Vampires, Hospitals and Bears! Oh My!

Sorry I haven't posted in - Geez Louise - nine days! But, look. I have been busy.

Other than working (a lot), my main priority has been watching the entire 26-episode first season of The Vampire Diaries. (I never said I was busy doing anything worthwhile.)

It's a shame that such unattractive people were cast for this show.
Especially Damon, the "evil" vampire. Usually I have a rule against dating the undead,
but I'd totally make an exception for him.

Sigh. As if I needed another show to watch. But, alas. My boss wanted me to watch it so she could talk about it with me. It was practically an order, really. She brought in the dvd box set for me. I mean, I didn't want to get fired. I HAD to spend roughly 20 hours watching a show about hot vampire brothers who are both obsessed with the same woman. Now, I didn't have to immediately order the second season of the show off of Amazon.com so I could start watching that too. But, we are on the verge of another recession, folks. I need this job. And, bosses like initiative.

Other than vamping it up, I have been knitting a lot while watching the usual weekly favorites. I made a very fun cowl-neck wrap thing in a fabulous chunky yarn after seeing one on my coworker. It was basically a long scarf with the ends sewn together. You just loop it around your neck a couple of times and voila, you look all fall-ish and cute. I'd say something self-deprecating here about not looking cute, but remember, I'm working on that.

On a serious front, I spent last week worried about my stubborn-ass father, who spent several nights in the hospital with a terrible infection caused by diverticulitis. He hasn't been taking care of himself or eating well. ("Hello, kettle. You're black." I know...But HE has diverticulitis. I'm just fat.)

Thankfully, my dad is doing better; he now has strict dietary rules to follow - rules we will make sure he follows. But, obviously, having my dad in the hospital was very upsetting. I have led a very fortunate life and am grateful for the health of my family and friends. Many people close to me have lost loved ones too early. That has never been lost on me - I carry those losses with me as well. Scares such as last week's remind me yet again (people with anxiety don't really forget this tidbit) that life ends. For all of us. (Except the vampires.) No one likes to think about their mortality or, even worse, the mortality of their loved ones. I was so thankful that I could visit my dad in the hospital, that I could help my mom out and be there for her. This is why I moved home -- wow, just shy of a year ago (Oct. 30). I want to be there for my family. I want to spend time with them and create memories and enjoy their presence and, yes, of course there are times when we may bicker or argue, but we are family. That is precious and irreplaceable. That's why I moved home.

For some giggles after my whole "We All Die" downer...I bring you the following (courtesy of the lovely Kate Henson, who said she thought of me when she saw this!):

Thank you, Kate Henson! Smooches!

Tonight's entry is short but don't despair. I'll be back tomorrow...I haven't spewed nearly enough useless blog entries into cyberspace lately.

The Tell-Tale Clock

I have insomnia. It comes and goes. It strikes at inopportune times and it never makes an appointment. I have tried many things to get rid of the insomnia (herbal remedies, narcotics (duh, prescribed)) but nothing really works.

For approximately the last year, my insomnia has been a little different. It's very odd. Now, if you are reading this, 1) you probably already know me and 2) I think I have already explained that I have a smidge of anxiety. And, by a smidge, I mean a shitload. So, lying awake in my bed worrying about money or debt or my weight or world peace or debt or my weight or if Brangelina will adopt again is normal. But in the past year, my lying awake staring at the ceiling time has been different. I almost couldn't pinpoint what the f-ck was wrong. Something was wrong, or at least I imagined something was wrong. But, I couldn't have explained what was.

Then, holy crap. Out of the blue, just this week, it hit me. Edgar Allen Poe. No, old EAP is not what is wrong, persay. In fact, he's dead so he doesn't bother me at all. But, I finally determined the feeling, the sound, the "thing" that is keeping me awake. It's the Tell-Tale Heart. But, it isn't beating. It's TICKING.

Holy shit. I have my very own Tell-Tale Biological Clock living under my floorboards.

Lucky me. Of course I can't just have a Walmart brand digital biological clock. Oh, no. I have a full-blown, rife-with-literary-references biological clock. One that is so thud thud thud and bam bam bam that I can't even place the ticks. I didn't even realize it was a "clock" until it hit me driving to work the other day.

It's funny in a way. Put me in a room full of kids and I love it for a few minutes, maybe an hour. Then I start to think about all of the things I could be doing if I wasn't in a room full of kids - you know, watch more episodes of The Vampire Diaries, watch reruns of Jersey Shore, um...other things that don't involve bad television.

But, yet the heart beats. The clock ticks.

I cringe at baby shower games involving pastel-colored diaper pins or Snickers bars melted into diapers.

But, still the clock ticks.

Because when I pass onesies, especially ones with frogs or holiday themes, I want to buy them. In bulk.

Because when I smell a newborn baby, I am overcome with their scent that is a cross between talcum powder and fairy dust.

Because my fingers want to knit baby blankets and baby sized hats.

Because I can't think of anything better than having this minature-sized person asleep on my chest.

But, don't worry. I don't have baby fever or anything. Really. I just have baby-sometime-in-my-life fever. I am fine not being at mom at this exact second. I just want to know I will be.

This isn't all sad-sappy-poor-me blog post. I am not posting this for that reason. But, the reason I decided to start this blog is because I had "thoughts" in my head. And so I'm sharing them. One day I'd like to be a mom. Of course, I'd love to get married. But, knowing I could at least be a mom one day makes me smile. And, it helps me sleep. Kind of.

Self-deprecate, much?

self-dep·re·cat·ing: adj - tending to undervalue oneself and one's abilities.

I have been told that I am self-deprecating. I would agree with that statement and, in fact, often characterize myself as such. I am not sure when I started it but I do know I tend towards self-deprecation in situations where I would like to make it clear that I already "know" of my shortcoming.

Say I'm about to go dancing with friends. I would automatically make a comment about my lack of rhythm. This is a self-deprecating statement. (It also happens to be the truth...dammit, there I go again.) But I say it because I want to be sure that the people who are about to witness my "dancing" know that I know that I suck at dancing. It seems better to offer up my shortcoming(s) than to not say anything and leave people wondering quietly if I know that I do indeed dance like Elaine from Seinfeld.

This is from a Facebook page devoted to
Elaine's dancing. See, there IS someone who has
more time on their hands then me!

Here's the rub. The argument could be made that said friends would not notice that Elaine and I are long-lost dance partners after watching my booty shaking. Maybe some would even think I am not half bad. (This is a very poor example because honestly there is no getting around the fact that I am a terrible dancer.) BUT, say my friends were extremely near-sighted and they were not wearing corrective lenses. At that point, my blurry shimmy shake could possibly look somewhat appealing. If I hadn't make any self-deprecating comments about my dancing abilities, my half-blind friends would not know the difference and my dance skills would never be questioned.

A supermodel once said (no, not to me directly) that she never tells anyone her flaws because maybe no one has ever noticed that her third toe was wonky (or whatever other insignificant flaw she might have had), and she certainly wasn't going to point flaws out herself. That's a great attitude, especially if you are a supermodel. Since I put my supermodel career on hold to work in investment publishing and marketing, I don't really abide by her rule. In truth, I probably overcompensate. I know that I am self-deprecating, almost to a fault (which is pretty funny if you think about the fact that I'm self-deprecating about my acts of self-deprecation). Sigh. I suppose I do it to be funny (I like to think I'm funny. Well, my mom thinks I'm funny too. I'm pretty sure the cats do too, but they can't laugh. If they could laugh, though, I think they would.) Yet, I am starting to realize that it is probably less funny than it is uncomfortable to others. I don't do it to get compliments or anything like that. But, I think it might make people feel weird. And, I think that because someone whose name rhymes with Tom (and who gave birth to me) told me this. As I ponder this subject further, it probably does gets old when the same person is always down on themselves - I know others with this self-deprecation "affliction" and I don't like it when they constantly put themselves down because I think they are great and wish they would think that about themselves too (Meorge, if you are reading, Hi!!) My "it's all in the name of humor" probably only gets me so far. Especially since I'm not really that funny OH MY GOD I can't even stop TYPING in a self-deprecating manner. This is going to take more than one blog post to work through.

Anyway, I think I'll add to "Stop being so self-deprecating" to my rather lengthy list of things I want to work on. It will fit nicely before "Learn to dance." Bam!


P.S. I never made it to Michael's to buy a darning needle so you are just going to have to wait for the photos of my finished knitted creations, darnit!

P.P.S. I'm looooong overdue for another rambling diatribe about men and how weird some of them are. Men Are Crazy, Volume II, will be available for your reading pleasure soon. Volume I was very well-received so, ladies, get ready for another thrilling set of tales from the dating trenches.

P.P.P.S. If anyone has been wondering (and I know that you ALL have been!) about my work out and diet plan, let me confess. It hasn't been that easy over the past week. Work is intense and is only going to get more intense as the fourth quarter continues (OMG I sound SO grown up when I say things like that). That means stress-eating triggers and trouble working out at night due to um, collapsing onto the sofa as soon as my 10-11 hour workday concludes. Therefore, I am about to make another sweeping declaration a la Marshall (if you watch HIMYM, you will get that reference; if not, well that is just your loss).

Sweeping Declaration: I am going to start working out in the morning. That is the ONLY solution I can come up with. I simply cannot work 9 a.m. - 7 p.m. or 8 p.m., non-stop with no breaks, drive home 30 minutes and then work out immediately. It is not in me. Eating dessert in lieu of dinner is in me. Putting my pjs on and watching shitty TV saved in my DVR is in me. Writing a meaningless, pointless and relatively unread blog post is in me. BUT, working out after a long day at the office is not in me. So, that leaves me with only one option: Stay fat - I mean, get up in the morning and work out. I'm going to try tomorrow. I'll keep you posted. Because, duh, I have a blog and by golly, I'm going to use it.

I Wish...

When You Wish Upon A Star...

Do you make wishes? I'm sure you do. Everyone does. Except for one co-worker who once told me this horrible story about how his older sister ruined his third birthday and every wish moment thereafter by telling him that wishes don't come true after three-year-old co-worker proclaimed his wish of goggles for his birthday gift. He doesn't make wishes anymore...sniff.

Anyway. Wishes. I make them. Upon a star, on an eyelash, when the clock turns 1:11, or 4:44 (because four is my favorite number). When I find a stray eyelash on my cheek, I always wish for health. Always have. And, I wish and hope and pray for world peace, and an end to world hunger and an end to the continual degradation of our planet. But, those are things that, you know, not really something I think I can wish away on an eyelash unfortunately. So, this post is about other random shit I wish for - in no particular order...

Wish 1: I don't claim to know what it feels like to be married. I don't know how it feels to be fully committed to someone and all the good and bad things that may come with that. In the same regard, if you haven't been 34 and single, don't act like you know what it feels like to be me. Or any other single person over 30. It's weird out here in Singleville. And, it is sometimes lonely. So, I WISH that some people would stop being Judge Judy McJudgey about anything I do and go back to The Land of Married. K?

Being single sucks the most when you have the flu
and there is no one to bring you ginger ale in bed. There are other things I miss too...
but my mother reads this blog.

Wish 2: I WISH that my bangs looked as cute as Zooey Deschanel's bangs do. I also WISH that Zooey Deschanel's name wasn't so f-ing hard to spell.

Zooey, be my friend?

Wish 3: I WISH that wine was calorie- and hangover-free. I miss wine. I WISH I had some wine right now. I shall make do with wHine.

Wish 4: I WISH that that Primetime TV started at 7 p.m. on the east coast. I don't like to stay up until 11 p.m. to watch TV. I know this is a lame and whiny wish - but see Wish #3 and wHine. Oh and don't just say to DVR it. I have to keep up with the shows or the shows have babies while they are in the DVR and by the weekend there are lots of shows that I need to watch, thereby eliminating any hope for productivity on the weekend. So I accept my fate as an east coast resident and stay up. I'm a real trooper.

Wish 5: I WISH that people were more tolerant, loving and accepting. I'm still kind of confused as to why people fight over religion or "in the name of" religion,  (Hi! Let's blow each other up because we believe in different gods, who coincidentally want us to be peaceful and love each other - hey wait a second, something sounded flawed in my argument just then...) and why some people care who other people marry. From where I stand (well, currently I'm sitting with my ankle elevated because I rolled it sliding into second base in last night's softball game) there isn't much to discuss. I get to marry who I want (which at THIS POINT would be anyone. No I'm not desperate, geez.) and you can marry who you want and we can all have some nice calorie-free wine together. Bam. I should be like president or something. I am a problem-solver.

Wish 6: I WISH Snooki wouldn't wear those white fuzzy boots. It looks like she is wearing two white Pomeranians on her feet.

 Call the ASPCA. Or PETA. Or the Fashion Police.

Wish 7: I WISH that I enjoyed cooking. Frankly, I hate to cook. I only enjoy eating which is why I let Whole Foods cook for me. Or Jenny Craig. Or Marie Calendar. Or Amy - what is Amy's last name? Anyway, they are all nice ladies who make me frozen dinners.

Wish 8: I'm not going to WISH that I lose the rest of my weight because I can't wish it away, I have sweat it off my ass. But, here is what I do wish. I WISH that I keep my boobs when I do lose the weight because boobs are the only bonus to getting fat.

Wish 9: I WISH I was a mother. Hopefully all of my eggs haven't evaporated already...cuz I know that my kids would be super cute and very well dressed. And, I need some small humans to buy stickers and school supplies and glitter barrettes for because it is hard to pull off stickers when you are 34.

Wish 10: I WISH that I didn't have cankles. And I do. Have cankles. They aren't fat. My ankle bones are huge. And, until last night I thought that the bonus to having ginormous German cankles was that they were unbreakable, invincible really - and then I slid in a softball game after not sliding for 17 years and, well, it turns out that giant German bones can be twisted after all. So, now there really IS NO reason to be okay with The Cankles.

Proof that The Internet has clip art for every situation.

So, there you have it. Ten excellent wishes that you can feel free to borrow if you are short on wishes. If you wouldn't mind wishing about the cankles, I'd appreciate it. I've always wanted to wear ankle strap heels and frankly it is not a good idea at the moment (see above diagram).

Tomorrow, I'm going to Michael's to buy a -- wait for it -- darning needle. Because I am that exciting and because... I want to finish these cool knitted cowl neck things that I've made and I need a darning needle which someone got misplaced somewhere between Denver and Damascus. Probably some bitch in Nebraska is using my darning needle right now. Anyway, point is, I'm going to finish up my projects and post them so you can exalt in my crafting skills. Don't get so excited that you hold your breath until tomorrow!!

xoxo