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Like Wonder Woman, only in stilettos.....
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All About Me: Odds and Ends
I'm supposed to be writing my paper for my Mexican American Studies class. Seeing as it's 65% of my grade, I should be focused, but I'm not. While I am typing this, I am also uploading pictures from my camera and listening to Amy Winehouse and her music leads to deep thought for me, but not about gender stereotypes and race relations, which is what my paper is supposed to be about. I should probably change that.....
It's almost Holiday season. My shopping is normally almost done by now, but I haven't even started. I am having a hard time finding any of my friends that I truly want to buy presents for. How sad is it that I would find more joy buying presents for people that I've never met, namely blog friends, and friends that I've reconnected with on Facebook, than friends that I see every day or at least twice a month? Maybe I'm being perverse, but I just don't care too much anymore. I kinda decided I'm only buying practical presents for people that need them. I am not contributing to anyone else's gluttony...well, unless I find out that someone I wasn't intending to buy a present for buys me one. I've had that happen to me too many times and I refuse to be the one making someone else feel dumb for putting the time and effort into buying a present and then receiving that "Oh shit!" look that clearly conveys they didn't buy you anything.
I wanted to blog about my trip to Vegas with Paul. I keep trying to wait until I'm in a better mood but "permanently bitchy" seems to be a constant state of mind, so I will probably just write it and pray he doesn't read it because he gets his feelings hurt *entirely* too easily and some feeling hurting is going to occur if I write about that trip.
Sorry for the suck fest. I will try to be more cheerful in my next entry. As usual, there's something else going on and, as usual, I don't know how to constructively process it. I think that's a life skill your parents are supposed to teach you but, seeing as I don't think they know how to do it themselves, I might be outta gas....
State of the Union: Depressingly cheerless
Listening to: When Doves Cry by Prince |
Posted: 1:49 PM, Sun 15 Nov 2009 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Suckage
I am in a rut. I get up. I go to school. I go to work. I go home and do homework. I go to bed. I get up. I go to school. You know how it goes. On weekends, all I want to do is sleep. If I didn't have friends that would beat me stupid if I didn't go to their parties and events, I probably wouldn't go anywhere at all. Life has no color. No texture. No scent.
I was depressed when I started dating my ex. I will freely admit it now. It was bad. Now? Now I'm in a free-fall. I cry. I eat. I eat some more. I don't cry for him. He isn't worth it. I cry because I've tasted of life and it isn't sweet anymore.
State of the Union: Sad
Listening to: Not a thing |
Posted: 5:48 PM, Thu 5 Nov 2009 in All About Me |
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All About Me: New Blog
So, I set up camp at the new blog site. I can hear you snickering and asking "which one?" I know we've had 50,000,000 of them. I'm laughing right along with you. I love you guys enough to migrate to the new site. That and the fact that it is a pain in the butt to flip from site to site trying to keep up with everyone, and I hate RSS feeds, and there is the fact that I'm lazy. I hope I see all of you over there once this place goes ker-plooey.
I'm totally unoriginal, so you can find me at: http://slayerbarbie.efx3.com. Send me a line with your address thingy and I'll make sure to add you because I don't want to lose contact with anyone when this place goes up in a puff of dust.
I am glad that, in a spurt of anger at EFX after an extended downtime (damn you, spammers!), I manually transferred all my blog posts to Blogger. At the time, I thought I was being passive-aggressive, but it made it that much easier to transfer all of them to the new site. I just clicked two buttons and my whole blog was transferred in less than five seconds.
I don't know how to do many techy things, but I love it when someone dumbs it down so much that even *I* can do it.....
State of the Union: Optimistic
Listening to: Me and Mr. Jones by Amy Winehouse |
Posted: 3:56 AM, Mon 16 Mar 2009 in All About Me |
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All About Me: The BBC Thinks Very Poorly of Us
I stole this from Amy's BookFace page and was outraged.
The BBC believes most people will have only read 6 of the 100 books here.
Instructions:
1) Look at the list and put an 'x' after those you have read.
2) Tally your total at the bottom.
3) Tag others and pass it on.
1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen (x)
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien (x)
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte (x)
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee (x)
6 The Bible (x )
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte (x)
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell (x)
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens (x)
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott (x)
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy (x)
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller (x)
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (x)
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier (x)
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien (x)
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger (x)
19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot (x)
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell (x)
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald (x)
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens (x)
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy (x)
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams (x)
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (x)
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck (x)
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll (x)
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame (x)
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy (x)
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens (x)
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis (x)
34 Emma - Jane Austen (x)
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen (x)
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis (x)
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini (x)
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden (x)
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne (x)
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell (x)
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown (x)
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez (x)
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery (x)
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood (x)
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding (x)
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan (x)
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen (x)
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens (x)
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley (x)
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez (x)
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck (x)
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas (x)
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac (x)
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy (x)
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding (x)
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville (x)
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens(x)
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker (x)
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett (x)
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce (x)
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath (x)
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray (x)
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens (x)
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker (x)
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro (x)
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert (x)
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White (x)
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom (x)
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (x)
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad (x)
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery (x)
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams (x)
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas (x)
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare (x)
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl (x)
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo (x)
72 out of 100. In your face, BBC!! I'm not even counting all the movie versions I watched as well. I am totally kvelling. Yes, I am a nerd. I will admit it....
State of the Union: Smugly Superior (Only six? pssssh!)
Listening to: Horizon by Rachel Yamagata |
Posted: 9:04 AM, Tue 10 Mar 2009 in All About Me |
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All About Me: An Elantra? You Stole my Elantra?!?!?!?!?!
In case you haven't seen my My Space, Facebook, or Twitter page, my car got stolen on Friday night. Not broken into. Stolen. My car. Mine. My Hyundai Elantra. It's not like I drive a Mercedes or a Lexus or anything. I have a beater Elantra with 15 more payments on it. My car got stolen from downtown Austin. From a parking garage. I could understand if it was parked on the street or in some shady alley, but a parking garage?!??! Seriously?
I was downtown celebrating Julie's birthday. We went to Cork and Co. Yes, I was in a wine bar. No worries, though, because you know I didn't drink any of that crap. Everyone kept laughing because I kept declining glasses saying," No thanks, I don't like moldy grapes." I had two glasses of champagne. Then we went to Qua where the asshole doorguy wouldn't let my friend Vanessa in. He kept saying that she was violating the dress code (she was wearing jeans, a black dress shirt, high heel sandals, and a gray jacket) but he would never come out and say what the violation was. Basically, he was discriminating against her because she's a bigger gal, but he didn't want to say it because he didn't want to get sued. Julie was livid and went off on him because we had just celebrated Vanessa's birthday like two weeks before there and she was wearing the same outfit she wore that night.
We ended up at Grüv. I only had one gin and tonic and a woo woo shot. I also got felt up on the cool by this hot redhead in the bathroom, but that's typical. We ended up in the V.I.P. section dancing and being stupid. Some black dude comes up where Julie and I are dancing, takes my hand and then says," Are you guys up for fucking?" *screech* Say wha? I jerked my hand back and said,"Absolutely not." Then the asshole had the nerve to get mad and say, "Well, I wasn't really talking about you since you're overweight." Scuze me, honey, but seeing as you were looking me in the eye and holding my fucking hand, who the hell else could you possibly be talking to? Me, being the evil bitch I am, just laughed and told him," I'm smaller than the bitch you walked in here with." (Judging by the look on his face, it *had* to be his sister or his first cousin. He looked like he wanted to Ike Turner me). I looked him up and down and told him I don't like dark meat and I gave up ugly boys when I turned 25. He slunk off like the maggot he is. Then, as we're leaving, I see him talking to some coked out blond chick with the darkest roots ever and the ugliest outfit in creation. I know he saw me laughing at him because I did it ALL in his face.
We were walking through downtown and passed this girl that had a guy in front of her and a guy behind and I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard him say,"Maybe we can get some double penetration action." That girl looked like she was a little high, but completely turned on by the idea. I bet her ass is mighty sore today. We went to Vanessa's SUV and then she took me to go to my car, except my car wasn't there. We kept driving up and down the whole garage and it wasn't there. We retraced my steps that night and she and Julie insisted on checking all the neighboring garages, but I know me. I'm a creature of habit. I park my car in the same garage every time I go out. I just assumed it got towed or something. I called the tow company like four times. It didn't even dawn on me until 8 a.m. the following morning that someone actually stole my car. Like I said, I drive an Elantra. Who would honestly steal my car?
My mom flipped out. My dad was shocked like me. An ELANTRA, People! The police came to file a report (that officer was totally hot!!!!!) and, when I told him what kind of car I had, even *he* rolled his eyes and said I'd get my car back eventually. He thinks some teenage asswipes are joy riding in it and it'll turn up. I ended up having to get a rental car that guzzles gas and I am just not happy. One of the belly dancing skirts my nana made me for Hanukkah was in my trunk and my iPod was hooked up to my stereo. I was going to get an iPod touch anyway, so I'm not mad about that, but I'm PISSED because my Britney Spears remix cd was in the cd player and I had to practically give away my first born to get one of my deejay friends to make it for me, so I'm livid about that. Everyone has remarked on how not angry I am about this. I don't know. I should be mad, but I feel strangely detached. I'm more pissed off about my c.d.
If your cousin stole my car, please tell him to leave it on the side of the highway so the popos can get it and I can turn this rental car in. He can keep the stereo and the iPod, but tell your cousin that he'd better return my belly dance skirt and he'd *definitely* better return my c.d. or else I'm going to break his fucking face.
State of the Union: Flabbergasted (A flipping ELANTRA)
Listening to: If You Seek Amy by Britney Spears |
Posted: 11:11 PM, Sun 1 Feb 2009 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Furze
You ever want to just go out and be reckless and irresponsible? That's how I felt. That's what I was prepared to do. For many, many years, that's how I lived. I partied seven days a week from dusk til dawn and managed to work my family, my friends, and my studies in around going out, mingling, and drinking with a bar full of strangers. I wanted to go out? Ask me what night of the week it was and I could tell you where the happening spot was. I felt like waking up in another city, state, or country? Bon Voyage. I had my passport at the ready and I was off. I see a guy I liked? All it took was one look and a toss of red hair and I would be making out with him before the night was over.
Everywhere I went, there was someone I knew, some adventure waiting to happen, some wild story that I knew I would be telling the next day. I look back on that time and it was a wild, hazy, beautiful mess.That's the life that I retreat to when things get rough, when they don't go my way, when everything sucks, basically.
Work is the same. School is the same. My friends are the same. Everything is the same, except me. I don't want to be here. I force myself to stay here. I force myself to be responsible and to plod on. I know what my problem is. It's rapidly approaching the one year anniversary of the worst month of my life. I know why I feel sad. I know why I cry. I know why I want to crawl out of my own skin.
Nothing is going right and I just hate my life right about now. There are isolated incidences of great merriment, but everything just sucks for the most part. I know that it's me that's making everything worse than what it is. I know that it's psychological and can be tied in with my subconscious mind remembering that, at this time last year, my whole world was falling apart. I know there are people out there that have it way worse than me. I shouldn't be sitting here crying because there are people out there that really have something to cry about.
Death is a natural part of life. I get that. You want the people that you love to not be in pain anymore. I get that. I just wish that it didn't hurt so badly and I wish that it didn't mean that I would have to be left behind without those that I love. I don't know which one of them I'm crying for more. I just know that I'm crying and I can't stop. |
Posted: 11:42 PM, Mon 26 Jan 2009 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Hairspray
My hair used to be the bane of my existence. It was red, not burning-bush red, but red enough for me to be the butt of some serious jokes. When I turned sixteen, I dyed my hair flaming red. My mother was not amused. Slowly, I fell in love with my hair. I found a dye that would tame it so that it wouldn't look Ronald McDonald red. When they stopped making that dye, I cried. Then I promptly dyed my hair jet black. I had a love/hate relationship with my hair. It required constant attention, would need to be blow dried regularly to keep it from fro-ing up, and, no matter how much I would dye it dark, the red hair would reemerge like clockwork every three to four weeks or so because it ate dye for lunch. Men would stare at my hair and make comments about foxy redheads. I didn't know the power that I had. I hated my hair with a passion, until it started falling out.
Breast cancer runs in my family. My great grandmother had it, my grandmother had it, my aunt had it and I did, too. My great grandmother and my grandmother died from it. My aunt and I have been lucky. Hers was discovered when she went in complaining about being short of breath all the time. She was a smoker and, when they went to scan her lungs, they caught it. They ended up putting a pump in her chest and she was cranky as usual, but now she wears wigs that made her look young and snazzy. Mine went undetected for a while. If my ex wasn't such a horndog pervert who couldn't keep his hands to himself, my story might have had a different ending.
I hate doctors and hospitals. After spending half your childhood in the emergency room, you would, too. I still hate hospitals. I hate doctor's waiting rooms. I hate mammogram machines. I hate biopsies. I hate oncologists. I hate MRIs. I hate needles. I hate chemo. I hate radiation. You name it; I hate it. I hate being sick. I hate people poking me. I hate people prodding me. I hate people looking at me. I've hated this entire process, which pulled me away from my life, my studies, and away from my friends. I hated being nauseous all the time. I hated having no energy. I hated lying about why I looked like shit all the time and why I never wanted to go anywhere because I felt like shit. I hated all of it, but most of all, I hated my hair.
I hated how my hair fell out in chunks. I hated how I looked like a mangy dog. I hated it enough to the point where I pulled a Britney and cut it all off (Now you know why I used to get so sensitive when people made jokes about her). They throw all kinds of fact at you. They give you all kinds of odds. They tell you things that you believe and others that you don't. They tell you that your hair will grow back. They don't tell you how the process seems to drag on forever. They tell you that it may be thinner than it was before. They didn't mention how brittle and prone to breakage it would become. They tell you that it may grow back in a darker shade than it was before. They don't mention that your glorious hair color, a color that started to look better and suit you as you grew up and matured, that glorious shade of red that looked like a red-gold haze in the sun, that made men turn around and notice you, would be stripped away, muted and dulled.
So, I wear my "donated hair" until my real hair grows back to the length it was before it fell out. You've all seen the wigs I wear. I go from red, to black, to brown, from shoulder length to the crack of my ass and back with no rhyme or reason. I change wigs the way people change underwear. It’s like getting to be someone new, someone different, someone who wasn't sick. I get to be someone with a history and a past that isn’t as jacked up as mine.
I know that I'm one of the lucky ones. I'm still here. I'm still alive. My breasts are almost entirely intact. My mother has almost forgiven me for keeping it from her for so long. My dad and I decided to keep it from her until I went into remission and stayed there for a while. She's still angry with me, but I catch her looking at me sometimes. I see the fear in her eyes and I know what she's thinking. I can't die because she's lost too much already, too many people she loves have died and left her. I take care of my mother, not the other way around. When we're being playful, I tell her that I'm the parent and she's the child, and she laughs, but her laugh is tinny and a little hollow, because she knows the truth of my words.
My dad, for all his faults, has been my rock through all of this. Sometimes, I feel horrible for that man. He gets dumped with all the bad things in my life. He has to clean up all the messes that I make, deal with all the health problems, legal issues, all the crap, basically. He gets saddled with all the bad stuff and none of the good. I’m here and I think it’s from his sheer force of will alone. He won’t let me die. I'm all he has left as his faith died when my brother did six years ago. My dad and nana got here on Sunday to celebrate Hanukkah and I needed to get him something. What do you give the person that has enough money to buy *anything* his heart desires? What can you possibly give someone that has everything and lacks for nothing?
You give him hope.
State of the Union: Optimistic
Listening to: You Have Been Loved by Sia
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Posted: 2:09 PM, Wed 24 Dec 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Wishing Tree
I'm writing a fairytale for my friend's little girl for Christmas. I babysit her every once in a while so her parents can have a date night. She insists on stories that "come from the head" because they're better than the ones that "come from paper." I have the challenge of showing her (she's four, mind you, and very fixed in her opinions) that stories on paper actually start out in someone's head. I decided to do the story about a magical tree that holds wishes and you can pluck your wishes from the tree and they come true.
This story was partially inspired by me lying in bed last night thinking about my Christmas list and all the people I have to buy presents for. They're ranked on 1) What they like 2) How much contact I've had with the person during the year 3) What they gave me last year. I know it's the thought that counts, but some people put absolutely *no thought* into what they gave me (i.e. all the bottles of wine I ended up giving to my mother because I don't like wine and the gourmet coffee I got last year and the only thing I hate more than wine is coffee).
This year, I decided to buck tradition. This year, I'm only giving out gifts to people that actually deserve them. There are some people that have gone above and beyond and their friendship, their compassion, their caring will be rewarded. Some people will get Kingsford briquettes hurled at their heads, but I digress.
The point was there are some gifts that I would love to give. I would want to make someone's fondest wishes come true. Things like an accounting degree for my mom because she recently discovered she likes accounting. Or every electronic gadget on the "what's hot" list for my dad. A baby for my friend, Claire, that found out she can't have any children. I'd wish for silly things like bigger boobs for my friend Manda, or a hot boy for Meg, or for me to be able to eat whatever I want and never gain a pound. I'd like to be able to wish for a house with a bedroom for each of her children for my friend, Lisa, or for Sarah's diabetes to go away.
My wishing tree would be filled with silly things like plasmas and Wiis and XOXO purses and shoes as far as the eye can see. It would also be filled with me graduating from college and having a career instead of a job and no health problems. It would also sprout $100 bills at will.
I would wish that everyone was safe and happy, but the thing I would wish for more than anything is to be able to go back in time. I would tell my grandfather to stop smoking because emphysema is a horrible way to die. I would tell my grandmother to check her breasts every month because breast cancer can kill you quickly. And, if I could go back in time, I would have ran away with Gianni when he asked and went all over the world and saw everything he saw, did what he did, ate what he ate and lived how he lived.
I wish I had a wishing tree. It would make life sooo much easier. You could fix everything that was wrong and wish yourself a happy ending.
State of the Union: Hopeful
Listening to: Sleeping Beauty by Tchaikovsky (Hey, when you're writing fairy tales, you have to set the correct ambiance). |
Posted: 7:32 PM, Wed 10 Dec 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Health Stuff
Okay, so I went to what seems like 50,000,000,000,000,000 (that's a gazillion in case you're wondering) doctors and no one could seem to find what was wrong with me. The issue is my fat ass. I was working out four days a week and actually following the diet plan and not losing any weight. So the trainer upped me to five days. No dice. I went to my doctor and told her my situation. She just ran some blood tests to test my blood sugar level, my blood pressure and to check my thyroid. Tests came back in the perfect range. What has always seemed odd to me is how I have never had blood sugar issues or high blood pressure or high cholesterol when I used to eat tons of fast food. Seriously, my blood type was McDonalds at one point.
My doctor's solution to my weight problem: lower my caloric intake. She lowered me from 1500 down to 1200. My dad thought I was cheating on my diet. He used to tease me about a secret stash of snacks like I had a horde of ho hos and twinkies and Reeses peanut butter cups somewhere or something. Everyone in my department could attest to the fact that I was following that diet to the letter as I was a big ole raving beyotch everyday because I wasn't eating any fried foods, sodas, breads, candy, cakes, cookies or fast food. I was miserable every fricking day.
This is about to veer into TMI territory, but I'll go through it briefly. My boss sent me to her girly doctor when I told her about my lack of girly issues: i.e. the fact that I don't ever surf the crimson wave. Apparently, you're supposed to do that on a regular basis and I hadn't in almost two years. (Yes, I am very popular with the boys) Girly doctor asked me a whole bunch of seemingly innocent questions. Then she did the nasty tests that only another woman will truly understand the horror of, drew more blood, and sent me to get an ultrasound. She also conferred with the endocrinologist she sent me to.
Know how people make jokes about fat people? About how they always say it's a gland problem that makes them fat? Yeah, well, that shit is legit because it's part of what's going on with me. My adrenal glands aren't functioning properly. To make matters worse, turns out that I have a nice, lovely condition called Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. What is that crap you ask? Short bus explanation: I have cysts on my ovaries (they look like black and white marbles), my hormones are fucked the hell up, ('scuse my French), and my eggs aren't reaching full maturation, which means there are no babies coming my way anytime soon.
All those seemingly innocent questions? She was just running down the checklist to confirm her hunch. Infrequent menstrual periods? Check. Hirsutism? Check. Excessive acne, oily skin, or dandruff? Check. Weight gain or obesity, usually carrying extra weight around the waist? Check. Thinning hair? Check. (Although we thought that was related to something else I'll get to later) Patches of dark brown skin on the neck, arms, breasts, or thighs? Check. Anxiety or depression due to appearance and/or infertility? Check. Know anyone in your family that has the same symptoms? Check.
They think it's hereditary. I can think of three people on my mom's side that I know have some or all of these symptoms. I've always had it, but most of the symptoms were dormant until something kick them into high gear about three years ago. My mom is upset because she has, up until this came up, blamed all the bad things about me (asthma, allergies to everything under the sun, bronchitis, red hair) on my dad's side of the family so this sucks for her because now her gene pool is "tainted" just like his (She really used to say that). My dad had to apologize to me. It was scant consolation for the number of times he's called me "fatty" or "tubby" or "Big Mama Chunk-Chunk," but getting my dad to apologize for anything is like calling a special session of Congress on New Years Eve, so I take what I can get when I can get it.
She's also pissed off because the chances of me getting struck by lightning are greater than me producing any more matured eggs and producing a grandchild for her. Now, she has to be nice to my older sister, (who happens to be a RAVING beyotch) because she currently has the only grandchild my mother is going to see until my little brother and sister procreate and, seeing as they're still in elementary school, that's a *lot* of shit talking and temper tantrums she's going to have to put up with from my sister. Damn. It's kinda funny. I wouldn't trust my sister with a dog, yet she's the one with a kid. God has a *wicked* sense of humor. Know what else is funny? I was voted most likely to get married and have six kids in high school.
Ironic, innit?
State of the Union: Little bit on the numb side
Listening to: About a Girl by The Academy Is.... |
Posted: 4:13 AM, Sun 16 Nov 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Cursed
I am starting to think that my birthday is cursed. Why, you ask? Oh, let me count the ways.
1) I bought an grass skirt and coconut bra to wear to the party from this company on the internet. I gave them my measurements and the coconut bra came and was still too small.
2) The lady that was supposed to make my food left me a voicemail at 1:30 in the morning that her daughter had gone into labor and she was at the hospital with her. So, there I was at 4 in the morning, slicing meat because I was making Kahlua pork and it had to be slow roasted for 12 hours. This on top of the fact that I had gone out on Thursday night and was tired and then I had just got back from the bar with my friend, Alexis.
3) The lady that was supposed to make my birthday cake got arrested for punching a police officer in the face. So, there I was with no cake.
4) My cousin absconded to Dallas with my circular ice chest that was supposed to hold the rum punch and the dress I was supposed to wear to the party. This was, in addition, to the fact that she had a bunch of people over while I was out on Friday and they drank up half my liquor for the party.
5) I cut myself three times on the hand and once on my foot chopping and slicing fruit. (The foot thing was because my friend scared the living crap out of me and I lost my grip on the knife.)
6) I went to Walmart to find another ice chest with a spigot and couldn’t find one so I had to get ghetto and put the punch in a trashcan.
7) The clubhouse where I was having the party had an old school sound system that didn’t have the right plugs for hooking up my computer or iPod. I ended up pulling my speakers and bass from my computer and attaching them so we could have tunes.
8) I’ve lived in my apartment for almost three months and have never seen a train on the tracks, but of course one shows up when I’m in a hurry and took almost ten minutes to get across the road.
9) I had planned to be the Chiquita Banana Girl for Halloween and had bought the material to make an outfit for it and I’m glad I did because it ended up doubling as the skirt portion of my luau costume, which I paired with a red bikini. I found out that I really don’t want that to be my costume because it kept sliding down and showing my bikini bottoms.
10) My belly dance teacher performed two numbers and then she passed around the hip scarf and made all the belly dancers perform. Note to self: When you haven’t slept much from the night before and you get buzzed on four jello shots and some jungle juice, do NOT pick, “When I Grow Up,” from the Pussy Cat Dolls as the song you want to dance to. I was tired and it was probably the worst dance I have ever done to date. (And that’s saying something).
11) I looked really hot and I wanted to take lots of pictures, but I did something weird to my SD card and now it’s saying that it’s not initialized and wouldn’t let me take any pictures. BOO! Guess that means we have to wait for Birdy to post my pics.
12) Birdy’s wife was sick, so she couldn’t come to my party. BOO!
Good things that happened:
1) I got some really nice presents from people and a bottle of good champagne that I will bleed dry as soon as I get home tonight.
2) Since I didn’t get to go to the Texas/OU game, my dad is taking me to Vegas for the weekend.
3) My friends felt really bad that they missed my party, so they took me to the butt naked on Sunday night.
4) Everyone seemed to like the food that I threw together all late in the game.
5) Rolando and Gabrielle called and texted me to say Happy Birthday. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but Rolando smokes weed, so his memory is sketchy on a good day and Gabrielle works like twelve jobs like a Jamaican, so I didn’t expect to hear from her at all.
6) Gianni bought my birthday present before he died and made my dad wait to give it to me on my birthday. He got me a “Return to Tiffany’s” necklace and bracelet set. I look totally pimp in it.
7) I’m still living. There's always that.
State of the Union: Nostalgic
Listening to: Sad Caper by Hootie and the Blowfish
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Posted: 10:17 PM, Mon 13 Oct 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Random Truths
Today is both of my dad's birthday. Way to go, Mom. Marry two dudes born on the same day and then wonder why they act alike. Shees. Anyway, it's D Day today with the oncologist. My dad is going with me. I needed something to distract me, so I started messing around on the internet and looky what I found:
I cracked up because I know people like this.
Way to kill my buzz.
Sums up my dating life, doesn't it?
I am all for calling a spade a spade.
Gianni used to say that your bitchiness should be commensurate with your hotness.
Can we start with coworkers and then move on to friends?
Pray for me, People. I'm gonna need it.
State of the Union: Terrified
Listening to: You Have Been Loved by Sia |
Posted: 12:28 PM, Fri 26 Sep 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Typhoid Mary
Dude. Dumb stuff happens to me. Weird stuff happens to me. It just does. I remember one time, my aunt sent me to the store to get a loaf of bread. I was riding my five speed. On the way home, the bread managed to get caught between the frame and the wheel and I smushed it. She just looked at me when I tried to explain what happened.
I decided to tackle my closet finally. I stacked the jeans on my closet shelves and started hanging up my clothes on the built in rails attached to the shelves. I was singing along with Coldplay and it took me a long minute to realize that my clothes were so heavy that they were pulling the brackets holding up the shelving out of the wall. I kept staring at the shelf, knowing something was wrong with it, but unsure of what it was. I don't know how long I stood there before I realized that the shelf was sagging in the middle from the weight of the clothes. I felt so dumb that all I could do was laugh.
Tonight, I went to my belly dancing class and was running late. I tried to pull my keys out of the ignition and couldn't. I left the keys there and went in to class. I tried to jiggle them loose after class, but no dice. I drove home and tried and tried and couldn't pull the key out of the ignition. I got the brilliant idea of trying to untwist the key ring and then pull the keys off. Using the other end of a spoon (the only metal thing I had in my car), I got it halfway undone and MacGuyver would have been proud of me, but couldn't get it to uncoil all the way and didn't want the key to break in the ignition. Normally, when bad things happen, like flat tires or running out of gas or a battery dying, the Good Lord sends a man to help me. I wanted to fix this myself. After 35 minutes, I gave up, took a chance, and called my dad. He's been working in Odessa for the past two months, but I sent up a silent prayer that he was still here from the weekend.
He answered and the first words out of his mouth were, "What did you do now?" Yes, bad stuff follows me around like a second skin. Like the time I locked my keys on the seat of my car at the car wash. Or the time I accidentally took off his side mirror trying to back his car into the garage. Or the time I fell off the roof trying to hang Christmas lights. He drove to my house, pulled out some tool, and cut the metal on the key ring, laughing the whole time. He took before and after pictures with his camera phone because he said that no one would believe it if they didn't see it for themselves.
This is yet another example of why I'm called 'Typhoid Mary' in my family.
State of the Union: Sheepish
Listening to: Not a damn thing |
Posted: 11:14 PM, Wed 27 Aug 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Open
You ever had a secret that no one knew about? A place, maybe, that you went that no one knew about that you could go to and feel safe? I had that. Or, at least, I thought I did. I didn't hide it, per se, I just didn't advertise it. I needed some place to go that I could be myself in and not have to hide how I really feel. I could be me and not worry about what other people would think or how my thoughts and actions would change their perception of me.
Yeah, well my secret place got violated today. I say violated because he wasn't wanted or invited. I don't think he even meant to bring it up, but he did, so now my secret place, known only to a person or two, has been compromised. Now, I have to resort to lock and key, or, in this case, usernames and safe lists to protect myself.
I know that it's my own fault for not safeguarding it, but, I thought I was safe. Most people don't notice things that are meant to be hidden when you keep them out in plain sight.........
State of the Union: Perturbed
Listening to: Sexy Mistake by the Chalets |
Posted: 11:00 PM, Thu 7 Aug 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Cheer Me Up
I got into it with one of my dudes, so I was feeling like Hell warmed over. I hate men right now (current EFX males excluded). My friend's sister sends out like 50,000 My Space Bulletins and I normally roll my eyes, but she made me laugh today. It's an oldie, but goody and it's just what I needed because I laugh every time because it reminds me of one of my aunts.
A teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment: Get their parents to
tell them a story with a moral at the end of it. The next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell their stories.
"Tony, do you have a story to share?"
"Yes ma'am. My daddy told a story about my Aunt Nancy. She was a pilot in Desert Storm and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a flask of whiskey, a pistol and a survival knife. She drank the whiskey on the way down so it wouldn't break and then her parachute landed right in the middle of twenty enemy troops. She shot fifteen of them with the gun until she ran out of bullets, killed four
more with the knife, till the blade broke, and then she killed the last Iraqi
with her bare hands."
'Good Heavens' said the horrified teacher. 'What kind of moral did your daddy tell you from this horrible story?'
'Stay the f... away from Aunt Nancy when she's drinking."
State of the Union: Sad
Listening to: My coworker bitching about the laziness of others (Ironic, really, if you knew him)
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Posted: 2:41 PM, Thu 24 Jul 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Hello, My Name is Demetrius and I am White
My friend, Marsha, sends out 50,000 meme-like bulletins on My Space and, like the big nerd that I am, I read them all. I don't *do* all of them mind you, but I read them. Well, she put out this one, and I did it and I RUE the day that I did, because I am getting teased left and right about it. (It's not that mean teasing, but still).
Here it is:
Put an X in all that apply. Then, take how many X's you put and multiply it by five. Then post saying, "I’m _% White."
[] You went to a private school
[] You were homeschooled for more than 4 years
[x] You watch/watched the show Laguna Beach
[] You watch/watched the show American Idol
[x] You watch/watched the show OC
[x] You know what a poncho is
[x] You have listened to a band called Fuel
[x] You've shopped at Aeropostale, Hollister,Rue 21, Abercrombie &Fitch, Krew, or Hot Topic
[x] You have/had a dog that is NOT a pitbull
[] You bend the bill of your hat
[x] You own a pair of dc's/converse/etnies/vans
[x] You/Your parent(s) drive cars with leather seats
[x] Your main language is English
[x] You say the word DUDE a lot
[] You say the word MAN a lot
[] You think cops are awesome
[] You have absolutely no idea what Twista is saying when he raps
alot.
[x] You listen to some rock
[x] You know who Willie Nelson is
[x] Your parents give you money when you ask
[x] Your parents just hand you money for no reason at all [on special occasions]
[x]You wear flip flops with a lot of your clothes
[x] You know what meatloaf tastes like
[] You have said awesome more than 100 times in a week
No, your calculations aren't wrong. I am 80% white. (Thank God they counted all those stores as one X because I would have been in serious trouble if they were counted individually). I knew that, as soon as I posted my score, Slade would be the first one jumping on me for how high it was and I was right. One of my friends said that I needed to be airlifted to the hood and was flabbergasted when I told him that, according to most of my friends, I already live there!
So, take my quiz and post your score. (Is it wrong of me that I am praying with my fingers crossed that someone scores higher than me?)
State of the Union: Amused
Listening to: Hungry Like a Wolf by Duran Duran
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Posted: 11:13 AM, Mon 23 Jun 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Grow
I fell in love with a boy at seventeen. He changed the course of my whole life. People say that all the time, but it was true. I've loved him for most of my adult life. Not him, per se, but the idea of him. The memory of him.
I tried not to hate the fact that he married someone else. That he had a child with someone else. I tried not to hate the fact that he was happy with someone that wasn't me. That his wife was a smoker, a heavy drinker, a foul mouth biker chick. All the things he said he hated. Everything that was the antithesis of me. I tried to wish him well. I tried to not be selfish and hope that he would be happy. Not as happy as he was with me, but happy nonetheless.
I hated his wife in my secret, put-away heart. I hated her gravelly smoker voice. I hated her face that was lined from all the smoking. I hated how she emasculated him and took his balls away. I tried to tell myself that it was what he wanted, that she was what he wanted, and that I should be happy for him.
I finally let go. I finally gave up hope. I finally let go of us and what we were, and all the dreams I had for what we would be. I finally started to live my life knowing that he wouldn't be a part of it. I moved on.
Then, last week, I found out that they got divorced. And the great, wonderful thing was that I genuinely felt sorry for her. I guess I really have grown as a person. The old me would have been doing cartwheels because I was proven right and that they weren't made to last. The new me can't revel in someone else's unhappiness.
State of the Union: Aware
Listening to: Tears Fall Down by Hootie and the Blowfish |
Posted: 11:36 PM, Mon 9 Jun 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: My Day
Finally, someone has managed to photograph the pot at the end of the rainbow!!!
This is the kind of luck that I am having today. Is it Friday yet?
State of the Union: Crappy (hehehe)
Listening to: Rule Breaker by Ashlee Simpson
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Posted: 1:44 PM, Thu 24 Apr 2008 in All About Me |
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All About Me: Cougar Alert
This is my last entry today, I promise. I am both tickled and annoyed right now. I opened my email to find this:
"Jesus would like to be added to your MySpace friends list.
By accepting Jesus as your friend, you will be able to send Jesus personal messages, view Jesus's photos and blog, and interact with each other's friends and network!"
I know it’s not Jesus-Jesus but Spanish Jesús, but I fell out laughing imagining how many friends Jesus would have if he had a My Space account and what his album would look like. I should be crying right about now because the guy that wants to be my friend looks like a troll and obviously scammed me out on my friend Clare’s page, but I’m still tickled about Jesus being my new homeboy.
The other thing that has me annoyed yet tickled? Apparently I’m sending out cougar signals. I’ve been asked out on three dates this week by a 26 year old, a 23 year old and a 21 year old. It's like I have some beacon on top of my head saying,"Under 25 year olds welcome" or something. I can’t pay to have a guy my age or older ask me out, but I’m really popular at the playground. I even had some 22 year old at Chipotle give me free food today “to make me smile.” WTF? Do you have an older brother I can play with? I suppose I should be really flattered right now, but I’m really starting to get a complex, especially when my friends keep growling at me, making claws, and laughing….
State of the Union: Exasperated
Listening to: Like a Virgin by Madonna
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Posted: 7:48 PM, Tue 25 Mar 2008 in All About Me |
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