Not one to give a real rat's ass about my appearance I really don't spend a lot of time primping in the mirror. If all of them were covered with newspaper it would probably take me a few days before I decided to have a peek.
I own 1 tube of mascara, maybe will put it on a half dozen times before the year is up and then toss it out. There are some other miscellaneous beauty supplies but I find them troublesome and not worth a lot of effort.
Long ago there was a boy that I had a super monstrous crush on. My older brother unwittingly introduced us when I was a tender age of 12-13 years old.
He was a unique young man (you might say a nerd) a few years older than I was. The fact that he'd have anything to do with me was simply an astonishing, I felt gifted.
We would get together and hang out with his friends. Most of the time I'd just sit in awe as they tapped away on keyboards, using false steering wheels and bopping about joysticks while playing games and whatnot on their computers (can you imagine those dinosaurs from the mid-80s!?)
I came up with super romantic scenarios about how he would find a reason to stay alone with me for a little while and then ...brush his hand over hair to expose my green eyes and then lean in and kiss me tenderly on the lips.
(sigh)
Instead,he set me up with his friend who was a real fox, a real cocky punk that I soon fell head over heals with. Funny thing though, physically when I look back he still was never my type and I imagined him more like my 1st crush.
While dating Mr. Hottie I continued to think about that little wish, that secret kiss but he burst my balloon one weekend afternoon while we were loitering.
So many years later I'm not certain exactly how the conversation began but something that devastates us will stick in the farthest reaches of our psyche like glue. It is with us for a very long time, if not forever.
Just the 3 of us talking about nothing in particular when he leans in very close and we're just inches away from one another. (my mind is screaming KISS ME KISS ME KISS ME) His mouth so close to mine and then he looks me in the eyes and announces, "You know, you have beady little eyes that are close together - like a rat"!
My heart had been pounding in anticipation, my lips tingling and waiting for that touch and instead my insides turned into hot Jello and I wanted to run away in disappointment.
OH THE HORROR.
I was mortified that he likened me to a rodent, not just a rodent but a bubonic carrying vermin that was atrocious to look at! From that moment on I developed a self consciousness about certain parts of my appearance, not enough to make myself up like a clown to hide the ugly rather I've forced myself to accept what I've been given and believe that we all have a little beauty (even if it's not on the surface).
Ever since that day I've always thought my nose was too big, my eyes too small and my hair ...well, mousy.
My husband says to me frequently, "you have a cute nose" which only aggravates me because CUTE by definition is 'attractive, esp. in a dainty way; pleasingly pretty.'
Nothing 'dainty' about me.
Girls want to be told they are beautiful.
If you find us attractive, good - tell us we are beautiful but not cute. Cute is for puppies, toddlers and Pixar animation.
Now on to the thing that I do like about myself, I have great hair. Or, in certain neighborhood vernacular - Gurl, you's got gud hair.
Medium brown with highlights of red and gold, he (husband) once told me very early on in our dating ritual that it looked like it was touched by the sunset. It has a natural wave and I even get ridiculous Shirley Temple curls (in the right amount of humidity). It's abundant and grows like a weed and because of that I've always been able to do nutty things to express my personality and my rebellious nature.
You name the cut, the color, the length and even the type of braid style and I have tried it at least once.
I've kept it shoulder length or longer overall which receives accolades to it's loveliness.
Never occurred to me how lucky I was until a few years ago. After starting a new medication and then watching long clumps sticking to my fingers when combing conditioner through it in the shower I realized that the days of radical haircuts were long passed.
Before this thinning change I'd gone to stylists times and time over to chop it off from a pony tail then send it to the charity LOCKS OF LOVE.
3 years ago I spent time with my mother as she was losing her battle to cancer, during that visit with her I had an awful version of a faux-hawk. It was poorly received by friends and an agreement was made that I'd look like a 'girl' again and grow it out.
At the same time the husband was still shaving his own head completely bald. He would have to do the same for me!
He'd been shaving his head to resemble a cue-ball for too many years and I was tired of seeing my reflection off of his forehead.
It doesn't take long for the 'do to start growing. Like Jack watering the beanstalk it's started on an adventure of growth, quickly sprouting over my ears, to my throat, to my shoulders and now even after a haircut of an inch or so every 6-8 weeks it is midway down my back.
There are only a couple of luxuries I allow myself, going in for a wash and cut is one of them.
Not only are you getting the stress reducing friction of firm fingers scrubbing through your scalp, the warm water sluicing away the foamy suds but you get to have a few minutes with someone that spends that hour with you saying nice things to buoy your mood.
One other item I like to do while I'm there is reduce my resemblance to Fred Flintstone by having my eyebrows waxed. Torture really, not necessary if I were to just accept the way I look but when cleaned up (smiles) my eyes aren't so obviously ratty.
If someone else is doing it then that further reduces my need to look at myself in a mirror. The stylist cleans me up, jams a small mirror in my hands to which I only focus on my eyes and proclaim success or if further attention necessary.
Last month I decided I was tired of trimming other facial hair, oh man I'm definitely going there...nose hair. It's gross, right?
When it gets too long you look like you have a family of Daddy Long Legs trying to creep out of your nostrils.
Using tiny scissors and snipping away but never fully getting the results I want I finally decided that someone else was going to do this.
Guys do it at the barber why not me?
Asking the gal that takes care of me (whom by the way is a real doll!) if she's ever done nostrils? ...she takes on the challenge!
So here I am, pivoted back in the hair washing chair staring up into the ceiling while she readies her wee pot of hot wax. With a stick akin to a Popsicle, she pulls a glob of the goo up and twists it, rolls it into a workable ball and approaches my face like a sinister Tootsie Pop toting maniacal murderer.
(she's actually very serious and trying not to giggle because I'm stirring her up in my own nervous anticipation)
"Oh your nose is smaller than I thought", she says a breath after she's crammed this warm ball of wax into my booger shooter. The stick is hanging out, limp and half mast - laying fully on my pouting lip.
Here I am with a salon full of strangers, me kicked back into a less than comfortable position and a 4" wooden pick is lodged up my schnozz. She asks me to hold it steady so that it can dry while she finishes cleaning up the sticky from my caterpillar removal.
If it isn't dry when she tries to yank it out, none of the shorties are going to stick for immediate removal.
This wax feels like I've got a toddler's finger crammed all the way up my sinus! Lucky for me, I'm not a nose-breather and I can still inhale with my mouth - so far I'm not showing any real fear but reconsidering doing this stunt ever again.
A few moments pass into what feels like a short eternity, the wax has been proclaimed dry enough and with a count down of 3, 2, 1 (or shit was it 1..2...3) she gives a good yank!
I swear this is a stylists reaction each and every time - eyeballing and scrutinizing how much has actually STUCK to the wax and then peering back at the subject to re-address the new plan of attack.
When that ball of goop came popping out of my nose I almost felt like my head popped. A balloon had been pricked with a needle. PING! BAM!
Eyes welled up, watered..tears and I am pretty I swore like a sailor. She is apologetic and ready to clean up the rest and stop where she is but I say NO, finish it up.
Did I happen to mention that at least one young man/friend of hers came in to say hi to her while I was laying there? Tell you what, if I was self conscious I'd have been really disturbed but instead I just laughed and we went on to the next one.
Both caverns were picked at, mild success was had and I left pretty much pleased that I gave it a try.
It took me a little over a month to return and would you believe that today I had her try again?!
We had to stop with only half success on one side - my body temperature was proclaimed to be too damn hot and the wax wouldn't dry. The hot furnace of mucus kept melting the wax and made it impossible to complete the mission.
some people just never learn from their mistakes.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Adios to the porcelain chamber of misery
So we're getting ready to move out of Texas and head into the hurricane-zone of southern Louisiana.
Most would imagine that this is not a change that I look forward to, especially in light of my health conditions being exasperated by weather. The humidity alone might do me in!
Today we are expecting rain in central Texas and I woke up so stiff and in so much pain that I have been begging for relief to non-entities with higher powers, or to just strike me down and end the discomfort.
Neither has happened and I've been up and about for 3 hours, so I suppose it'll be a mega-dose Ibuprofen sort of day.
Step 1 was to empty our 'South' house (as we reference it) and gather everything we need for the mobilization onward! When you've been married for so many years and have had a hobby that gobbled up all of your income, you would be amazed at the amount of shit you can amass.
How is it that I suddenly have dozens of 'cat' related items that have been in boxes and bags and on shelves for all of this time and never truly put out for enjoyment?
I suspect part of it stems from the fact that the cats are absolute terrorists and everything and anything belongs to them as a plaything. 'Oh lookie, let me just bat that for a moment with my sweet little paw...' KABLAM SMASH CLANG
There goes that memento! So I suspect I bought, was given or acquired items along the way and just stored them for the future when we are finally settled in our forever (no more moving) home and I could put these articles into shadow boxes, curios and the like.
What happens after so much time being unseen is that the heart grows less fond and your tastes change with time. Therefore I found it necessary to purge myself of a great many of these items, if for anything to rid myself of the bad taste left from my separation from the hobby.
No one can remove my love of felines great and small but the riff-raff involved has definitely tainted my perspective.
Step 2 involved itemizing all of the items for a yard sale (see last blog) and what could be donated to needy causes. The cat trinkets can all be sold as far as I see it, homeless people don't need feline figures that double as coin banks.
Can you imagine that? Aimlessly wandering the streets while clutching a pink and blue paisley patterned pussycat while they stand on the corner with signage saying "Lost Job - need help", "I will work for food", "my cat is hungry, feed the kitty".
Now that the sale has come and gone I should be breathing a big sigh of relief, right? NO! Since we move so frequently we do not use cardboard boxes to pack. Nope, we have what appears to be a Container Store right here in our home.
If I went through and counted every single Rubbermaid storage box in the house I am not sure if I would be surprised or just overwhelmed. Blue, red, grey and even neon green...different colors for different types of items.
The sheer magnitude of kitchen items alone would shock most, but hey! I like to cook and to be fully covered no matter what direction my culinary skills might take me.
Sure, I know..I don't need 2 sets of pots and pans, but MAYBE..maybe I do. Of course I need 6 crockpots, don't you go and argue with me about this. They've come in handy and I've had as many as 4 going at once just this year alone. You just never know when a small party of hungry men from the husband's office need to be fed, crockpots make simple man-pleasing meals and keep them hot without using a nasty microwave. (sure to give you cancer!)
Now, I do intend to start tossing out all of the old beat up ladles, spoons and spatulas and I even intend on getting new flatware. The mishmosh of unmatched spoons, forks and butterknives can be aggravating when you are trying to lay out a table service for company.
Its just too bad that they can't be melted down and made into something amazing. (like a new crown to celebrate my majesty!)
So here we have it, boxes are getting stacked all the way up to my chin. While trying to maintain normal living conditions, this is definitely a chore. Not only does it look like a game of Tetris it has also become a jungle gym for the felines.
The sound of paws slamming down as they leap from stack to stack and then fly over to cat trees and scramble up onto the mantle is a bit deafening. These cats, bare as a baby's newborn bottom, are fearless and at times it sounds like we have a pack of mountain goats clomping around.
One of the worst noisemakers is a tiny 6.5 pound girl that announces her arrival, her departure and well..everything she's doing. She bays like a baby goat as well, meeeaaahhhhhooowww meeaaahhhoowww. Tossing her tiny body at you and rolling like a 'gator for headbutts and snuggles.
Part 3 is coming and I'm not quite looking forward to it but we'll eventually have to put all of this stuff onto a truck, drive 10 hours (yeah, its 8 by car and longer in a truck where you have to drive at lower rate of speed) and then try to figure out where all of it goes.
I know that a large portion is actually going right into storage because the house really isn't big enough for everything we own and the new house has all of the appliances! (SQWEEE!!)
That means that my 2 refrigerators will be taking a nap for 2 years in storage. We also have 2 sofas, 1 love seat and 1 recliner and the living space isn't going to allow for that.
We would be knocking ankles on every corner daily trying to maneuver around like an overcrowded chessboard all the while you shuffle your feet so as not to step on a cat(tail).
I'm imagining the mayhem of settling in with several cats, 3 dogs and a boatload of goodies into the new house.
Trying to make everything just-so, to make it 'home' is going to be fun, frustrating and a challenge all at the same time.
Wish me well because this is a difficult journey; one I look forward to. Getting out of this town, that I refer to as the 'toilet bowl of Texas' is going to help me regain my sanity.
Most would imagine that this is not a change that I look forward to, especially in light of my health conditions being exasperated by weather. The humidity alone might do me in!
Today we are expecting rain in central Texas and I woke up so stiff and in so much pain that I have been begging for relief to non-entities with higher powers, or to just strike me down and end the discomfort.
Neither has happened and I've been up and about for 3 hours, so I suppose it'll be a mega-dose Ibuprofen sort of day.
Step 1 was to empty our 'South' house (as we reference it) and gather everything we need for the mobilization onward! When you've been married for so many years and have had a hobby that gobbled up all of your income, you would be amazed at the amount of shit you can amass.
How is it that I suddenly have dozens of 'cat' related items that have been in boxes and bags and on shelves for all of this time and never truly put out for enjoyment?
I suspect part of it stems from the fact that the cats are absolute terrorists and everything and anything belongs to them as a plaything. 'Oh lookie, let me just bat that for a moment with my sweet little paw...' KABLAM SMASH CLANG
There goes that memento! So I suspect I bought, was given or acquired items along the way and just stored them for the future when we are finally settled in our forever (no more moving) home and I could put these articles into shadow boxes, curios and the like.
What happens after so much time being unseen is that the heart grows less fond and your tastes change with time. Therefore I found it necessary to purge myself of a great many of these items, if for anything to rid myself of the bad taste left from my separation from the hobby.
No one can remove my love of felines great and small but the riff-raff involved has definitely tainted my perspective.
Step 2 involved itemizing all of the items for a yard sale (see last blog) and what could be donated to needy causes. The cat trinkets can all be sold as far as I see it, homeless people don't need feline figures that double as coin banks.
Can you imagine that? Aimlessly wandering the streets while clutching a pink and blue paisley patterned pussycat while they stand on the corner with signage saying "Lost Job - need help", "I will work for food", "my cat is hungry, feed the kitty".
Now that the sale has come and gone I should be breathing a big sigh of relief, right? NO! Since we move so frequently we do not use cardboard boxes to pack. Nope, we have what appears to be a Container Store right here in our home.
If I went through and counted every single Rubbermaid storage box in the house I am not sure if I would be surprised or just overwhelmed. Blue, red, grey and even neon green...different colors for different types of items.
The sheer magnitude of kitchen items alone would shock most, but hey! I like to cook and to be fully covered no matter what direction my culinary skills might take me.
Sure, I know..I don't need 2 sets of pots and pans, but MAYBE..maybe I do. Of course I need 6 crockpots, don't you go and argue with me about this. They've come in handy and I've had as many as 4 going at once just this year alone. You just never know when a small party of hungry men from the husband's office need to be fed, crockpots make simple man-pleasing meals and keep them hot without using a nasty microwave. (sure to give you cancer!)
Now, I do intend to start tossing out all of the old beat up ladles, spoons and spatulas and I even intend on getting new flatware. The mishmosh of unmatched spoons, forks and butterknives can be aggravating when you are trying to lay out a table service for company.
Its just too bad that they can't be melted down and made into something amazing. (like a new crown to celebrate my majesty!)
So here we have it, boxes are getting stacked all the way up to my chin. While trying to maintain normal living conditions, this is definitely a chore. Not only does it look like a game of Tetris it has also become a jungle gym for the felines.
The sound of paws slamming down as they leap from stack to stack and then fly over to cat trees and scramble up onto the mantle is a bit deafening. These cats, bare as a baby's newborn bottom, are fearless and at times it sounds like we have a pack of mountain goats clomping around.
One of the worst noisemakers is a tiny 6.5 pound girl that announces her arrival, her departure and well..everything she's doing. She bays like a baby goat as well, meeeaaahhhhhooowww meeaaahhhoowww. Tossing her tiny body at you and rolling like a 'gator for headbutts and snuggles.
Part 3 is coming and I'm not quite looking forward to it but we'll eventually have to put all of this stuff onto a truck, drive 10 hours (yeah, its 8 by car and longer in a truck where you have to drive at lower rate of speed) and then try to figure out where all of it goes.
I know that a large portion is actually going right into storage because the house really isn't big enough for everything we own and the new house has all of the appliances! (SQWEEE!!)
That means that my 2 refrigerators will be taking a nap for 2 years in storage. We also have 2 sofas, 1 love seat and 1 recliner and the living space isn't going to allow for that.
We would be knocking ankles on every corner daily trying to maneuver around like an overcrowded chessboard all the while you shuffle your feet so as not to step on a cat(tail).
I'm imagining the mayhem of settling in with several cats, 3 dogs and a boatload of goodies into the new house.
Trying to make everything just-so, to make it 'home' is going to be fun, frustrating and a challenge all at the same time.
Wish me well because this is a difficult journey; one I look forward to. Getting out of this town, that I refer to as the 'toilet bowl of Texas' is going to help me regain my sanity.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Come back in 2 hours
People that entertain shopping at garage sales are in my opinion rabid hoarders, now and then you do have the person that is simply looking for a good deal on an item they need or would like. The majority are absolute freaks that plan out the entire weekend from the very moment the newspaper hits their porch, they tear into the print and start circling each advertisement fiendishly with their red markers and itemizing their attack with a chronologically efficient itinerary.
As my husband and I prepare for our 10th move in a little more than that many years we've come to terms that we really have too much shit. Seriously, we are ALL hoarders in some respect but we have to set ourselves onto a healthy course we must release ourselves from the bindings of material objects.
Enjoy them while you have them and when you stop using them and they sit stacked in closets, remain in boxes unseen for weeks, months ...years it's time to say goodbye and let your junk become someone's treasure.
A couple of weeks prior, I had packed a fat box of beautiful clothing and sent it off to my sister, she really needed a boost and it was my pleasure to help her. Over the years I'd picked up some rather nice items that I wore while doing the cat show circuit, but since I've quit that game I had all of these lovelies hanging in the closet with no where to wear them.
Well I could still wear them but I don't want the memories attached to them.
There are still more to dig through, other items that my mother would have called 'schmatta' or 'rags'. Everyone loves to wear certain things until they are practically falling right off of you. These old things bring you comfort and these are the ones that give you good memories.
My sister gave me a shirt 13 years ago that I still have and absolutely love, wear frequently and doubt I'll ever let it go even though it should have been burned ages past.
Preparing for our very first yard/garage sale was quite the undertaking. It was overwhelming to say in the least because we have 2 households that are 6 hours apart round-trip and the majority of the goodies to sell were in the farther away home but we wanted to hold the event in the current homestead.
Seeing how we needed to get everything out anyhow it required the rental of an enormous rental truck and 2.5 days of blood, sweat and tears ...the husband's tears because I could not participate in the travel.
When he returned loaded down, eyes bleary from little to no sleep and smelling of day old B.O. I swiftly fed him a hearty breakfast of eggs and flapjacks and tucked him into bed for a few hours of sleep before we tackled the chore of figuring out which of our possessions would become someone's new prize and which would continue to lend a helping hand in our lives.
This didn't happen overnight mind you, it seems that we have to reminisce over everything we touch and weigh the needs against the wants. Processing those can be heavy on your mind. I once considered myself to be pretty much a non-materialistic person but have found with aging that we begin to have dependency on the good things in life.
For starters, gadgets are fun.
Duplicates of kitchen items are nice to have also.
I am especially fond of cooking but seriously, I don't think in the long run I need to have 4 colanders or 100 unmatched forks and spoons.
All of the trinkets and ridiculous tchotchke's that I have never even put out for decoration will all have to go. Why did I even pick this crap up? Dust collecting is all it's good for and as far as I'm concerned it can all go to the first little old lady that squeals like a 6 year old when they see it gleam in the early morning light.
We spend several evenings doing this, unpacking a box and blowing off the cobwebs and polishing what we didn't consider a turd. Keep? don't keep? Donate? wipe, assess and then price with a sticker and into a new box.
After each new box was filled to capacity we'd close it up and label "SELL" and shove it into a corner which was quickly looking like Mount St. Helen's and I beseech that it does not topple over in a loud bang along with the clatter and clash of glass smashing.
Not to be outdone, we have cat helpers jumping around and getting on every flat surface bumping into items and ...eventually breaking some of the items we would have sold.
Get pissed about it? no, because that's one less thing to have to worry about haggling and barter and will just go into the recycle bin. Accidents happen and you can never stay angry at a purring bundle of joy.
The weekend is coming and I've placed our announcement in the newspaper, it's a holiday weekend and from all that I've read about sales this is supposed to be beneficial to us because people are home (I guess).
The night before we frantically put together the last few items and find out from the weather channel that the weekend will be hot and wet, lucky us..Good thing I've thought ahead and purchased a pair of canopy's for the situation so that we are covered come rain or shine.
I don't believe in rescheduling because of a few sprinkles and there is little time left for my shit to go bye-bye before we pack another truck and move along to our next abode.
Up go the trusses and we stretch the canopy over the skeleton making a fast shelter for our junk. We line up the pair of these horizontally with the garage and then set out the tables which we've absconded from the husband's office for our weekend usage. what a coup to have these on hand instead or borrowing or renting from other people, or worse yet - rigging up temporary tables from pallets and stacked boxes.
The heat is downright nasty to work in and I'm dreading the following morning which will begin at 5:00 (the sale advertised for 8:00) so we both try to climb into bed for an early evening nap after dinner on Friday evening. No sooner have I shut my eyes than I hear a pounding and ringing of my doorbell.
Who might this be?
Sometimes the neighbor children kick over a ball into the yard and they ring but they never beat with such a tempo on my door to create a racket like this. This is deafening and I'm becoming incensed because my slumber has been disturbed and they have not stopped, seriously - a few knocks and rings are more than enough to alert a person that you are at the door.
Rubbing my eyes I open the door to find a non-English speaking man and a young child waiting there for me and the kid says, "You have furniture for sale?"
I said, "are you kidding me? the sale is tomorrow, go away you are rude"
WTF I cannot believe someone has come to my door 13 hours before we would even be beginning and try to buy things. No I am not going to stand for that and I'm not going to stand there and talk to you and let you come in and get a look at everything we have so you can make me offers early.
Back to bed I go, but I can't fall asleep right away because I'm so pissed off by this interruption. The knocking and banging on my door must have gone on for a full 3 minutes before I went to answer it. As a home owner I don't feel its necessary to always answer my door nor my phone, my solitude is paramount to me and unless I hear sirens I could care less about what's happening in the world unless I pursue it.
The knocking that kept going on though, that finally had me out of my bed to see what the commotion was about and for me to get up through my exhaustion and pain only to be confronted with this bullshit left me madder than a wet hen.
I finally did calm down and rested for about an hour to get up and start all over again and I worked all the way through the night, the husband was able to put in almost 4 hours of sleep. I knew that I would end up crashing and burning before the day was through but that's how I tend to roll.
Out into the pre-dawn light I bring out my boxes and start placing items onto tables, the humidity so high that sweat is rolling off of me in rivers. There's no feminine beading on my brow, I'm soaked to the bone by 6:00 and by then the man has come out and is hauling the bigger items of furniture on a dolly into the garage from our living room.
we are quietly working and I look up to see a car has pulled in front of the house. Here comes a woman onto our lawn at 6:15!
She starts with, "what else do you have?" and I SNAP!
Look lady, the sale is posted at 8 a.m. and you are 2 hours early - you can come back then because there are no early sales!
She eyeballed our tables and inside the garage area where he was working and then trounced off in a huff, we never did see her again that morning. No skin off my knuckles if you ask me because I found out by 10 a.m. that all of the early people are the ones that come with coin purses only.
Several cars were circling the house by 6:45 and they just converged onto us en masse. Instead of cockroaches scurrying away when you turn on the lights, these attacked when the sun came up. There was no way I could start barking at the 20 people that showed up and walked across the grass at this hour and it was just going to have to be the beginning of our day whether we were ready or not.
Let the fun begin!
What felt like 8 hours was only 4. I was dripping sweat like I'd just jumped into a swimming pool, swiping it away from my eyes and steadily taking money from people left and right. Dealing with the usual "will you take this much instead" and instead of being pissed off to be offered so little for these treasures I'm happily dealing with them because i don't want to wait for the next person and maybe being left with this crap still left in my garage at the end of the day.
Finally I could take no more and had to take a small break and let him take the reigns, inside I went for a breather of A/C and 5 minutes on the sofa. My eyes were so heavy and I felt the threatening of a nap stealing over me but I went back out and faced the day for the remaining 4 hours.
There were very few slow downs even though we were drizzled on many times - both of us rushing to the tables to toss plastic sheeting over the goods and weighting them down.
Just as we decided to close up shop and a final 'customer' was returning to pick up a large item the clouds opened up and that was it. Sheets of rain came down, the plastic whipping in the wind and both of us with our hair plastered to our skulls ...we just threw our hands up in the air and sat down in the garage and enjoyed the coolness of the breeze that came in with the storm.
There are still things to be had - just ask and you may receive but ask quickly because I'm going to have the Salvation Army come and pick up the rest this week.
No more sales for me, there's not enough quarters and dime's to be handed over on a hot July day to make up for the misery I experienced.
Remind me to stop buying crap I really don't need.
As my husband and I prepare for our 10th move in a little more than that many years we've come to terms that we really have too much shit. Seriously, we are ALL hoarders in some respect but we have to set ourselves onto a healthy course we must release ourselves from the bindings of material objects.
Enjoy them while you have them and when you stop using them and they sit stacked in closets, remain in boxes unseen for weeks, months ...years it's time to say goodbye and let your junk become someone's treasure.
A couple of weeks prior, I had packed a fat box of beautiful clothing and sent it off to my sister, she really needed a boost and it was my pleasure to help her. Over the years I'd picked up some rather nice items that I wore while doing the cat show circuit, but since I've quit that game I had all of these lovelies hanging in the closet with no where to wear them.
Well I could still wear them but I don't want the memories attached to them.
There are still more to dig through, other items that my mother would have called 'schmatta' or 'rags'. Everyone loves to wear certain things until they are practically falling right off of you. These old things bring you comfort and these are the ones that give you good memories.
My sister gave me a shirt 13 years ago that I still have and absolutely love, wear frequently and doubt I'll ever let it go even though it should have been burned ages past.
Preparing for our very first yard/garage sale was quite the undertaking. It was overwhelming to say in the least because we have 2 households that are 6 hours apart round-trip and the majority of the goodies to sell were in the farther away home but we wanted to hold the event in the current homestead.
Seeing how we needed to get everything out anyhow it required the rental of an enormous rental truck and 2.5 days of blood, sweat and tears ...the husband's tears because I could not participate in the travel.
When he returned loaded down, eyes bleary from little to no sleep and smelling of day old B.O. I swiftly fed him a hearty breakfast of eggs and flapjacks and tucked him into bed for a few hours of sleep before we tackled the chore of figuring out which of our possessions would become someone's new prize and which would continue to lend a helping hand in our lives.
This didn't happen overnight mind you, it seems that we have to reminisce over everything we touch and weigh the needs against the wants. Processing those can be heavy on your mind. I once considered myself to be pretty much a non-materialistic person but have found with aging that we begin to have dependency on the good things in life.
For starters, gadgets are fun.
Duplicates of kitchen items are nice to have also.
I am especially fond of cooking but seriously, I don't think in the long run I need to have 4 colanders or 100 unmatched forks and spoons.
All of the trinkets and ridiculous tchotchke's that I have never even put out for decoration will all have to go. Why did I even pick this crap up? Dust collecting is all it's good for and as far as I'm concerned it can all go to the first little old lady that squeals like a 6 year old when they see it gleam in the early morning light.
We spend several evenings doing this, unpacking a box and blowing off the cobwebs and polishing what we didn't consider a turd. Keep? don't keep? Donate? wipe, assess and then price with a sticker and into a new box.
After each new box was filled to capacity we'd close it up and label "SELL" and shove it into a corner which was quickly looking like Mount St. Helen's and I beseech that it does not topple over in a loud bang along with the clatter and clash of glass smashing.
Not to be outdone, we have cat helpers jumping around and getting on every flat surface bumping into items and ...eventually breaking some of the items we would have sold.
Get pissed about it? no, because that's one less thing to have to worry about haggling and barter and will just go into the recycle bin. Accidents happen and you can never stay angry at a purring bundle of joy.
The weekend is coming and I've placed our announcement in the newspaper, it's a holiday weekend and from all that I've read about sales this is supposed to be beneficial to us because people are home (I guess).
The night before we frantically put together the last few items and find out from the weather channel that the weekend will be hot and wet, lucky us..Good thing I've thought ahead and purchased a pair of canopy's for the situation so that we are covered come rain or shine.
I don't believe in rescheduling because of a few sprinkles and there is little time left for my shit to go bye-bye before we pack another truck and move along to our next abode.
Up go the trusses and we stretch the canopy over the skeleton making a fast shelter for our junk. We line up the pair of these horizontally with the garage and then set out the tables which we've absconded from the husband's office for our weekend usage. what a coup to have these on hand instead or borrowing or renting from other people, or worse yet - rigging up temporary tables from pallets and stacked boxes.
The heat is downright nasty to work in and I'm dreading the following morning which will begin at 5:00 (the sale advertised for 8:00) so we both try to climb into bed for an early evening nap after dinner on Friday evening. No sooner have I shut my eyes than I hear a pounding and ringing of my doorbell.
Who might this be?
Sometimes the neighbor children kick over a ball into the yard and they ring but they never beat with such a tempo on my door to create a racket like this. This is deafening and I'm becoming incensed because my slumber has been disturbed and they have not stopped, seriously - a few knocks and rings are more than enough to alert a person that you are at the door.
Rubbing my eyes I open the door to find a non-English speaking man and a young child waiting there for me and the kid says, "You have furniture for sale?"
I said, "are you kidding me? the sale is tomorrow, go away you are rude"
WTF I cannot believe someone has come to my door 13 hours before we would even be beginning and try to buy things. No I am not going to stand for that and I'm not going to stand there and talk to you and let you come in and get a look at everything we have so you can make me offers early.
Back to bed I go, but I can't fall asleep right away because I'm so pissed off by this interruption. The knocking and banging on my door must have gone on for a full 3 minutes before I went to answer it. As a home owner I don't feel its necessary to always answer my door nor my phone, my solitude is paramount to me and unless I hear sirens I could care less about what's happening in the world unless I pursue it.
The knocking that kept going on though, that finally had me out of my bed to see what the commotion was about and for me to get up through my exhaustion and pain only to be confronted with this bullshit left me madder than a wet hen.
I finally did calm down and rested for about an hour to get up and start all over again and I worked all the way through the night, the husband was able to put in almost 4 hours of sleep. I knew that I would end up crashing and burning before the day was through but that's how I tend to roll.
Out into the pre-dawn light I bring out my boxes and start placing items onto tables, the humidity so high that sweat is rolling off of me in rivers. There's no feminine beading on my brow, I'm soaked to the bone by 6:00 and by then the man has come out and is hauling the bigger items of furniture on a dolly into the garage from our living room.
we are quietly working and I look up to see a car has pulled in front of the house. Here comes a woman onto our lawn at 6:15!
She starts with, "what else do you have?" and I SNAP!
Look lady, the sale is posted at 8 a.m. and you are 2 hours early - you can come back then because there are no early sales!
She eyeballed our tables and inside the garage area where he was working and then trounced off in a huff, we never did see her again that morning. No skin off my knuckles if you ask me because I found out by 10 a.m. that all of the early people are the ones that come with coin purses only.
Several cars were circling the house by 6:45 and they just converged onto us en masse. Instead of cockroaches scurrying away when you turn on the lights, these attacked when the sun came up. There was no way I could start barking at the 20 people that showed up and walked across the grass at this hour and it was just going to have to be the beginning of our day whether we were ready or not.
Let the fun begin!
What felt like 8 hours was only 4. I was dripping sweat like I'd just jumped into a swimming pool, swiping it away from my eyes and steadily taking money from people left and right. Dealing with the usual "will you take this much instead" and instead of being pissed off to be offered so little for these treasures I'm happily dealing with them because i don't want to wait for the next person and maybe being left with this crap still left in my garage at the end of the day.
Finally I could take no more and had to take a small break and let him take the reigns, inside I went for a breather of A/C and 5 minutes on the sofa. My eyes were so heavy and I felt the threatening of a nap stealing over me but I went back out and faced the day for the remaining 4 hours.
There were very few slow downs even though we were drizzled on many times - both of us rushing to the tables to toss plastic sheeting over the goods and weighting them down.
Just as we decided to close up shop and a final 'customer' was returning to pick up a large item the clouds opened up and that was it. Sheets of rain came down, the plastic whipping in the wind and both of us with our hair plastered to our skulls ...we just threw our hands up in the air and sat down in the garage and enjoyed the coolness of the breeze that came in with the storm.
There are still things to be had - just ask and you may receive but ask quickly because I'm going to have the Salvation Army come and pick up the rest this week.
No more sales for me, there's not enough quarters and dime's to be handed over on a hot July day to make up for the misery I experienced.
Remind me to stop buying crap I really don't need.
Friday, June 25, 2010
I'm only trying to help
Any means of concealment will not stop his heightened sense of hound-dogging.
WHO you ask?
The cat, Santana.
He has great big eyes that seem to never blink, he stares deep into your soul. Tilting his head slightly to one side and his ears cupped forward to capture your tender words. When you stroke your palm over his shoulders and scritch his head you are left with a feeling of peace and calm.
The way he stares at you it's as though he's waiting for a conversation, and if he could he would offer you advice. The comfort of his company and his rumbling purr are all that he has to offer instead.
He is a big muscular boy, lean and without the flab that you'd typically find with this breed. When he runs and plays those muscles ripple under thickly wrinkled skin.
I know, some people are completely turned off by these nudists but once you have held one I believe that they can convert you immediately. The texture of these oddities can remind one of many luxurious fabrics like velvet and some even say it is like holding a newborn baby.
Santana is the type of cat that takes your heart and stretches it out like warm taffy, stretches it out as far as possible and then winds the taffy tightly around his long knuckled oval paws.
I use taffy not only as a metaphor but as a symbol of one of his triggers of hound-dogging.
Something isn't right in this cat's head when it comes to sweets!
Generally you would expect a few things when it comes to your domesticated pets. Dogs, well dogs will beg for everything because dogs are like that. They will Hoover up the floor of every tasty morsel they find and they even like less than tasty morsels such as: cat box crunchies (turds coated in litter), remains of just about anything rotting in the yard or garden and even rocks.
Dogs are the most notorious patients in veterinary offices for having surgery to remove strange items from their stomach, causing dangerous blockages that will kill them. I'm talking about things as bizarre as kitchen knives, dozens of pairs of socks, your kitchen rugs and even Wii game controllers.
Cats though, cats are what you would think are dainty even picky eaters.
Kibble, maybe a treat of a can of tuna and a lick of cream but not this guy.
No sir, no way he has a sweet tooth or rather a snack craving and the lure of filling his tummy is very strong.
My cats are very well fed, we use a combination of a high end kibble as well as freshly prepared raw meat diet. This preparation can take quite a bit of time for the especially spoiled rotten and persnickety eaters, but I do not mind the effort because these are most certainly the only 'children' I will have.
(okay, so shoot me - I'm the weird crazy cat lady)
Santana is one of those, he's not all that keen on working with the bigger chunks of meat (what we like to call prey-model, this is basically large hunks of meat still attached to the bone or even the entire critter). Instead he wants me to process it through my meat grinder into a finer more palatable meal closer to the texture of hamburger. It still has the bone in it but he's not challenged with crushing it on his own, I suppose the savage beast in him is quite tame unless he can smell ....flour, sugar, honey and high fructose corn syrup!
The minute he hears the crumple or crinkle of the wrapper or bag your snack has come in he is snapped into command of execution ..'Aten-Hut'!
Those shoulders hunker down low while his bum comes up and his tail swings out straight from his body, balancing him for the pounce - he has his 'prey' in sight and the prey this day is the golden yellow sugar cookie I'd picked up earlier in the day to have as my late night snack.
This cookie is wrapped tightly in clear cellophane and has been hidden from view and scent because it was jammed down to the bottom of my over the shoulder nap-sack (that I'm grateful for the fashion world for taking back on). My bag had been tossed over the bedpost and then covered up with a mountain of other junk, my discarded clothing, a bath towel, a portion of the bedding...many layers of material that covered the scent trail from him. He knew it was in the room but he just didn't have the opportunity to hunt yet.
I'm not always a chocoholic, deep down I really like a simple cookie. Sugar cookies have always been a favorite of mine, especially if they have been rolled in large raw sugar on the top. I love to see the granules that scintillate as they hit the light, they remind me of tiny baguette diamonds or quartz. Imagine eating something so decadent as gemstones that taste so divine!
When I finally decided I was ready for this treat my mouth was watering, I'd pulled my bag out of the heap and laid it on the bed for a moment to go and fetch something. I don't remember what, I forget half the shit I'm doing anyhow and when I came back I even forgot that I wanted the cookie and went back to goofing around on the computer.
Cats coming and going about I didn't pay any special attention to the fact that my special sweet(s)heart was missing in action until I heard a rustling sound. Then I heard a sort of a wet slurping chomping masticating noise and I peered down to the floor only to see that a trail of cookie crumbs are scattered all over the floor leading to find him in the corner wit his prize.
He's huddled over the bundle and he's gnashing holes into the plastic, a paw holding down a corner that he has managed to unfold. With each successful mouthful of Saran Wrap he yanks free, a large chunk of cookie releases and he shakes it vigorously in his teeth to give it the final kill, chews and swallows.
"Santana!" He looks up, guilt in his eyes and crumbs on his lips, he stops and backs away from his cookie destruction.
"Why, why do you keep taking my cookies?"
There's a 5 quart bowel of food only feet away from this bakery butchery but I know the pussy will continue this bad habit forever.
Maybe it's because I toss animal crackers for him to fetch? Or have him sit up and beg for blackberry jam on toast?
I'm not going to lose weight by having snacks in bed ...and maybe he's just saying,
"I'm only trying to help you"
WHO you ask?
The cat, Santana.
He has great big eyes that seem to never blink, he stares deep into your soul. Tilting his head slightly to one side and his ears cupped forward to capture your tender words. When you stroke your palm over his shoulders and scritch his head you are left with a feeling of peace and calm.
The way he stares at you it's as though he's waiting for a conversation, and if he could he would offer you advice. The comfort of his company and his rumbling purr are all that he has to offer instead.
He is a big muscular boy, lean and without the flab that you'd typically find with this breed. When he runs and plays those muscles ripple under thickly wrinkled skin.
I know, some people are completely turned off by these nudists but once you have held one I believe that they can convert you immediately. The texture of these oddities can remind one of many luxurious fabrics like velvet and some even say it is like holding a newborn baby.
Santana is the type of cat that takes your heart and stretches it out like warm taffy, stretches it out as far as possible and then winds the taffy tightly around his long knuckled oval paws.
I use taffy not only as a metaphor but as a symbol of one of his triggers of hound-dogging.
Something isn't right in this cat's head when it comes to sweets!
Generally you would expect a few things when it comes to your domesticated pets. Dogs, well dogs will beg for everything because dogs are like that. They will Hoover up the floor of every tasty morsel they find and they even like less than tasty morsels such as: cat box crunchies (turds coated in litter), remains of just about anything rotting in the yard or garden and even rocks.
Dogs are the most notorious patients in veterinary offices for having surgery to remove strange items from their stomach, causing dangerous blockages that will kill them. I'm talking about things as bizarre as kitchen knives, dozens of pairs of socks, your kitchen rugs and even Wii game controllers.
Cats though, cats are what you would think are dainty even picky eaters.
Kibble, maybe a treat of a can of tuna and a lick of cream but not this guy.
No sir, no way he has a sweet tooth or rather a snack craving and the lure of filling his tummy is very strong.
My cats are very well fed, we use a combination of a high end kibble as well as freshly prepared raw meat diet. This preparation can take quite a bit of time for the especially spoiled rotten and persnickety eaters, but I do not mind the effort because these are most certainly the only 'children' I will have.
(okay, so shoot me - I'm the weird crazy cat lady)
Santana is one of those, he's not all that keen on working with the bigger chunks of meat (what we like to call prey-model, this is basically large hunks of meat still attached to the bone or even the entire critter). Instead he wants me to process it through my meat grinder into a finer more palatable meal closer to the texture of hamburger. It still has the bone in it but he's not challenged with crushing it on his own, I suppose the savage beast in him is quite tame unless he can smell ....flour, sugar, honey and high fructose corn syrup!
The minute he hears the crumple or crinkle of the wrapper or bag your snack has come in he is snapped into command of execution ..'Aten-Hut'!
Those shoulders hunker down low while his bum comes up and his tail swings out straight from his body, balancing him for the pounce - he has his 'prey' in sight and the prey this day is the golden yellow sugar cookie I'd picked up earlier in the day to have as my late night snack.
This cookie is wrapped tightly in clear cellophane and has been hidden from view and scent because it was jammed down to the bottom of my over the shoulder nap-sack (that I'm grateful for the fashion world for taking back on). My bag had been tossed over the bedpost and then covered up with a mountain of other junk, my discarded clothing, a bath towel, a portion of the bedding...many layers of material that covered the scent trail from him. He knew it was in the room but he just didn't have the opportunity to hunt yet.
I'm not always a chocoholic, deep down I really like a simple cookie. Sugar cookies have always been a favorite of mine, especially if they have been rolled in large raw sugar on the top. I love to see the granules that scintillate as they hit the light, they remind me of tiny baguette diamonds or quartz. Imagine eating something so decadent as gemstones that taste so divine!
When I finally decided I was ready for this treat my mouth was watering, I'd pulled my bag out of the heap and laid it on the bed for a moment to go and fetch something. I don't remember what, I forget half the shit I'm doing anyhow and when I came back I even forgot that I wanted the cookie and went back to goofing around on the computer.
Cats coming and going about I didn't pay any special attention to the fact that my special sweet(s)heart was missing in action until I heard a rustling sound. Then I heard a sort of a wet slurping chomping masticating noise and I peered down to the floor only to see that a trail of cookie crumbs are scattered all over the floor leading to find him in the corner wit his prize.
He's huddled over the bundle and he's gnashing holes into the plastic, a paw holding down a corner that he has managed to unfold. With each successful mouthful of Saran Wrap he yanks free, a large chunk of cookie releases and he shakes it vigorously in his teeth to give it the final kill, chews and swallows.
"Santana!" He looks up, guilt in his eyes and crumbs on his lips, he stops and backs away from his cookie destruction.
"Why, why do you keep taking my cookies?"
There's a 5 quart bowel of food only feet away from this bakery butchery but I know the pussy will continue this bad habit forever.
Maybe it's because I toss animal crackers for him to fetch? Or have him sit up and beg for blackberry jam on toast?
I'm not going to lose weight by having snacks in bed ...and maybe he's just saying,
"I'm only trying to help you"
Thursday, June 17, 2010
don't look up, chuck
My mind is so youthful and silly but my body is decrepit, my long dark brown hair now has shimmers of silver threading through it, the smile lines near my eyes are growing deeper and each morning as I slide off the bed to stomp towards the bathroom I hear my joints crackle and creak.
I remember distinctly something my mom did every morning she woke up and sat upright in the bed and then she belched soundly before heading off to start mom duties.
This really cracked me up, thinking what a piggy she is and why would she burp after sleeping because she didn't have anything to eat during the night.
Now I know from first hand experience, it's sort of a bugle to announce the new day. Sort of "Reveille" to the morning!
The compression you create from sitting upright and all of the trapped gas erupts from your mouth. You really don't have much control over it and it rather surprises me every time it happens.
I suppose that it's better than the alternative that every guy I know seems to do, which is to fart with such abandon you'd guess they have nearly sharted the bed!
My husband sometimes gives me those looks of disapproval when I'm ripping some gaseous emanations from my pie-hole but more often than not finds himself rating me. If he had index cards handy I bet he'd be numerically scoring me such as they do in the Olympics. He also has another rating system in which he measures the belch by "inches".
I might have a gut wrenching thunderous explosion that lasts more than a moment and he'll say,"oh that's a 4 incher". The longer I can stretch it out, the more hollow and reverberating the better the rating.
One burp I don't care to experience however, is the tomato sauce based burp. Over the years, as I've gotten more bling-shine in my hair, I have figured out that I have a strong sensitivity to nightshades (this is the family of food that includes Potatoes, tomatoes, sweet and hot peppers, eggplant, tomatillos, tamarios, pepinos, pimentos, paprika, cayenne, and Tabasco sauce are classified as nightshade foods).
Let me inform you that this pretty well SUCKS DONKEY BALLS. Some of my favorite foods have these ingredients, if not a majority in a single recipe!
I'm from the Midwest where you have meat and potatoes in the winter and BLTs in the summer. These days I live in central Texas and guess what, everything down here is peppers, peppers, cayenne and BOY do I love Tabasco on everything else.
A few years ago there was a morning that I woke up with gastrointestinal stress (yeah, I said it - I was farting and burping), in addition to that I was experiencing stomach cramping that rode very high in the gut. All day long I found myself in discomfort and every hour I stayed awake the worse it seemed to be.
After the first couple of hours of pain I decided to start eating Tums, I'd already taken a heartburn remedy but no relief was in sight.
Whenever I applied pressure to my mushy tummy there was a little bit of alleviation ...but the pain sort of traveled to my low back. It started to feel like I'd been kicked in the kidneys and the kicker decided to lay right across me and jam their knuckles in as deeply as possible.
All day long I'm in agony but refuse to go to the doctor. You ALL know how I feel about going to a physician and this just seemed stupid because of a tummy-ache. Seriously it couldn't be much more than a little stomach flu but I couldn't bring myself to lay down and rest because the symptoms escalated to the most dreaded, puking.
There is nothing worse than barfing your guts out iif you ask me, give me a fever or you can even give me the shits but don't have me upchucking.
The day turned into night and I'm pacing the floors and leaning into furniture to get as much pressure into my stomach to ease the pain, the pain was moving then into my chest and my heart was racing and I was sweating.
During all of this I'm being told what a hard-headed ass I am and finally at the usual bedtime my husband says to me, wake me up when you are ready to go to the E.R because I'm done telling you to go.
A couple of more hours passed, I'm weeping in pain and have now begun crawling on my hands and knees because the very effort of standing was too much for me.
Retching and heaving, the sweat pouring off of my brow I finally give in and weakly call up the stairs ...."help"
my voice is tiny and it sounds so very far away from that I don't even recognize it.
There's no answer from up above, the bedroom door is shut and the husband has on his 'white noise' to drown out the rest of the world. He's cozy in his cocoon of sleep while I am certain that Death is visiting my living room.
I cry out again, "help" this time a little bit louder but again there is no response so I begin my ascent. I climb, hand over hand, knees roughly hitting the hard wood steps and I can see small dust bunnies made from cat hair blow away from my palms. The lights are out except for a small nightlight at the top of the landing and the warm golden glow from the lamp left on downstairs.
It felt like eternity creeping up those stairs, each palm stomp and knee thump just added more pain to my stomach but I finally found myself at the door where I reached up and eased the door open.
I cry out "HELP" and instantly he's awake as I scuttle up onto the mattress. The lights are still out, the gentle hum of the ceiling fan as it spins the only sounds besides his breathing and my huffing and puffing.
My head collapses onto his forearm, hot and wet from the exertion and I tell him to please take me to the E.R. There's something wrong and I can't avoid the truth any longer.
He helps me back down the stairs and starts the car ready for our drive to the hospital, which I should mention we have NO IDEA WHERE IT IS! We have only lived in this location for a short time and never needed to visit the place in the past therefore we don't really know the true whereabouts other than the direction.
The nausea is building up and burbling out of me, hot rank burps that burn my throat. I've got the seat reclining all the way but I'm doubled over clutching myself in a tight hug, wishing that we were there already and wondering why I'm such an idiot.
He's racing along the highway going far and above the speed limit, our headlights piercing the dark night. Beacons to assist us on the journey to heal me.
Exiting the ramp where there is the familiar "H" for hospital the husband turns and starts heading ...in the wrong direction. After about a mile and a half I snap at him, you are going the wrong way..HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT TURN AROUND.
He continues for another mile and agrees at last, he makes a sharp and unexpected turn (unexpected to me) and I'm smashed into the door and again snap at him to get me there all the while I have the windows rolled down to try and capture cool air, gulping back the vomit that's rising up my esophagus and threatening to spill over onto my lap, the floor to splatter the interior of the auto.
We finally arrive and I burst out of my door like a bottle rocket, scramble through the doors which open to me with that swooshing sound- so inviting and promising of healing. I doubt the car had come to a complete stop before my feet hit the pavement, he had pulled right under the canopy where the ambulances park and I say.."park, come in..help."
When I get inside the smell of the industrial cleaners assault my sense of smell and I can feel another burst of barf about to expel but I choke it back and tap, loudly, on the window of the check-in window.
Oh so grateful am I to be immediately welcomed and pulled around the corner to have my vitals taken. No nonsense and fantastic service they rush me back and immediately put me on an IV of medication to stop the vomiting.
My gratitude cannot be expressed and soon the doctor is in with me behind the curtain to explain what is wrong. I'm on my side curled into a fetal ball, the IV lines tangled from my inner arm under my shoulder, around my back because I've tossed and turned on the gurney to find some comfort.
The verdict is in, my gallbladder. They want to get me in for an ultrasound and see how bad it is...Oh it's bad alright. I have a number of little stones floating around inside (too bad they weren't diamonds that could be dug out) and my gallbladder showing signs of illness.
The technician doing my ultrasound states to me that she isn't supposed to say anything and it's for the doctor to report but guarantee that my morning would be spent in surgery.
Sweet pain killers administered..I'm whisked off to have my belly to be filleted and I hear someone telling me to count backwards from 100...99...98...97..ZzzZzzzZ
I hate barfing and every time I do I'm reminded of the misery of that day - when the doctor came to report to me about the procedure he asked how long I'd been having problems such as heartburn. My answer was and still is, I didn't have very bad heartburn at all just once in a while after a rich meal.
He says to me, " I can't understand anyone tolerating as much pain as you had because you could have died tonight, your gallbladder had gangrene and was on the verge of bursting"
ya know something, I'm an idiot.
I remember distinctly something my mom did every morning she woke up and sat upright in the bed and then she belched soundly before heading off to start mom duties.
This really cracked me up, thinking what a piggy she is and why would she burp after sleeping because she didn't have anything to eat during the night.
Now I know from first hand experience, it's sort of a bugle to announce the new day. Sort of "Reveille" to the morning!
The compression you create from sitting upright and all of the trapped gas erupts from your mouth. You really don't have much control over it and it rather surprises me every time it happens.
I suppose that it's better than the alternative that every guy I know seems to do, which is to fart with such abandon you'd guess they have nearly sharted the bed!
My husband sometimes gives me those looks of disapproval when I'm ripping some gaseous emanations from my pie-hole but more often than not finds himself rating me. If he had index cards handy I bet he'd be numerically scoring me such as they do in the Olympics. He also has another rating system in which he measures the belch by "inches".
I might have a gut wrenching thunderous explosion that lasts more than a moment and he'll say,"oh that's a 4 incher". The longer I can stretch it out, the more hollow and reverberating the better the rating.
One burp I don't care to experience however, is the tomato sauce based burp. Over the years, as I've gotten more bling-shine in my hair, I have figured out that I have a strong sensitivity to nightshades (this is the family of food that includes Potatoes, tomatoes, sweet and hot peppers, eggplant, tomatillos, tamarios, pepinos, pimentos, paprika, cayenne, and Tabasco sauce are classified as nightshade foods).
Let me inform you that this pretty well SUCKS DONKEY BALLS. Some of my favorite foods have these ingredients, if not a majority in a single recipe!
I'm from the Midwest where you have meat and potatoes in the winter and BLTs in the summer. These days I live in central Texas and guess what, everything down here is peppers, peppers, cayenne and BOY do I love Tabasco on everything else.
A few years ago there was a morning that I woke up with gastrointestinal stress (yeah, I said it - I was farting and burping), in addition to that I was experiencing stomach cramping that rode very high in the gut. All day long I found myself in discomfort and every hour I stayed awake the worse it seemed to be.
After the first couple of hours of pain I decided to start eating Tums, I'd already taken a heartburn remedy but no relief was in sight.
Whenever I applied pressure to my mushy tummy there was a little bit of alleviation ...but the pain sort of traveled to my low back. It started to feel like I'd been kicked in the kidneys and the kicker decided to lay right across me and jam their knuckles in as deeply as possible.
All day long I'm in agony but refuse to go to the doctor. You ALL know how I feel about going to a physician and this just seemed stupid because of a tummy-ache. Seriously it couldn't be much more than a little stomach flu but I couldn't bring myself to lay down and rest because the symptoms escalated to the most dreaded, puking.
There is nothing worse than barfing your guts out iif you ask me, give me a fever or you can even give me the shits but don't have me upchucking.
The day turned into night and I'm pacing the floors and leaning into furniture to get as much pressure into my stomach to ease the pain, the pain was moving then into my chest and my heart was racing and I was sweating.
During all of this I'm being told what a hard-headed ass I am and finally at the usual bedtime my husband says to me, wake me up when you are ready to go to the E.R because I'm done telling you to go.
A couple of more hours passed, I'm weeping in pain and have now begun crawling on my hands and knees because the very effort of standing was too much for me.
Retching and heaving, the sweat pouring off of my brow I finally give in and weakly call up the stairs ...."help"
my voice is tiny and it sounds so very far away from that I don't even recognize it.
There's no answer from up above, the bedroom door is shut and the husband has on his 'white noise' to drown out the rest of the world. He's cozy in his cocoon of sleep while I am certain that Death is visiting my living room.
I cry out again, "help" this time a little bit louder but again there is no response so I begin my ascent. I climb, hand over hand, knees roughly hitting the hard wood steps and I can see small dust bunnies made from cat hair blow away from my palms. The lights are out except for a small nightlight at the top of the landing and the warm golden glow from the lamp left on downstairs.
It felt like eternity creeping up those stairs, each palm stomp and knee thump just added more pain to my stomach but I finally found myself at the door where I reached up and eased the door open.
I cry out "HELP" and instantly he's awake as I scuttle up onto the mattress. The lights are still out, the gentle hum of the ceiling fan as it spins the only sounds besides his breathing and my huffing and puffing.
My head collapses onto his forearm, hot and wet from the exertion and I tell him to please take me to the E.R. There's something wrong and I can't avoid the truth any longer.
He helps me back down the stairs and starts the car ready for our drive to the hospital, which I should mention we have NO IDEA WHERE IT IS! We have only lived in this location for a short time and never needed to visit the place in the past therefore we don't really know the true whereabouts other than the direction.
The nausea is building up and burbling out of me, hot rank burps that burn my throat. I've got the seat reclining all the way but I'm doubled over clutching myself in a tight hug, wishing that we were there already and wondering why I'm such an idiot.
He's racing along the highway going far and above the speed limit, our headlights piercing the dark night. Beacons to assist us on the journey to heal me.
Exiting the ramp where there is the familiar "H" for hospital the husband turns and starts heading ...in the wrong direction. After about a mile and a half I snap at him, you are going the wrong way..HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT TURN AROUND.
He continues for another mile and agrees at last, he makes a sharp and unexpected turn (unexpected to me) and I'm smashed into the door and again snap at him to get me there all the while I have the windows rolled down to try and capture cool air, gulping back the vomit that's rising up my esophagus and threatening to spill over onto my lap, the floor to splatter the interior of the auto.
We finally arrive and I burst out of my door like a bottle rocket, scramble through the doors which open to me with that swooshing sound- so inviting and promising of healing. I doubt the car had come to a complete stop before my feet hit the pavement, he had pulled right under the canopy where the ambulances park and I say.."park, come in..help."
When I get inside the smell of the industrial cleaners assault my sense of smell and I can feel another burst of barf about to expel but I choke it back and tap, loudly, on the window of the check-in window.
Oh so grateful am I to be immediately welcomed and pulled around the corner to have my vitals taken. No nonsense and fantastic service they rush me back and immediately put me on an IV of medication to stop the vomiting.
My gratitude cannot be expressed and soon the doctor is in with me behind the curtain to explain what is wrong. I'm on my side curled into a fetal ball, the IV lines tangled from my inner arm under my shoulder, around my back because I've tossed and turned on the gurney to find some comfort.
The verdict is in, my gallbladder. They want to get me in for an ultrasound and see how bad it is...Oh it's bad alright. I have a number of little stones floating around inside (too bad they weren't diamonds that could be dug out) and my gallbladder showing signs of illness.
The technician doing my ultrasound states to me that she isn't supposed to say anything and it's for the doctor to report but guarantee that my morning would be spent in surgery.
Sweet pain killers administered..I'm whisked off to have my belly to be filleted and I hear someone telling me to count backwards from 100...99...98...97..ZzzZzzzZ
I hate barfing and every time I do I'm reminded of the misery of that day - when the doctor came to report to me about the procedure he asked how long I'd been having problems such as heartburn. My answer was and still is, I didn't have very bad heartburn at all just once in a while after a rich meal.
He says to me, " I can't understand anyone tolerating as much pain as you had because you could have died tonight, your gallbladder had gangrene and was on the verge of bursting"
ya know something, I'm an idiot.
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