Where the heck do I even begin anymore?

I mean, I've been away for so long now that it seems rude to just pop in and try to pick up where I left off. I feel like I owe my loyal readers more than that.

Maybe hugs would be more appropriate. Or five minutes of cuddling. Unfortunately, I don't know how to do those things online. If I did, I wouldn't be living in squalor as I do now.

So...I think I'm just going to jump right in. Hugs and cudding are assumed for all.

I've been in a sort of funk for the past several months. I've tried to post things but it seems like my brain doesn't work properly. Everything I try to post seems boring and stupid and I end up deleting it and playing Mahjong instead.

Or eating. There's been a lot of stress eating. My spanx have become a staple of my wardrobe.

This phenomenon of Failing Brain Syndrome is not isolated to the Bitz. It happens all the time in real life too. I feel like everything I say is boring and stupid and I end up in my pajamas playing Mahjong instead. Or eating. Did I mention there's been a lot of stress eating?

I'm sure my friends are fed up with my funk too. I try to go through the motions and whatnot, but it just fails. I end up letting the funk take over so I don't have to embarrass myself. Then, I end up at home playing Mahjong instead. Are you sensing the theme in my life?

It sucks.

I couldn't even enjoy myself at an 80's party last night. An 80's party! I heart the 80's! I even made dessert for the party. Super awesome dessert.



See? Awesome.

Also, super fun to make.

It's a shame baking is the one true joy in my life (after my dear husband, of course). Baking is not good for someone with a sweet tooth and no self control.

(sigh)

I'm finding it really hard to avoid ditching this post and go play Mahjong right now.

However, if I want to snap out of this funk, I have to do just that. No Mahjong! Well, not right now anyway. It's a really fun game.

I don't really have a plan to fight the funk. I just hope that I can slowly let it fade if I start to do those things that make me happy. Blogging, exercising, baking (for others), eating right. I have to remember that it's okay to let the laundry pile up sometimes. It's not okay to let the funk pile up.

Do you like that little bit of wisdom? Feel free to put that on a t-shirt if you like. Just send me a cut. I may need therapy money if my plan that's not really a plan doesn't work.

Blurry or not. It still stinks.

So, I recently went to the eye doctor and realized that I am, in fact, getting old way before my time.

It's a sad realization. One day, you are beebopping along to NKOTB. Then...WHAM!...you are in the doctor's office crying because you can't see the big E on the eye chart.



Yep. That big E.

(sigh)

I seriously could not see the big E. Hell, the words on the screen right now are pretty fuzzy. I;m playing thot the typas are it a minymom.

My eyes have been red and irritated for 2 weeks now. This has prompted such delightful questions as: "Do you have pink eye?", "Are you crying?" and "Whoa. How hungover are you?"

Fun stuff. When the doctor saw me, she said I have edema (swelling) in my eyes (barf) and that's making things fuzzy. She can't even examine me for a new preacription until it clears up.

This was my conversation with MB regarding the diagnosis:
Me: So, I have edema in my eyes.
MB: Edema? You know what that means, don't you?
Me: Yeah. Swelling.
MB: No. It means you have fat eyes.

I'm considering separate bedrooms for a punishment period of 30 days.

Anywho, I'm functioning in a fog right now and it's kinda scary. Especially with a puppy in the house. It makes that midnight trek to the fridge for...apples, yeah apples...a whole lot more dangerous. The question of is it poop or that stupid toy hedgehog becomes much more difficult to answer. I pretty much step over it and wait until MB wakes up. If he yells, it's poop.

Then, I pretend to be sound asleep while he cleans it up.

Trickery is fun. Love you, MB. Smooches.

I'm supposed to go back to the doctor on Tuesday to see if my stupid swelling (barf) has gone down enough for them to do an actual eye exam. Then, we'll see just how thick my glasses will be this year. Yay!

Of course, MB had an eye exam recently during his physical for the fire department. He was told that he has 20/8 vision or something ridiculous like that. It basically means that he has better than perfect vision. In his eyes, he is some sort of super hero who can see into the future.

It's super annoying.

I'm now considering 60 days.

While I await the swelling (barf) to go down and my eyesight to return to normal, I'm relying on Atticus to guide me. That's how desperate I am. The one who eats poop is the one I'm trusting to keep me from falling down the steps.

Wish me luck!

I'm not very good at this.

On December 30, I promised to return the next day to tell you all about a very important event in my life. I hope you haven't been holding your breath waiting for that to happen.

Yikes.

So, what was the big, important event that I have now waited two weeks to share with you? Well, I'll tell you. It's the Annual Bitz Birthday Bar Hop! Woohoo!

You see, MB and I share the same birthday. I know, it's sickening. We are both born on the same day, just 5 years apart. Yes, I'm the older one. No, that does not make me a deviant. I already looked it up.

Our birthday is a little weird. It's 3 days after Christmas. It's kinda cool because you're a Christmas baby. There are lots of pictures of yourself as a baby shoved under the Christmas tree with all the other presents.

Sometimes I wonder if my Mom planned ahead just for the photo ops. It is ridiculously cute.

MB never had such cute memories. According to him, his birthday never got acknowledged until around February. Someone would have one of those 'oh sh*t' moments and then out came the leftover Valentine's Day candy and gift wrapped socks from behind the dryer.

He paints a bleak picture of his childhood.

When I heard this, I was very sad for him. My mom always made an effort to have a separate birthday celebration. I always had a party with cake, silly hats and at least a few friends whose parents just wanted them the hell out of the house already so they could enjoy Christmas break too.

Good times.

I started the Birthday Bar Hop when MB turned 30. I decided it was time for him to have his very own birthday celebration (that he also shared with me). We got all of our friends together and hit Main Street to partake of all the local bars.

It was a huge hit and has since become an annual tradition. This year, we started the day with lunch at Fogo de Chao. It's an authentic Brazilian steakhouse where they continue to bring you meat as long as your coaster is turned to green. It's pretty much a meat paradise. If you ever get the chance to go, GO! Just remember to pace yourself. And wear loose fitting pants.

I had already been warned not to wear my Spanx and I'm glad I didn't. Containment would not have been a good idea. Bacon wrapped filet mignon vs very tight spandex? Hmmm. I'm pretty sure my Spanx would've met their demise that day.

After a very uncomfortable drive home, we began the night with a few friends and a very hyper puppy at our house. Drinks were consumed. The floor was peed on. It was all very high class.

We continued on to our first stop where we met the rest of our friends for drinks and some food. Well, they ate. MB and I were still on a meat high from lunch. At this point, I had managed to stuff myself into my Spanx, but it wasn't pretty. No nachos for me, thank you very much.

Then a homeless man wandered into the bar for a beer and they tried to kick him out. He still had over half a beer left. That's a party fowl that can not be overlooked. So, MB did the honorable thing and gave him $10. I'm not sure how that helped his situation. It was really more of a 'screw you for your party fowl behavior' to the bartender. The same bartender who happened to be ignoring us all night.

I think we showed him. Or something.

Most of our friends abandoned us after that bar. Apparently they don't support the homeless. Whatever. Our party became a party of four, but we soldiered on anyway. We were good and drunk by that time and wanted some food. The meat high had worn off and our bellies were ready for seconds.

IHOP was closed. The diner was closed. The guy selling pretzels from a cart was nowhere to be found.

We found ourselves wandering the street, tripping over tumbleweed, until we stumbled into a pub that looked open. It was an oasis. The bartender welcomed us with open arms and offered us sanctuary in the form of cheese fries, cold beer and the dessert tray.

It was a Birthday Bar Hop paradise!

As we began to dive into our chocolate bread pudding and peanut butter bombs (just as heavenly as it sounds), our paradise was invaded. By a gaggle of 21 year old sorority girls.

Nothing reminds you how old you are like a group of 21 year olds downing girly shots and screeching with drunken glee about how drunk they are as they prance around in their skinny jeans and glittery tops.

Holy crow's feet! They probably didn't even know what Spanx were. Those little hussies. How I longed for those days again. Sigh.

Then, the gaggle got kicked out because one of them decided to go behind the bar and help herself to another shot. My longing went away.

I decided to just enjoy my Spanx contained beer belly, my Dark Golden Brown #47 graying hair and the ability to hold my liquor. That's what really matters, right?

That and getting to spend your birthday with your awesome hubby and your closest friends, who can also hold their liquor. That's what life is all about.
Holding your liquor so you don't get kicked out of the bar.

That's the wisdom of my 37 (gulp) years, right there. You're welcome.

Here's to a year of appreciating what I have and not doing dumb things that will get me kicked out of any establishment! Especially ones that serve peanut butter bombs. Oops, I'm drooling. I should probably wrap this up.

Later, peeps.

Wet spots, body hair and evil farts. Also, snot.

So, it's a little after midnight and I have forsaken my cozy, warm bed for the icy cold living room full of slobbery dog toys and wet spots that may or may not be puppy pee (they usually are).

Why? Because I'm awake. Fully awake. Also, I'm full of snot. Have you missed my glamour and lady-like-ness? I thought you might.

I'm not full of snot because I have a cold. Although, that would be a logical conclusion, considering that MB keeps the house at a nice, comfortable arctic temperature in the winter. Just because he has a lot of...you know, I was going to make a body hair joke here but I thought better of it.

Love you, MB.

Anyway, I'm full of snot because I was kinda crying in bed. Not because of the cold. It's because today is December 29 and exactly 4 months ago, we put our Skye girl to sleep.



I know. Here she goes blabbering on about her dead dog again. Blah blah blah. Well, just shutup. I miss my dead dog. Considering how much of a sniveling sentimental crazy person I am, I think I've dealt with the death of my girl in a very healthy manner.

I've maintained my status as a functioning member of society and everything. There are just those little moments where all of the emotion of those last two days with her just creep up on me. When that happens, I get a little weepy.

It also happens when I dust. I have to gently pick up her little box of ashes in order to clean the bookshelf and it always ends in tears. I've told MB that I need a maid for this very reason (and many others), but he's not buying it.

It's like he's made of stone.

Which he isn't. Those last days with her were just raw and emotional for both us. We both have those weepy moments. Mine are more frequent, but there's no judgement here people.

So, tonight I started replaying that final day in my head as I was trying to fall asleep to dreams of George Clooney...I mean, my handsome hubby.

Love you, MB.

Flashes of that day just kept invading my brain, resulting in tears on my pillow and snot in my nose. The sniffling became more like snorting and I decided to relocate for the sake of my marriage. No one wants to be married to a snorter.

Plus, my new Kindle (Christmas present from my awesome hubby!) was on the shelf and it makes this weird noise randomly. By randomly, I mean approximately every 17 seconds. It sounds like it's hissing. Wtf?!

I left it for MB to enjoy and plopped myself on the sofa. Of course, Atticus follows me absolutely everywhere (even the bathroom - it's awkward) so he is here beside me. He is now making weird noises. Maybe I have this effect on things.

Usually it's some sort of gassy noise with Atticus. Either he is farting or his tummy is rumbling and preparing to fart. He's all boy, that one. .

By the way, he's getting really big.



See? He's almost too big for me to pick up and spoil. Almost. My chiropractor would argue that he's past that point, but what does she know. Crooked schmooked.

Is it wrong that I want to gorge myself on peanut butter cups? I totally just typed bups because my glasses are so effed up. Atticus got to them and now I have to view the world through teeth marks.

I love puppies.

Maybe I'll just indulge in some ice water. I am still recovering from our Annual Birthday Bar Hop that took place last night. MB and I share a birthday (gag me, I know) and we have hosted this event every year since he turned 30. I'll have to come back tomorrow and tell you about that debauchery.

For now, I'm going to hide the peanut butter bups, grab some ice water and watch Bones episodes on netflix until I fall asleep. I might also slip Atticus some antacids. Holy hell! Whatever is coming from his rear is just evil. Pure stinky evil.

Good night, peeps. We'll talk tomorrow. :)

Bah humbug...or whatever.

I think the stress of the past 6 months is finally catching up with me. I'm having that mental breakdown that's been long overdue.

Of course, it probably has a lot to do with TOM stopping by for a nice holiday visit.

Who knows.

I just know that if I don't get it together, someone is going to end up with a lump of coal shoved...it's just bad.

I'm yelling at MB for no reason. I'm yelling at the dog for no...well, for various reasons. I'm just letting my yelling get way out of control. I'm going from 0 to 60 in seconds flat and it isn't pretty.

We certainly have our fair share of stress. We still haven't had time to put our house back together or get any of our winterizing stuff done. We are still adjusting to having a roomate and all of the intrusion that brings. Plus, we have Atticus, who occupies our every waking moment.

It's chaos!

Neither one of us has been able to get back on track with our Fat Fighting. That's only making things worse.

Ugh.

Thank God for Spanx. That's all I can say about that right now.

I don't know, peeps. I have so much to be thankful for right now. So, why the hell can't I let go of the little things and focus on those things?

I mean, I can. I just keep forgetting that.

Perhaps a reminder tattoo is in order. Too bad I'm so fainty in the presence of needles.

(sigh)

At least, this little gem is on netflix right now.

I know what I'll be watching tonight.

How will you be coping with your holiday stress?