Much Anticipated!

"Help me!  They know not what they do!"

Wow.  This is hard.  If you haven't reproduced, take how hard you think it would be then multiply it by some crazy large number.  I'm not trying to be all preachy or anything, it's one of those things you just don't understand until you choose to take the plunge.  I'm told it gets better.  But I'm told a lot of things whether I want to hear them or not!

I love this little joy bundle, but I tell you what... I love sleep too.  At least I think I remember loving sleep.  A stretch of four hours is rare!  I would like to point out that Brad gets a stretch of 6-7 hours most nights, but still complains like he's a jew in the holocaust.  Just saying.

Marital satisfaction.  Yeah, it plummets.  We'll smooch and it'll occur to me I don't remember the last time that happened.  Or hug.  Or speak to each other about something besides "hand me that paci" or "go to hell, I'm tired." 

Many times I've wanted to write a little something on here, get it off my chest (there's a lot on my chesticles these days... literally).  There's never any time.  Even now she stirs, as she must sense my divided attention.  So here is what I hope will be a quick rundown of events.  As quick as Erica can make them anyway.

Birth.  Painful.  Yup.  I thought my dead tooth in college was the most painful thing I would ever feel.  I just knew it had to be worse than childbirth.  Wrong.  I barely got an epidural.  It was refused as I was going really super fast, but then this angel walked in and said she could make it happen, even if only a weak epidural that would last me only an hour.  Loved her.  I wanted that hour to last for all eternity. 

But it didn't.

My sister skyped from China and got to hear me screaming and cussing.  Best birth control for a teenager ever?  I think so.  Scared her to death, she wouldn't go to bed until she saw me and Charlotte were both alive and well.

Charlotte came into the world pretty chill.  There were no big screams like in the movies.  I didn't hear her until they pricked her feet and pissed her off real good, lol.  Once she was out, I was hella fine with whatever.  The kool-aid man could have busted throught the wall and slaughtered a goat, I would not have cared.  At least 10 different people had been diving in and out of my hoo-ha the past seven hours, and I couldn't be bothered to care about that either.  Life was good.

Then we were left alone with her.  LOL

We had a brief scare that resulted in a NICU stay.  She was weezing all cute-like, a sign of respiratory distress.  She also had a slight heart murmur, that while typical in the first 48 hours of life, was a concern when coupled with the weezing.  She was the biggest damn baby in the NICU, she could have eaten those other babies for breakfast.  It was a pain in the butt since I had to wake up and scrub in down the hall every time she wanted to eat, but my great aunt Libby is a NICU nurse so I wasn't stressed in the least that she was there.  She was in good hands.

So, the murmur got better, and the weezing went away.  Probably just some fluid in her lungs, most likely from being in that canal for 7 freaking hours (cone head, much?)  In the end we all got to go home at the same time, which was fortunate and I'm pretty sure only happened because my aunt Libby expedited the process.  Bless her!  Those NICU nurses are superheros.

I will never forget the sound of her first "Omigod you assholes come feed me" cry that occured three hours into our first sleep at home.  We'd set an alarm and slept right through it and she was PISSED.  Seriously, I can hear it now... we flew outta that bed and did our jobs.  Three weeks later it's more like... eh... let her scream for a minute, I need to pee. 

My mom flew in from China and more or less stayed with us for two lovely weeks.  I was an irritable brat half the time, but she effectively kept Brad and I from experiencing the painful reality of parenthood for a little bit, and thank GOD for that.  It's been hard without her here, but if I'd had to go through this without her for those first two weeks while I was still in tons of pain... well, a firestation might have found her on their doorstep let's just say.  HA.  Just kidding.  Maybe.

Mom was terribly jet lagged which meant her staying up all night with Charlotte was super easy for her, lol.  One morning we woke up and she'd baked a damn cake in the middle of the night.  She cleaned the house and got all of our baby crap organized in a way that it would have NEVER gotten done otherwise.  I'm sure Charlotte misses that nice lady who was here and played with her and cooed at her constantly without complaint!  Now she's just stuck with two very frazzled parents who would seriously consider cutting off their own fingers if it meant she would sleep just 10 more minutes.

Mom also got me through the shittiness that is starting to breastfeed.  I know I said I was going to formula feed to save my sanity, but there you sit in the hospital and there are your boobs and there is your baby rooting for your boobs and  I just thought... what the hey?  That's what they are for, right?  I'll never get another chance to try it out!  And many times since I've regretted it, but then I look down at her face and she flashes me a nipple smile and I just love her to peices.  Yes.  Nipple smiles.  They are the best.

I pump a LOT and we bottle feed a LOT and it works out.  My child is a nipple afficianado.  If it fits, it ships, at a low flat rate.  No nipple confusion for her, they are all good in her eyes. 

And I gushed about my husband on facebook once already, and while it's still true that I love him times one million, it has also slowly become clear that I did marry a mere mortal man after all.  He's tired.  He's stressed out.  He's had the crud to contend with, sore throat and meds that make him even MORE tired.  His grandpa Jonah passed away Thanksgiving day, things have been really stressful for him.  Plus he works.  Upstairs.  All that separates us all day is a banister, not even a wall.  He is going nuts.  I try my best to see that he gets good sleep, but unlike Brad I have never been mistaken for anything more than mortal and at least once a night I cling to that bed for dear life until he gives in and does a round of baby duty.  I feel terribly guilty afterwards... but he's still getting more sleep than me, so hey!

The hardest thing has to be dealing with the constant stream of self-imposed guilt and feelings of failure.  People can say it's normal all they want and they can assure us we are doing a decent job, but the feelings linger.  I finally got on some parenting boards and feel better about all the little things.  We use the paci as a crutch, I even napped with her in bed the other day (uncle charlie's hospital bed... pretty funny sight).  We worry that when she's awake we need to be doing something with her, but there's really nothing to do.  But sit and dread the eventual fussiness... lol.  I sleep with all my clothes on, including my ugg boots, so that I can face getting out from under the warm covers a little more easily. 

So wow, I can't believe she's slept the past 45 minutes so I could actually get a blog out.

Oh yeah, fatpocalypse.  That thing.  I've dropped to just below where I started, at around 189.  Pretty cool.  My stomach looks disgusting, but I'll take it.  After my 6 week check up, it would be nice to go to the gym... not sure how I'll make that happen, maybe I'll take her to grandma's for an hour every afternoon.  It's weird that having her around has actually made me more productive... I clean... sometimes I cook.  I actually do laundry!  And I shower every day cause that is my ME time, LOL.  So unlike me.  I got a Moby Wrap in the mail, just gotta get the guts up to try it out, it's very intimidating.  Oh, and the cloth diapering is going pretty well, too.  The biggest expense is clearly going to be spending money on her adorable pictures, LOL.  Occupational hazard, I suppose.

Stay tuned for more McDavid Parenting Misadventures.

She's in the family way...

"Babies are my business and business is good."

Today I did some junk shopping, looking for some unique things I could use to decorate the nursery with.  I pretty much failed, but I spent $2.00 on a gem of a book entitled "before The Baby Comes" by Dr. Herman N. Bundesen, and while I cannot find a specific publication date, I'm guessing the late 1930's.  I'm equally shocked by what they already knew and what they didn't know yet about pregnancy, but really the best part is the overall delivery of the information to stupid ass women.  lol

It starts with the Author's Preface, the first damn two sentences of the book:

"The GREATEST happiness a woman can have is that of bringing a baby into this world.  And giving birth to a baby is, in addition, the most important function in her entire life."

Lovin'!  It!

At the same time I'm jealous of how very simply pregnancy was "treated".  Here is the list of good habits for the mother-to-be to develop:

1. Get plenty of restful sleep -- at least 8 hours every night.
2. Get fresh air and sunshine every day.
3. Eats a well-balanced diet every day.
4. Drinks from four to six glasses of water every day.
5. Keep in a cheerful and happy frame of mind.
6. Have regular bowel movements every day.

Oh, and for a healthy natural childbirth,

1. A body in good physical condition, with well-formed pelvic bones.
2. Constant care of her health.
3. A cheerful, happy mind, as free as possible from worry, nervousness and care.

I hope my pelvic bones are well formed...

And I love the delivery of this line, very dramatic and mind-blowing, "Normally, the baby BEGINS TO LIVE nine months BEFORE he is born!"  SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!

It suggests the woman should bring her husband to her first pregnancy appointment, so he can help explain shit to her.  Hahahahaha.  Oh my god, if I relied on Brad to explain to me what I was going through, I'd be in trouble.  His understanding of genetics leads him to believe that red hair just pops up like a disease in families, after all. 

In fact, the husband is very important, his chapter is covered almost immediately (instead of as an afterthought in the back of the book like you typically see now) and suggests the following todo list:

-Making sure his health is good both before and after marriage, specifically making sure he doesn't have syphilis. 
-Put his wife under the care of a good doctor, and see that she follows his orders.
-See that his wife has proper rest, recreation and amusement.  (If she is interested in music or art, it is absolutely fine for her to continue to take lessons if she so desires)
-Be a cheerful and patient comrade to his wife.
-Arrange with the expectant mother for her confinement and after-care.

And a special after note:

It is very important not to have sexual relations during the first three months of pregnancy, nor after the seventh month.  It should also be avoided during the time when the regular monthly period would have occurred.  Such relations may cause a miscarriage or help to bring on child-bed fever.  The husband should be guided by his wife's wishes.  He should learn to practice self-control.

Hahahahaha.

It covers early signs of pregnancy, which it admits aren't fool-proof, and keep in mind there were no pregnancy tests.  So it was usually month 3 before pregnancy was monitored by a doctor anyway.  But I must say, this was disturbing to read:

"If there is a doubt as to whether or not pregnancy has occurred, a Friedman test can be made by the doctor.  This test is done by injecting some of the prospective mother's urine into a rabbit and then later examining the rabbit's ovaries (sex glands) for certain changes."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  HOLY SHIT!  THE POOR BUNNIES!  I bet they had to dissect those poor bunnies!  I bet they did!  It's horrible!

So I'm on page 13 of 50 and I cannot wait to see what other gems await my discovery! 

For more fun on this issue and with Dr. Bundesen, follow this link.  It's even funnier.

Every little thing.

I'm so frustrated!  This is long, get the hell over it.

You know how doctors don't like it when you "try to do their job"?  I'm sure it gets annoying, "Well, webmd says I either have syphilis or a head cold, but Granny says it's just a boil so to self medicate I've been taking uncle Jim's old Loritabs from his hip surgery." 

But today I am frustrated about two things that are sort of two sides of the same coin.  First, because it's simpler, I take synthroid for SLIGHT levels indicating hypothyroidism.  Taking synthroid keeps me well in the normal range.  Before getting pregnant, I made sure I had plenty of prescription for a while... and now that it's time to get refilled, it occurred to me, "No one at my OB's office has even mentioned checking my thyroid.  Huh."

I've never had a fucking baby before.  That could have something to do with it.  I figured... if they needed to check that, they would have.  I've told them since day 1 that I'm taking synthroid and how many micrograms.  They've never asked about my levels or who I go to see for that medication.  I mention my medications at almost every visit.  Today I thought maybe I just need to be more in-your-face obvious about it and bring it up yet again.  I say, "Do I need to get my thyroid checked at some point?"  The question was met with a look of utter horror from the PA that I had not taken it upon myself to get this checked by now.  "You haven't done it every trimester??!" "well... no."  I wanted to add that I'm not a damn doctor and that I've mentioned my thyroid on a couple different occasions and that I've never had a damn baby before, so what would I know?!

So I suppose in that instance, I was supposed to already know.  I was supposed to have researched that.  I was supposed to have googled that.  Or something.  For the record, googling a pregnancy question is about the dumbest thing you can possibly do.  Go ahead and do it if you want to end up more confused than you started.

Next issue, and this one is REALLY driving me insane.  Boob or bottle?  Such a simple fucking question.  And it's not really a question of right vs. wrong, it's a question of what is BEST for ME and m'BABY.  So it's a tricky one.  At first, I was on the boob wagon, despite once thinking, "I will never be able to do that."  I'm a very modest person when it comes to my body and people who breastfeed seem to have no qualms with yanking their tit out in situations that make me pretty uneasy.  But my sis-in-law maintains a sense of modesty while also boob feeding and watching her boob feed my niece has made me all gooshy inside, excited to try it with my Charlotte, it just seemed delightful all the sudden.  I had no doubts that I would boob feed. 

So it was settled, I would boob feed.  I was hoping for the benefits of less allergies, less possibility of asthma, they say even less chances of female cancers, losing some weight and tightening my uterus back up faster, not having to get up and prepare a bottle while your child screams, all those good things. 

Meanwhile, once again, I have been VERY upfront about ALL THESE DAMN MEDS I take to keep me sane.  I'm on an SSRI anti-depressant and Buspar for mild anxiety.  I found this particular dream cocktail of meds after YEARS of trying to find what worked best and many failures along the way.  I was thrilled when my Psychiatrist AND later my OB both ok'd their use during pregnancy.  Yay, no problemo. 

No problemo turned into... "Well.." now that you actually ARE preggers and all... we might want to try weaning you off your meds so that there is no "risk of serotonin withdrawal".  Ok, so here's the game plan: month prior to my due date, I will attempt to taper my dose.  As for during the rest of the pregnancy, all I hear people say is "class C drug" so, "no known harm" and, "Do the benefits outweigh the risks" and blah blah blah. 

It did not occur to me, nor did anyone discuss with me, that DUH, it might also be an issue with the boob milk.  Until my recent Psychiatrist appointment: You make your own decision, it's class C so we don't know, it DOES get passed in the breast milk, but we don't know if it has negative effects on baby or not, in TWO cases (out of how many I do not know) certain side effects were reported.  Psychiatrist's opinion?  "I would just bottle feed.  Better safe than sorry.  We know you can't just not take your medicine for 6-12 months.  You want to enjoy your child's infancy."  He also encouraged me to ask my doc and pharmacist.

So I ask my pharmacist Aunt :)  She looks into it and finds some numbers, percentages of doses that end up in breast milk and baby's blood serum.  We know it gets transmitted, only about 4%, but this number fluctuates of course depending on feeding time and intensity, whether it's hind-milk or a quick feed, what time of day, the list goes on.  Baby isn't getting some steady level of the drug but a fluctuation.  You could theoretically create one cranky unstable baby.  Or it might not matter.  Is it worth the risk?  Do you really want to take that chance just so you can say you went with the cultural flow of "breast is best!"  You didn't want to appear to be a failure mom, so you said, by golly, I will breastfeed, and 20 years from now, my kid might have some serious emotional problems, but dammit I kept up with the Jones'!  My aunt put it in a way I appreciated, "if something comes up that is a problem down the road, you will always question if you did the right thing by insisting on breastfeeding while on questionable medications.  or you could bottle feed and not worry about it, cause there's nothing wrong with that either."

What did my OB say?  "Knock yourself out, breastfeed!  We prescribe ssri's to breastfeeding women on the reg.  This book says "no known harm done except in these two cases" (once again... 2 out of what?  3?  1 million?  It matters, people.  It matters.)  In the end, we support whatever the pediatrician you choose supports.  (Um... I don't even have a pediatrician yet to ask.  This seems like something I need to get ironed out).  But boob feeding, YAY! 

How do I choose a pediatrician?  Should I call around and ask about openings?  Yes.  Ok.  So by golly, on my way home from my appointment, I STOP at a pediatrician's office.  Well, it's an office of many pediatricians.  They look at me like I'm crazy cause "all you need to do is tell them at delivery where you want your child to be seen and whoever is on call will come see you."  Oh.  Didn't need to stress about that after all.  Am I the only first time mom in the world who asks these questions?!

So I ask, well, is there a doc available that I can run a question through?  I'm on these meds (hand slip of paper to lady) can I breast feed?  What do they recommend?  I wait.  Lady comes back (she's being very accommodating, bless her).  "Dr. X looked them up, they are class C, meaning there is no evidence of harm, so they are fine."

Can I be a doctor so I can just look shit up rather than drawing on professional experience?  Sounds like a damn good gig.

So here's where I'm leaning: I'm gonna bottle feed.  Why?  Because my psychiatrist gives a shit about me and doesn't want to see me end up back in the hospital.  My aunt gives a shit about me and wants me to succeed at this.  The OB wants me to have this baby then be gone until I'm knocked again.  The pediatrician... who the hell knows what their angle is, but they don't really know me, they just looked in a book.  A book I can find online.  How can doctors so confidently recommend and support something that isn't proven safe and still sleep at night?

They all love sharing their opinion on this shit.  But by god I should have known I needed my thyroid checked once a trimester!  Why can't I just be some stupid back-woods hick who is still just confused how she got pregnant since she's only done it standin' up?

This is MADNESS!

Where has she been?

Going crazy.  No surprise there!

I'm an absolute wreck right now.  Have been for... days?  Weeks?  I dunno.  I lose track of days not having to work.  Oh, you don't have that problem?  Are ya jealous? 

Things are getting overwhelming.  The fetal movement is pretty nuts.  We know we are having a girl now.  And I'm stuck there.  I have moments where I want nothing but the best for this baby, to the point of bankrupting our savings for top of the line bullshit, and I have moments where I seriously wonder if it would be so wrong to just line a box with blankets and make do with that. 

People have been doing this since there were people.  They didn't need Pack N'Plays, wipe warmers, scary breast pumps, or baby einstein dvds... so why does it all suddenly sound so necessary?  Like it is abusive neglect if you dare not purchase a bathtub thermometer? 

And I've been wondering about EVERY LITTLE THING.  If my baby cries, am I going to go pick her up?  Am I going to wait for her to soothe herself?  If I wait, how long should I wait?  How long is too long?  Will I need 12 cloth newborn diapers a day or 24?  What kind of cloth diapers?  Velcro?  Snap?  2-in-1's?  All-in-1's?  Contour?  Or say FUCK THAT and do disposables cause that time would be better spent staring at my child while she breathes?  Do babies really benefit from listening to classical music or memorizing their multiplication tables by age 4?  Is my child gonna grow up to be socially retarded like her parents?  How do I simply avoid raising a serial killer?  How long should breastfeed in order to avoid pissing off America? 

After finding out we are having a Charlotte and not a Jonah, Brad and I went to Lexington for the day.  The task was to discover our nursery scheme.  Because step one will be painting that extremely blue room upstairs.  It's "East Carter blue" to hear Brad tell it.  We agreed we would go for green, nice and neutral so that it can easily be a boy nursery down the road if it comes to that.  Green is calming.  But in order to pick the green, we needed to know what bedding we liked.  So the task of the day was to find this bedding.  I had an idea of what I liked in nursery decor, but in personI  ended up going for something completely different.  Mainly purple, some light pink, green accents... purple and green.  Just like my wedding.  I must really like that or something.  So there is a deal, and while we are there we purchase sheet, bumper (useless), skirt (useless), blanket, hanging diaper bag (probably useless).  They came as a set.  Now, to envision the rest of the nursery based on that.  To the bat cave!

All was well.  I was pleased.  Brad was pleased.  A step closer on this seemingly million step journey. 

Until we get home and show off our cute-as-a-button crib bedding.  Apparently we've broken some cardinal rule I wasn't aware of.  How dare we get it so soon?  Before the shower?  Someone could have just bought us that!  Why would you go and do that?  I mean, I've been pretty much laughed at for being... I dunno, overly eager?  And I'm calling you out Megan and Jilda.  Because now I look at this bag of bedding and I wonder if I've already completely ruined my daughter.  Looking at it LITERALLY makes me sick to my stomach.  I'm full of so much anxiety over it, that I'm close to taking it back before it does make me vomit.  Is this unreasonable on my part?  Yes.  But I feel like I've screwed up royally just out of the gate... it's eating at my sanity!  And if you think this makes me crazy, please just don't tell me to my face, cause then I'll feel even WORSE!

And I think the anxiety is also because I realize... this is how it is going to be from now on.  My family, other parents, society... everything I do will be scrutinized. Down to the shit that doesn't even matter.  I mean, it doesn't matter if I bought Charlotte's crib bedding already.  It doesn't matter if I cloth diaper or if I'm just one more person throwing their baby's shit in a landfill.  It doesn't matter if I am able to breastfeed or not.  It doesn't matter if baby listens to Mozart or goes to day care or if my dog licks her face, or if my baby licks the dog's face. 

But I'm also very fragile right now, and I've decided it's all this bedding's fault.

I mean, I'm really unhinged.  Please say it's pregnancy hormones and that I'm not really losing my mind, cause I've been there before, and that shit is just plain scary. 

I just want us to have our baby and be left alone to enjoy her for as long as possible... until I want a damn break.  So that would be for what... an hour?  A good hour just for the three of us... :) 

Grayson. Ew.

Grayson. This town. Is so trashtastic.

I would be lying if I said I wouldn't take a chance to get the hell out of here.

Which makes me sad because my family is here... and those parts are nice. But overall? Gag me with a tobacco stick.

I suppose a person would have to... I dunno... get involved in a church or something... to increase their likelihood of not running into scum on a regular basis. But in my opinion, those places are full of their own kind of crazy that I can't seem to stomach either. And supposedly, those places also have an open door policy for scum, which ain't cool with me, LOL. Call me a bitch. I don't care.

Socially, we hang out with like-minded people, and that gives our corners of the world some sense of stability, whether real or not. SO WHERE ARE ALL MY LIKE-MINDED PEOPLE!?

Admittedly, my facebook friends list is chock-full of decent people. I know they exist, and I do enjoy them. But how do we ban together? How would we? Maybe a club called "No Bullshit Allowed." The NBA. Yes, no one is using that right now, right?

Overall, there are two types of people in Grayson. The disgusting pill-heads who blame the world for their own damn problems and call you "friend" if they think they can use you as an occasional ATM or lift shit from your home to take to the pawn shop. And snobs who think their shit doesn't stink. I fit into neither of these groups, thank god. And every family here has their share of both ends of the spectrum.

So I ask you, why would anyone want to live here? Either my kids are gonna grow up incapable of identifying their own shit by smell, or they are gonna grow up and rob me blind to support their pill habit while I say, "Oh, that's okay, sniff sniff, they just need to be loved. Of course you can borrow my car, if that's what you need to get better."

And I do understand that addiction becomes a disease. I've suffered at length from my own disease that people like to laugh at a lot, depression, so I'm not completely void of compassion here. But the decent people I know are the ones who finally said, "SHIIIIIIT, I am sooooo fucked, someone help me, I can't do this by myself, here are my problems, here's everything I've done, just help me." You cannot get help, you are NOT getting help, if you are still afraid to come clean, if you are still hiding shit. You have to live transparently. Both snobs and pill heads seem to have a big problem with that.

I'm upset tonight because a friend of mine gave her heart to one of these douchebags who tonight wiped his ass with it for what I hope is the last time. This jerk is something of a Grayson rockstar when it comes to being a fuck-up. If I named him, not a one of you would be surprised. And my friend is a young, sweet, talented, beautiful and amazing girl who deserves a lot better. But thanks to this asshole, she will probably be leaving this town, and a part of me envies her beyond words. Go, be free. lol A lot of good people have left this town for the same damn reasons. I want to be one of them.

So I'm really hating this place right now. I invite any of you to comment below with any of Grayson's redeeming qualities. Try to cheer me up. And having a plethora of Mexican restaurants to choose from does not count. Dig deeper.

Surprises!

I know, I know, I know. Bad luck and all that. Had a miscarriage last year, never got to hear a heartbeat. But I just can't help myself...

I've been impregnated!

**gasps and applause**

'Atta boy, Brad. Grandpa can stop threatening to come live with us to make sure we are regularly doing the deed.

I'm only 7 weeks. Our first appointment is set for April 23rd. I cried pretty hard at my first ever ultra-sound last year in February. And I'm betting I will at this one too, no matter which way it goes. I'm hoping it's a good, ugly faced, happy cry, though!

So this blog is going to temporarily become a place where instead of talking about inappropriate random shit, I'm going to talk about inappropriate preggers shit. Just for a while. Mainly cause this is my place, and I don't want to be one of those facebookers that drives the entire world crazy with their uterine parasite's development.

Awkward terribly over-share things about being knocked up:

BOOBIES. They sagged before, and holy shit, I didn't think they could sag any worse, but they can. I was losing all my weight in my boobs, too. And now they are back with a vengeance. They are sore beyond belief. My nips could cut glass AT ALL TIMES. Yes, even now. No, Brad, you can't touch them. I have never woken up to boob pain, and had to manually lift my breast out from under me and position it more comfortably... until now. Stupid boobs.

SMELLS. Not me, thank god. lol. No, the smells I smell with my smeller. The worst, by far, and this is weird... cleaning product. Air fresheners. Hair sprays, aerosols, perfumes. Basically things that are clean smelling. Which Brad isn't surprised to hear at all... LOL. We had a funk coming from our garage because of the cat we keep captive out there, so Brad hooked up an air freshener called "linen". I walked in to what was a wall of this odor. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?" "Oh, it's cat shit, so I plugged in this air..." "YES! THAT! GET IT THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!" I'd rather smell cat shit ANY day. Newly laundered sheets... can't stand them. Today at work someone was spraying hairspray all over the damn place. I wanted to hurl.

GENERAL RETARDATION. People really do get STUPID when they get pregnant. I've always suspected, honestly, but you know, thought I was so damn smart that if anything, I would still be pretty smart even if the baby eats a good portion of my brain. The other day, I LITERALLY got into the backseat of my car to go home from work, and sat there, CONFUSED, for like 5 minutes. Like a cat, when I realized the stupid thing I had done, I tried to pretend like I had meant to... started rooting around for things in the backseat... but there really was no saving face in that situation. I don't easily embarrass, but that killed me.

THE FURY. I am one angry bitch. I always have been, to be fair, things are always pissing me off that really have nothing to do with me. But now I'm dangerous. I might actually say something... TO YOUR FACE! I try to read my Eckhart Tolle every night... but it's no use. My ego is in full control. If you see me, ask me what I'm mad about. I have a list in my head at all times. I've come dangerously close to crossing the line of respect with customers at work on several occasions now. I almost told a woman the other day that my pictures weren't bad, her baby was just ugly as hell. And I would have sincerely meant it. The plunger was not kind to this kid on the way out of the birth canal. Not my fault. No wonder I had the balls to write a "shame-on-you-for-making-us-work-Easter" e-mail to my boss's boss. I'd do just about anything right now and think it was a SWELL idea. I'm thisclose to demanding a raise for myself and my manager, and also demanding that a pill-snorting co-worker of mine get her ass fired for being a lazy stupid bitch. It's just the kind of spit-fire mood I'm in. Keep your distance. Unless you've ever been curious as to how I truly feel about you or some issue, then ask away, you'll get as true a response now as you are ever gonna get.

My TEETH. This is so freaking random, or so I thought. Last time around, my teeth hurt. Had some pretty awful problems, no fun. Then for the next 2 months, while I was preggers, my teeth hurt, every damn day. Every day. So guess what they are doing now all the sudden? Hurting. I haven't slept a full night in weeks, what with the pissing and anbesol breaks. I wake up crying and confused, and Brad will be like, "ERICA! Go get your anbesol." And I'm all like, Oh... yeah, okay, thanks. Apparently when you are pregnant, your blood vessels enlarge, or dilate, to get extra oxygen everywhere, especially in your soft tissue areas: vagina, sinuses, gums. So, there ya go. Vaginal discharge, a CONSTANT runny/stopped up nose, bleeding gums, and sore teeth. Life is so beautiful.

ZOMBIE-ISM. Oh, yeah, and when I do wake up from sleep, I'm brain dead for at least 5 minutes before I remember where I am and why I've woken up. Like, "Oh, I needed to pee." Or "Shit, my teeth are hurting, that's why I'm up." Or "Oh... I have to go to work today... that's why I'm up." I'm just so confused all the time. The other night, I woke up, but not really, had already started to get up out of bed, not knowing really why (turns out I had to piss really bad), got my feet tangled in the sheets, and just hit the damn floor. All I knew was that my head hurt like HELL, I just laid in the floor screaming until Brad finally got to me and was like, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!? I think I was still sleeping, but I had busted my head on the nightstand, and there was blood, and my head only recently stopped throbbing from it. I've lost my damn mind.

And I think it's completely hilarious.

Oh yeah, Brad's going through some shit too, something about his back hurting all the time and going to the chiropractor, but no one really cares. That jealous diva just needs some attention.

A novella.

I took the day off from work today, because it's mine and Brad's 4 year anniversary! Yay us! Happy Ides of March, everyone! This is a really long post, roll your eyes all you want, or go get a snack to munch on while you browse. I ain't apologizing for this novel. I'm just in a sharing mood.

I'm glad I was able to get the day off, that we have an awesome assistant district manager who accommodates us by sending help to the studio when we need it, sometimes herself (which is by far the most preferable). While my job can be stressful and irritating, it is still the best job I've ever had. I'm pretty happy with it and with everything in general right now. I'd have to be, the stupid people I often have to deal with and make happy, and yet I still like my job? Pretty crazy.

It makes me think of all the other jobs I've had, and the trials Brad and I have been through in just four years.. There have been quite a few. There was a time in my life I thought, wow, I'm really never gonna be able to do something I enjoy, am I? I grew up with the delusion that I needed to like my job. Bitter realists often laughed at me saying, "It's a job, you aren't supposed to like it, suck it up." But that just wasn't good enough for me. Working jobs I hated ate at my sanity, I'm not kidding.

So let's review!

I never had a job in high school. I was one of those lucky spoiled kids. I was told, "You don't need to work, you need to focus on school." Excellent! Unfortunately, I had no concept of a work ethic as a result, and some pretty unrealistic expectations of what a job should be like.

In college, I didn't understand HOW some of those kids did it. The typical course load, plus sorority and other club obligations, PLUS a job, or even TWO jobs. I knew one girl who kept a daily planner and just looking at it made me nauseous. And she was responsible, she didn't miss a single thing. No down time at all. HOW!?

I qualified for work study and had a placement or two on campus, that I always inevitably quit going to. Could have nurtured some amazing contacts and references, but I wasn't thinking like that.

After a particularly bad semester my senior year (2 A's and a D and an F, not even kidding), I barely graduated in time. Graduating was all I could think of, my future plans I could care less about. I couldn't afford to stay another semester at that wallet-sucking institution. At the end of every year, I begged my family to support my transferring somewhere cheaper where I could learn a straight-forward trade. Not that I didn't enjoy the liberal arts education I was getting, I just knew it was putting me so far in the hole... they all rejected my requests, so I kept on trucking year after year, not know WHAT IN THE HELL I was gonna do with my education. I had NO PLAN.

The summer after graduation, I worked at UK for a summer camp with my friend Julie. It was fun working with kids, they are so ridiculous. One night Julie and I almost got fired cause we had the night off and went to her apartment to have a glass of wine. That is literally what we almost got fired for. Needless to say, I didn't even try to get rehired the following summer.

I had no idea what to do with myself, but I had to get out of Grayson, so I moved in with my bestest friend in Marietta, Georgia, and got a job as a receptionist for a CPA firm in Atlanta. Sometimes the head of the company would call our office and just decide to go the fuck off on me for no reason. A couple of days ended in tears. One day, the head office lady was gone, so I had to access her computer to address a problem. Her calendar pops up, and I notice that almost every past day has a note on it about me. "5 minutes late from lunch" "10 minutes late to work" "Using yahoo search engine" "Ordered something online" (Flowers for my grandmother, thankyouverymuch). At this discovery, I put in notice that I would be leaving as soon as tax season was over. My last day was enjoyably "4-20".

I trained at Rafferty's as a server for three days before moving my ass back home, LOL.

Back to Grayson, and no matter how many times I applied to work at AT&T, I was always rejected. That did NOT help the ego. Nor did their postcard denials, lol. I couldn't get a job anywhere. Not K-mart, not Rite-Aid, not fast food. Nothing.

I meet Brad, and he helps me get a job at MSU. In the enrollment and financial aid department. I had A LOT to learn about this stuff. The sheer volume of calls was intimidating, and the inefficient enrollment and financial aid process in general. But that was okay, I like helping students, I just hated that we weren't allowed to do the simplest of things. Someone would be anxiously awaiting acceptance to the school, their test scores or whatever else would be lying in a pile in someone's office upstairs, but no one was allowed to enter them into the computer but ONE PERSON. ONE PERSON for THOUSANDS of applicants' ACT scores, transcripts, etc. Transy had work study students who did this shit! But no, not this office. I can't stand working for a system that is so messed up. But that wasn't even the worst of it. The worst was my boss. Granted, they were a person I wouldn't have liked in ANY capacity. From the start they didn't like me cause I got the job over someone they personally recommended for it. I'm sure it was believed this was because of Brad and not because I'm just a damn smart and capable person, which was obvious to the rest of the hiring committee. I'm sure they were relieved that Brad's girlfriend wasn't a total dumbass. She was often rude to me and made fun of me. I cried a lot. Just before busy season, the start of the new school year, I quit. Didn't even give notice. Just got the HELL out of there. Brad was admonished for my behavior from a higher up. But I didn't leave without letting my concerns known to specific people, and that horrible woman was almost immediately taken out of her 'management' position. So there.

In between periods of unemployment, I would substitute teach. The little kids were the best! The high school, not so much! I personally dreaded going to the high school, it was like living a nightmare. You know when you dream about something, but it's not exactly right or the way you remember it? That is what it was like. I really don't see how people I knew became teachers and went back to work there. Props to them, because it freaked my ass out. Even when I was in high school, every single morning on my way to school I would feel sick to my stomach. Like, ugh, what will THIS day bring? This was no different. And god knows I would NEVER be able to handle the politics. So I'm pretty happy I never went the route of being a high school biology or french teacher, which was my plan at certain points.

Finally, I get a job at Pathways. A job where theoretically I could use my so far worthless degree. It was a mash-up of social case-work, addiction, pregnancy, etc. Long story short, I learned I could never be a social worker. Not in that setting anyhow. I know some social workers who are damn good at their jobs, and I will never be them. You got a problem? FIX IT. You don't want to fix it? Then get out of my face and stop wasting my time, I don't want to hear your sob stories! I met a few people in that field of work who had severe martyr complexes. They enjoyed recognition for their "selfless" help to others. Bullshit. Ew. Or the power hungry bastards who want to control everyone, including their co-workers, and cause constant drama. There were four of us who were just used as pawns in their games. Not to mention I failed to see how the program I worked for helped ANYONE but the people in charge to feel like they were doing some kind of "good" for humanity. It was disgusting. After my wedding, when things had calmed down for me personally, I got the hell out of there, never to look back on social work again as some amazing road untraveled.

Went back to school to do something medical, anything medical and straight forward. Maybe nursing, or rad tech, or hell, maybe even a PA. I started out doing really well, but kinda had a nervous breakdown over the accumulating cost. I already had loans out the ass... here I was taking out more... I started to worry I wasn't gonna cut it and lose all this money invested... so that is exactly what happened. I flipped out. Went home and licked my wounds and pride and rattled nerves for a VERY long time. I felt like such an epic failure. I became depressed. It almost ruined Brad and I. I needed to get over this feeling that I needed to like my job. Just do anything, ANYTHING!

A friend of mine helped me to get hired as a legal secretary. Please keep in mind that at this point, I was not mentally well. LOL I was simply defeated and scared shitless. One of the lawyers I was terrified of! I wasn't thinking too clearly, I wasn't learning the stuff as well as I knew I was capable of. I struggled every day. My prescription of Clonipin was barely getting me through the day, let alone the month. I lost my shit completely. I left work for good one day. I knew Brad was going to be PISSED and wash his hands of me. I immediately went to my Grandma's and stayed there a while. I just wanted to die. So I checked myself in to KDMC's loony ward and had a much needed rest and tweaking of my meds. It was the lowest point of my life. I even tried to turn to God, but for all that is in me, I just cannot swallow that stuff. It is NOT for lack of trying, people!

Came back to the real world. Still struggling with major depression. I mean, it was bad. I slept all the time. I didn't take care of myself. Brad would have to tell me to shower, or brush my teeth, or even eat. I was so wrapped up in myself, it didn't even occur to me what Brad was going through. Our relationship was hanging by a thread and I didn't even NOTICE. He did EVERYTHING. Cook, clean, laundry, force me to fucking bathe.

A while later, I became my aunt and uncle's sort-of live-in nanny for the summer. It was a good thing. I was in Lexington all week long and would come home on some weekends. I thought I was doing better, honestly, I was. I was waking up, taking care of myself and my three cousins. I made a rude comment to Brad about his purchase of a new giant tv... and that was the straw that broke the camel's back. The SHIT HIT THE FAN. And we almost got divorced.

Months of valuable therapy later, things were better between us. We both got help that we needed. Brad got a better job that made him feel loads better. I accepted responsibility for myself. Brad worked through his bitterness at having to pull me through my shit. The author and spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle changed the way I viewed the world and handled it. Things changed so drastically. We were happy again. We never stopped loving each other, that was what made it so painful. Eventually, I felt so good, that when I walked into Petland one day to look at puppies, I asked about the help wanted signs for a kennel technician. I got a job the same day. Called Brad, told him I had to work the next day. I'm really surprised my random shit hasn't caused him a heart attack yet.

I loved the puppies, I even loved my supervisor who was generally disliked by most everyone. I burnt out quickly with the job though, because the other technicians were so irresponsible I was working ALL THE DAMN TIME. I was practically working like a doctor on call for minimum wage. I wasn't treated like a person there, and so I quit. But instead of feeling like a failure, I only thought, okay, what's next? I attempted to start a dog grooming business. But with no one to really learn from, it became a tall order and my interest waned. I babysat my nephew for a while. Then I went in with my brother and sisters to get our pictures taken at Olan Mills. I met Christy, who is AWESOME and fun. I was attracted to having creative reign over something. This was something I could be really good at. I've always been creative and crafty. I understand basic aesthetic principles. And I'm a damn quick learner.

So far so good! In general, studio photography is limited and kinda cheesy and by definition is staged. But when you have a good sitting, or even a bad sitting, and yet you still manage to capture some priceless photos of a family or someone's kids, it's an amazing feeling. The families who walk in and tell you, "Good luck getting some good photos of little Bob here, he hates this kind of thing, he hasn't had a nap, he's pissy and difficult," then you struggle through a session that makes you want to pull your hair out, then you pull up the pictures and even you are shocked that some of them turned out so damn perfect, and they end up buying all of them, you just feel SO good! It definitely makes up for the bad experiences.

So when I run into people, and they ask what I do, then they start giving me advice on other careers or ways in which I could use my degree, they are so wasting their time and mine. I don't want anything else. This is amazing and I love it. Never imagined I'd be where I'm at today.

So happy four year anniversary to us! Brad I love you and I'm so thankful you didn't give up on me, or that I didn't let you, or whatever... ;) You are my favorite person in the world and my best friend.

When you dare to care...

I guess you are a fool.

Facebook probably isn't the best place for me to air my grievances on the Kony 2012 issue. So I'm bringing them here.

The other night, I'm sitting on my ass as usual while browsing the book of faces. A friend of mine that I have a lot of respect for shares a video calling for social awareness of a problem. It's thousands of miles away, in a country I've never been to, nor do I have the desire to go, and honestly, I probably won't ever go. It had previously not registered on my consciousness since maybe some movie based there or having to memorize where it was in high school geography. So why should I care?

Well, for whatever reasons, I do care, and I'd like to think it's because I'm a human being.

If you want to see the ~30 minute video, you can watch it at www.invisiblechildren.com. If you are one of the 7 million who haven't seen it.

The video itself isn't the point, but it's very informative. It's been criticized for not being comprehensive. But I wouldn't call the insipid facebook 'shares' of "share if you wish cancer would go away" comprehensive either. But I guess that's okay... and this is not. For some reason.

Some guys visited Uganda and made friends and witnessed the atrocities faced there by the local families at the hands of Joseph Kony, this complete psychopath who has been allowed to run a muck in their backyards (and homes, really) for decades. Through the efforts of these few activists, America (President Obama) officially ok'd sending some US special ops forces to try to help in Kony's apprehension. It has yet been done, but this group's primary concern is that we don't stop. That he be found. That he faces trial for his crimes against humanity. The problem: people just aren't aware of this guy and what he's done and probably continues to do (maybe not in Uganda anymore, but surely this guy hasn't retired to a fishing community where he drinks the rest of his life away dreaming about children yet un-molested).

So the group continues to make Kony a household name in America so that we can't claim ignorance.

Beautifully done video. These guys are talented. What a good way to use your talents. To give back to humanity. In a time when we are all pissed off and arguing with one another about whether or not Obama is destroying the country, what a nice wake-up call that there are better things to devote your time to.

BUT WAIT!

Mere minutes after viewing the video, signing the petition, and donating some of my money because I love what these guys are doing and how they are doing it... the critics and the cynics rear their ugly heads.

I'm not saying it's wrong to question what you are told. Holy shit, I'm an atheist. It's what I DO. But the critics are hurling arguments that violate the same standards they are holding these guys up to- they are misleading people. Disenfranchising them just a little more.

They aren't BBB accredited!

They get 2 out of 4 stars on Charity Navigator!

Even Ugandans are mad at this video!

The LRA isn't even active in Uganda now, hasn't been since 2006!

Why should you help the Ugandan government apprehend a man for doing things they themselves have done?

Only 32% of donations go to on the ground support!

Why give a crap what is going on over there when America is suffering here?

How dare you care about this when West Liberty is in ruins after last week's tornadoes?

When approached for peace, Kony only retaliates with more violence!

This is just another example of a charity making money off of white guilt!

They won't even share their financial statements!

Well. For an official response to these critiques from the Invisible Children organization, you can go here: http://s3.amazonaws.com/www.invisiblechildren.com/critiques.html

My husband just made the observation that there are no statutes of limitations on crimes against humanity. Nazi's were still being held accountable well into the 70s for their crimes during WWII. And I'm sorry, but I'm not aware of any large scale villains in America who are kidnapping children, giving them guns and knives, and forcing them to mutilate people. And if there were, it would DEFINITELY get the attention it deserved, America would be outraged. Ugandan politicians aren't happy about the video? I guess I wouldn't be happy about a video exposing the lack of control I had in my country either. They say it's misleading because that stuff isn't happening in Uganda anymore. Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I gleaned perfectly well from the video that Kony's "army" has migrated to other areas. I only had to watch it one time to be aware of that fact. That doesn't mean this guy should be forgotten about or not pursued! What do you think he's doing right now wherever he is? Playing scrabble?

As for 32% of donations going to ground support... did you know that one dollar donated to the Humane Society of the United States (a human society in name only) between the years 2000-2009 equaled only on average 7 cents going to help an animal at all? And yet there they are. Making MILLIONS year after year. But damn these Invisible Children people! They just want our money!

Their response to the critiques make complete sense to me. And shows that whatever the haters are doing or saying against them is harmful to the point they are trying to make. Am I defending them so ferociously because I gave them my money? Maybe. I know I certainly don't want to have to admit I've been had or scammed. As of right now, I'm pretty sure I haven't been. If it comes to that, I'll be pretty pissed off, but not at myself. I've done dumber shit. Like letting pill heads borrow money. I'm not gonna lose sleep over a well-intended donation just because minutes later the collective eye-rolling took place. And I'm glad that wasn't my reaction to this video, cause it would indicate I'm so numb I'm barely human anymore. When it comes to light that my donation actually went to the production of eco-friendly dildos, I'll be sure to blog about that too.

I'd like to release Kony in some American town armed with a gun and no threat that he will be pursued or receive justice for anything he might choose to do. See how that goes.

As for the tornado victims, you think I don't care? You think it hurts to see our close neighbors go through this shit? Of course it does! But in the same way, you could say we are being over dramatic about something that happens in towns all across America every year, but we never cared much about it then. Now all the sudden you care? Way to jump on a bandwagon! See? That is rude and hurtful to say.

So go eat shit. I'm going to go donate now to rebuilding West Liberty AND to KONY2012. And to whatever in the hell else I feel like throwing my hard-earned money at. Maybe animal rights. Or gay rights. Or Alzheimer's. Maybe the church of the FSM. Whatever. I'd be doing a lot more good than liking your status if I think cancer sucks.

back to the point...

Gosh I wish I could format these posts better when I add pictures. I don't know where in the hell this text is going to end up.






So anyhow... look at me! Aside from giving myself a tan and hiding some blemishes, these photos have not been altered, haha. Officially, I've gone from 213 to 188.5. From 36 bmi to 32. 7cm off the chest, 9 off the waist, 3 off hips and 2 from forearm. These numbers would be even more impressive if I had not fallen off the wagon when I took that two week hiatus to Lexington, then Chicago, then Virginia, where I lost all hold on routine and haven't stepped foot in the gym since... Maybe looking at these photos will get my butt back in there before they forget I bought a membership?

Most importantly, look how much whiter my socks have gotten. I'm probably most proud of that.

I'll hit up Brad when he gets a break from work. Happy snow-day of slush and ick, and to all a good night. :D

I've been gas-lit, bitches.

After much internal debate with myself, and external debate with Brad, I have had censorship forced upon me in reference to the content of this post. It's going to be vague. But I hope it still releases this shitty energy I have stuck inside me at this moment. (Upon proof-reading I actually got very specific. Oh well. I do feel better, though! hahahaha, suck it.)

It actually has to do with planning this high school reunion, which has been pretty fun so far, really. A lot more people are interested than I thought would be. I hope it turns out really well.

96 people have happily sent me their addresses for the reunion. And then there's this one person. Brad says if I blog about the situation, I've let them have power over my emotions, and they are ultimately nothing to me, so why should I care so much? I shouldn't care. I shouldn't be this angry. But I haven't done anything to provoke their attitude with me! It makes me want to spit nails!

I've been so careful and neutral like Switzerland. This person wanted me to call them to get their info. I read nothing into that besides just feeling generally annoyed. They can text me these messages, would it be so hard to text me their address? I'm like, ok, but I had to go to work and live my life and such. Most of the day goes by. Shandon calls and wants to help out in some way, and I say, yeah, you can call so-and-so and get their info for me. Thanks so much! He immediately does this, gets put to voicemail, but didn't recognize the name on the machine. He lets me know he thinks it's the wrong number.

So I ask so-and-so why they can't just text me the info, and I end with my favorite smiley :D Who in the world can hate the smiley-d? No one. It's adorable.

They respond that they suck at texting and that if I'm going to make this into "something crazy" to not worry about it.

What. The. Fuck. I sensed the bait. There it was. So delicious to look upon.

I retreated, hands in the air. Woah, sorry. We thought we had the wrong number. No big deal. Won't bother you. (I was very proud of this)

They continue. That is the right number, they say. "And I since sarcasm." Let's assume they meant sense. They indicate they are interested in coming to the reunion but also add "Don't make something a big deal that is not."

Of course, a bigger person wouldn't be angry at this. I guess it is believed "a crazy girl" would be though. Well, call me crazy, because I wanted to scream. What in the hell had I done to this person? Why are they labeling this as crazy? I don't get it?

I tried one more time. I went so far as to take partial blame for what is now a communication cluster-fuck. Something to the effect of, 'sorry, thought maybe you were dicking me around with the wrong number, if you want, you can call Shandon at this number and tell him your info.' I figured at that point, dude probably didn't want to talk to me. I sure as hell wasn't going to call him.

Mr. Last Word ends with "U made me feel like a stalker or something its to much, over me trying to work with ya. Some things I will never understand"

The situation reminds me of an article I read. Try this on for size:

A Message To Women From A Man: You Are Not Crazy.

Go read it, I'll wait.

You bitches get what I'm sayin'?

This person is not an ex, or even a friend I had screwed over in the past. Just a person. A damn unstable one. Takes one to know one, I guess! Sorry, I've already shelled out over $100 bucks for this damn thing, I ain't takin' your shit. They've been deleted. And I've fulfilled their prediction that I was going to make a big deal out of this. Which I kinda hate myself for. But now I feel better.

Stir Crazy.

So when I was first asked to come to the Christiansburg, VA studio, I was kinda excited. Now I'm like... it's only Thursday? Oh. My. God. This is terrible.

Yesterday, I worked 10-2, made NO money, took NO pictures. Just sat on the phone all day. And I thought our studio was small... nope. It's rather big. Gonna have to start appreciating that.

Get your vomit bags in position cause... I MISS MY BRAD! Holy shit! We've never been away from each other this long. EVER. Well, I saw him Saturday while we drove to Chicago together, spent the night, then he swung by the airport while I did a tuck 'n roll out of the vehicle. See ya later! On my way home to vegetate for days until he gets back... then hey! Christiansburg, VA! Well, I had nothing else to do. I'd already been away from the house for a week so I thought I'd just roll with it.

I figured, hey. I'll have SO much down time, I can use it to get some of this reunion stuff in order. Uh... it took like 10 minutes to make some phone calls and get some prices. LOL So... twiddle my thumbs, twiddle twiddle. I have a smoking room, and it's kinda making me feel really gross. So glad I don't smoke in our house.

So that's what I'm doing right now. Nothing. And for once, that has me irritable. I'm usually more than happy to do nothing. But I've eaten nothing but CRAP food for two weeks, I've not seen the gym in ever, I miss my dog, and I've smoked my own weight in cigs the past two days. I wanna be in Willard :(

High School. Gross.

Yeah I know, where did I disappear to? No where, really. Just working. Decorating our living space. Hanging out in Lex with my aunt. Just got back from a night in Illinois with Brad (first I had seen him in a week, jeeeeeze). Had a birthday. Turned 29. This week away from home has been brutal on any healthy eating habits I had developed... ugh. I physically feel like shit cause that is all I've eaten. Haven't been to the gym in well over a week. Tsk, tsk! Flew on a plane today, with a hangover, tired as hell. When I woke up during landing, all my panicked mind could think of was the quickest possible route to a bed where I could sleep for EVER. That didn't happen. Oooh, I do not feel good right now. Mentally, I'm pretty spot on, though. This mind never rests.

Just thought I'd vent about something. At the risk of hurting people's feelings (but what is worth venting about if it doesn't do at LEAST that). So I graduated high school in 2001. It is now 2012 and we have yet to have a class reunion, although one is tentatively set for March. A part of me really wants to give a shit. A part of me wants to volunteer my time to making it worthwhile. I have the time. And I love planning things, making things happen. I'm creative, crafty, resourceful. Projects keep me going. And I'm pretty damn full of myself, so I must say if I did help, it would be 100% better than anything they could come up with in my absence. Because I am awesome. Yes, that is how arrogant I am about myself and my abilities. I ain't afraid to say it.

So I'm so tempted to care. But then I remember something. It's my 10 year high school reunion. How disgusting.

I look back on those years and... it makes my stomach hurt, honestly. I think, shit, how could I have ever lived that way, and it's funny cause my 17 year old self would probably think the same about me now.

I never understood the people I graduated with who missed high school. But I was in a suspended state of animation, still stuck in the education system, went on to college. I didn't understand their lamentations until I finally graduated and was thrown into the real world. Yeah, it really does SUCK some major balls. Not all the time, but it can, and not a single one of us appreciated when it didn't suck so much back then. A zit was the end of the world, now getting sick and paying medical bills while having no income is the real end of the world. That will probably seem silly too, one of these days, when we look back. So I finally do get it now. But I wouldn't wish myself back there for ANYTHING. I mean, ew. Ew. Ew.

But no one has any really excellent ideas or a plan for executing those ideas and it's killing me. I just want to intervene before someone hurts themselves thinking too hard. It has been suggested it be a tail-gate party, back in the fall, during a home football game. That made me want to vomit. I had no school spirit whatsoever. If I had to pick a sport I could happily live without, it would be football. And if I want to stare at and judge the people I went to high school with, I'll log on to Facebook, and at least I can be drunk while doing that.

Ugh. Makes me feel ill just thinking about it all. The first mistake they made was asking for everyone's input. Everyone will never agree. It's one of those things you just gotta do and say, take it or leave it. Reminds me of planning my wedding. Too many cooks in the kitchen. I would have privately asked some people to help out, then just DONE it. Even at the risk of it SUCKING. And no one coming. And you can bet I would have planned it well in advance. Makes me feel like getting on the facebook page for it and announcing in all caps, OKAY, I'M CALLING THE SHOTS, THIS FUCKER IS GOING DOWN IN JUNE, BRING MARSHMALLOWS, WATCH YOUR MAIL, SEE YOU SOON. IF I WANT YOUR HELP, I'LL ASK FOR IT. BLOW ME. TAKE CARE. **Animal sacrifice and prayers appreciated**

But I don't care, right? I don't care. I don't care... really, your wearing THAT? I mean, I don't care, I don't care...

Blah

January 6th, 2012. What a day. It hasn't even started for me yet.

Megan & Heath are having a baby girl! Found out this morning. That's fabulous! Do I wish it were me? Yeah. But I'm kinda focused right now on losing weight, not gaining it, so it's all good. I'm super happy for them, a little girl is gonna be so much fun! She'll probably be perfect, like Holden. When/if Brad and I ever reproduce, they will probably be little demon shits, but that is fun too, I guess. It's about time the McDavid family had a little girl!

In other news, I'm about ready to go Misery on Brad's ass and keep him in the basement with broken ankles, feeding him only McDonald's. He shared his weight with me this morning (ugh) and he is at 238. He has almost lost 30 effing pounds. I've lost 15. *sigh* I'm really just not trying hard enough. I know, I know, men lose it more easily, I really do have reasonable expectations for myself. But I really am slipping up on a regular basis, eating whatever I can get my hands on sometimes. I just feel so tired. I don't want to plan my healthy food. I've even had many moments sitting in front of the computer, not knowing what to do, what to search for, and that might seem lame, but it means one thing: I am bored. I am down. I'm not even really excited about the living room re-do. I just feel blah.

It probably has to do with January. It's just a boring and depressing month. It's getting colder. It snowed the other day. There are no holidays to look forward to and prepare for. Except my birthday! January 26... I'll be 29. But I find that a tad depressing as well.

I think part of the problem is that my hours at work have dropped drastically. When I don't have a good reason to get up in the morning (cause I've not been going in til like 4 or 5) then I just... don't. Get up. It's a bad habit to get back into. Financially, I miss the hours, but it's not like we can't get by, we are fine without my contribution. But mentally... I just need that. I really enjoy the job. I like organizing and preparing, calling customers, getting everything done for the day. Just makes me feel accomplished in some small way. Maybe I need to find a place to volunteer at. Wish Grayson had an animal shelter.

Anyway, blah.

Are you gel'in?

As in, do your limbs feel like gelatin, because mine do.

I've been to the gym twice now. I was so sore yesterday I put it off until after work, hoping I would have worked out some kinks, but not really. I just avoided any squats or leg presses. I'm walking around like a puppet today!

Tuesday I printed off my workoutbox checklist for day 1 of week 1 Inferno standard... note that this is the beginner's work out. After Standard there are two more versions, the hardest being extreme. Watched all the exercises on their website, kinda made me wanna barf. Supermans? Cross bicycles? Planking? Ok, whatever.

Brad A. (not husband Brad) from the gym took one look at my checklist and just laughed at me. It was priceless really. Asked if I was trying to kill myself. "Ok, then YOU tell me what to do and I'll do it." So he did. It was fun, really. It quit being fun the next morning! OUCH. Probably gonna get my money back from workoutbox, at least until I get in the swing of things. Sorry, Mr. Steffan.

So my legs hurt like hell. He had me do squats and I thought, okie dokie, he initially said 12, which quickly changed to 8 after I was clearly dying. Leg presses were easier, but I wasn't pushing 195 pounds with those either. Damn, I'm a heavy girl.

I don't like other people being there, but for the most part everyone ignores everyone else which I like. If you see me at the gym and I ignore you, don't let it hurt your feelings. I'm going through my own personal hell and you just aren't invited.

Before my workout I eat some fruit. A glass of milk is recommended, but I don't have that on me usually, so I skip it. Afterwards I've been drinking this special k protein shake. I feel like such a douchebag drinking it. Only douchebags drink protein shakes, right? I need to find a cheaper alternative, but that was all I could find at Ralph's Foodfair. That and high protein kibble, so I went with the shake.

This next part is for my aunt, an update on our living room re-do. We are getting new furniture for the living room, we are gonna paint this monstrosity, the quilt will be coming down. We are painting a straw color, the same color Jilda has in her living room, cause I like it. It's warm and has a yellow feel to it because of the oak trim. We are waiting on swatches of fabric from Big Sandy so I can ok the purchase of new furniture. The chairs are gonna be a light wine color and the couch an apple green. Everyone but Brad is convinced I'm going to hate it. It is funny though that I seem to love combos of yellow, green and red of varying shades. I also very much like blue, but not with the green and yellow I'm looking at. And I'm gonna change our one yellow wall in the kitchen to the green we also have in there so that it transitions better. Mustard yellow just ain't doin' it for me anymore.

So that's fun! We are also getting the carpets cleaned cause this shit is nasty. Who knows what bodily secretions (both animal and human) are in this carpet.

And I'm waiting Brad out on the taking down of the x-mas tree. As usual. :)

As for work... yeah. It's good. I haven't had many hours this week, and I've very much enjoyed being lazy. Brad had to force me out of a nap yesterday to get ready to go in. No wanty! I love it, minus the big brother feel I get from the powers that be. They know my every move... somehow...

It's on like Donkey Kong.

This has nothing to do with it being the first day of 2012 and everything to do with the fact that I now know I will always have Mon & Tues off from work, and things are gonna settle down and become a lot more routine.

But I just took a plunge and purchased a 26 week workout/training/nutrition program from www.workoutbox.com and I'm all tingly about it. Tomorrow I am going to join a gym because home is for naps and food and facebook, not exercising. I'm told the gym in town next to Arby's is open 24/7, you get a key card and go whenever, so I'mma do that and work out after work and whenever else I can. For now, no, I am not interested in a work out buddy, this shit is gonna be embarrassing. But maybe with time.

Could have purchased the at-home plan, we do have dumbells and an eliptical, but I'm afraid I would get lazy and bored. I will be sure to keep everyone updated on workoutbox and how I feel about it. I know a guy who uses it and has been pretty successful so far. It changes your nutrition goals daily based on what part of the workout you are on. You get days off, you get certain weeks that are pretty low key, then some that bust your ass. You get access to trainers who know their stuff. They have videos of every exercise and the different machines at the gym so you don't do anything too stupid. And it's pretty damn affordable. The gym membership will probably be the worst of it.

And besides getting my ass across town to the gym, the only other difficult part will be eating right. I have sucked at this the past two weeks. Did you know superquick has delicious chili-cheese filled corndogs? They do. Well, they did. Until I ate them.

But, my starting stats for workoutbox are as follows:

Weight: 195

Body Fat: 28.5%

Waist: 46 in

Hip: 46 in

Chest: 47 in

These numbers are all down from when I started eating better in October. Not exactly an hour-glass figure, am I? I'm sad to report my boobs have seen the most significant loss. Can't have it all. And my BMI has gone from 36 to 33.

Brad might do workoutbox at home, but he may not, he is stubborn and wants to do it himself. In the past when he has put his mind to it, he can slim down considerably. I need a to-do list to keep me on track, so I went that route.

Looking forward to getting started. I'm gonna go peruse my workoutbox stuff now. Neato-low-fat-burrito!