It's 20 til 10 and I'm ready to nod off. And that's a good thing.
Yesterday was crap, but today ran a much better course. I think getting some decent sleep, aided by a bit of Xanax and a beach towel over the window, was a huge help.
I spent all day on the couch, glued to the computer, but for a good cause. I've been putting together some flyers, business cards, and a website to promote my business. More on that later.
I think there is a light at the end of this tunnel. Depression might be a lying bastard, but I'll kick him in the teeth just yet.
Today's feast was hosted by a lovely friend. It was a memorable time; I drank some very yummy spiced wines, ate far too much pork/lamb sausage cornbread dressing, and lost count of how many times I laughed.
It was fantastic. I wish I could have stock-piled the leftovers, but I can't/didn't. If i'm going to be serious about getting rid of my excess giblets, pardon the pun, I've got to go cold turkey.
I should get to bed before my food baby settles and I decide that, yes I can find some room in my overstuffed stomach for some Halloween candy.
The mouse that keeps out outwitting every trap and poison I set out. He shat a ring around the last trap.
My feet being cold all winter long. I wear 2 pairs of socks with my shoes, nuthin doing son.
And I realize and admit that the only damn thing I can control is my weight. I mean, if I were worth my weight in gold, I'd be checking myself into the bank right away.
So here I am on the eve of the eve of Thanksgiving, the mother of all holidays. I love to eat. The kitchen was the focal point in my Gonga's house, as it is at my mom's. We loved to cook and loved to eat even more. I have so many happy childhood memories of spending the two days preceding Thanksgiving staying at my grandmother's house and cooking, which began just after breakfast and lasted way past dinner.
Me, age 12, mixing cornbread dressing in cooler. Because there isn't a bowl big enough.
Mounds of celery and onion simmering in sticks of butter for the multiple pans of dressing. The food processor pulsating whole cranberries to bits. Mince meat and pumpkin pies cooling on top of the washer and dryer. If I concentrate hard enough, I can still smell the leftover pie crusts, slather with butter, cinnamon, and sugar baking in the oven.
I shudder to think of the amount of glorious calories I'll be inhaling as I feast on honey-brined turkey, pumpkin pie, cranberry relish, marshmallow salad, and stuffing.
But I can't take it any longer. When I blew out my knee in '08, I knew I was going to have problems with it every winter. And it's only been coldish weather for 3 weeks and I'm already popping ibuprofen like House pops Vicodin. I know if I don't get my weight down and my body back in shape I'll be limping along on my cane like I was five years ago. (And it won't be the cool limp that lands me a flatmate, ala Watson running through the streets with Sherlock).
It's all fun and games the next two days. Friday, the bitching begins.
First off, Happy Easter to all my readers! I hope your kids got jacked up on as much candy as they could before you had to usher them out the door to the Easter church service of your choice. Because mine did, and I'd hate to think that anyone missed the fun of having to hiss every 2 minutes, "Sit still! Stop growling, you're not a dog. Don't give me that face. Pay attention to God, He's the reason you're here, but I'm ready to send you back!"
Really, I can't blame anyone else except myself for the Kiddo getting a high on sugar. I'd split up the jelly beans, gummy bunnies, Peeps, and malted milk balls between 24 plastic eggs, so he was obligated to open each egg to discover the treasure within. What I didn't realize at 1AM as I filled these 'spring spheres' is that he would insist on having to taste test all the contents within. Before I realized it, he had in inhaled 4 peeps, a fistful of jellybeans, and a half dozen bunny gummies.
So between fighting with a fidgeting child, rolling my judgmental eyes at some of the Easter 'fashions,'and struggling to stay focused on the homily and wondering if the Deacon would drop the chalice, I didn't really have a holy experience at Mass. I know the graces were there, but I didn't have any happy warm fuzzy feelings. Guess that's why it's a good thing I am already intellectually convinced of my faith. Because if I had to survive on the warm and fuzzies, I'd be out of church so fast, I'd set a new land speed record.
Speaking of religion and graces, I'm happy to announce that Brenden McGuire received some very promising news regarding his tumor. Per his post on Facebook, "The bad news first--the treatment method for my cancer will be extraordinarily intense inpatient chemotherapy, plus surgery (-ies) at some point over the summer. So I will be in the hospital, off and on, for the next nine or ten months. The good news, however, is that the tumor has been confirmed to be non-metastatic (i.e. it hasn't "spread" to my lungs, brain, liver, etc.). Thus, according to my oncologists, the most likely outcome of the treatment will be a cure. That can keep one going through anything."
Thanks so much for the prayers for this young man. Please continue to pray for his recovery and that his family will have the strength for the long haul ahead of them. Within the next month or so, I will be working to establish a foundation for donations for the McGuire family. When I get that up and running, I hope you'll be as generous as you can. He's the sole breadwinner and will be impacted as the months continue. The college will work with him to keep his job available, but cancer treatments are anything but cheap.
Now for the hardest part of this post, admitting my shameful addiction. I am a cheese whore. I LOVE cheese. The sharp smell of red hoop cheddar, the creamy textures of fresh mozzarella, the chalky rind on brie tantalize my senses. When I picked up Edward Trencom's Nose: A Novel of History, Dark Intrigue, and Cheese from the dollar bin at Books-A-Million I didn't expect much, but I really was enchanted with the colorful, intoxicating descriptions. I had found a novel that verbalized my insane fascination and desire for all things dairy. (When I was expecting my son, I had the most insane cravings for semi-soft cheeses, forbidden to pregnant women.)
When I go to the grocery store, I'll linger in the 'fancy' cheese department, which sadly consists of 1/4 of a display case. (I almost married a boy who lived near an incredible food market with a fancy cheese section that was larger than my entire apartment house. We might have been unhappy, but I would have had some awesome cheeses to console me).
So if you'll excuse me, I'm off to eat a wedge of brie and an apple.
I make no bones about being unlucky in love making piss poor choices in men. I've had my heart stomped on a good three times, but yet I still believe in love. Despite listening to more than enough angry, depressing, had-my-life-shattered-by-you songs (yes, thank you Breaking Benjamin for being the soundtrack to my last relationship. I can't hear the opening chords of any of your depressing-ass songs without becoming physically repulsed) I am still optimistic.
I'll admit it took me a good 2 years of Disturbed, Eminem, Framing Hanley, Ludacris,andLinkin Park(except their latest album which all I can say is ewww. The edge is gone since they've all sobered/dried up. But that's a good thing for them, just not their music) to get over my hurt. Recently my mellowed music selections include plenty of Mozart, Beethoven, Jack Johnson's Brushfire Fairytales, Louis Armstrong, Weezerand these two bands:
When I hear either of these songs, I'm encouraged to believe that there is someone out there who is looking for someone like me. I tell myself that I am a good person, full of life, love, and energy, but the right one to share that with hasn't come along yet, but he will some day. While it might be 20 years from now, somewhere a complimentary awaits me. I'll still hold on to hope.
So when I say emphatically that I. HATE. VALENTINE'S. DAY. it's not because I am a warped, twisted hag. What I hate is that right after Christmas, Hallmark and De Beers become street level drug love pushers. One day has been singled out of the entire years to make a grand romantic gesture to prove that you really love the person you are with. And heaven help you if you don't come through. Some people view Valentine's Day as the make-or-break test of their relationship.
I say to hell with it. If you are with someone who can't or doesn't chose to express their love for you in any manner outside of the holidays, than maybe you're with the wrong person. I'd rather receive a hand full of midday-heat wilting wildflowers in the middle of July or a pine cone in early November, than overpriced roses on Valentine's Day. I want to know everyday that I am loved, not just on February 14th.
But I'll still eat the chocolate.
PS--This is post 3 in my 21 days bet, so I'm still winning. I've been at this for more than 30 minutes like the bet originally was set at but that's my fault. When you get on YouTube, it sucks you in like a black star.
PSsquared--I'm suggesting if you'd like a better understand my true feelings for Valentine's Day, go to YouTube and search for Non-Holiday Special: Foamy the Squirrel. I warn however, that if your sense of humor/propriety maybe far different than mine, you don't want to go there. Foamy is a foul-mouthed critic. The V-Day rant begins at 1:12 of 2:30.
I wrote this article for Yahoo! News. I didn't realized it was published until just now (It was published November 23. Duh!) and I wanted to share this. It is a compilation of three years of Christmases:
Christmas my Junior year in College
Christmas at my first apartment in Ghetto-dale
Christmas in FL after I returned from VA, pregnant with Kiddo
I laughed the whole time I was writing, so I hope you'll do the same.
PS-If you need another holiday article, because it is still Christmas (the second day to be exact--I want my two turtledoves!), check out my Complete Holiday Playlist .
To the men and women who serve and have served, I thank you.
It is because of your sacrifice that I can
practice freedom of religion
speak freely to a man that is not my immediate relative without fear of death
voice my opinion on politics
go shopping without having to be searched for explosives
reach millions of people across the globe with a click of the mouse
pursue my dreams
raise my son
I'm sure you don't hear these words enough, but thank you for fighting to defend the liberties that I can so easily take for granted.
And for you men and women serving overseas, next time I complain about not sleeping well, I'll try to remember that I sleep in a soft bed, in a temperature controlled climate, not worrying about artillery fire.
With many prayers for your safety,
The Diatribist and the Kiddo
I spent all day on the couch, glued to the computer, but for a good cause. I've been putting together some flyers, business cards, and a website to promote my business. More on that later. 
I spent all day on the couch, glued to the computer, but for a good cause. I've been putting together some flyers, business cards, and a website to promote my business. More on that later. 
