ummmm..thanks?

I will try to assist people at every opportunity. Whether it be opening a door, answering a question or fetching something that is on a high shelf and they are diminutive.
Sometimes though, I'm over enthusiastic in my desire to help and it probably makes me appear as a crazy person. Sadly, I am, and then it's just public knowledge.

A few days ago the husband came home for the weekend to help me around the house. The doctor told me no lifting, no exertion and no funny stuff (hubba hubba) for upwards of 12 weeks.
This is absolutely maddening, I'm the most hyperactive fat girl you will meet. I'm bouncy, suffer from anxiety and probably suffer from adult AD/HD.

He's moved out, taken the majority of our belongings (oh boy I have a mattress on the floor and a 10 year old t.v. without a DVD player) AND my car has broken down.
Yeah the car that was sitting for 15 months (busted) until I took in in 2 weeks ago to get fixed at long last.

.....(they kept it for a week, diagnose this - diagnose that. Oh we need a part that won't be in until...)

When at last the announcement that the hooptie was done I really was joyous. At long last there would be no sharing of the Ford, I could be free at last. The windows down and the wind blowing through my hair.

Why is it in the movies and on commercials beautiful women with long hair never seem to have their hair slapping them back in the face and getting tangled like mine does?

I pay the bill which is fair really though a huge crushing blow to the wallet. We do not use credit cards, in fact we do not own one between us. If we can't afford it we do without. It's been an interesting way to live and we do without a lot. I mean, 15 months the car sat!
Then again we always seemed to have a few dollars and then find cooler ways to spend it instead of fixing the car.

I get in, we drive a couple of miles and celebrate with a quick bite to eat and then part our separate ways, he to a doctor appointment and me back towards the house.

Uh oh, as I goose the gas a little bit to try to make it through an intersection the RPMs do not seem to have the get-up-and-go and the car is very sluggish, bogging down. Did I hear it stutter too?

Okay, well this IS understandable - the gas is very old and there is a little less than a quarter tank in there so maybe she's just thirsty and could use a bit of higher octane to clean out the pipes.

Making a left turn that leads back to our place and almost all the way through the turn she DOES stutter and at the completion of the turn the check engine light turns on and blugh blugh...poof the car shuts off and I have absolutely no power stearing and I'm trying to coast into a parking lot that happens to be right there.

Now this day, just like every day for the last 17, is over 100F.

SON OF A BITCH! I'm yanking the wheel and really trying to get it closer to the curb so that I'm not in the very center of this thoroughfare all the while swearing and beginning to sweat because there is no air passing through the vents any longer.

Let's remember I have a fragile constitution, I'm delicate so to speak. I don't panic (well...) but I am instantly mad as a hornet. This is just bullshit plus it would be a massive pain to telephone the husband because he was in a conference call on his way to the appointment and already several miles in the opposite direction.

It's the middle of the day, the couple of people I do know locally would never be able to get to me in time before I melted into a puddle of fat, hair and cotton t-shirt/jeans.

I have to call him anyhow.

Ring 1. Ring 2. Ring 3.
I don't expect him to answer while on a business call, but it will let him see the caller ID. Then I hang up to wait about 30 seconds to dial again.
This HOPEFULLY indicates an emergency!

1st message.
" The fucking car is dead. I broke down at ....It's something like 2 billion degrees out, just turn around and come get me! "

While I wait out the 30 seconds I'm slapping in the reflective sunshade and hoping it reduces the temp inside the car to 1 billion. There's no way I want to step outside, I didn't put sunscreen on that day and the parking lot has a lot of blacktop.

The phone rings and I nearly jump out of my skin, it's him and I rapidly explain what has happened and demand his return. He complies and heads over, we drive to the house (FOR ONCE HE DID NOT GO TO THE STORE AND BUY ANOTHER GAS CAN. I think we have a dozen) and pick up the 2 gallon container that's in the garage.

Off to the gas station, oh by the way it was 1.25 miles away when this disaster happened.

I sit comfortably in the running Ford, blasting the radio which happens to be playing "Sweet Child of Mine". This is possibly one of the husband's most hated songs and I do a wicked impression of Axl Rose.
He nearly always lets me listen to it and then I sing and do the little funky snake dance he did in the video. I'm not a true fan of the band but who can forget a certain era of our youth and not want to boogie a bit?
Plus I could really use a stress reliever! (the Xanax is for later!)

After he's dumped the precious fuel into the tank I then wave at him and indicate there's no way in Hell I'm driving that car until it's properly fueled. He pulls it round and heads for the Shell station and he fills er' up with gas.

Glug glug glug it drinks it down and I tell him he can have it because I don't want to get half way home and have this happen to me again. Men can deal with this shit better than delicate flowers like me.

He spent the better part of the day with the car and returned home in the evening to say that everything was back to normal. However, he is not in tune with that bitch and I figured out within a weeks time that all was not well.

She's dead again and there is another fortune to spend but I can best leave that story for another day.

Sometimes you have to wonder how I get off on these tangents but I think I just explained that in paragraph 2.

Hubby is home and I need a few groceries to get me by until the next weekend he returns to visit. While he is home on these non-conjugal weekends I also make an effort to cook for him and his coming week. Bag it up and send him with a cooler.
He saves time and money eating home cooked food and not taking a short cut in the drive through.

We head over to the market on the other side of town because they carry a better selection of proteins. This is pretty important if you ask me, but if you only like hamburger and chicken breast then by all means the closer store would be the one for you.
The store that's farther away tends to be geared towards a culturally diverse neighborhood.

Up and down the aisles we are travel, pushing our buggy and eyeballing this and that. I don't use lists instead I decide the menu on the fly, it makes for more interesting meals and there isn't any rut.

This particular chain of stores runs pretty fantastic sales at times and this week they had a coupon that stated if you bought a particular brand of luncheon meat and cheese (slices) you would also get FOR FREE: mayonnaise, a loaf of bread, a lunch portion of microwavable macaroni and cheese AND an 8 oz box of Oreos.

SHIT FIRE, sign me up!

Mayo: $1.89, bread, $2.29, macNcheese, $0.89, Oreo's $1.69. You tell me, are you going to skip a deal like this just because this brand of lunch meat isn't your particular favorite?
Not I. Even though I usually go for the high end brand in the deli the lines were long and my wallet is short.

The only thing about this coupon is that you would have to hunt to find everything.

Up and down the aisles we go in search of our prizes. I am having a good time, laughing because we couldn't find the right size cookies. This is very important.

The only size they had on the shelf was 5 oz and that seemed like false advertising since the coupon even had a picture of the product (in a box) and the only type on the shelf were the mini grab bags.

We must have spent a good 5 or 6 minutes searching for the remaining items, husband's frustration was mounting because he really doesn't like the supermarket. I reckon that he thinks our kitchen is like the instant food machine from the Jetson's.
I open a door and Zing, out of thin air all of the goods come out for me to use.
If ONLY!

Since he was starting to get petulant I pulled alongside a central area where they have cooks prepare little sample meals from recipes available to share with the public using store brands.
I inquire, "where in the heck do we find certain items because they don't seem to be on the shelves? maybe this sale is so good that all of them are sold out"

He looks at us like we are the dumbest shits left on Earth, turns his head casually to right and indicates the large refrigerated section (not but 8 feet from him).
Right there before our eyes. Cookies, bread, cheese, deli meat, mayo!!!The only thing missing was that damn macNcheese cup and I wasn't going to leave without it.
That's part of an entire meal for the husband, plus it's right down his alley for cooking technique. (boil 1/2 cup water, pour in cup, stir and eat)

We have our delectable prizes and begin our trip back down the lanes towards the check out registers when I pass by an older gal, she's loitering with her buggy a foot away from the macaroni and I spy in her basket....

BREAD, MAYO, CHEESE!
They weren't the same brands but I have to do something, I have to be helpful I have to alert her to the wonderful deal the market was offering this week.
There was enough extras there to satisfy any tightwad like me.

I snatch up the coupon which just so happens to be affixed to the shelving unit next to the pasta and approach her in my skipping bubbly way and place my hand upon the handle and say in a conspiratorial way...

"Did you know that there's this great coupon for all of the same things you have in your buggy? I mean, c'mon you could save so much money AND get free stuff. Heck all you have to do is buy this deli meat and even though its kind of a crappy brand (the husband bursts out laughing now) you could always make a sandwich for your husband or son. Heck, men don't care what they are eating! You REALLY need to use this coupon, don't pass up this great deal!"

This lady looks at me like I've gone out of my mind and protectively, white knuckled grasps the handle but listens intently. All the while you know who is laughing and he says, "you should get a commission for trying to sell this stuff"

She agrees and says, "I bet they'd give you a job"

I can tell this is going to be a battle I'll never win and I bid her a good day with a chuckle and tell her goodbye.

with a little wave she says, "Ummmm thanks."

I've got a 100lbs on you bitch

So dinner in style I demanded and then our song and dance started...'where do you wanna eat, I don't know where do you wanna eat?'

I wasn't going to play that game tonight I knew exactly what I wanted and said it right after his "I don't know.."
Japanese steakhouse!
Teppanyaki

Going to those goofy shows for a cheap steak and chicken meal cooked on the same grill top that you'd get at the Waffle house at 5x the price seems like a real waste of cash really, but there is really something about having a honest to goodness Asian-American prepare a watered down version of their cuisine all the while cheesing up to you ...it can't be compared.

Dinner and a movie plus you don't have to drive to 2 different places and best of all; it's interactive. Sort of like getting the opportunity to heckle the comedian and have him harass you right back but not have to fear that he's going to spit in your meal because your witnessing the entire performance.
The food always tastes the same, the act is always the same the only difference is your company if you don't already come with a group of nimrods that you already know.

Now in this shit-bowl of a town there were only 2 Japanese style restaurants to be found until just recently when a new one opened up and I figured, before we bust ass out of here let's give it a go. I already complain about every other place we've eaten at why not add one more to the list!

The exterior of the building is well kept even though the location is not that desirable as it is in a frontage out-lot on a busy merge from the highway. The parking was not very full but it also wasn't empty so this boded well because it meant it wasn't terrible and gathered enough interest from the locals.
Japanese steakhouses/sushi joints aren't cheap by any means and are kind of a treat especially in a Podunk city like this.

Sushi isn't exactly filling, you have to eat an awful lot of goldfish to get full.

We park along side a banana yellow cock raising 2011 Chevy Camaro, I don't care what anyone else says but those are leaps and bounds better looking that the new Mustangs. I've long since lost my love of Chevy's but if you gave me the choice between the Camaro, Mustang and the Challenger RT I'm going to rocket into a MOPAR.

Hobbling my slow, hot and sweaty butt up the handicap ramp and still eyeballing the motor eye-candy we go inside and are met by a skinny little thing that's fumbling through great big menu's that dwarf not only her hands but half of her torso. She greets us nicely and assesses our attire in that way only a snooty little spoon fed brat can.

Of course I didn't take a moment with my look because I hurt, I don't give a shit and I just want to eat. When I decided it was time to feed my maw I rolled off that bed along with moans and grunts, pulled on a silly t-shirt and those delightful track pants (watch those eyes or my finger is going to aim right for them) and yanked my long hair into a severe ponytail.

Look nearly complete I swiped the toothbrush back into my mouth, splashed some water on my sleep wrinkled face and rubbed a little bit of lotion on to combat the wrinkles that are threatening in the near future.

We are led over to the hibachi after announcing our decision to be entertained. Man wouldn't it be even more awesome if there were fire jugglers and clowns? NOOOO I hate clowns, Damn It! I've just given myself fuel for nightmares. Shit on a stick.
That's what I get for free writing.

There are no other people at our table and I think to myself, too good to be true. It won't be long before a band of idiots come in and they fill the rest of the table because it isn't cost efficient to do a show for only 2 people even if they are heffers and likely to order from both menus.
We order a couple of drinks and pre-order our entrees and set to goofing around on our cell phones just like any good American does, completely ignoring each other for the most part except to butt in long enough to show one another some interesting app or picture or snippet of an email rather than converse in normal banter.

Only a few minutes pass and in come another couple, the waitress attempts to sit them in the center where there are 3 seats instead of across from us where there are only 2. The gentleman says no, he would like to be across from us so that he can see who he was talking to while dining with them.
They kept on walking over and sat down, the man opposite my husband and his wife opposing me. They said hello and went to reading their menu's and order their beverages and we went back nose deep into our telephones - neither of us feeling very chummy.
Who wants to make new friends right before you leave town? Nothing but the chance of a broken heart.

Our dinner salads and soup come out and to the husbands disappointment his pathetic iceburg lettuce is swimming in the house dressing. I've offered to trade him with mine but he declines. He declares the soup delicious, the waitress has promised that there will be no mushrooms in mine since I don't like to eat fungus and most soups come out with with those nasty floaters in there.
She took the liberty to make sure his had none in there also, poor guy he LOVES to eat grody ground turds.

With a slurp I then declare the soup disgusting because it has a fish base and slide it over to him and start to pick out the remaining lettuce from his plate, but it was nearly a lost cause because it was indeed drowning.

If the greens had a voice they'd be crying, no, they'd be burbling.."blub..help...blub..gulp..can't...swim..blub."

and then..the worst thing could happen. I could handle this so far, its an evil you have to deal with when you go out...sharing the table in a family style restaurant but this is by far the worst.

A couple came in with a kid, clutching a filthy baby blue care bear with a rainbow on it swaddled in an equally nasty baby blanket.

I lean to my man and say, "I shall now get drunk" and I motion to the waitress to bring me another glass of wine. Certainly the mom has heard me and maybe she needed a little peace because she quickly orders herself a Budweiser, the King of Piss and a soda for her child and man.

We all settle in and wait for more drinks, dinner salads and soups to come out to the other 2 couples. The not so quiet announcement of the evening comes when a shiny stainless steel cart is wheeled out from the kitchen area, a heavy velvet curtain parting and a petite Asian man in his 20s pushing it heads our way.
The table is laden with all of the typical accouterments, squeeze bottles with soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, water, eggs, the huge pizza tray of rice with vegetables (peas and carrots that you know damn well came straight out of a Green Giant freezer bag) as well as another tray heavy with the meat each of us has ordered.

Meat..yum. Glorious meat.

I just love to devour the flesh of chickens, cows and swine. There's really nothing better than a rare to medium rare steak that's swimming in it's own juices and blood and seasoned with salt & pepper and a touch of garlic butter.
Everyone else usually orders crustaceans but not me, I don't want anything to do with that yuck-poo.

Our 'chef' for the night steps behind the now hot cooking griddle and with a long handled spatula he begins motioning from his right to left beginning with my husband.
"Steak and Scallop".."Filet Mignon".."Steak and Shrimp"...and then my husband interjects.
"ummm No, that would be shrimp and scallop"
Chef-my-hat-is-nearly-taller-than-I am says, "you are making joke, right?"
"no, I ordered shrimp and scallop"

the rest of the table groans when they see that our cook leans down to the buggy and picks up the entire tray of meat, mind you, this tray is like a 24" metal pizza-pie sized tray, and he exits from behind the table and heads back towards the kitchen!

What the Hell? You mean to tell me that he couldn't get someone to just bring out an order of shrimp to him and return the steak at the same time instead of making the walk all the way back to the kitchen? I don't get the thought process sometimes. His time and effort conservation would seem the most logical step when you have a table of 7 waiting for their meal to begin.
oh well, I digress.

Upon his return he begins the usual slinging of the spatula and long handled fork, twirling and clanging it on the edge of the metal griddle. The tings and clangs gathering everyone's attention.
He does a few flips of his wrists and it appears he has lost his dexterity and suddenly the fork goes flying at a wicked speed zipping right past the guy across from my husband and nearly zings him!
To his credit, the gentleman (we'll call him Mike) doesn't even blink and eye and continues to enjoy his soup. (which he's declared a loss since there are no mushrooms in! hahahaha)

Our attention still on Chef "King" which he calls himself, he starts back to flipping and twirling, soon he has out the eggs to begin the base of the fried rice (NOM NOM NOM) he bounces one a few times, we are enthralled as usual.
He then motions to my husband, "you try, yes?"

This is where it starts getting good because the broad next to me that ordered the Bud and has the kid flips out. She says, "umm no way..no..I don't think that's a good idea..that can't be sanitary"
He comes around the grill, which I think is a secret desire of his for a very long time and takes the spatula and begins his attempt...with absolute success. I'm staring in almost absolute disbelief because this is a man that cooks next to nothing at home.
Macaroni & cheese, deli sandwiches, ramen noodle soup, grilled cheese and drive-thru have been his specialties for more years than I can remember.
The egg is bouncing steadily on the utensil and then he does a final flip to crack it, and he does it without breaking the yolk! HOLY SHIT...even the "King" is impressed and starts to shoo him away.
He says, "okay, you go now --- you must work at IHOP"
Husband returns to his seat holding his spatula sort of as a prize I guess and "King" draws out a new one.

All of us are laughing, except for the mom. Her eyes are bulging out of her face and her hands have come up, almost like claws and are covering her mouth in shock.
This makes it even better for the two of us because that means she's miserable and is payment for our discomfort for putting up with having a child at our dinner table.
I strongly believe that you do not bring your children out to this type of a restaurant suited for adults, unless you are in a HUGE party and then there is no way that they can be seated with you because you have already filled the maximum seating at that table.

King is back to cooking those eggs and starts adding in the rice and vegetables, making a real mess but it smells so good who cares. He goes about grabbing his squeeze bottles and doles up soy and oil and then some rice wine..or WAS IT?
that's when he approached my man and indicates for him to open up his mouth for a squirt.

OH THE HORROR ...a shocked GASP comes from the lady next to me. EWWWWWWW
He opens up and out comes a stream from 2+ feet away arcing over the table into his mouth. He's trying to gulp as fast as this stuff is hitting his mouth but King doesn't give up too easily.
He puts the bottle down and then starts to serve up the rice to everyone and that's when my husband pulls out his trusty spatula and uses it as a gigantic server of sorts and spoons himself a bite.

"Oh Gross..oh that's gross. Unsanitary.. I'm a germaphobe and I can't handle this.."

ahhahahaha I am loving every minute of this now, no longer cranky because my husband is being a total nut and he's found someone that is such a fake piece of work that he's going to make her squirm.
He then takes it and slides it under his butt and says, "There, all clean" and hands it back to King... who apparently was ready for the switch like they both knew what they were doing..
He had another one within reach and starts to do a little twirling (but no touching of food) and this woman is seriously about to have a coronary!

After a few seconds of his act he then says ..I just kidding, and then puts the used utensil back on the very bottom of the buggy. How great, how classic was it though to see this total freak out?!?

I say to her during this little episode, "you can't be much of a germaphobe if you come out into public and eat in restaurants...get over it"

King goes back for the squirt bottle and then drills "Mike" who is holding his hand up in the air motioning for him to quit and doesn't get a successful response - so he ends up with wine all over the front of his t-shirt. We are in a fit of laughter and I suspect that both of the guys have a little bit of a drunk going on.
Asking them, what's in there and the response is 'cheap chardonnay'.
"Mike" says that when he gets pulled over by the cops he's going to just tell the truth how this little Asian guy forced it down his throat with a ketchup squirt-bottle and he kept telling him no-more with sign language but he wouldn't stop.

Cooking has winded down and each of us now have our meals in front of us, we say our goodbyes to King for the moment and I even take his picture with the kid so that he can post it on his Facebook page.
The 2 other couples are being very chatty with each other considering that everyone knows everyone in this place. We sit and only chip in a little bit but mostly we just want to eat and leave.

The mom decides she wants to turn my way now...and be my buddy. This isn't going to end pretty.
She starts with, "so do you 2 have children?"
well first off I think to myself..Well DUH bitch, if I were like any other dumb shit in this town I would have drug them in here to annoy you. However, since I don't have any with me it's deductive reasoning to think that I do not.
Besides I can't look THAT old to think that I have grown children.

"No and we don't want any"
....."Oh you make that sound like you don't like kids"
and I just look at her. I don't say a thing, I just look at her.
She gets antsy and has to look away and says, "ummm ohh..okay so we'll talk about something else"

So Mike is talking about how he thinks he got shorted on his amount of rice and that he's a big guy and likes his food. That's when she says, "Oh I like my men big" and she says this while turning in our direction and looking at my husband.

OH HELL NO

I said, "I've got a 100lbs on you bitch don't be messing around with my man."

20 minutes or it's free

This week I'm not cooking.

My back hurts and it hurts enough to have me telephone the chiropractor out of the blue at 1 in the afternoon on a Friday. I know that the man isn't there but I was hoping against the odds he'd pick up the phone and say, "Sure come on in and I'll fix you right up".
I start dialing his number and his recorded answering service picks up, "Hello you've reached Dr....and I'm either with a client or unavailable at this time. My hours are M-Thursday...please leave your name and number and I'll return your call at my earliest convenience"

The blinds are drawn tight, I'm laying in the darkness stretched halfway across the bed while on my stomach and my legs hang over the edge. Only a shirt on, my bare ass out and my face smashed into one arm that's curled into a makeshift pillow, tears streaking the sheets that are below my fisted hand and I hiccup a sad 'oh well' and click 'End' after leaving my message to him.

"This is Rebekah, if there's any chance that you are in the office today and have a moment to fit me in ...you would possibly save my life!"
leaving a message is basically fruitless if you ask me, but I'm going to do it because I think that something positive has to come out of the day.

There is something about me that drives my husband bonkers; I won't get medical assistance until I'm an ounce away from death or suicide. The moment I do telephone the chiropractor, the massage therapist, the physician or go to the E.R for something it means I've finally allowed myself to accept help and stop suffering needlessly (some sick part of me thinks I deserve it I suppose).

Massage therapy and chiropractic work are excruciatingly painful to me but they result in removing toxins, poor alignment and give me a little bit of relief even if it's short term.
I sure would like to enjoy a massage like other people do instead of laying there and feeling like someone is gouging/drilling me with burning hot screws/nails and hammers. Isn't it supposed to be relaxing?

The call ended and I lay sobbing quietly on the bed. The husband was still home for lunch and getting ready to return to work when the phone rang...it's the CHIROPRACTOR!
I love you I love you I love you
He said that my call was cut off and my message didn't even come through past me saying hello but he has caller I.D He had stopped in to get some paperwork finished before starting his weekend, was curious who was calling with the out of area phone number - WOOHOO lucky me!

How soon could I get there?
20 minutes I practically sing, he said that worked fine for him.

I popped off that bed as fast as I could, a streak of white skin flashing past the bed as I yanked my nightgown off. Into the shower I jump holding my toothbrush and tube of paste in my hands, while cold water is gushing out of the fixture I twirl daintily in a circle to wet myself all the while scrubbing away at my teeth.

Difficult to brush when you are also gritting your teeth against the cold but I had to do double duty in order to actually get there in 20 minutes, I don't know why I said 20 when it takes 20 to get there not counting the time to pull on shoes and lock the house up!?!

My husband says, "what are you doing!?" I said, "I gotta wash my stank-crack." It's bad enough that I continually go in to see this poor guy with hairy legs and scaly feet every visit, the least I could do is make sure I don't have a crusty butt-crack.

I've squeezed a blob of pleasantly scented body wash into one paw (tossed the toothbrush up onto the soap rack) and start lathering away making sure to get into all of my naughty spots. Twirl, rub, rinse and twirl. It doesn't take but 5 minutes to be fully washed and I'm out and yanking on track pants and a t-shirt.

Shut up about the track pants or I'll poke your eye out.

There's no way in Hell I can get a bra on because the reach around is making my entire back go into spasms. I never wear drawers so this makes for an instantly dressed situation.
Sunglasses & sandals on and a bottled water tossed into my bag, I practically skip (now when I say twirl, dance and skip - You know I'm talking about moves you'd see a newborn baby colt trying to make) to the door and am met at the curb by the husband with the car running and air conditioning blasting. (freaking 100 degree Texas day)

We race to the office where the Dr. is waiting for me, looking patient but I can tell he is wondering what happened to 'be there in 20 minutes' (its almost been 30!).
He guides me into the procedure room and the crazy contraption 'bump table' that he uses. This this see-saws you up and down, pulling you this way and that. I feel like a fat wad of taffy laying on there face down, huffing and puffing with exertion as it yanks me farther than I want to stretch.

While I'm bouncing around he runs his hands along my back, down my thighs and down to my feet and takes measure of how far 'off' I am. This is the first guy I've ever met that is so thorough and he actually makes a difference (even if I think the table is whack).
He returns to my side and starts manipulating me, POW....BANG and little explosions go off in my body as each vertebrae are realigned. He can't take care of the muscle spasms but at least I'm not crooked over like Old Mother Hubbard.

After flipping me onto my back and then doing this interesting move where he has me fold my arms over and hug myself, he leans in on me, rolls me slightly towards him and gives me a bear squeeze.

I told him that I felt like I was a bag of dry pasta being smashed.

He said that he's never heard that description before!

At the finality of this visit I wonder to myself...why didn't I go earlier? I don't have an answer to that. I tell him that I'll call early next week and reschedule but I know that I probably won't.
Who knows, maybe I will...who knows.

My consort taxied me back home where I fell back into the bed, closed my eyes and slept heavily for a couple of hours nearly pain free. lights off, windows shut, sound machine running on 'Summer Night'..I am oblivious to everything and resting which is so rare for me.

When I awoke ...I was HUNGRY and I decided that I was not going to cook and I demanded that I be taken out to dinner in style. . .

to be continued

Hot snot sundae with a booger on top

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.

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.