toilet down the hall. The cleanup was messy and violent, and we lost one good towel (and my socks) in the fray. But eventually, the carnage was cleared and the floor/tub/wall/toilet was sanitized. The plunger was left to dry in the bathtub, after which the tub was again sanitized.

I lit a candle in memory of our beloved blue towel (and to help with the smell), and ceremoniously dumped it into the trash. Never again would it dry shower-fresh bodies.

I know I'm the handy one in our house, but next time Gray clogs up the toilet, I am so making him deal with the fallout.

Damn

I am so completely, ridiculously in love with this jolly-ass, goofy-ass mo'fo.

Seriously. And it's not even the eggnog talking (dairy makes me poop). If I could make one wish for humanity this holiday season, it would be that every last one of you could find someone who makes you 1/4 as happy as Gray makes me. The world...it would be a happier place. (There would be, like, a lot more WWE on TV, but hey - we all have to compromise for true love, right?)

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like My Eyes Are Frozen Shut

Well, we didn't get a huge snowstorm here last night. Not here in my town, that is. Just some regular old, run of the mill snow and ice. As you know, I spent the entire weekend indoors - I practically had to ask for directions to my parking spot this morning, so I didn't really get a feel for what the temperature was like outside. The radio tells me it was around 35 degrees above zero yesterday until 3pm (balmy!). Then the temperature dropped until it reached an overnight low of 7 below zero. The most exciting thing of note is that we're in a "Wind Chill Advisory" until 6:00 tonight, and they're forecasting wind chills between 25 below and 35 below zero. It's exciting for kids, that is, because some of the schools will be cancelled and many will be delayed. For us grownups, all it means is that we'd better not get a flat tire on the way home, or we're fucked.

It seems that I've broken our garbage disposal (seriously, I've been putting potato peels down there for my entire life with no problems until now), and we also have a clogged toilet. I can't find the plunger anywhere. I think when we moved from the old apartment across the hall, I threw out the old one and never bought a new one. I'm particular about spreading toilet germs from home to home. I throw away shower curtain liners and toilet brushes (ooh and bathroom floor rugs) also.

When I walked into the bathroom and saw toilet paper sitting in the bowl, with a suspiciously low water level, I sort of got an adrenaline rush. A minor one, granted, but still - it's like my endocrine system was all excited to be doing ANYTHING other than sleeping, it was all, "What've we got here, boys? Looks like a clogged toilet!! Should we try flushing it? NO WAIT! Must. Find. Plunger."

And then when I couldn't find a plunger, my endocrine system was all, "Must prevent others from flushing toilet! OVERFLOW WARNING! GERMS EVERYWHERE!" and I ran into the kitchen to make a note that says, "Don't Use" and taped it onto the toilet lid. Whew! Disaster averted.

Except that Gray came in and totally didn't buy the whole "the toilet is clogged" bit, so he's standing there looking in the bowl, and I'm yelling at him, "Don't flush it! We don't have a plunger! Don't you understand? If you flush it and we don't have a plunger, it will overflow!" He was like, "Why don't we just flush it and see if it goes down?" and I was like, "NO! You don't understand! What will we DO if it starts to overflow?"

So what did he do? He flushed it.

Now, the blogger in me really wishes I had a great ending to this story, something about how we ended up with turds in our shower, but the OCD germ freak in me is super glad that it just didn't work out that way. Gray flushed the toilet while I paced around the bedroom, covering my eyes with my hands, and the toilet paper didn't go down, but the water didn't come up. So...we're exactly back at square one, which is the square where our toilet is clogged and we don't have a plunger.

Of course later, I started to wash a load of dishes in the dishwasher, forgetting that the garbage disposal is broken and that it's somehow involved in the dishwasher's functions (I still don't understand that one). I happened to walk into the kitchen for something JUST as the kitchen sink started to overflow onto the floor. I just stood there and stared at it, like I was having a clogged toilet flashback, and then I cried frantically for Gray to come help me (he had just laid his sick little head down to sleep). He took one look and said, "Yeah, everyone knows you can't use the dishwasher when the garbage disposal is broken," all matter-of-fact, like he didn't just break every law of nature by flushing a clogged toilet with no plunger at the ready.

Wow, I made that all sound so very much more exciting than it actually was. You're welcome.

Alive

Well, far be it from me to speak too soon, but it looks like I've survived the weekend. Sure, my throat is all swollen, which means that my eustachian tubes are all sore from the glandular bear hubs, and I still haven't smoked since Friday...but I feel better.

I SHOULD feel better after all the rest I got - let me break down my weekend for you:

• 2:30pm Friday - boss appears concerned that I might die on the premises, sends me home
• 5:00pm Friday - go to bed
• 8:00pm Friday - refuse to wake up
• 8:30am Saturday - finally roll out of bed
• 9:30am Saturday - nap on the couch
• 11:40am Saturday - wake up and watch some bad TV
• 3:00pm Saturday - nap
• 6:00pm Saturday - wake up, move to couch, watch movies
• 10:30pm Saturday - go to bed
• 9:00am Sunday - wake up

So that's about 1,000,000,000 hours of sleep in one weekend. I'm torn because, YAY I FEEL BETTER, but also, Booo I slept through my entire weekend. Oh well, I guess giving up one weekend is a fair price for surviving.

Gray? Caught whatever it is that I have. They just sent him home from work. He looks even more pathetic than I did on Friday, poor chap. Time to play nurse again (and not the fun way).

Guess My Number Is Up

Let me preface this post by telling you all that the air temperature this morning was -1 degrees. Fahrenheit. (I don't do conversions, sorry Canada - you're all smarter than me anyways, so you figure it out.) Now it's warmed up to 5 above, but according to weather.com, it feels like 7 below with the wind chill. ::sigh:: At least things are still looking good for that snow storm on Sunday night. FINGERS CROSSED! There was one winter, maybe three years ago, when we didn't get any snow on the ground until the middle of fucking January. That? SUCKED. It was too cold to snow, which I didn't know was even possible until I moved here. That year, we just had these brilliantly sunny, ball-crushingly cold days, when the sun brightly illuminated all the dead, brown, ugly, dirty lawns and streets. This year, I want to big, soft snow blankets. Thanks.

Last night I felt fine. Last night I didn't even feel particularly tired. But I should have known something was wrong when I woke up this morning and felt like I'd been smashed in the face with a 2x4. Especially considering I hadn't had anything to drink last night. Especially considering I didn't take my requisite Tylenol PM before hitting the sack. I should have known something was going down in China town. But it took me nearly vomiting from my first (last) cigarette of the morning before I realized I was getting sick. Now, just a few hours later, I have acquired the following symptoms:

• headache
• achy ears
• coughing
• sore throat
• dizziness (I almost fell over in the hallway about an hour ago)
• fatigue
• generally body aches
• chills

So. I think it's safe to say that I've contracted some form of the Bird Flu, and will be dead by morning. I was nice knowing you all, please feel free to make fun of me in the comment section after I've passed. In lieu of flowers, we request that a donation be made in my name to Schell's Brewing Company, New Ulm, MN.

(Oh, and I'll see some of you in hell. You know who you are.)

Guess What? Answer

I am accepting both "orangutan" and "Jabba The Hut". The mystery picture is a close up of belly roll with the twig laying there. He's resting his snack on his belly roll, kind of like pregnant ladies do with paper plates at their baby showers. And see how I went from orangutan to pregnant lady? That takes mad skillz.

I'm a little disappointed that nobody went in the "vulva" direction with their guesses. That's what I would have said, but you know, whatever. Not everyone can be as disgusting as me.

This fellow resides at the Como Zoo in St. Paul. I don't remember his name, so we'll call him Mr. Orangutan.

The lady orangutan in the exhibit was all trim and graceful, swinging around and playing around, and this guy just sat there and ate twigs all day long. He didn't move once. No wonder he's so fat.

Guess What?

First of all, they're testing the fire alarm system at work - it's been going on all week, and there's this creepy electronic voice that keeps saying, "TESTING CHANNEL 9 - TROUBLE", over and freaking over again. It's driving me crazy. This morning, all the fire sensors are flashing this obnoxious bright light. Flashing and flashing and flashing. I might lose my damn mind today.

Ok, I stole this idea from Julie at Causes Rats In Laboratory Cancer, who got it from Kim at Frog Ponds Rock, who is the mother of my friend Veronica at Sleepless Nights, which is all sort of beside the point. Thanks for the fun idea everybody!

So, here's how to play: take a look at this close up picture, and guess what it is. Now...I know you might be tempted to go somewhere naughty with your guesses (that was my first inclination when I saw this photo all cropped and zoomed), and I want you to go ahead and roll with your temptations. Winner gets nothing buy my love and admiration.

So...Guess What?

This Is Your Brain On Snow

What it looked like on Monday at 5:23 p.m. CST: dark and snowy

Wednesday at 4:40 p.m.: Sunset-y goodness

When it's sunny and pretty like this, in the winter...that means it's colder than fuck out.

This one kinda makes me dizzy.

I like to call this one Abandoned (the playground, not the trees)

Cold yet?

Five

Okay, Cat,

I'm probably not the only one to say this, but I really, really want to know how the story with Scott ends! You just left it there, dangling, and when you resumed blogging, you were on to totally different things. So, finish it, dammit! Or at least make something up if you don't want to tell the truth.


--A Concerned Reader

**********************************

For those of you who have read my posts One, Two, Three and Four, and want to know what ended up happening between Scott and I, this (long ass) post is for you! Everybody else? Um...too bad, go away and come back tomorrow

And please forgive me if the details are a little off (those of you who were there through it all). It's been a long time now, and some of it I've tried to forget.

***********************************

The story truly began at the end of that fourth post, when I entered the hospital that terrible night in March, 2005. There are so many medical details, none of them particularly interesting, unless someone you love has a brain injury. And then, of course, no two brain injuries (or recoveries) are the same.

It took weeks to piece together something that resembled a reasonable explanation of what happened the night of Scott's accident. We got tidbits from people who overheard some state troopers discussing the scene at a gas station nearby. Doctors and nurses speculated on what may have happened, and how his body was impacted in the crash. Eventually, many agonizing weeks later, we got a copy of the police report - the only new information it had were the names and numbers of three witnesses. I almost called those three people, but decided against it in the end.

Basically, Scott was driving north on his way to work and his truck just...veered slowly to the right, off the shoulder and into the culvert. There didn't appear to be any reason, there were no deer, the roads were dry, it was still daylight outside. Friends and family all decided he must have dropped something - a spitter cup, his cell phone, maybe a spilled Coke - and was reaching to grab the dropped item. And just...drove right off the road.

The wheel well on the truck struck a cement culvert and the truck flipped several times. Scott, who wasn't buckled in, was thrown out either through the windshield or the side window, and was found laying near the tailgate of his totalled vehicle. He was unresponsive, and the had vomited and aspirated from the trauma (which fortunately didn't kill him, but did cause a wicked case of pneumonia in the days to come).

Traffic was halted in both directions so a helicopter could land and transport him to a hospital several suburbs away. His cell phone was lost in the crash, and it took them quite a while to figure out who to call with the news of his accident. Eventually, they simply called Domino's, a clue they must have noted before all his clothing was cut off and replaced by...well, tubes, really.

He spent 12 days in the trauma-neuro intensive care unit, during which time we were told that he wouldn't walk again, that he may or may not even wake up out of the comatose state, that he may be paralyzed on his left side, he might lose one of his eyes, on and on went the terrifying news. In the end, after many tests and scans and specialists, it was determined that he had at least two types of brain injuries: the first was bruising to his right parietal lobe, and the second was a shearing injury in his brain stem, and means basically that the force of the trauma caused some of his brain stem nerves to snap like rubber bands. The first damaged area controlled some cognitive functions like speech and memory. The second area controlled much of the movement on the left side of his body.

I tell you all this simply to convey how serious it was, how indescribably terrible. How helpless I felt (we all did) as we sat, day after day, in the lobbies and cafeterias in the hospital, discussing ways to build ramps all over our house so he could get around in a wheelchair. All the time spent wishing he would just open his damn eyes and wake up already. Scott's family and our friends were just amazing, helping in every conceivable way to make things easier. There were so many helping hands, and so very little to actually be done.

I spent about four months living alone in my empty house, with our dog Cola, drinking too much and trying to pay the bills on my own. He had insurance, thankfully, the hospital bills totalled over $150,000. He had several policies that paid out, and with that we were able to keep the house and buy a new truck for him when the time came. I filled out stacks - nay, REAMS - of insurance forms, social security applications, health paperwork, state funding forms. I was audited by State Farm at least once, for insurance fraud, but clearly was able to prove all of the charges submitted by the hospital were, in fact, valid.

I got very drunk one weekend night, about 2 months in. I pulled out the yellow pages and started calling escort services. They all have answering machines on which to leave your name and number, and they call you back (apparently) if they feel you're not "out to get them" or something. By the time they started calling back, I was seriously regretting having made the phone calls in the first place. Mostly I didn't answer the phone, and they left return messages for days. One time, I did answer the phone, and the poor guy on the other end of the line, after explaining the services and the related charges, sat and listened to me as I cried and told him that I was lonely and scared and didn't know what to do with myself. He listened for a very long time before finally asking if I wanted to set up a meeting or not. Unfortunately for him, I did not.

Scott's brother once stopped me as I was heading to my car in the parking ramp of the hospital (where we paid the daily parking charges in bulk to get a discount), and he said, "Be careful about the drinking, Catherine - it might be a crutch for now, but it won't take very long before it's something more." I tried to listed to his advice, and I suppose I did to a certain exent, but it was much easier to sleep through the night if I had at least a little to drink.

I remember the first time I saw Scott sitting up in bed, in his hospital room on a different floor. It took several people just to keep him upright, and his left eye lolled aimlessly around in it's socket, clearly not "with it", not seeing anything. That image still haunts me sometimes: him, looking like a skeleton, a tracheotomy tube sticking out of his throat, his eyes pointing in entirely different directions, unable to sit or stand unassisted.

He started calling me at work, at home, on my cell phone - over and over again. I'd get to work in the morning and find dozens of them waiting for me. Some of the voice mails he left were intelligible, but many were just the sound of him breathing and the hospital television in the background. There were messages left at 1:00 in the morning and 1:03 in the morning and 3:00 in the morning, asking me if I knew his sister and if I had her phone number, despite the laminated phone list I left for him by his hospital bed, despite reminding him it was there every day.

In the months that followed his accident, he learned how to talk again. How to swallow without choking. How to pee without help. How to stand, walk, sit. It was eerily akin to watching a young child go through all those phases of development. Only this was a fully-grown man who owned a landscaping company and liked to fish and hunt and play sports. He spent 12 days in the ICU, then another six or seven weeks in the hospital. After that was one month living at Courage Center, a sort of group home for people with brain and spinal cord injuries, where he learned to be an adult again: doing laundry, following a schedule, making his own bed. After Courage Center was a month in Arkansas, living with his parents and getting additional tutoring and physical therapy.

His personality was extremely different, at least during those first few months. We were fortunate not to experience the rage and anger that so many brain injury victims go through. There were glimpses of rage - the time he spit at me as I bent to talk to him as he sat in his wheelchair. Mostly he was sort of happily oblivious, sitting with his hands clasped in his lap and laughing at inappropriate times.

Once, in the hospital, they sent in a recreational therapist who had a long list of questions about his hobbies, interests, etc. She wanted to get an idea of what they could use from his personal life to speed his recovery along. Many of the questions I had to answer myself, as he was either totally unable to respond (couldn't find the words he wanted to say) or off in la-la land, spacing out. But when she asked him about his hobbies, he told her that he liked to go hunting. She looked to me for confirmation, and I nodded. She asked him what he liked to hunt, and he told her that he liked to hunt for lobsters and fish with his two hunting dogs. Lobsters and fish. He went on and on about hunting for lobsters and fish, to the point where it would have been comical had I not been so horrified. Another time, as his brother wheeled him around the hospital corridors, he had some sort of episode where he thought the two of them were actually out hunting pheasants. He'd turn around and call the dogs, told them to come on. He told his brother they needed to get of that trail because they'd already walked it and there were no birds.

Once he moved to Courage Center, and sometimes when he was still in the hospital, he was allowed to leave with his family for "day trips" and sometimes an "overnight trip". On these outings, I was always petrified that he would trip and fall, hit his head. Something that simple could easily have killed him in that stage of the recovery. He wasn't to be left unattended for any length of time, not to use the bathroom, and not while sleeping. Then, on the return drive to the hospital, sometimes he would cry and beg us not to take him back. He didn't understand why he couldn't just be at home with us all of the time.

In August, he moved back into the house with me. By that point, he was functioning pretty well on his own and had much better use of his reasoning and cognitive skills. He could be alone while I was at work. He would call me, sometimes as many as a dozen times during the day, to ask for phone numbers or to tell me about something that he'd done. But at least he was home, and for that I was grateful.

I took the month of September off from work so I could take him to additional physical therapy and occupational therapy appointments, as well as driver's ed (in order to get his license reinstated), and some counseling. I remember once, after I'd dropped his skinny, limping, neck-brace-wearing self off at the driving school for his first on-the-road training...I got about a quarter mile down the road and had to pull over, as a full-blown panic attack took over my body. I was petrified of leaving him alone with strangers - behind the wheel of a car! - and the guilt and fear and exhaustion just hit me in that moment.

At the end of September, we took a long weekend up north, and he proposed to me after dinner one night. I knew that none of the problems that existed in our relationship before the accident were gone. I knew he had a long recovery ahead of him yet, that he wasn't able to work or drive or stay alone for long periods of time. But I also knew that I just simply COULD NOT say no to that man who had been through so much, and who thanked me for standing by his side through it all. In that moment when he proposed, after the words had left his mouth and he looked expectantly at me for a reply, I could no sooner say no than I could have pushed him down a flight of stairs.

And so, we were engaged. I convinced myself that it would be okay. That marriage is a decision. I truly loved him, and I knew he loved me, and we would make it all work. I wasn't making a mistake, I was making a decision.

Over the year of our engagement, his old personality - the hot, fast temper, the alcohol, the irritability - all of those things returned, crept slowly back, so that I didn't notice many of them until long after they'd reappeared. Except now, they were compounded by his lagging cognitive functions and his frustration with his body that no longer cooperated all of the time. Loud noises, sudden movement, dogs barking, babies crying, the doorbell - all of those things were likely to put him into a rage. He never struck me, or laid a finger on me, but he did kick our dogs and throw them across the room sometimes. I realized over this time that I could never, EVER have children with him. I would never trust him alone with a child, especially a baby. This, more than anything I think, is the reason we didn't make it.

Episodes and incidents compiled, angry outbursts, drunken injuries, excuses. An online personal ad he placed just months before our wedding. The signs were all pointing to "HOLD THE FUCK ON AND DO NOT GET MARRIED", but the few times I broached the subject with him, he became inconsolable and, and times, made suicidal threats. And so I caved, time and time again.

We were married in September 2006, in Anchorage, Alaska. It was a beautiful wedding. I truly loved that man, and still do. We did a little counseling, both together and separately. But it took only 8 months before I told him I wanted a divorce. I put our house on the market, and it sold within 24 hours. In the bad housing market, I took that as a sign that I was doing the right thing.

Our divorce was finalized on November 21, 2007. I just realized now that the anniversary came and went last month without my noticing.

Of course, it wasn't only him that made mistakes. There were countless things I did to sabotage the relationship. It's just so much easier to forget my own faults and remember my justifications. But I sometimes wonder what he saw in me over the years, what it was about me that contributed to his unhappiness. What things I did to hurt him. I wonder how he's doing all of the time. I haven't heard from him in months, and that's probably for the best. Last I did hear, he finished his vocational program and got a good job. He quit drinking. He was happy. And I'm so glad for all of that. I don't believe either of us would have been truly happy had we stayed together.

There are times when I still get hit with a gut-wrenching guilt for leaving him, for sending him out on his own, for giving up. I miss his family, I lost them all. His mother mostly, who took me in and treated me as one of her own for so many years. But I've never, not even for a second, wondered if I made the right decision. We just weren't good for each other. We had no trust, no respect, no communication. Oil and water.

And so, I guess that's really the end of the story.