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Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Extreme Makeover: Unstable Edition

     It's never a good thing when you see a wet spot on the ceiling.  It's even worse when you see a wet spot on the ceiling after having just spent money you didn't have on a new roof you didn't know you needed.  It's way worse when you hardly know the guy and he still makes you sleep...oh, wait.

     Let's just refer to them as water spots to avoid any further confusion as to the direction of this tale.

     Once you see said water spot, you can't not see it.  In fact, you can't see anything else.  You even start to find other water spots, bumps, cracks, the remnants of that spider you smashed with a shoe months ago and were too afraid to wipe away which looks suspiciously like a water spot.

     Then, you start to regret becoming a homeowner, wondering why you didn't just stay in the apartment with the stinky neighbor lady who smelled like cheeto feet.

     After crying in the corner for awhile with a bottle of bourbon, you decide to put on your big girl panties and beg your husband to call the contractor to confront him about his shoddy work.

     Turns out?  The roof is not leaking.  However, nothing in your house was built properly or to code. Your chimney is not secured to the house, leaving one entire outer wall exposed to the elements.  Said wall is now slowly rotting away.  You HAVE to fix it and replace your siding or the entire house will crumble around you.

     Remember how you wanted to put in central air this year?  HA!  Not happening.  Suck it up and deal with the boob sweat, princess.

     So, that's where we are.  The Money Pit Transformation 2014 has begun.  It's Day 3 and we are over budget.  We also discovered that we are lucky to be alive because apparently the wiring in the house was not done properly.  Shocking.

     Heehee!  Shocking!  Get it?

     I'm choosing to focus on the sunny side of this transformation.  I'm picking paint colors and fabrics and Pinteresty things to redecorate the interior.  If the contractor comes to me and says 'we have a problem', I'm going to show him my swatches and walk away with a big grin on my face.

     Since I am a mental health professional, I realize that is not the appropriate response.  In order to avoid an unnecessary straight jacket, I have come up with a plan.  I am going to need it because tomorrow is the day the siding gets ripped off of my house.

     I will mentally prepare myself for whatever problems they may find when this happens by envisioning that they will find what is pictured below...a spider infestation of epic proportions. It's a great idea because ANYTHING would be better than that. ANYTHING!



   

Thursday, March 13, 2014

The Story of a Dress.

     When I first got engaged, I spent months scouring bridal magazines for the perfect dress.  I had absolutely no idea what a sweetheart neckline was or how taffeta was different from satin.  I was doomed.  

     In my quest for the dress, I discovered what I thought was 'the one' online.  It was an ivory strapless gown with minimal foof and a small silk flower at the waist. I envisioned myself walking down the aisle in this dress.  Kissing my husband in this dress.  Dancing with my Father in this dress.  Twirling in this dress.  It was perfect.    

     The first time I went to the bridal store, I chose this dress along with others to try on.  I wanted to twirl in this dress.  I knew it was perfect.  When I tried it on, my dress dreams were shattered.  The dress the sales lady pulled was not the right size.  It was too small.  It didn't zip.  It didn't fit.  I couldn't get a feel for the dress.  My dress. The sales lady was too shy to get the dress in a bigger size so I could see how it might actually fit.  I was too embarrassed to fight for the dress.  My dress.  

      My self esteem crushed, I gave up.  I wanted to feel beautiful and she made me feel hideous.  Ugly.  Fat. To end the misery, I chose a lesser dress.  It was...meh.  But, it was closer to my actual size and it didn't look too bad.  I was too traumatized and humiliated to keep looking lest I be reminded of my hideousness. My ugliness.  My fatness.  

     The dress hung in my closet until the day of my first fitting.  Occasionally, I would unzip the garment bag and peek at it, trying to come to terms with the fact that this was my wedding gown.  This was what I would be wearing on the day I vowed to spend forever with the man I loved.  

     Occasionally, I would wear the dress and twirl in front of the mirror.  Trying to envision myself walking down the aisle in this dress.  Kissing my husband in this dress.  Dancing with my Father in this dress.  Trying to make it feel perfect.  

       My family at the time consisted of myself, my future husband and our elderly Siberian Husky, Skye.  She had been diagnosed with a urinary tract infection on a Friday, two days before I was to have my first fitting in the dress.  When Sunday came around, Skye was sick.  We attributed it to the infection.  Thought it was something that would pass.  I rescheduled my fitting to tend to her.  Monday would be the day I would tend to the dress.    

     Sunday night was awful.  Skye was up all night, pacing the house and experiencing what seemed to be neurological issues.  I was heartbroken, exhausted and afraid.  Monday morning, the vet told us this may be the end for our girl.  We spent the day trying to keep her comfortable and hoping it was all still attributed to the infection.  Hoping she would come around.  Hoping we wouldn't have to face the end just yet.  Wouldn't have to say goodbye.   

     Monday afternoon,  I had a dress fitting to attend.  Things seemed to be stable with Skye at that moment, so I decided to keep the appointment.  As I left the house, she stopped pacing long enough to look at me as I told her I'd be right back and I loved her.  I have never forgotten that last look.  

     I spent the next hour or so on the pedestal in the back of the bridal store as the Russian seamstress pinned me and spinned me and tried to make small talk.  Looking in the mirror, I tried very hard to focus on the dress and how it was going to look on the big day.  How beautiful it was going to be.  How beautiful I was going to be. 

     Unfortunately, all I could think about was how I hadn't slept and how I may have to make the most difficult decision of my life thus far. All the pinning and spinning in the world couldn't change what I was about to face.  

     As she neared the end of the fitting, I could hear my cell phone ringing in my purse.  I knew it was either my Mother calling to check on Skye or it was my future husband calling to tell me to come home.  Telling me that it was time.  When it continued to ring again and again, I knew it was my husband.  I knew.  It was time.  

     I fought back tears and tried to explain to the Russian seamstress that I had to leave.  I tried to explain that it was time.  She didn't understand so I hurriedly got out of the dress, shoving the pins back in her hands.  I dressed quickly and left, driving home to face what I desperately didn't want to face. What I dreaded to even think about.  To say goodbye. 

     By the time I got home, the dress was long forgotten.  The tears flowed as we loaded our sweet Skye girl into the car and carried her to her peaceful end.  We kissed her and held her as she left us, knowing she would never leave our hearts.  

     That was the day I was fitted to the dress.  My dress.  Each time I put it on after that day, it never felt quite right.  It didn't fit right.  It seemed heavy.  Cumbersome.  On the big day, it needed lots of work. There was last minute pinning and adjusting.  Throughout the day, there was fidgeting.  Pulling.  Fixing.  

     The day was perfect.  The dress was...meh.  

     Two and a half years later, Skye's ashes remain on the bookshelf with her collar.   Two new dogs have joined our family.  My husband and I are happy and in love.  The dress hangs in the closet.  Occasionally, I unzip the garment bag and think about the day I was fitted to the dress.  The day I became a wife in the dress.  My dress.  What I should do with the dress.

     I still don't know.  It just hangs there.  Heavy.  Cumbersome.  Meh.  

       

     

Saturday, March 1, 2014

I got nothing.

     I don't have anything nice to say right now.  

     Shocking, right? 

     I'm feeling pretty miserable at the moment and I just want to put on my fuzzy pajamas, curl up with my stinky hounds and hibernate until whatever evil is in the air finally dissipates so I can breathe again. 

     Is anyone else experiencing this?  I'm so congested, I can't even think straight and my head feels like it's full of rocks.  I assume it's something in the air outside.  It was 60 degrees a couple days ago and now it's 4 degrees and they are calling for a major winter storm. 

     I am also working in an office that is 90 degrees and filled with stagnant air.  It is very likely that I am inhaling asbestos, mold and various levels of radiation as our office used to be an xray lab. 

     My goal is to make it through this very long work weekend while maintaining an appropriate level of functioning.  Hopefully, all the sinus medications, pms medications (yeah, that's happening too) and snorts of nasal spray will allow me to do that. 

     I'll be back when I have something to contribute. 

     Ta-ta for now.    

Monday, February 17, 2014

MB will be a very busy man.

     A friend and I were discussing ice dancing, as friends do in the time of the Olympics.  Naturally, the conversation turned to curling.  In sharing my only knowledge of the Olympic events (as I have not watched any of it thus far), I told her another friend had commented on the hotness of the women of curling. 

     She reminded me that, of course, they are still hot.  The sport of curling does not result in any blows to the face resulting in an unfortunate but also hardcore awesome loss of teeth.  One's beauty tends to remain intact. 

     I wish that curling was more of a high impact, injury inducing sport.  It might be the only legitimate excuse I would have to permanently remove sweeping from my chore list. 

     "Sorry, MB.  There is no way I can sweep up all that dog hair and chewed up underwear.  It's way too dangerous." 

     Of course, I could always tell him that I've decided to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming an Olympic curler and I must therefore remove all other chores from my list, focusing only on my sweeping and forcing him to cook, clean and do laundry.   

     Then, it would seem perfectly normal for me to be shouting out "hurry", "die" or "right off" as I was skating around the house chasing after mounds of dog hair and debris. 

     Of course I would be on roller skates.  My floors aren't made of ice. 

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Sunday Stream of Randomness

I would have titled this post 'Sunday Stream of Consciousness'  if it didn't cause such horrible flashbacks of the time I read American Psycho.  That was an awful read.  Shame.  I really like Huey Lewis. 

It is very challenging to respect your elders when your elders choose to take advantage of your respect so they can satisfy their own needs at your expense.  Case in point: I worked last night with one of my elder coworkers who basically had me running around like a circus monkey all night long and then left early.  His excuse was that he had worked a double.  So had I! 
It's a good thing I have manners.  Although, I'm working my second double in a row today, so my manners may be lacking when I work with him tonight. 
Circus monkey revenge! 

The mouse on this computer does not seem to like this page.  I keep having to use those arrow key thingys (thingies?) like an animal.  AN ANIMAL! 

My hounds have been waking me up at 4am for the past 3 days, wanting breakfast.  Normally, they get up to eat around 5:30 am which is when I get up for work. They often get up at 4am just to test me, but I make them wait for food until 5:30am because 4am is ridiculous.
However, the past 3 days, I have been too exhausted to argue with them and I fear I may have created a new pattern of deviant dog behavior.

The hounds have a system to alert me when they need me to wake up and tend to their needs. The fat one flops himself on top of me.  If I don't respond immediately, he repeatedly lifts himself up and flops down harder until I respond. 
It's awesome. 

I don't really care for hashtags, mainly because I don't understand them and their usefulness in our supposedly civilized society.  #suckitinternets

A local hospital sales rep just delivered a tub of sugar cookies and I have only eaten one so far.  I consider that a win for the day.

My coworker and I are applauding ourselves for not having killed our other coworker who apparently has no concept of social cues.  When someone is about to stab me with a paper clip that has been fashioned into a deadly weapon, I tend to pick up on it pretty quickly and leave them alone. 
Also, I've been sitting here fashioning a paper clip into a deadly weapon for the past four hours while she's been chatting away about whatever nonsense.  Really?  Not picking up on that, Sunshine? 
Perhaps a paper clip to the eye would be justified.

I despise when I'm reading a book that has been made into a movie and they put pictures of the actors on the cover.  If forces me to picture those particular actors instead of George Clooney and Myself, who are my standard love scene inserts.   

I'm feeling very full of randomness today.  #sleepdeprivation

I still have 11.25 hours to go on this marathon work day and I'm starting to lose what little sense of sanity and rational thought I may have had.  This does not bode well. 

There is a fat cat living in the courtyard of our office and I have named him Hal, which is short for hallucinations.  I feel that's an appropriate name for a cat living in the courtyard of a psychiatric facility. 

I have yet to figure out how Hal got into the courtyard and whether he has the ability to get out of the courtyard or not.  That damn cat is a complete mystery to me and I love him for it. 

Hal is staring at me through the window right now.  It's like he can sense that I'm talking about him.  That's not creepy at all. 

Only another sugar cookie can cure me of the sudden onset Hal paranoia. 

Thank you for participating in my stream of randomness.  I hope you are all having a lovely Sunday, free of creepy cats, annoying coworkers and sleep deprivation but full of sugar cookies.  And fuzzy pajamas.  That is my wish for you all. 
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