Welcome Back, Kotter

Oh, my blogger friends, how I have missed thee.

I do not have internet access at home and I don't feel safe or comfortable blogging from work. So, here I am at the library, finally having to scratch the itch to blog. I've had so many ideas, so many stories, and thoughts that I've wanted to share, but alas it has not be an option. But perhaps, I shall make more frequent trips to the library until I am once again connected to the cyberworld.

I shall just run down a list of updates in life.

We have the Christmas tree up and decorated, however the rest of the house does not look as put together as the tree. This is unfortunate as we are having a house guest next week for three or four days. This shall be interesting and I will have to remember not to walk around naked, not an image I am sure you all wanted, but it's the truth you crave.

My mom had another back surgery on Monday. She is doing all right and seems to be more lucid post-surgery this time around. Her previous surgery in June left her telling people very interesting things. Let's just hope that this lucidity also brings pain relief and brings her back to walking again.

I have a new job within the company that I was working for, and it has been interesting. There is a team of five of us and we had four days of training. After those few days, we were sent off on our own to work. It's been a little scary and stressful, but I think we're pulling together as a team.

I have so much to report that I don't have anything else t report lest this becomes overwhelming. I hope you are all well and I am sorry I haven't been keeping up on reading your blogs. I dearly miss my DSL.

It's spelled H-O-M-E.

I'm a homeowner. I'm not quite sure I'm in love with this new title. I'd always dreamed of owning a home, except in my dreams I had ample money to decorate, to fix, add, subtract, and make the house all mine, all the time. If I wanted to switch rugs, curtains, wall color, etc. in my dreams, I did.

In reality, I have water leaking from the washing machine faucet. Both of the actual knobs to turn the water on and off, drip water, no spray water onto the floor. This is both a water hazzard and an electrical shock hazzard. I have a brand new fridge complete with water and ice maker in the door. There is a dent in that door and the water doesn't come out of the fridge. Water goes to the water filter, the copper tubing is freezing cold, but no water comes out of the fridge. I have a ceiling that needs to be painted, a spare bedroom that could use a coat of paint, dusting still left to do, paint to remove from the woodwork, mold to bleach off the window sills, hang blinds and curtain, etc.

Also, we're moving this weekend and we have had the damndest time finding help. The Boy's youngest sister and her boyfriend had offered help, which was a wonderful offer. The boyfriend is huge, 6'8" and strong look- a farm boy. He would have been wonderful with furniture. However, his sister bailed on us. That leave his older sister and her husband who cannot arrive until after 1pm. That leaves us and while I can do my portion of heavy lifting, The Boy has degenerative arthritis in his back, so while he can lift, he pays for it later on.

My parents heard this and my dad heeded the call of duty. He is driving the four hours to come help us move and will drive back the same night. My mom is staying home since she cannpt help lift, no can walk without the aid of a cane or walker. Thank you daddy!

My brother has also offered help for Sunday evening. He is going to our hometown for a wedding this weekend and will be on his way to his new apartment in another state. I hope to put him to work painting since he's earned a living by doing just that before. Maybe he can hang blinds. Some how the handy gene skipped my dad and wound up in my brother.

So, if you're into praying, sending luck, or just thinking of others when they are in need, this would be the weekend to send some good vibes. We're gonna need 'em.

Confusion

There's been some confusion with the links to the rings I put in my last post. The Boy and I are NOT engaged. He did not propose. We merely picked out rings because he wanted to know what I liked and I found the exact ring I want while we were looking. Because he had a previous fiancee, we have to spend so much money in order to receive the full credit for the original ring he purchased. Thus, we picked out his ring. As to when we're getting engaged, I have no idea. With the expenses of the house coming up, I'm not sure.

It's on.

While working, just starting a new project, the phone rang. I answered as I always do "Hello, This is Amber." The voice on the other end identified herself as my loan officer at the bank. She provided me with good news. I was approved for the final draft of the loan. The house is mine-ours!

She also was able to lock me in at a lower interest rate than previously thought. It's been a struggle to get here, to be able to say that it looks as if it shall go on as planned tomorrow. That I shall sign my life away and get keys to a house I love. The Boy and I both agreed that our visions of the inside of the house were definitely sugar-coated since we saw it last. We were so in awe that it was such a wonderful house that when we walked through for the final time before the sale, we noticed some work that needs to be done. While so far it seems to be just cosmetic work, we just didn't notice anything in our dream like state the first two times around. However, I hear that's what happens when you're in love. You don't notice the bad habits, the stuff that needs to be worked on.

So, we also bought appliances the other day. We're going to have to remove a cupboard in order to get the fridge to fit in, which we'd probably have to remove a cupboard if we wanted a normal sized fridge in the kitchen period. The height of the cabinet above the spot for the refrigerator would require us to get a very small fridge indeed, small than the one that's currently in my apartment. We say no to that. So, now I'm the proud owner of a new fridge, new stove, and dishwasher. The previous owners took the fridge and range with them, but left us with a broken dishwasher. Yea!

We also headed to the home improvement store last night to pick up paint supplies, rakes, bags, cleaning supplies, a new lock and deadbolt, and other such goodies. The expense of being a homeowner is already taking its toll. Saturday my parents and The Boy's mom are coming up to the house with us to help us clean. It will be the first time my parents meet his, and on the anniverary of the same day that The Boy and I met in real life having had internet and phone conversations prior that.

Also, I got to put on my girl and look at shiny, sparkly things last night. The Boy and I picked out our engagment and wedding rings. He said he was going to choose the one I picked out anyway and wanted to show it to me once at the store. It was great fun looking at all the shiny things and placing them on my hand, well I only tried on two. The second one being it. :) We don't know yet if we can afford the lay away plan, but we'll see in the future what comes our way.


http://www.helzberg.com/hdsim/jsp/catalog.do?product_id=1647891&channelId=-8820&programId=9410

Updates:

• 
  My grandmother's auction went off without a hitch, which was great news. I was there to witness the insanity that she let rule her life. I shall post a photo or two of the building in which the auction was held. It was on the fair grounds in a metal building normally meant to show off 4-H projects, quilts, tractors, and other rural, small town items- things at which one normally wins a blue ribbon. And my grandmother won all the blue ribbons that day. People who'd been to her house of stuff could only comment, "How did she get it all in there." People who had never been there said, "This all came from one house?" But everyone said "Wow" first.




• We are eight days from closing on our house. There have been a few glitches along the way. Hopefully, things run smoothly from now on. Dealing with an FHA loan changes everything and makes it all a little more complex. Tips for those planning on purchasing houses soon. But most importantly, find a realtor and banker you like. They'll be with you every step of the way. I am trying to think of a gift for my realtor for all her hard work. I don't think I can send the banker anything but flowers.




• I still have not rented out my apartment. I must do this in order to be able to afford the house. I am scared and beyond nervous.




• The stuff that was abandoned by their purchasers, the stuff that didn't sell, and the empty boxes filled two large dumpsters. That does not include the last things in the basement the auctioneer said not to bring since we we're out of room and it was junk anyway. That stuff was put on the curb with a free sign.




• Because of the leftovers I am now the proud owner of my fourth set of dishes. The Boy has a set of dishes also. We must have dinner parties in order to justify having that many plates. We also have this cute shelf, which I am excited to place somewhere in the house so I can smile when I see it- to know I rescued it from abandonment.




• I feel no connection, no sentimental value to the items taken from my grandmother's house. They were chosen because I liked them. There is only one thing I would feel sentimental about and that is the electric organ, which my brother has. I am glad he received it and it stayed in the family.




• More to come... but first... photos




• 

What's in it for me?

Curb Stomp- place the hated person's face onto the curb with the mouth open, ensuring that the top jaw is over the top lip of the curb and the bottom is also placed just so. Hold onto the person's arm in a strange angle behind his or her body, then place a preferably booted foot onto the back of the head and stomp.

I've always enjoyed this image. It was in a movie I saw where a neo-nazi was curb stomped. If anyone deserves to be curb stomped, it's a neo-nazi. Ignorance by choice is hell, surely not bliss. So, this image floats into my mind when I think of my first-ever boyfriend, Will. Why you may ask? For some reason my mind believes I enjoyed this particulary duet of words during the time we dated. If this is actually true, I do not recall.

Why conjur up Will? I came across an email of his the other day. It was so touching. And when I think of how I treated this young man who was enjoying his first forays into the dating world, I know I definitely curb stomped his heart and left him bleeding and broken on the street corner.
I was inexperienced in the dating world also. These new adventures were confusing to me, these new feelings were scary, and I ran away. I ran away to flirt with other boys, to feel sexy, to discover who I was in male eyes that didn't already love me. Unfortunately, I'd have to say it worked. My escape route put me in the path of a man who gave me a great gift, the acceptance of my own body, my physical being that I have always hated.

Andrew gave this gift to me and for that I am thankful because before I hated the vessel in which my mind is carried, not to mention hating the mind at times. So, I dislike parts of my body, but understand what and why I feel this way. My tummy makes clothes look bulging in places that clothes shouldn't buldge, and this paunch makes buying pants difficult since I don't follow women's body rules: My waist either equal to or large than my hips, this equation is just dependent upon how heavy I am at the moment.

Will gave me a view into a new world. Andrew gave me a view into myself. And I gave myself a chance to be myself.

I am me and I shall not be detered in being me, which no one is trying to stop me. Even The Boy who hates some of my clothes, my jewelry, my decorating ideas (who doesn't love puke green?!), my choices of movies, just let's them slip by (except for the puke green-that was tabled real fast) and let's them wash over him. The Boy enjoys this shower of "me" and smiles while it washes, smiles while he seems me being happy to be me. Perhaps, the only shower he did not enjoy was the crying jag I was on the other night because I had stopped taking my medication. However, he held me close, made me promise to take the happy pills the next morning, and just let himself get wet.

Walk this way

My mother is a woman filled with strength, courage, and determination. When she wants something, she gets it, especially if my dad's involved. ;) I jest. But she's my hero and she's accomplish so many things that I hold in high esteem.

She took off by herself in Washington, DC and strode onto the subway. She found her way to an pro-choice rally and hollered her thoughts out to the world, some time in the 1980's. She joined a union, a nearly all male union, and ran for different positions. She won some and lost some, while feeling the sting of sexism from men who hadn't yet felt the presence of woman in their workplace. Well, felt it they did. She was on the Martin Luther King, Jr. Holiday Comission to make Martin Luther King, Jr. a legal holiday in our state. More than once she and her fellow members heard the words, "Why would we want that to be a holiday. There aren't any black people here."

Words of ignorance that do not understand that we are all in this together. There is only one planet and one race of people, human beings. That's it and regardless of the distinctions we try to draw between ourselves, we're all from the same stock.

So, my mother has done many more things, accomplish several more goals, and changed lives in very different ways. Now, my mom cannot be a part of those things as she once was nor as she may want to be. As aforementioned in a previous blog, my mother had back surgery at the end of June. That was her third back surgery and what was supposed to be the miracle, the cure.

However, it may have been snake oil, but by no one's fault. She began hurting about two weeks ago. Pain scorches her nerves. Another doctor's visit, another X-ray, and another round of bad news. Her spine has shifted. It is crooked like someone with severe scoliosis and this curveture is causing the nerves to be pinched. She may have to have another surgery which they are hoping to post-pone until December, six months after the last surgery. Four more vertebrae may have to be fused with pins, rods, and cages. They are hoping she can hold out even longer, but the doctor said it was up to her and how much pain she can handle. But right now, it would be too great a risk of infection to open her up again.

It's hard to watch your hero fall and not be able to get up.

It's a hoopdy and a happdy

Fall is coming. I love and fear fall. Because that's what happens... the leaves drop, the sky descends sooner each day, and my emotions topple over into a basket case of a heap. Then the darkness of winter arrives, days without sun, days without feeling anything above zero degrees, days without hope. Sadness arrives, sadness and claustrophobia.

The snow makes the world smaller in some ways, the driveways and sidewalks lose their widths, the spaces between parking spots shrink, yet the world gets bigger. The piles of snow grow, the streets raise up an inch or two under the packed snow, we reach closer to the ceiling of clouds. Except, I stop reaching. I hold my hands to myself, I hole myself up in my room, and do not wish to live, do not want to talk, and do not want to do anything but sleep.

It feels so bewildering to love a season so much and to loathe it just as much. However, I am filled with dread concerning another matter. The Boy and I found a house we love. After seeing nine other houses, we walked into this one, smiled at each other, and nodded. We knew. You just know. It felt right. It seemed like us. I could imagine my furniture in each room, I could imagine a future in the backyard, a car in the garage, and our mess in the family room. We put an offer in and the sellers counter-offered. We accepted this counter offer.

Banks and lenders had already been visited and papers with stamps of pre-approval followed us joyfully around the area as our realtor showed up prospective properties. We've been to the bank again, things are in motion, and the house shall hopefully be ours.

During this process, there have been days where anxiety spiked and I was jittery with nerves. I told my co-workers what was going on while in training one day, and received an odd reaction from the substitute trainer. "You're buying a house?" Yes, we're buying a house. "Are you married?" No. "But you're buying a house?" Yes, we're buying a house. "But you're not married?" No, we're not married. "But you're buying a house?" Yes. "Isn't that backwards?" Not for us.

Why does she care if we are married? Why does she care if we are buying a house? Why does she think it's backwards? Further, why is she questioning me about it in a room full of people at work using her moral slant?

So, we may be homeowners. Well, I may be. It's only got my name. I looked to hire a lawyer to write up a document and the estimate I received made me want to make this lawyer eat his legal briefs. $175.00 an hour with no estimate of how many hours it would take, plus a retainer fee. I think not. If nothing else, I'll type something up and The Boy and I can sign it in front of a notary public, thus creating a legal document. How binding will that be? Binding enough to allow The Boy to keep his balls. That's what I threaten him with all the time... castration.

Such a fun game!

Sparkles

I've never been much of a girly girl. I don't wear make-up, I don't wear jewelry 90% of the time, but yet I'm not a complete tom boy. I don't watch sports, I don't know anything about cars, etc. I always felt there was a healthy balance. This weekend that balance tipped and fell over.

The girliness outshined everything. Why did this happen? I went home over the long weekend to visit with my parents while The Boy enjoyed the debauchery of Vegas. I enjoy visiting my parents immensely and usually have a good time while there. This weekend proved that theory correct. However, one activity filled all of my time. I cleaned, sorted, and bagged jewelry. More jewelry that I've ever seen or touched in my entire life put together.

In one day we went through 300 small bags, my mom has used over 700 price labels, the world was spinning with gold, pearls, silver, and rhinestones. It was a glitzy, shiny, sometimes gaudy affair.

My grandmother had a house full of stuff when she died and none of it was organized, sorted, together, etc. It was a hodge podge, a mish-mash of items. Matching earings were in different cases (there were over 15 cases), pins, earings, and necklaces were not stored properly and lost their stones, items tarnished over time, they were tangled, mangled, and unloved. We brought some back to their previous luster, we threw some in the garbage, and my parents have had some repaired to a fabulous state.

During my perusing, I began to covet some pieces. My mother contributed to this desire by saying, "I held this aside so you could see if you liked it and want it." I liked and wanted many pieces and I now have a fine jewelry collection. I earned my "pay" this weekend. I did nothing but work with this jewelry from the time I came home until the time I left. My mother, however, has persevered much longer than I- she's been at it a month already. I think she felt that there was never an end in sight. However, when I spoke with her last, one could finally see the living room floor and the dining room table was becoming a place where people could perchance eat some time.

Tomorrow is a private sale for a few friends of my mom's. Then Friday is a larger private sale and Saturday is the public sale. I just think it's a shame that the 100 plus boxes of dolls aren't worth and most can't be restored to usuable, desireable states. They will remain orphans in boxes tucked away in garages. Alas, sometimes only beauty finds a home.

It's the bated breath

Some days, when The Boy does something stupid, I have to sit and wonder what the hell is he doing and more specifically what the hell am I doing with him?

Then, Fridays come along and I am reassured that he's the best choice I ever made. As mentioned before, I have bronchitis. It has not yet gone away and on Friday it was torturing me. I could not concentrate, but could only cough. I called it a day at noon and went to The Boy's.

When I walked in the door, he looked at me, and told me to lie down. I did and he covered me with two blankets, still shivering, and stating that I was cold, he piled a third blanket on me and tucked me in. I would have stayed tucked in all afternoon, but alas my intestines were not cooperating that day. I had to get up every 15 to 30 minutes to use the bathroom. However, each time I came back to the couch, he asked how I was, if I needed anything, and made sure all my limbs were clearly covered by blankets.

I "rested" this way until it was time to leave for the appointment with our new realtor. The meeting was brief, but informative. I like her and I think we will retain her as our permanent realtor. After this meeting, which I strugged to pay attention at, we headed to the video store, and the grocery store. When we arrived back at the apartment, he ordered me inside and would not allow me to help carry anything in. He ordered me into my jammies and back on the couch. I listened and tried to insist I could help, but he said I had to rest. He had told the realtor that he was ordered by my mother to make sure I had a restful weekend.

I left that couch only once until I went to bed. Otherwise, he brought me a snack of cottage cheese and crackers. He made me French Toast, which was artfully arranged on a plate around a mug of warmed syrup. He brought me things to drink, he brought me our Monkey, and he let me pick the first movie. He sat in a different seat than usual so he could reach out occasionally and stroke my hand.

I slept for 12 hours that night. And the next day I did very little again. I made no meals, I lifted nothing heavier than a fingernail clipper, and napped. I also cried and being treated so well by someone other than my parents.

I am feeling better. However, if I talk for more than two minutes, I lose my voice. I still cough and my nose is running and needing blowing constantly. I can work now though, but laughing still causes me to wheeze. I want to go back to the gym, but recently I became quite winded walking to the apartment, back to the car, and to the apartment again with nary a hill in sight.

Bugs Bunny's Famous Line Here

I am a cougher. Deep and throaty. This cough and my nasal congestion led people to tell me to see a doctor. I did after a bit of waiting, but I saw one. I peeked through the door and glanced at a white coat. At least, I'm claiming that was a doctor. Who else would wear unattractive white coats?

Onward, I have acute bronchitis. I emailed The Boy praising myself for having cute illnesses even, that I know I'm adorable, but to have the power to make viruses cute is immense. Wow was all I could say to describe that.

Onward again. I received a nebulizer treatment, my first! It was hard to concentrate on breathing in through my mouth and out through my nose, especially since my nose was a bit stuffy. It's not a snobbish nose or uptight, it's just filled with mucous. Saying the word mucous makes my eyes squinty, sometimes they will even water. So, for twenty minutes I carefully thought "In through the mouth, out through the nose." Deep thoughts indeed. I didn't even realize how tight my chest had felt until after the treatment. It was like I'd taken off a corset and could finally let it all hang lose, needless to say women everywhere know the feeling of letting the girls run wild and free after confinement. It's liberating, not to mention I felt better.

However, that feeling of better, only lasted a short while. I am back to hacking. I cannot sleep. I am supposed to rest, but after five hours of slumber, my body woke me up wanting a drink of something, wanting to use the bathroom, and then when I finally tried to sleep again, the body coughed and coughed making slumber sleep in the other room. Alas, there's only a twin bed in the other room and we both won't fit in it, apparently. Well, okay there are actually two chairs in here, but really does that matter? No.

What matters is that I just discovered that Swanson Pot Pies do not get crispy in the microwave and Banquet Pot Pies do. This is very important information for those of us who like pot pie crusts. I do not care for the filling all that much, but it is the crust that's alluring. My bed is also luring me, but I feel like it's false. Like a man who shows up in fab car, stylish clothes, takes you to a fun restaurant, but then tells you it's a rental car, his friend lent him the clothes, and he had gift certificates for the restaurant that he won at a Comic Book Convention. Disappointment is the feeling and I am feeling it.

My bed is fantastically comfortable, but coughing while lying down hurts, not to mention it shakes the bed, which makes the headboard hit the wall behind it. Bang Bang. Nope, not sex. Nothing nearly as sexy, just bronchitis at work.

It's an uphill battle.

You know when you're sitting in a quiet office or library with your head filling with information and ideas, trying to sort them all out, and someone keeps coughing, and keeps coughing and all this makes you want to stuff a cotton rag in their mouth and hope they choke on it? I am that cougher. I went to a wedding and as a parting gift received a cold. Thankfully, gifts keep on giving and I've managed to infect The Boy, though he appears to be healing more rapidly than I.

Most of my office is sick, though I don't know if that's my doing or not. Many of them were showing symptons around the same time I started exhibiting the classic signs of a cold. I've consumed three bottles of cold medicine, countless cough drops, and some sore throat lozenges that have only managed to numb my tongue thus far. I am giving up on the so-called throat lozenges; I nearly bit my numby little tongue off. Because of this, this illness I am not enjoying the days of August, the sun, the gym, the anything. I am moping and sullen. I hate being sick but especially in the summer. Not to mention, something is making me poop uncontrollably.

So, I am in fact not a happy camper. No, I am the non-participant, the arms crossed over the chest, glaring, angry camper. Watch out or I'll turn my arts and crafts project into a weapon.

In other news, The Boy and I are looking at buying a house. I am leery about this, but at the same time we are paying too much for us to live apart and we both want to own a home. It's out of town about 45 miles, but not too bad of a drive. We are seeing a realtor on Friday because if nothing else we can find out what we need to do in order to become eligible to buy a home in the near future, say the next one or two years. My dad said there's nothing wrong with looking since it's free and this is true. Although, I'm leery about owning a home with a man I am not married to, not even engaged to. I always thought I was more liberated, more open than that. Turns out when it comes down to it sometimes, I am old-fashioned.

However, I will never lose my last name. I may compromise with hyphenation, but I will not let my name go. I decided that. I also decided that my boyfriend has horrible taste in engagement rings. I mentioned how my trainer at work showed me a ring she liked on-line, it was the very ring that he had given to his ex-fiance, which I think is hideous even if she hadn't touched it. I told The Boy I thought it was ugly and he asked what I do like. I found some things on-line that I thing are pretty and he finds those horrid. We are in complete disagreement. I fear if we cannot agree on small pieces of metal, how can we agree on a home with larger pieces of metal, and wood, and paint, and.... oh so much more.

Whisful Thinking

This entry all started because I was looking for a recipe for rutabagas. I was unsure of the spelling and it took me a while to find what I was looking for, but when I finally did I was very excited.

I've been wanting to try rutabagas for some time now, but haven't really thought about learning how to prepare them. Well, that is no more. Praise the internet and its vast array of information.
But what this entry is really about is me wanting to do things and doing them. You must all know what's coming next... a list!!! Yes, a list.

I know, I know. I can hear you all saying "But you've already made a list, more than one list. What makes this list different?" Probably nothing. But I like lists and so a list there shall be.
It's not new and improved, because if something is improved that means it's already old, so it would be old and improved. New is something new and this is a new list. Onward.

1. Prepare and eat turnips and rutabagas.
2. Learn to know when a mango is ripe.
3. Figure out how to know which nectarines are mealy and which ones are smooth to the bite.
4. Learn to sew, really and truly sew.
5. Live. That's it. Just simply live.
6. Live more simply.
7. Stop using plastic grocery sacks and switch to canvas totes.
8. Save money.
9. Pay my parents back what I owe them, which is my life, but I am speaking in monetary terms.
10. Have dinner parties.
11. Invite other couples over for Game Night.
12. Spend less time talking about trivial matters
13. Read the news more often, especially that of other countries.
14. Be healthier.
15. Enjoy pajamas more.
16. Start wearing jewelry.
17. Go to the New England states to see the changing of the leaves.
18. Have a gazebo of my own, even if it's just a miniature one for decoration.
19. Control my diabetes.
20. Own more plants and keep them alive.
21. Use coupons.
22. Eat out less.
23. Cook more and enjoy it.
24. Make cookies and share them at work.
25. Wash my car more often.
26. Visit my parents more frequently.
27. Call my grandmother on a regular basis.
28. Make people laugh.
29. Show my true colors, to thine own self be true, dare to be me.
30. Try new things even if they are scary.

I have traveled half this state this weekend to attend my friend's wedding. I got to put on a beautiful purple dress, have my hair done, have my make-up done, and be as girly as possible. It was a beautiful wedding, the weather was perfect, the early morning clouds cleared up, the sun shone, the setting was lovely, and the bride and groom looked great. Everyone has a great time and the only things that did not make it through the wedding intact and okay were the tuxedo pants. For some reason, three pairs of them became torn through different methods, and one shirt was barfed on. Oh well, at least they were rentals.

However, it is in my travels that I realize the beauty of the state I live in. Each side of the state is completely different, as a person with split personalities, one flat and wide open all the time, and the other craggy, up and down, and jagged all the time.

Here is a photo I took from the East side.

Here's a photo I took from the West side. http://www.flickr.com/photos/36368522@N00/

It's raining things.

I do not wish to talk of what's going on in life, what I've been up to, or what I am going to do.

I just want to make lists. Well, now I am going to have to talk about what's going on to tell you why I want to make lists. On Thursday I will be leaving for my hometown to be in the wedding of one of my best friends. To me, her engagement was a surprise since she had started dating this young man right after she and her ex-boyfriend went their separate ways. I did not think it would last, but last it will. Seeing them together, my friend and her man, you know that they will make it. They are not the perfect couple without flaws and fights, they are just a couple who wants to continue on this journey together. That's something they knew early on and it's awesome.

So, I am heading to my hometown where I need to make sure I have a plethora of things: The dress, the shoes, the bra with its own boobs, an air mattress of my parents that I have had for too many months now, full-sized sheets for my brother that no longer fit on my new queen sized bed, the notes with my hair and make-up appointment times and addresses, the clothes for the rehearsal (in fact, I have no idea when the rehearsal even is!), clothes for regular days, and so on. And because I know myself, I invevitably forget something, usually pajamas or socks. Forgetting socks this time of year is forgivable and can be overcome with open footwear. Pajamas is a little more difficult especially since I am still sleeping on the couch since my mom is in my old room yet recovering from her back surgery.

So, I am going to make a list to clear my mind, to empty out a part of my brain that nudges me over and over to do something.

1. I want to be a neat-freak, but am too lazy to want to clean all the time.
2. I probably have more dirty clothes than most people have clean and dirty clothes all together.
3. I cut my arm on a carboard box.
4. I think my boyfriend reads this blog and doesn't tell me outright that he does. I don't mind that he reads it, but I'd like to know if he does.
5. I used to edit another blog for his reading consumption, but I gave him the link to this blog once.
6. I love raspberry lemonade.
7. I like ice in my beverages.
8. I prefer fountain pop to any other kind, especially from gas stations.
9. I need to get my car washed. I am afraid of car washes.
10. I know how to use ellipses.
11. My parents are the best.
12. I would like to thank my tia Changa for being a voice of reason at times and for making me want to let out my creativity in new ways.
13. My tongue hurts from being smooshed up against my teeth when I sleep.
14. I need to clean my keyboard.
15. I just mopped the bathroom and kitchen floors. This did not go according to plan. I tipped the bucket of water over in the kitchen. There is now water under the fridge, which is completely different than water under the bridge, though they do rhyme.
16. There's been a mattress in my living room for months now. I hate it.
17. I have had some of the same underwear for at least seven years.
18. I have had a few pairs of socks since 8th grade.
19. I once dated a Mexican boy from California on-line and over the phone. He stopped talking to me one day and stopped answering my calls. I hated him for a long time.
20. My dad thought he was in prison because of the photo that the Mexican boy sent me. It was merely Walmart, which may be just as bad.
21. I like full mouth, tongue in the other's mouths, passionate, try to eat each other kissing.
22. I enjoy kissing for hours at a time.
23. I think the water that comes out of my shower smells like skunk. This disturbs me while I shower and try to become clean.
24. I have a G-spot and The Boy knows how to use it.
25. I hate licorice of any flavor.
26. I've never had my make-up done professionally and I am scared of looking like a harlot.
27. I don't wear make-up so I am used to a naked face.
28. I've had my hair done once and it was an unpleasant experience. The girl was mean because I had very long hair and she didn't know how to do it. I did not request an updo, just requested that something be done.
29. My mom doesn't know how to do hair. I never haid braids as a child.
30. My mom offered to do my make-up for the wedding, however, she tends to do my make-up as she does her own: lots of eye stuff and lipstick.
31. I have eyelashes and my mother doesn't really have any, I have large eyes, and my mom's are small, so it looks weird on me. My lips are naturally a reddy color.
32. I miss living where I used to just because there was more shopping for Big Girls.
33. I am a Big Girl. I get tired of people telling me I don't look that big and that I should be able to fit into clothes from this store and that store and into this size and that size.
34. They are always wrong.
35. I haven't been going to the gym because of a problem I'd been having. I gagged througout the day for no reason, well no reason anyone could find. Breathing hard and straining my neck muscles made it worse. I miss feeling "the burn."
36. I prefer condoms to no condoms.
37. The Boy held a baby at my company event the other night and it was very cute. The baby liked him and was having a great time. All the girls who saw him probably would've jumped him right there. :o)
38. The Boy is charming and cute.
39. I use at least four to five tissues a day for my runny nose.
40. I have a genetic trait that makes our noses run after we eat, no matter what we eat. I also am on a medication whose side effect is a runny nose.
41. I still dislike Sloppy Joe's. I tried one yesterday and hate them.
42. I ate pizza and did not throw up.
43. I am going swimming with The Boy's mom this week.
44. I became a volunteer at the Humane Society yesterday.
45. I like puppies but not kitties.
46. I want to go back to school, but I am not sure for what. I am not sure if Library Science is really my dream or if I wouldn't like something else more.
47. I miss school.
48. I love learning.
49. I am going to find out why Sloppy Joe's are called such.
50. You are loved by me.

Three Strikes and You're Out

I was on the computer yesterday morning. I was looking for a fun website I'd been to the other day, but didn't remember what it was called. So, I popped open the history folder and began perusing. Because I don't watch tv, mostly because I don't have cable, I spend a lot of time on-line an visit different websites. My boyfriend also uses my computer and visits other websites, so the history was quite full.



I looked and looked for something that jarred my memory. However, something else jarred me. Someone had viewed personal ads on Craigslist, that someone was my boyfriend. He only looked at three of them and according to the color of the links, he replied to none. I confronted him that morning, I asked him why he was looking at personal ads. He said he'd been looking on Craigslist at all the usual stuff he looks at, motorcycles, trailers, free stuff. And then was bored and "decided to see what people wrote on them." I cried and he looked me in the eyes and said I'm all he wants, that he was just bored, that it was nothing.



I still cried. Finally, I stopped crying and told him to make me pancakes. He did and I ate them. Then, I showered. As the hot water hit my skin, my pores opened as did my mind and thoughts came into my head. I need time to think after things happen, after the initial confrontation, and I find the shower the perfect place to do it. I got dressed in the bathroom and came out with a new anger than before.


I asked why he wanted to know what they wrote on their ads. I told him that if he looks at this stuff at my house, how do I know what he finds at work on the internet, I told him that I do not want to get hurt or be taken adventage of again. I've had someone take my generosity for granted and I will not let it happen again. I do not want to look stupid down the road if I were to find out something had ever happened.


He responded with the same explanation as before, that he was bored and just wanted to look. He said why would he look in the nearest "Big City" for a girl if he were going to cheat, why wouldn't he just go out to the bar and find some girl to fuck. I bawled.

And then I let go. Being angry with him won't solve anything. He can't take back what he did. He can't undo it. But I made a decision. He has one more chance to screw up royally, and then he's gone. It's like the law, three chanes and you go away for good. Same for him, three strikes and he goes away for good.

I am not sure we should be together anyway sometimes. We do not want the same kind of life. I do not want children. I don't like their cries, their whines, the wiggling, the giggling, the constant chatter. I do not want them and he does. I want to travel, I want to be active with bike riding, walks, frisbee, golf, and bowling none of which he can do. We have different ideas on the future and I don't know if they mesh.

So, I'm just waiting to see what happens.

It's only me

I am a solitary creature. I generally do not seek the company of others and wait for them to come to me. I spend the majority of my time in my own little world; at work my headphone drown out the other works in the next cubicles over, at home, I day dream and think in my head where no one else may roam.

And yet, when I picture my life in the future or when I think of what I really want in life, those ideals do not conicide with what I do. I want to have the house where people just drop in for no reason at all and where my rooms are always clean, albeit cluttered, with that lived in look. I want to always have the appropriate snacks on hand and be a joyful hostess to my newly arrived guests. I want to have a spare room for those guests who wish to stay the night or a fortnight. But I do not have this nor do I believe I will, for it goes against my very nature.

It seems that all I want goes against my very nature, which is in fact nature that goes against me. I listened to a book on cd about two young ladies around my age, perhaps a couple of years older, who took off an adventure in Peru. They went to complete humanitarian works, and this has always been my dream.

I was an Americorps VISTA, which is like the Peace Corps, but one serves in the United States rather than abroad. However, I never even left the town I was living in to complete my year of service. And then there is my body itself, which does not produce enough chemicals on its own in so many areas, seratonin, insulin, estrogen, etc. Some days, I can eat very bland food and wind up sick, so I see my dream of being overseas and helping the world, as a farce, a lie I tell myself.

Perhaps, one day I can fill my house with all the friends I will make in the Peace Corps, then as we all laugh sitting around the table playing board games, I will wake up and find myself alone, wanting to escape who I am.

That's making my arms hurt

So, I love grapes. Cold, round, hard, purple grapes. I can only chew them on one side of my mouth because of the receding gums on the other because the chill of the grapes zings my nerves. Did you know diabetes can contribute to gum disease? As if I didn't have to worry about enough things, now it's gum disease. Diabetes sucks. It's a consuming disease. When I eat something I shouldn't, it's not dieter's guilt or the average I shouldn't have done that and now I'll gain five pouds. No, for me, I wonder if that cookie is the one that will lead to me losing my leg or if that donut will make me blind. Each no-no food can lead to some horror, but some horror I can't resist. Trying to fend off ice-cream cravings doesn't work. I just wind up pacing through the room, thinking "chocolate, rocky road, vanilla with cookies," and on.

An on, we go. I joined a gym. I have a trainer. We created a work out. Now, I just have to do it. Two times this week already. We'll see how the rest of the weeks go. I hope it's something I can keep up. But it's so hard to make myself to there, to make myself walk in the door, and to want to make my body hurt and my lungs wheeze. I must admit, I hate cardio. I like lifting weights. I hate sweating, turning red, and feeling my heart pound like that. It's hideous feeling.

I must speak of other hideous feelings at another time. An office conversation, gone awry.

But I will speak of other feelings, kinky ones. I bought some fun things to wear and try out with The Boy. It should be interesting. A girl at work called me a freak, Andrew called me the freakiest virgin he ever knew, and they are both right. So, let's get it on. Wait, why don't you all get it on with someone else and quit reading this drivel.

Tick Tock Time's Flying By

Le big sigh.

I am melancholy and dull. My senses feel dulled, nothing feels especially, well especially anything. I have once again reached that aching feeling, where I long to do something spontaneous, something different, and as always I sit here with no ideas springing to mind, no intensely bright light bulbs blinding my brain. I sit here wanting to sleep, wanting to escape the only way I know how, by dreaming, be it day dreaming or sleepy dreaming. However, my day dreams have become non-existant.

I have no drive to do anything in particular, yet I want to do everything. However, when given the chance to do something, I do not wish to participate. What a viscious cycle. How does one ever end it? Is it like a dryer when the towels are warm, inviting, and smelling so fresh, that a buzzer dings. Do you smell fresh, warm, inviting odors and hear a beep in your head? Or is it audible?

Perhaps, I'm listening for the wrong ring. For there have been rings, of the phone that is. And I've ignored them. A friend from an old job, who, I am sure I have deeply offended with my poor correspondence skills. However, isn't that how old friends are? You pick up where you left off, that feeling of apartness never complicating matters? Perhaps friends are the warm towels, ready to comfort you and absorb your large tears while you are down, ready to spread warm shivers through your body when you are already happy, making you appreciate so many things, especially fabric softner. Do friendships have fabric softner? Does something coat our inner selves and make us softer, more friendly to the touch? I do not know.

Right now, all I know is that I wish to be sad and irritated. I want to wallow in this feeling of despair. Yet, I cannot. I think of something my mother said. My dear mother who recently had back surgery- 12 inches of her spine cut open and sealed shut like railroad track, with 37 staples holding her shut. Not to mention the pins and rods holding her spine upright. She is high on pain killers and tells my dad things like, "You need to call the decorator to put the salad on your head," I want fairies on the ceiling," and other entertaining bits.

I helped my mother this weekend and in ways I've done before, two times before to be exact. For this is her third back surgery, and so three times now we've helped put her to bed, I've fed her, helped bathe her, and assisted with any other tasks that arose, but I think the most important task she was concerned about this weekend was making sure my brother tried on some shorts I bought him. And finally, try them on he did and he had to parade into the room to show her. The power of mothers... screw the power of clean, that ain't got nothing on mothers.

What's red, blotchy and, no fun?

That would be my tummy and then my thighs.

I tried a new diabetic drug. It sounded too good to be true. It's main side effect is weight loss, oh the horrors. I'm a big girl and no matter how accepting of herself a big girl is, somewhere she wants to be thinner, but it's just not worth the struggle. The drug was made from the spit of the gila monster. I was impressed after only a few days. I was hungry every six or seven hours instead of four hours and I ate about half of what I did before. My eyes were always bigger than my stomach since the medication holds the food in your stomach longer, slowing digestion, so the glucose the flows into your blood after eating is steady and a slight drip, not a gush.

I didn't even mind the needles, the sticking myself, I didn't mind any of it. However, I did mind the red, itchy blotches dotting my stomach. Large red spots, some of them nearly the size of a quarter puffed up and itched like the dickens, whatever dickens are. So, I scratched, made them redder and maybe even itchier.

I went to the doctor, we both said it was working so well, so let's try it again. We decided on a new injection site, my thighs. Now, I looked a little strange itching my fat girl tummy, it sticking out, trying to show itself through my shirts. But now, my thighs are itchy and that looks even weirder. I feel like people think I have far roamning crabs or the clap that's moved too far south.

What's funny is that today in the mail I received my free carrying case for my pen injections, a completely useless item now. But I was put another another oral medication, bringing my total to seven different medications a day with a total of eight pills a day. Does anyone want to study me and drug interactions? I would be an excellent candidate.

Speaking of drugs, my mom is on some pretty strong ones after her back surgery on Friday. Six hours of surgery, four of which was just removing scar tissue. This seems to be another family trait. Why aren't any of my family's traits something fun like athletic prowess, musical ability, or artistic skills, no medical oddities. I think we should be on an episose of Mystery Diagnosis and do a special on shitty genetics. Because we have them. My mom is doing well, though she did try to overdose on the pain medication when she was in control of the pain pump. They soon took care of that problem and put her on oral pain killers. Naughty mommy.

I am joining a gym, or thinking of it. I have an appointment tomorrow for my evaluation, which I am not sure what the consists of other then someone telling me I am fat and/or out of shape. This is information I know.

Do you know what else I know? That I am disgustingly in love with The Boy. Some days it just hits me, that feeling, and today it was strong. This doesn't mean I don't want to poke him in the eye a lot or as I said in front of his mom, his two sisters, and his brother that I will punch him in the bunghole.

I shall continue this later.

Long story, unhappy ending

Last night The Boy and I went to a wedding reception. First we started out by meeting a couple of his friends in the bar of the hotel where the reception was taking place. This was fine. After about an hour or so, we move into the reception hall and found seats near The Boy's sister and other co-workers/friends.

We ate, took silly pictures, they all drank, including The Boy's underage sister (she'll be 21 in two months), and I sat there feeling left out as I normall do at these things. I barely know his friends and most of the time the guys sitting around accusing each other of being gay, of having a dick in their mouth, etc. And it's not very funny after a while, especially since my brother is gay. My brother is a homosexual and I know how much it has hurt him when a group of guys sit around calling each other "faggots" and other things to stop on their masculinity. My brother is probably one of the most masculine men I know. No one would ever suspect. He is not a stereotype.

So, this talk bothers me, but I indulge The Boy because they are his friends and have been performing this ritual, this act long before I came along. I just hope some day they out grow it. I don't see this happening. Also, they drink a lot. I don't really enjoy drinking and even when I was not on a medicine that prevented me from drinking, I rarely took part in it. I don't understand the need to down alcohol, I don't like the feeling it gives me.

The Boy's sister became drunk and beligerant after drinking too many screwdrivers. She made it clear to me that she did not want to talk to me, by stating just that. The Boy left me sitting at the table with his drunk sister and two of his co-workers/friends. I don't know these people very well and when they got up to dance, I felt very lonely. Then his sister went to the bathroom and indeed, I was lonely. I didn't know where The Boy had went, he last mentioned he was going to use the bathroom, which peeing does not take 20 minutes. So, I go in search.

I find him in the bar playing Blackjack with one of his friends. I get on his case for not telling me where he was going. He said, well I told my friend, pointing to the guy sitting next to him. I said, whatever and walked away. I went back into the reception hall, his sister came back, clearly irritated with me, daggers shooting from her eyes and piercing my emotions. The couple was still dancing so I decicded that I was going home. I hadn't driven to the hotel, but The Boy's apartment was a scant three blocks away. I went back to the bar, found him, and announced my intentions. He said, "Sorry. What do you want me to do?" I said nothing, that I just wanted to go home.

I went home, cried, and went to sleep. He showed up around 2:30am. He didn't think I was there, not seeing my car in the parking lot, forgetting we left it at the mall earlier that day. I walked down the stairs to find him dialing my number. We sat together on the couch. We talked, chit-chatted about this and that. Then he told me, "I might have smoked pot tonight."

I lost it. I do not tolerate drug use of any kind. None. He knows I don't like it. I got upset and all he can say is, "I shouldn't have told you." I retorted with you shouldn't have wanted to do it. I cried and yelled at him for about an hour. I went out the door and was ready to walk the 2-3 miles to my car, when he was standing in the window calling for me. I went back in, shaking with angry. I have never shaken with anger, my arms crossed with my fingernails making dents in the soft skin of my inner arm. He said he was sorry, but that it's not like he is an addict, that it was only the second time in his life that he's tried it. I asked why he did it, his answer was the most hideous one he could have given, "Everyone else was doing it." I scoffed and walked away again. Then came back filled with more rage.

I told him why I don't like drugs. That I lived with a drug addict, that I lived with an alcoholic, that I got to have fun at Family Days at rehab, that every Sunday for a year I visited my brother in baby jail because he decided to commit a felony in order to pay off drug dealers. I told him this and said that shouldn't have made a difference in his thinking. I said he shouldn't have wanted to do it. He replied that nothing he said was going to make me not mad, that it already happened, and that there was nothing he could do. I asked how he could do it after he bitched, complained, and moaned about how his ex-fiance used to use marijuana. He said nothing.

Finally, exhuasted, we went to bed. I still love him, but he undermined my trust. He broke something in me. And it will take a long time to repair that injured piece. His nonchalance irks me. I made him promise that as long as he is with me, he'll never do it again.

I am still angry and irritated.

Is it Your Birthday?

Every day at work, a girl, perhaps she's even a woman, her age is indistinguishable, walks around all the cubicles with a highlighter and a printed sheet of names. She takes attendance. This makes me laugh and it makes me feel like I am in elementary school. I keep waiting for her to ask me if I am having hot or cold lunch. However, she doesn't and most likely won't, which is a good thing. Sometimes, she'll also hand out print out of reports that are run each day.

So, when she came to stand near my desk, and I caught the sight of her out of the corner of my eye, I returned to my computer monitor, barely noticing her presence. She asked, "Is it your birthday?" I had no idea why she said that or if she even said it to me, but then I looked over and a tall carboard box was in her arms. I said, "No." No other words came out my mouth. I was so confused as to why I was receiving a box at work. I thought back and wondered if in a stupor I ordered something from the LTD catalogs that float around between cubicles.

She sets the box on my desk and walks away. I open the box and see green leaves and purple-pink flowers. I pull them out and feel something heavy stay in the bottom of the box. When I reach in further, I pull out a pink and red striped pot. I set the Calla Lilies into the pot and then notice the card. I wonder who they are from, I wonder why they have come.

The card explains how he can't explain his love, the card speaks of love becoming more love, and the card is from The Boy. The flowers are for no reason other than to express his feelings for me. I cry and I try to call The Boy. I can't get a hold of him, so I call my mom instead. My voice thick with happy tears. Later, I get in touch with The Boy and the tears stream again, my voice barely audible as I say, "I love you."

We meet for tacos at lunch and I am able to touch him, to know he's real, and I feel giddy. I kiss him and could continue to do so for hours, months, years.

My mom said she would not mind his as a son-in-law. I tell The Boy this and he mockingly says, "Everyone wants you to marry me." I say back, "And no one wants you to marry me." He replies that he was once there, not married, but supposed to be married. I know this, I tell everyone that it'll be a while before we're ready, before he's ready for that level of commitment again. Everyone else seems to want to rush things, want us to put rings on our fingers, and repeat some vows. But I am already committed to him, I am already his. I believe he is mine. If things are meant to be, shiny marriage markers will adorn our fingers in time but until then, I am enjoying living in sin because I am dirty.

It's a mixture called Life

I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. I am tired of spending my days in the bathroom. I should just move my office and my bed into the bathroom. That way I can just sleep right next to and work right by the toilet so that when my bowels decide to evacuate, I will be prepared and ready. I know my bed won't fit in the bathroom, but I could start sleeping in the tub and at work, I don't think there is internet access and that's crucial to my job. So, perhaps that's not such a great idea after all. I may also mention that since it's become so humid I am having trouble breathing, catching my breath. I don't know if it's anything or merely nerves.

Speaking of my natural disposition, which is a little on edge all the time, I recently met someone who felt that right off the bat. I got a haircut today. I do not have a regular stylist and will go to whomever is open. I saw this woman and judged her, and judged wrongly. She seemed old, too old to give me a hip, modern haircut, she was foreign, her accent seemed Easten Block-ish. Of course, all of this was incorrect. She was a lovely lady, while she is older, her mind is sharp, her spirit is vibrant, and she is Croatian. So, while I had parts of it right, I had the best parts of it wrong. She gave a great haircut and was interesting to listen to. So, I stand corrected.

I am now the proud owner of a bra with its own boobs. I purchased a strapless bra today for a wedding I am a bridesmaid in this summer. It is more comfortable than the previous one I owned and seems much more supported. Maybe my old bra just needed boobs of its own. I thought today about how women's clothing would be so much different if we didn't have breats. Think about all the things that are done to shirts to play-up, play down, play with, the breasts. It's interesting to think about how fashion would have evolved, would we dress like men? Would there be a different in male/female tops? Just a thought.

I was thinking the other day about how everyone is either getting married, talking about getting married, or just became married, and I get a little jealous. But mostly, I think I want the shiny metal that goes around my finger. I've never been a jewelry person, nor a materialistic person. I love stuff, weird, kitschy, ugly, things, but rings have never really drawn me in. Now, they are. I want some bling and I don't know who I am.

Stacy and Clinton

I did not see The Boy last night. I saw one of my best friends instead and another girl I haven't spoken to in a long time. It was fun to be without him, to be the other person I am with the girls. Some people say that you should be who you are around everyone, but each person gets someone a little different, that's just the way things are. I am not the same person I am in front of my parents that I am with The Boy, that I am with a bunch of giggling girls talking about fashion, What Not To Wear, and our lives. It's a different connection, it's a different feeling, and I enjoyed it.

It's been so long since I've spent time with just girls, sitting around with the tv on, commenting on life, throwing out the details of importance and non-importance. It was fun and I hope to do it again soon. I shall be seeing those same girls tonight and we wish one of them a Happy Birthday, which I hope it is indeed.

Currently, I am looking for music online, trying to find something with meaning, with substance, and a sound I like. This is hard and I am not really sure why I am doing this. I no longer listen to music in the car. I strictly listen to books on CD. Each time I enter the car a story plays for me, a story that I recall the last edges of, shimmery edges of excitment, of feeling I didn't want to get out of the car because then the story will end. But I do not bring the tale inside, no. It stays in the car. It is only meant to be heard in bits and pieces, not in long stretches. For I listen to books I would never otherwise read, could never otherwise finish. I would have given up on them in the first few pages, but with a voice slipping from the speakers, the story takes on a lifelike quality... as if a friend is in the car beside me waiting for so she can finish telling her story.

She waits for me. And it's nice. Just like my friend waited for me to ditch The Boy for a night, just like I waited for her to finally have time for a social life, we all wait. And the wait is worth it.

It's memory weekend

The sun shines, the car heats up, and I ride.

The Boy and I went to the Big City this weekend. We took in some sights of life, of real life in some unsuspecting places. (We went to visit his friends and didn't get a chance to see my friends. I think the next trip we take out there will be to see my pals so he can have the chance to do the meet and greet. )

We drove through rain and beautiful sun. Then on Saturday we enjoyed the sun on our skin, too much sun our on pale skin. From peachy tones to red they went. Dreams in the Mist, Miss Blueberry Juice, and Little Wagon entertained us with their strong muscles, sleek coats, and flying tails and manes. They ran for our delight while we tried to bet which horse would come in first. I was often wrong, but was right a few times. I took that long shot and earned two dollars. Count 'em, two. What a booty to take home. Alas, all I took home was a new hat in order to prevent my head from burning and to be allowed the luxury of not squinting into the sun for hours, the Boy still holding my hand, and a new experience. The horses were not the experience alone. I witnessed love in the bleachers. An older couple, two women, both of whom smoked their lungs that day, like jerky, tough and dry women, who held their arms around each other and spoke of the mundaneness of life. It was not that they were lesbians that was new, it was the way they looked at each other, with adoration, that caught my eye.

Another new experience was the Bon fire we went to late that night. While the bon fire itself was not new, getting lead poisoning from a 50 year old picnic table that was destroyed by karate kicks and a chain saw in the dark of night was new. The early morning trip while driving drunk people to Denny's was not new. However, being the only white people in a room filled with 40-50 Black people was new, especially since many of them lived up to the stereotype of "urban black." Baggy pants, huge t-shirts, sideways hats, the n-word flying fifty miles an hour at each other, the man who blames the African-American manager for being an Uncle Tom because the manager is trying to do his job and force an unruly patron to leave, the belly and booty bearing clothes on the women. The girls were quiet, eating their meals, and talking amongst themselves. It was the men, the boys who called attention to themselves.

We sat silent and soaked it in. My French Toast soaked the sugar free syrup. Perhaps the French Toast absorbed more than syrup, maybe it took on a bad attitude, maybe it carried in it's crevices a negative connection, but whatever that French Toast hid in itself, I threw it up four hours later.

We went home on Sunday. I did not feel well most of the day. A slow nausea wandering around my body, coming to roost here and there as if my elbow would suddenly be on the verge of throwing itself out or my hair desperately wanted a hat in case it had to purge excess oil or something. We stopped by an outlet mall, picked up some clothes for The Boy and a shirt for myself. I will write more at another time.

Baby Bubbles

'Allo,

Sometimes, I feel otherwordly, maybe in this case other-country-y. I hear myself in an Australian accent in my head. I think I am just trying to make myself feel more exotic than the boring Midwesterner that I am. Accents seem so much more exciting, offering an imagination to those around you. Ah, the excitement, the enticement of lilting languages and drawling diction. I do love illiteration. I think it's marvelous.

I recently made the drive to my grandmother's house again. This time to say goodbye to her things rather than her body. It is a daunting task to clean her house, for it is not a normal house. There used to be paths in the house, things piled to the ceiling, boxes filled with unknown treasures, but mostly unwanted junk. Everything could be used for a part, everything had a purpose to someone. However, logic fails when you have to find that perfect someone in the midst of the nearly seven billion people on the planet.

During this last trip I looked at dolls. As a child, I did not care for dolls and the imaginary play that accompanied them. For me, dolls were boring as they did not do anything. Unfortunately, they still do not do anything. Even more unfortunate, there were boxes upon boxes of them. When I left after a long weekend of peeking into boxes hoping something else would be found in them, there were 50 boxes of dolls. When my father finally finished going through all the dolls, they would total 78.

One would think this would be a child's dream, a doll collector's paradise, and it would have been. However, these dolls were the neglected children of the doll world. Matted hair, pen inked onto their peach bodies, not even done well enough to be considered cruse prison tattooes. Merely, ugly, sad, worn out dolls that one their owners were done abusing them, were left for dead. They were sold for a quarter, they were given away, and my grandmother was the one who scooped them up.

I remember getting these dolls from her when she would visit. She would hand one to me so happily, as if I were getting a grand gift. As soon as she left, my mother would make me throw the doll away and wash my hands. I would gladly dump it into the trash and feel dirty, sullen just touching the one arm I limply hung onto while my grandmother was in sight. A soiled doll, with crusty hair, and eyes that no longer blinked open and shut, just one open and one shut, a nightmare of a doll for a gift is something I did not understand.

These dolls are something I still do not understand. I don't know why my grandma would be so interested in keeping these, in buying them, and then throwing them into boxes. If she were wanting to love one, wanting to relive her own harsh childhood in which she had no doll, I do not know where these come into play. I merely know that they do not come into play with me, they did not then and do not now.

This daunting task haunts us. We wonder why she kept these things, not just the dolls, but other things. We wonder so many things and in these boxes, these piles we do not find answers. Just dust and someone else's memories.

I fail

This blog so often is a review of how often I fail at trying to better myself. Once again, I had started skipping my medication. I became a crying, sad-eyed, pathetic sack of life. I didn't laugh, everything hurt my feelings, I wasn't fun, but through that The Boy stood by me. He said it'll take a lot more than that to drive him away. Odd, Andrew was the complete opposite. I drove him away with that, however, that result was entirely appreciated. The Boy is my love. Andrew was but a mere stepping stone to get me to the point where I could meet and fall for The Boy.

Opposites indeed. Another opposite occured this week. I went to the doctor to have my diabetes checked. I again informed my physician (yet another new one albeit in a new town) that I a naughty, eating things I should not, not testing my blood, not taking my medicines, not caring for myself the way I should. She admonished me as she is supposed to and we moved on. My period was late and I thought nothing of it. A week late is nothing to me, well, it wasn't before I started having sex. Now, I suppose it should be a concern. However, when I informed her of the date of my last period, she proposed a pregnancy test. I agreed to one, just to be sure.

My period has been absenst for four months at a time before. If I am in any way stressed more than normal, I will be late or miss it entirely. If I am sick, it will be late. I was stressed towards the end of April, with the death of my grandmother and trying to clean her house out. More on that later. So, I peed in the cup, which I had to do anyway for the diabetic check. I went back to the office and sat there waiting for the results. I wasn't scared or nervous. I guess I figured I'd have to handle it one way or the other. I would have no other options but to deal with it if the test came back positive. So, I waited and twiddled my thumbs while pretending to read a magazine.

The nurse came in and gave a brisk smile, she whispered "Negative" and said I could go back to the lobby to make my follow-up appointments with the nutrionist and the diabetic educator. I left feeling fine, no different than I felt before the results were given. No huge sigh of relief, nor no sad feelings that I wasn't. Just neutral. Then, I started my period about three hours later.

I feel that irony and if it's not, it's sure something.

Guesstimator

My grandmother died on April 21st. I went to her funeral on Wednesday and said goodbye to a body, to a woman I didn't really know.

I sat at the funeral home, staring at her casket during the viewing/visitation on Tuesday thinking about what I would miss about her. My views were so negative. I felt she was this stubbon old woman who loved her junk more than anything else. She had strong opinions about the world, politics, and sometimes those views were incorrect. Opinions can be wrong when they are not based on fact, but on unobjective, false "facts." However, I wasn't viewing her in the right context. My grandmother had some money, not enough to make her a millionaire or even a hundred-thousand-aire, but enough that when people came to visit, she paid for meals out. We always went out while there. If one of her children or grandchildren needed to borrow money, she would whip out her checkbook and fill in those blanks. And while she expected payment of that loan, she had a long grace period and no interest.

I didn't see genorosity where I should have. I didn't see a woman who had a tough life and just wanted to leave something for her children to make their lives easier. She was undemanding, her only desire to choose where we went out to eat. She had friends, whom I saw at her funeral. I never met them before, and one in particular surprised me.

My mother requested that at the fellowship, I take pictures of those in attendance. It is very hard to get all those people together, espectially together while they are looking dapper. I felt very southern, having been to a southern funeral where they photograph at the funeral home, the casket, the body, etc. Very different from our version of, let's hold the tears in, let's not show emotion, and certainly do not take pictures. But we deviated. I stood poised for a photo of an older woman, white hair spikey on her head. She smiled for me and then said, you must be Amber. I said, yes and asked how she knew. She said that my grandmother talked about me all the time. I stood surprised, mouth open, and eyebrows raised. She gave a small smirk and said, you must not have known your grandmother very well.

I will be the first to admit, that I did not. I tried. She would not open up to me nor to anyone I knew. There were secrets in her that she was not willing to share and I do not know why. I don't know if it was just a generational thing, if she just didn't like talking about herself, or if she really thought those secrets would be damaging. The white haired woman with the spikes grinned bigger stating that my grandmother had told her that I was mischievous. I inquired as to why my grandmother would say that, the woman just smiled. I told my parents this information and my dad was quite confused and had no idea what his mother would have meant by that; my mom was baffled also. Perhaps, my grandmother didn't know me very well either. The road goes both ways.

I am not mischeivous nor have I ever been. My parents lucked out on getting me as a child, especially after having to deal with my brother's antics. I did well in school, did not have to be prompted to do my homework, I did not drink in high school, did not have sex until a few months ago, did not get into trouble, etc. My downfall as a child was that I was mouthy, which may have caused some headaches due to my high level decibels of yelling, were nothing compared to what my brother brought on.

So, I shall miss my grandma. She had this cackling laugh that drove me nuts. She told me to be a "Good Doobie," and I have no idea what that means, she had a house full of junk, and loved coffee with great passion. Her last words were "I would like a cup of coffee." Now, that's a fan starbucks needed in their corner. So, grandma, my next cup of coffee (I will have to add cream and sugar substitute, sorry) will be for you, for your honor. I will sip and think of you. I will stir my coffee and remember the short moments I had with you. When I pour the cream, it shall disburse in the liquid, forming an outline of your face and this is when I shall weep.

RIP Grandma Doris

Toss Up

This is going to be a grab bag entry, you don't know what's going to be inside. Scary part is, neither do I.

Let's see, what there is to share.

I nearly bounced some checks, which I've never done before. Hopefully I learned my lesson.

I nearly lost my camera in a dance club. Correction, I did lose my camera in a dance club and after crying for about fifteen minutes, having a mini pep talk with The Boy, and moping, it was annouced by the DJ that a camera had been found. A member of our group walked up to the DJ booth and heard some other guy claim the camera was his. Our friend knew the DJ so she passed the camera to him, which if it came down to it, the pictures on there would prove whose camera it was.

I drank a lot over Easter. I tried to keep up with former Frat boys and I think I held my own. It was a fun Easter since The Boy and I went to the BIG City to visit some of his old friends. They are great people.

The Boy and I broke my box spring while gettin' it on. So, when my tax return finally appears I shall be buying a new bed. I am not sure yet if it was worth it. ;)

My paternal grandmother had a massive stroke this weekend and according to the CT scan, she's basically brain dead. My dad and his siblings are going to have to decide whether or not they wish to keep her alive by artificial means. I believe they will choose not to make her body live on when her spirit is already gone. They seem to be leaning towards that. There is talk of me being a pallbearer. My mom keeps wondering if it's okay for a woman to be one. I keep telling her there's no reason I can't be one and the only reason men are usually pallbearers is because they can usually lift more weight. I would like to be one. It would feel right doing something for her.

Another note, all of my friends from afar should come visit me. :)

Work is interesting and keep challenging me each day.

Too Long

Well, I am finally back in my chair and writing again. I have missed it so much.

But my moving plans did not go according to... well, plan. The weather pushed back the move three weeks, leaving me without my computer and internet access for another month. Ugh. So, I have you, my dear readers, haven't abandoned me for more frequent and interesting places.

I am back now, hopefully for many, many posts.

The move went well. I had help from around the world. Or from two states. :) My cousin, her boyfriend, two uncles, my dad, my mom, and my boyfriend all heeded the call for help. It went quickly, much more quickly than expected. Unexpected, was the sheer amount of stuff, of things I have collected in so few years. It's disgusting. However, I seem to be only getting more. My parents, specifically my mom bought me a new set of dishes even though I don't cook very often and I have a complete set already. Oh well, they are pretty. :)

I haven't moved all my stuff in, some of it is still at The Boy's, but slowly it will make it's way over. By the end of this month I want it all in, put away, pictures hung, shelves holding little knicknacks, etc.

My apartment is very similar in its layout to my old apartment so I feel quite at home and relaxed in this one. I am enjoying my new job, though I feel completely and utterly stupid sometimes. They are just so many little rules, little tidbits of information, policies to follow. It's complex and complicated, and some days my head hurts when I shut off my computer and walk out the door to work.

I do want a second job. I have this intense desire to sell furniture. I love furniture and why not sell it. I've never had a sales job before and the extra money would be nice. There's an opening at a store right near where I currently work and live, so tomorrow I may stop in and ask about the position.

Well, this is GOA signing off until my next entry which I suspect will be real soon.

Why do I do these things?

Sometimes I do not have any excuses for myself. I cannot conjure up those words that will make me feel better for being a failure. I had an appointment this morning at 10am, of which I was instructed to be there thirty minutes prior. I set my alarm, alas, I only set one alarm. I don't get off work until 11:30 and didn't make it home until midnight. I am usually wound up from work and cannot jump into the bed the minute I walk in the door. So, I stayed awake and puttered around. I packed a few things, I ate some dinner, I worked on some word puzzles, I played online, and finally felt the tuggings of sleep in my eyelids.

I laid down. I wiggled. I turned my head, I cocooned in the blankets as I so love to do, and nothing. Sleep hid from me, it tortured me by calling my name and telling me how sweet it would be. But alas, it did not show itself to me. Finally, sleep must have come out from hiding. I woke up at 10am, just in time for my appointment. But because arriving a half hour before the appointment was so stressed, I called to wonder if I should still go. The clerk told me that I should not go there, that I should reschedule. Damn.

I tried to reschedule, but nothing worked. I am moving in a week and will be living an hour away with a not-quite permanent work schedule. Thus, this cancelled all of my appointments for the day, the endocrinologist, the diabetic educator, and the nutritionist. So, I called my regular physician to leave her the message that I missed that appointment and I could not get into see the endocrinologist until next week, which doesn't work for me. I called my aunt, who is also a doctor in The Boy's town, to ask her for a recommendation for a regular physician and an endo doctor. We'll see how it all pans out.

I am lame. Sleeping too late made me cry and I felt so much shame. I am scared The Boy will be so disappointed in me. I am disappointed in me.

I also keep having dreams I cannot breathe. Today, I actually can't. I am so stuffed up and coughy. I called in sick. I no longer care what they think. I need some rest before Monday, a chance to get well so I can think and learn new things. So, I can start my new life fresh.

It's Girl of Approval, signing off and screwing up.

Apartment II

Because I was already in town viewing apartments, I figured it would be a good time to visit The Boy. We went to lunch and it was fun. I was so giddy about my new place. I couldn't sit still. I was bouncing in my chair.

Afterwards, I went to visit my old college roommie and I had so much fun just chilling with her while we glanced at the tv now and again. She just gets me and makes me laugh. :) When I finally showed up at The Boy's place, he said he was getting worried but that he knew I was at her house and thought that if I didn't come home by 11:30pm, he would go looking for me. Awww, sweet. :) He cares.

I am not sure how to say this. I don't know if I want to make it elaborate or just lay it out there on the table and say it. I am leaning towards the latter. I lost my virginity that night. It wasn't the greatest moment. It was quick, slightly painful, and nice. We were safe and protected. And I'm glad I waited and glad that it wasn't a big production. Just a spur of the moment, let's do it kind of thing. I think if there had been a lot of drama with it, I would have been disappointed. But the way it was.... was nice.

Apartment

I am an internet junkie. If I can find it online, I'll be there looking for it. I found an apartment management company in The Boy's town and applied for some apartments online. I had Monday off and had planned on spending it doing laundry, but the management company called and said that they had some apartments to show me and when could I see them. So, I dashed off to The Boy's town and saw some ugly apartments for expensive amounts. Well, expensive to this area. We make people in other parts of the country scream with envy when they hear our apartment rents. Thus, I am spoiled.

However, the first two apartments I saw were cringe worthy. Torn, dirty carpet, metal closet doors (this is the weirdest phenomena I've seen in The Boy's town), gold appliances. I cannot have gold appliances. I developed a phobia when I lived with my roommate in our first apartment. We had two gold fridges, both of which had mildew growing on the inside of the fridge where the motor, coolant machinery is. And it made our food taste awful, it made us sick, and to this day I remember the smell. The smell still makes me gag. It was thankfully winter when this problem started occurring and we could store our food outside on the patio area. So, they were totally horrible apartments and they require the tennant to pay heat, electricity, and hot water. Hot water?!!! What kind of crazies are they?

So, I had a list of other apartment addresses I just wanted to do drive-by's on to see what they looked like on the outside since I am not completely familiar with this town. I wound up having to pee and decided that I'd get a paper while I was at a gas station. This proved to be the greatest choice. I got the paper, circled a few promising ads, and with the knowledge that my dad told me "I'd rather have you in a nicer apartment than a shabby one and have us subsidize your for longer," I moved my price range up. It pays to be Daddy's little girl. :)

So, I called and a man answered. He was actually at the building I wanted to see. I met him there, we went in and I saw new carpet, wooden closet doors, white appliances, heat and hot water are paid, there is a garage, I saw a microwave above the stove, the bathroom was all white, and I said I want it. He said okay, let's fill out paperwork and get your credit check started. By the end of the night, I paid my deposit and now I have a cute, two-bed room apartment that I like. So, yea!

I think once I am all moved in I shall have a house warming party.

Move that ass

I learned new words this weekend: Mixer, amp, light board, mini disc, and while I had heard them before I learned what they do. I went with The Boy to his work Christmas Party where he was djing. I have no idea how to mix the sounds together, no idea how to choose the next song, how to layer the sounds, no clue. But I had fun watching him do his thing. He sounded so confident on the microphone, no waiver in his voice, no feed back from the mic, nothing but pure tenor. He has a great voice. I love listening to him talk.

So, I sat with him while he worked. I helped set up and take down. I'm a good helper. I assisted in handing out the prizes when names were called and people came up for their large gifts. I picked out a prize when The Boy won something from the prize table filled with little gifts. And I melted on the dance floor. It was nearing the end of the evening. The crowd had left, leaving only a few stragglers. I leaned over to his ear and said, "The next song you play should be a slow song and you should dance with me." He poked through his music, found a song, and reached for my hand. He turned the lights down low, casting a beautiful glow on us. We stood on the dance floor, bodies together, and swayed to the music. The DJ doesn't dance but he does dance with me. :) I melted while he sang to me, I melted while he looked at me in the eyes, and I melted while I held my hands around his neck trying to hold myself up. Of course, he is a boy and had to add something perverse into the song. Right at the end of the song, Make You Feel My Love by Garth Brooks, the line is to Make you feel my love, The Boy sang "To make you feel my penis." I laughed and the moment broke, leaving me with a glorious feeling and a slap for The Boy.

The Boy showed me where he is going to live from now on. He moved to town, which is nice since now it won't be such a chore to drive to town and then back to his rental house in the country. But I will miss the scenary, the quiet, and the house itself. It has memories for me now. But we can make new memories at his new apartment. And at my new apartment.

I received a phone call today from one of the jobs I interviewed for on Thursday. I was offered the position and it is more money, there are chances for advancement, the benefits are free, and it's in The Boy's town. So, I accepted the position after speaking with The Boy and my father. I am excited about being in the same town with him and my ex-roommie!!!! :) I met up with her last Thursday after my interviews and had so much fun talking to her about girl things, such as shoes, how her teaching is going, her wedding, how she is the prom advisor at school this year, and other things. I miss having that girl in my life on a daily basis and it will be nice to see her more often.

I accepted the position, called my apartment complex to find how many days notice I must give, and I called The Men in my life. I will miss living in this town. I've been here since 1999 off and on. I call it home and I shall miss the comfort of it. I wonder if I will feel the same about The Boy's town in time. I wonder if I will find that acceptance I feel here. Or maybe, I am just accepting myself more than anything else. Now, I must find an apartment there. I do not want to live with The Boy quite yet. There is plenty of time for that later. I must get my life on track. I must...live for me.

I am scared. I am nervous. I am excited. I am ready.

A bunch of stuff in a row

I wrote an entry last night and it didn't post for some reason. I am most upset. I don't know where it went but I cannot find it. Alas, I cannot recall all I wrote.

I have two job interviews in The Boy's town on Thursday. One of them would be a substantial increase in pay so I would move there for that one. But the other one is for about what I am making now, if not less. So, I would probably not take that one, but it's nice to get my name out there in case I apply at the same company later. We'll see.

I hate January. I think it's the worst month. It's depressing to me. The sun shines falsely. It's bright, clear skied, and cold. It should be warm like spring sunshine that fills you with hope, that makes your whole body feel radiant. Also, because of the new year, I tend to wonder about the progress I've made in life and it depresses me that I feel I've never come very far. Sigh.

I don't know what I'm doing with my life and I always question if I am doing the right thing, but in the end do we know? We can only go with one option most of the time and making decisions is hard for me.

UHaul

I am considering and attempting to move to the town in which The Boy lives. Some may consider this silly, but I have no real attachments to this town other than my grandparents live here. However, The Boy's town is only an hour's drive away. The friends I used to spend time with here have all found their own lives not including me or they moved away. My ex-roommate from college lives in the same town as The Boy and so I would have a built-in friend, whom I very much miss the company of- she and I could laugh about the silliest things. Especially, things that occurred late at night and included making models of toilets. Boufanana.

I have applied for some jobs up there and have received interest from three people thus far. Rent is more expensive where The Boy lives and I will have to downsize my apartment from a two bedroom to a one bedroom. The Boy did ask me if I would move into with him, but after considering it, I decided that it's too soon. I am not ready to make such a commitment. I love him, but that's a level I've never been to and it's one he just got out of not even a year ago. In May of 2006, he was supposed to get married and the wedding did not happen. I think we both need time to live alone but in the same town so we can see what it's like to have a more "casual" relationship, in that we don't have to plan so carefully when we are going to see each other again. We don't have to concentrate our visits with each other like we do now because sometimes a week to a week and a half will separate our time together. Also, his finances are a disaster and I'm not ready to shoulder any responsibility that may come my way because I chose to live with him. Not yet anyway.

I love him. I think he's great and I have a lot of fun with him. So, I think we should take it slow and ease into everything. We have plenty of time to enjoy each other's company should we choose to do so. If I do move there, I will be immensely sad to leave my apartment. I loved swimming in the pool on hot days while no one else was there. I loved the layout, I loved the rooms, and the character of it. It just felt like home more than any other place I've lived since leaving my parents. My mom is supportive of my moving to be closer to The Boy, but agrees that I shouldn't get into this without thinking.

I am also a loner. I spent a great deal of time alone and enjoy it. So, I fear moving in with someone on the idea that they would be there most of the time, especially since I've had two years of living alone under my belt. It changes you.

We'll see what happens... for I know not the future and know not what it may bring.

It's the people not the work

At work, I wear a hairnet. It's quite lovely and blue. It's different looking from your usual hairnet, but nonetheless it does the same duty: keep hair out of things. When I went into an area where we clean equipment, I put on another kind of hairnet. However, when I left both hairnets came off at the same time and into the garbage they went. I went to the locker room to retrieve some money and run off to the cafeteria for a snack, but before I made it to my locker a co-worker stopped me to ask how The Boy's wisdom tooth extration went. I was filling her in on the details, the grossest of which is that when the dentist pulled one of his wisdom teeth, he said it was the longest root he'd ever seen. Now, when the boy breathes though his mouth you can hear air rush into his sinuses, which is how far the root went up into his mouth. It is the more horrible sound, but I keep asking him to do it.

While we are chatting, one of our area's Leads walks into the locker room and berates me for not wearing a hairnet, which I was about to retrieve from the shelf anyway. I make a face or something and she tells me to step into her office when I am through in there. So much for that snack. We finish chatting and I walk into the office where she states that she's not trying to pick on me but that we have to wear the hairnets and if our hair touches our scrubs we have to change our shirts.

This rule is ludicrous. We put on our scrubs in the locker room and don't put the hairnet on until we are in the lobby area of our department. We don our scrubs and our hair touches them when we put them on. Oy. So, we discuss that for a moment and then she asks if everything is okay, mean while another lead stares on. She said that I seem different from when I first started, that I seem less enthusiastic, less peppy, etc. She asked if I wanted a different shift or if I had a problem with the one I was working now. I said no, that I enjoyed my shift. I did mention that I was bored with the job. She said that there's always something to do and I inserted that it's not mentally stimulating work. She said that's the nature of the job and I kept my mouth shut.

The things I didn't say were that I do think the job is boring, but more importantly I used to think I could make a difference there, that I could make some positive changes. And when I figured out that nothing was going to change, that status quo would remain in place, I became cynical. I don't like my job and I am always looking for a new one. I started applying for jobs in the town which The Boy lives, about an hour north of where I currently live. I don't want to work in CSPD forever. It's a stopping point, nothing more. Something to pay the bills. And if they don't realize that, if they don't realize that we hate their managerial skills, of which they have none, they need a wake up call.

We had a staff meeting on Wednesday. I brought up one of the policies they follow to a T, which is the occurrence policy. If you arrive to work later than 29 minutes, you receive an occurrence. If you call in sick or use any Unplanned Paid Time Off, you receive an occurrence. The occurrences stay on your record for a rolling year. If you get on in April of 2007, it won't drop off until April of 2008. One you reach eight occurrences, you are fired. I commented on the unfairness of this policy.

The head manager stated that this is the policy set forth by HR throughout the company. I said that I read in the policy mannual that it is up to the discretion of the department manager to decide what is an occurrence and what is not. She said that she's brought it up to HR before and they state that the occurrence policy must be followed. However, this is a lie. She is passing the buck off onto someone else because she is too afraid to take responsibility for any of her choices. She can choose what is an occurrence, she can choose who she fires and does not. She does not need to blanket everyone with the same rooms for fear she'll be accussed of favoritism. Obviously, she needs a dictionary and some help with the definitions of discretion and favoritism, which I might add she participates in anyway.

She said in the meeting, "We have a high turn-over rate and some of those people quite because of the occurrence policy." Hmmm, duh. Think we need to revamp that policy? Also, she stated that this policy is equivalent to having 7 days of vacation per year, which if you're sick what kind of vacation is that? And she said that she's biased because she doesn't have kids nor does she get sick very often. She asked, "Well, you don't plan on getting sick eight times a year do you?" Ah ha! That's where she's wrong. It's only seven times the first year, after that it's however many you have on your rolling calendar. Also, what about those with kids? Children get sick and someone has to stay home with them, to be punished for that is inconceivable, especially since we all work in a hospital. What about those of us with poor immune systems? We get sick. No, we don't plan on it. It just happens. Again, we work in a hospital and our surrounded by germs.

And if we try coming to work with a communicable disease/infection like pink eye, strep, etc we are sent home with an occurrence.

Where's the justice in that? I would love to try and unionize that job, but I don't know how to go about doing it. But having some power behind us, having some weight and leverage would have to help. I'd get fired, but what the hell... making a difference in a cynical way could be a dream come true.