I'm Twisted

Am I sick and demented? I know Karin calls me a morbid perv, but I think I may be demented too.

I am so excited because this weekend... I'm cleaning house. I have a whole weekend where I don't have to go anywhere or do anything and I am going to clean my dirty house.

Lovingly sweep and mop all the floors, scrub the tile, vacuum, do laundry, re-arrange the furniture (probably move the Christmas tree).
And hopefully wash both of the dogs... and I will think about the cat, but I'm not brave enough to EVER wash that monster again. I take him to the groomers and they call me and tell me to come and get him every time. He He.

I think in one of his past lives he had an unfortunate run in with a blow dryer because they have to put him in a cage dryer and he hisses and howls and screams until they finally give up.

He's so funny. He will come and sit on the side of the tub while I shower, stick his head in and look at me like, "Um, hey, mom... did you realize there is like water falling ALL over you?" Then he gets this disgusted look and moves to the sink so I don't accidentally on purpose splash him. But as soon as I pull out the trusty old hair dryer he's gone. Like I can't find him again until it is safely back in the closet.

My black lab, he just wants to get in the shower with me. He's a water dog. A big dumb water dog. And with the whole double coat thing, I can't really blow dry him (plus, have you ever tried to blow dry a 100 pound dog? I mean, seriously!). He'd probably sit there and let me do it, but I don't have four hours to try.

Then there is the baby. Bear is our 5 month old Shih Tzu. He is a mess. I don't have the slightest idea what I was thinking when I decided I wanted a long haired little lap dog. I have to brush his fluffy butt all the time. He needs bathed twice a day, I swear, not happening. And he is a litter box muncher. I can't keep him out of it.
If I move the litter box, the cat can't find it... he's getting up there in years, it is sad. We've yelled, we've put things in the way, we've tried everything. He loves him some cat poop. Just ewww.

Wow, that was a long ramble on the pets. But now back to the original thought I was having (some days it is incredibly hard to keep up). I get to clean house and that is making me VERY happy. Our extended house guest is moving the last of his stuff out this weekend, so I can clean out our guest bedroom and hopefully we can take some of the Christmas decoration boxes back to storage and I can get the office back in shape.
See, this just makes my day. I am sick.

Oh! Oh! Maybe I can even get the dishes done!

I've got the Blues

I don’t know if it is the medicine I’m on, all the stress I’m under, or just my own horrible self esteem, but the last few days have been terrible.

I never really realized how much I did smile before I lost it. It actually makes my heart hurt that I can’t smile at my best friend when she is trying to cheer me up, or my amazing husband who tells me I’m beautiful even though right now I feel like a monster.

People have been making fun. That is hard for me. I try to ignore it and laugh along, but it is so hard. People I care about and/or respect telling me I need a Phantom of the Opera mask makes me want to go home, crawl in bed and never come out. I know in my head that I need to be stronger than that, but I can’t get the rest of me to agree.

I was kind of excited because I lost 12 pounds the first weekend. Couldn’t keep food in my mouth, so there wasn’t much eating happening. The doctor put me on high dose steroids, so I have gained it all back and then some. That helps me in no way at all.

I got my new car finally. That should have relieved some of the stress. Should have. It is newer, WAY less miles and the payments are about $50 less a month. So, why don’t I feel better? I love it, but it isn’t my Charger. It doesn’t growl when I start it, it doesn’t have custom rims, blacked out windows or ride like a sports car. Oh, well. Instead of the pimp wagon, I now have a tank. Hubby swears when the next 13 year old runs a stop light that I will win, not the Ford Explorer they are driving.

Don’t get me wrong. I got a Dodge Nitro and it is way cool. It has everything I could ask for and then some.

Last night was probably the worst. I’d had a long day, not a particularly bad one, except that I was feeling really bad about everything. Then I went to critique. Not a great idea when you are that depressed. Everything any of them said felt like a personal attack, even though I knew it wasn’t. I got home, Karin left, and my poor hubby got to hear me vent, after I told him I was “fine” about 5,000 times.

He finally grabbed me up in a big hug, gave me a sweet kiss on the forehead and made me look at him. Really look at him. Not duck my head to keep him from seeing me, not look away so that side of me is hidden. No, he made me face him and look him in the eyes. He told me I wasn’t fine, and he knew it. He told me that even if the paralysis never goes away he will love me. And he told me that no matter what I look like, no matter what I weigh, he still thinks I am beautiful inside and out.

This is the man that knows my heart. He knows how to fix what’s wrong with me with almost no words. I’m scared to death to see Karin’s baby. What if my “smile” scares him? Hubby said the baby will smile and laugh and let me hold him any way. Because that’s how babies are. They don’t care how you look. They love you no matter.

Then, he kissed me on my horribly useless mouth, held me close and whispered those little nonsense words into my hair and just let me cry. He just let me cry. No one in my life has ever just let me cry. For as long as I can remember I have had to be the strong one. Hold it together while everything and everyone else falls apart.

He let me fall apart. I thank God that he let me, even though I was horribly embarrassed afterwards. When my doubts are at their worst and I don’t know why he is with me, he just holds me and calms me down. He loves me and that is the biggest miracle I could ever be witness to.

Critique Group

My critique group meets tonight. I’m a little worried about it though. Karin has found this amazing group to work with, but I was uncomfortable with them (okay, not exactly them, but the children that were there.) They seem to be helping her out so much though, and my group is sketchy at best.

Karin decided to go with me two weeks ago (one week after I had totaled my new car). I hadn’t gone the week before because I was a little busy heeling up, but when we got to the meeting place, the doors were locked and the lights were off. I called the “leader” of our little group and she told me that they thought I had quit since I wasn’t there the week before. I explained to her what happened and she told me I could come back again tonight.

Now, to me, I was hoping for something more along the lines of, “We’re glad you didn’t quit! You have some good insight and we want you to participate.” But no, I was given permission to attend again… if I brought Karin… hmmm. What does that say about my writing? Doesn’t make me feel worth a damn.

Oh, well, I’m off to internet land to search for any contests going on right now. Oh, and I guess I should get back to work.

Two Line Tuesday sort of...

Two line Tuesday

It has been a rough month and I haven’t read a lot, or written much for that matter, but I did make it through the book Marley and Me last night. I’m not a big fan of animal books/movies, because they ALWAYS make me cry and this one was no different.

If you haven’t read the book, I’d suggest it, especially if you are a lover of big goofy dogs. I grew up with big dogs - collies, labs, retrievers – and now my husband and I have one of our own. P.T. is our 100 pound black lab mix. He is a holy terror, shoe eating, trash sniffing, jumping, slobbering mess, but with him around I never have to worry about being in the house alone, because he is MY dog. I know it, he knows it, and anyone who comes around knows it.

So, the last two lines I read are actually from the author’s note at the end of John Grogan’s book Marley and Me:

Dogs are great. Bad dogs, if we can really call them that, are perhaps the greatest of them all.

This book touched my heart and made me cry and hug my big goofy mutt. When the day comes that I lose him, I just don’t know what I will do.

On to the last two lines I wrote…

“I woke up when you were standing over me in the bedroom.” Nathan’s brow went up in a question. “Did you see all you wanted?”
A blush so hot it made her dizzy flooded her face. “I thought you were sleeping!”
“And that makes it okay?” She could tell he was fighting it, but the beginning of a smile curved his mouth.
“Well…yeah!”
It’s a little more than two lines, but I like it.

Personal update:
My face is still screwed up, the right half won’t move, I still feel like a monster, but I think the sinus infection is starting to clear up. I have my last Citizen Police Academy meeting tonight. We are going out for dinner for graduation. I’m a little sad about that. Sure, it was dangerous for everyone in my family for me to go, but it was a lot of fun and I learned some amazing things.
I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving!

Can I have a new November...Please

November has come to a close finally and I couldn't be happier about that. Besides the wreck and dealing with all the stress related to that, let's heap on a helping of joyous holiday love.

My brother-in-law and his wife broke my mother-in-law's heart and went to a friend of theirs for Thanksgiving because driving two hours was too much. Drama Drama Drama.

Then Friday dawned. My 100 pound black lab decided 6:30 in the morning is a wonderful time to go outside. He evidently had to pee right then. I took him outside and noticed my face felt tingly. I chalked it up to still being mostly asleep. Figuring I would go ahead and just start my day I jumped in the shower and got about a half gallon of shampoo in my right eye. I get out of the shower and am brushing my teeth when I realize I can't keep water in my mouth to rinse out the toothpaste. The entire right side of my face is drooping and I can't move it. So, I did what any self respecting Emergency Medical Technician would do... I cried. I prayed, I begged. Nothing worked. It had been two weeks since the wreck and I knew I could have had a clot break lose and there was a possiblity that I was having a stroke. Scary thought at 30, isn't it?

I had to go and wake up my poor hubby. I had to make him understand that he had to be strong and keep it together because I damn sure couldn't. We made it to the emergency room in record time, and I was seen in under an hour (that never happens!).

It wasn't a stroke. It is Bell's Palsy. Bell's palsy is a facial paralysis caused by an irritation of cranial nerve VII (seven) with no apparent cause. This excludes facial paralysis associated with known causes such as infection or stroke. Cranial nerve VII controls most facial muscles, including those needed to smile, blink, and wrinkle the forehead. The nerve also controls the function of certain salivary glands and the lacrimal (tear) glands as well as the tiny muscles inside the ear that dampen loud noises.

Doesn't that sound fun? Now, I'm a girl, and I have little or no self confidence as it is. I feel like a monster. I can't smile, can't blink, can't talk, can't eat. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

Moment of Silence Please

My gorgeous beautiful Charger is no more. I had my dream car for two weeks and two days. I think we should declare a day of mourning for my loss.

I was headed to my class at the police station last night, when a 13 year old girl blasted through her red light. She is fine.



It was my first trip in an ambulance as a patient, seriously different from being the EMT on the run. I spent six hours in the emergency room. Missed my freaking class… it was simulation night too, damn it.

I made the morning news paper, and scared my family to death.

Let me tell you people, seat belt bruises hurt like the devil, but it did what it was supposed to and kept me in the car and off the pavement.

I don’t know what is going to happen with insurance, I haven’t even made a payment on the car yet. 22 inch custom rims, super dark tint… we called it the pimp wagon.

So, please, in honor of the beloved Pimp Wagon, let’s all have a moment of silence.

Orange Juice and Cough Syrup

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