Just thinking "out loud"....

I was just recently told that I should be a writer and I decided to take the time to think about just that.... writing a novel.  Of course, I managed to squash that idea rather quickly because I see myself lacking the abilities that actual authors have.  You see, it takes a strong person to write a book, and I am not that strong.  Here is what I mean....

It takes a strong minded person to create a story.  It takes the imagination to create a type of synergy to put words together and build upon a concept.  Adding dialogue and inner thought that does not drive the story in too many directions, but creates a cause and effect for the reader.  

It takes a strong person to own the story.  Good, bad, or indifferent, it takes the ability to accept the criticisms and praise others make of your work.  While I happen to be the most critical when it comes to things I do and say, I am not all that comfortable with accepting praise.  Probably has something to do with being the youngest sibling in my family.  Of course, there is no proof of that theory.  I just always saw myself as lacking when compared to others.

It takes a strong person to focus.  Yep, I said it here.... I know I tend to go on tangents that sway far from the topic at hand.  The effort to get back on topic gets tiring.  Especially, when those little diversions from the topic at hand to have some supporting connection.  As minuscule of a connection it poses... it is just varying degrees of perception.

Last, but not least, is one thing that has absolutely nothing to do with strength....  I lack the drive to write.  Well, I do blog from time to time.  I have opinions.  Heck, there are times I can write a short story, but to have the endurance to create an actual story that is longer than a handful of pages, with proper narrative skills to share a "conversation" between characters, and become something worthy of publication is a real stretch, to say the least.  Heck, I question every word selected and every punctuation mark.  I have read those reviews on Amazon.com.  Some of those reviewers are brutal!  Of course, there are some that make me wonder if they were paid to rave about a certain book, but I digress.  On a side note to this.... I am unsure of what genre I should write because readers are a fickle bunch.  That is, if I decided to take the plunge and write a book.  Doubtful, but the thought is there....

I guess that is why I just can't find the strength to write a book, but I love reading them.

Just recently, I was on a fan/spoiler page for an author that I am not just a fan of, but became a friend in that virtual world.  I have never met the woman, but we became friends.  I have written to her and she has written me back.  Nothing of importance... just some things we find funny.  Well, I posted on her spoiler page my feelings about waiting for her latest book in a series I absolutely love.  This fictional place that she writes about seems so real that I would love to go there to visit.  The characters are so down to Earth, that I could see myself becoming fast friends with them.  For those wondering what series I am talking about, here is the info....  The author is Kathleen Brooks.  She has three series that connected in a small way, but it began with her Bluegrass Undercover series, then there is her Bluegrass Brothers series, and she had a third series that had the small connection of one character, but the series is called The Women of Power series.  Currently, she is continuing the Bluegrass series with stories of the children from the main characters in her previous bluegrass books and the first book is due to be released on October 20th (tomorrow... squee! so excited!).  I felt compelled to flex my writing muscles and gave her a description of how I feel as I wait for the release date to arrive (thus, the mention from someone that I should become a writer)....  So here goes....

"As I wake up to a new day, I look at my calendar, and the feelings I had the day before intensified.  This feeling like a starving dog held on a short leash, being held back from a bowl of food.  As I snarl and claw my way to gain purchase, I have only managed to make it a fraction of an inch closer.  Knowing that once I obtain what I desire, I will devour it in one day, only to be hungry for more.... How sad is that?  Come on October 20th.... I'm starving here!!"

While it is not my best descriptive writing, I felt it was alright at best.  Sadly, that is about as far as I can go when it comes to writing.  Adding that filler that a lot of authors are required to do in order to meet page and word requirements is something I just can seem to master.  I lacked describing the look of the room I was in, the state of my appearance, or anything of sustenance to build upon an actual story to tell.  Well, that and I am not a real proficient in pacing a story line... that build up to the ending.  Some writers are really good at setting the pace of a story.  Some just drag stuff out and then jump to the end.  It could be the writer's doing or it is the editor's way of editing, but believe me.... there is some really bad fictional stories out there.  

Maybe my inability to push myself to even try harder is because I have read some really awful writing and I am afraid I would be one, too?  I do appreciate the accolades given to me by friends freely, but I just can't see myself in their eyes to know if the compliments are real.  Simply put... I am a weak-kneed chicken that believes all my talents combined couldn't fill a teaspoon.  Why waste hours and days creating a story that meets the "circular file" next to an editor's desk, right?

Well, back to finding something to take my mind off this home stretch of waiting for my Kindle to load the book I preordered MONTHS ago.  Tomorrow, I'll be reading that book and enjoying every last word of it.  Then I get to wait months for another one to come out.  Fortunately, I have a handful of authors I love to read.  Here's to hoping those books come out soon, too.

Maybe it is just me.....

Okay.  This is probably going to sound harsh, but it is something I have had bouncing around in my head for a while now and figured I would just try to get it out of my head by sharing it here since DH has no interest in hearing my thoughts.  I know, I know.... I should know that men have no interest in listening to the actual thought process of a woman.  Apparently, we think too much and have an opinion about everything, but women have the need to overthink things, and an even stronger need to share those thoughts.  Heck, women see it as "venting their thoughts", while men see it as useless babble that first gets run through two categories before being set in the useless babble box.  That is.... if they need to fix something, or they have to defend their actions.  Usually, defending their actions consists of either fighting tooth and nail to say that their actions are justified or apologizing for whatever complaint we have with the promise to never do it again, just to be forgotten about and happen again at a later date.  I know this because I have been told that I seem to get it when yet another person shares their perspective.  I just think I tend to accumulate tidbits, like puzzle pieces, and manage to put them together in a way that seems to make sense.  Yep, sometimes I need to find more things to do with my time than observe people and their "quirks"....

Well, no better time than the present to get this ball rolling, right?

Over the past few weeks, I have been dragged to various shopping malls and even more stores than I care to think about.  Being one that hates shopping, I was tortured by DD to find a dress for the upcoming Homecoming Dance at her school, and not just any dress, but the dress.  With zero clue what the dress is going to look like, DD and I went from store to store and tried on various dresses with zero success.  Apparently, my inner tomboy and my overprotective of virtue mother qualities were at war during this hunt for the dress.  My inner tomboy just wanted to get it over with, while my overprotective of virtue mother side was saying, "no, no, no, oh hell no!" to just about every dress DD thought would be good enough to go to a dance with.  You see, if a dress is so short and tight that the wearer needs to be constantly pulling the hem down to make sure there is no clear shot of underwear to the masses... it is not a dress, but a neon sign that the wearer is looking for trouble.  I know that my thought process comes with a double edge of controversy to it and being the overprotective mother of DD's virtue.... it is mandatory that I had to explain my reasons why I expect more material in clothing, and here it is....

Men and boys (as well as women and girls), are visual creatures.  What we happen to share in appearance is open for speculation that may, or may not, be the same thought behind the choice.  While one may see their style as sexy, sophisticated, trendy, and confident.... another can see it as trashy and crying for attention.  It does not matter how much you pay for an outfit, but if it leaves nothing to the imagination (aka way too much skin showing), the person viewing the outfit will assume some not so nice things and not exactly offer the respect you believe you deserve.  Sure, in a woman's point of view, we can look at a very attractive man that happens to be shirtless and in worn jeans and basically swoon, but see another man in not so good of shape in the same look and be repulsed.  Same goes for men looking at women.  Sure, the person wearing the outfit needs to be confident in order to wear what they are wearing (and I applaud them for that), but the message they are sending can lead to something dangerous in the worst case of scenarios.  Women, more often than men, can become victims of violence just because of what they are wearing.  Innocence has been lost over a clothing choice.  More times than not.... it is the female losing her innocence and that is just sad.

While fully grown adults have the ability to make decisions of their own and deal with the ramifications of those choices, I have a serious problem with parents allowing their children to dress in a way that could quite possibly put them in danger.  With kids these days pushing for more independence and blasting through (or at least finding ways to break) a parent's ruling of what is considered acceptable clothing choices... it is definitely difficult to keep a reign on teenage sexuality.  It takes a strong parent to explain, without embarrassment, the reasons for their rulings in this area of conversation.  Saying something like, "you are gonna be a rape victim if you wear that outfit out in public", is not enough for an angst-ridden, with a chip on their shoulder the size of Mt. Kilimanjaro on their shoulder teenager will understand.  They are demanding to be seen and don't really care all that much how they are going to do just that.  It is the parent's role to explain that regardless others wear that same outfit and not get raped angle these kids think of is really a game of odds.  Sure, your daughter's friends prefer to wear clothing that requires constant readjustment to a dance, but there is that chance that your child can be a target in that crowd for the undesirable result that we, as parents, warn them about.  What parents need to state is there is a difference between classy and trashy....  A person can show their curves and be covered in a respectful manner.... that is classy.  A person that shows their underwear, or needs to constantly adjust the hem to cover their underwear.... that is trashy.  It is really all about leaving something for the imagination of the admirer.... Let them keep guessing what color your underwear is instead of getting to actually see what color they are.

I can only assume that parents these days have their hands tied behind their backs and a gag shoved in their mouth when it comes to actual parenting.  Or is it possible that the fashion industry feels that only sex sells and leaves very little options out there.  Either way, I feel that there needs to be a voice that is heard over the dim, demanding change.  Demanding that there should be better choices out there.  Demanding that in order to command getting respect.... you need to respect yourself first and be your own individual.  Demand to be heard when trends and peer pressure are resulting in something not exactly positive or confidence boosting.  I am one voice, but I hope others will join me....

Society seems to have fallen victim to being in a box.  Kind of like the current saying... "Keeping up with the Kardashians"....  having everyone have the same look, same outlook, and same unattractive demeanor.  Sure, I may sound a little old-fashioned, but having trudged through the trenches of teenage life (that hormonal, nasty attitude, demanding attention stage that destroys the innocence of youth), I can say without flinching, well, maybe a little, that my parents were right all along.  Respect and love yourself for who you are and the worthy ones will respect and love you back.  If they don't?  Then, they are not worthy to embrace the awesomeness of you.

Oh, and by the way.... I did find the dress for DD.  It met all requirements I set before her and it was a classy black dress that stopped just above the knees and did not need to be adjusted constantly.  It was form fitting to show her curves, but had enough coverage to offer the necessary level of mystery.  She agreed and by the smile on her face when she stepped out of the dressing room.... we had a winner!  Yep, the classic (and classy) little black dress (also known as LBD).  She accessorized with some bold pieces of jewelry, put her hair in a classic (and not so often seen) twist with face framing pieces, and she wore flat bottom shoes so she could dance the night away and not have screaming foot pain in the process.  That look was commanding and demanding all the right stuff.  In the terms of baseball.... it was a grand slam!!

Thanks for reading.....

As The Hair Curls: A behind the scenes experience in a salon

Good afternoon!  I figured I would be a little whimsical today and tell you all a little story of sorts.  For those that do not know, I happen to wear many hats in my life.  I am a mother, a wife, a daughter, an aunt, a friend, and I am a hairdresser.  Of course, along with the many hats I happen to wear, there are plenty of accessories that go with these proverbial hats I wear, and those describe the many additional jobs I tend to.  For instance, under the hat of mother, I am also a chauffeur to the princess and the king (also known as DH), the royal chef to the family, the lowly maid to the castle, and the purveyor of laundry services.  In addition to THAT, I am also a myriad of other things that do not bear a title since those duties change more often than not.  Same goes for my other hats, but I digress... we need to get to the reason for this blog entry.  Lets move onward, shall we?

Well, under the hat of hairdresser, people tend to not fully see the drama that unfurls at a hair salon.  Almost a year ago, I left one salon for another, thinking I would avoid the drama the last place had.  While I fully understand that life has it's own form of drama every day and that even places of employment will have it's dramatic moments, I was truly hoping for LESS with this move.  

Upon roughly three seconds of pondering what I call the change in scenery from my crumbling castle that I call "home", and the establishment that I happen to work at, I somehow starting coining the phrase "As The Hair Curls: The behind the scenes of a salon soap opera", I was told that I should write about it and share with the masses what really goes on behind the scenes.  With a tweak of sarcasm here and a few name changes there (to protect the innocent... DUH), I will be sharing a tale of foolishness that just might have you scratch your head in wonder.  I should know.... I might be scratching myself bald as I type this.  Well, maybe pulling my hair out would be a better assessment.  So.... without further ado..... here is my synopsis for As The Hair Curls....

**********************

Working at a salon can have it's perks, but there are times that having this perk is a curse.  Really, a person that has a love of working with people and creating looks to bring a smile to their face is pretty awesome, if you ask me.  With a keen eye like an artist and a chemist's ability to change nature, a hairdresser can change a person's outlook in one visit.  Not all are perfect, but if your batting average in happy clients surpasses the ones that guarantee they will never be happy.... you are successful.  Of course, with that success, there is a totally different level of success that needs to be achieved, that is, if you want to pay your bills, eat, and keep gas in the car.... you have to earn your keep.  

Ah, the life of a hairdresser!  We are magicians to your hair, a shoulder to cry on, and a sounding board that lets you vent your feelings.  Sometimes, we have sage advice... other times... not so much.  I recall my favorite time is during the finishing stage.  The roar of the blowdryer and the finesse of a round brush, creating lift and curl to hair that was once flat and lifeless.  Of course, with the hampered ability to truly hear what the client is saying, I have managed to miss hearing about being set up on a date with a client's grandson once.  That was a long time ago, and the uncomfortable experience of turning down a date from what I saw was a stage one clinger was enough for me to get a more quiet blowdryer.  Yep, no more just smiling and nodding as a client droned on about something because it can end up with a stalker and a client you had to lose by changing salons.

While everything looks all happy and joyful when you walk into a salon, there is an undercurrent of drama that is being held together within an inch of being exposed.  That forced smile, the voice going up an octave, the word "fine" being used far too often... all signs of chaos lurking around the corner.  Never to be seen because it is unprofessional to talk about the animosity that runs rampant behind the scenes.  Sure, there are probably some salons that are drama free in every way somewhere out there, but I have not found it.  Hmmm.... is there a GPS locator for Fantasyland, USA?

Teamwork is essential in any work environment in order to be a cohesive machine producing their sell-able product, whatever it may be.  This is where the drama begins.....

In the salon I work at, there are about four people renting and the rest are part time employees.  Only one has been considered full time and she is the owner.  Roughly six months ago, the owner of the salon was in a really bad car accident that left her with a shattered elbow.  She has not been able to work since the accident and has put trust in her part time staff to take care of her clients in her absence.  While everyone was concerned about the well being of our boss, we agreed to help her out.  

Some increased their hours to accommodate the changes, while one in particular, made it their life's mission to not share the workload.  I think I will call her.... C.  Well, C is not the most likable person.  She claims to be a devout Catholic/Christian, but has greed that runs really deep.  Definitely not a team player, but feels that Christian counseling is the answer to everything.  Oh, and since she has two kids in college, so nobody has a need to make money anymore because our bills don't count.  Total toxicity overload once she steps foot in the salon.

Life is war!  Especially in a salon.  The desire to build a steady clientele is not only because we would be bored just sitting around, but the fact that this line of work, in this salon like many others, you only earn a paycheck from a percentage of your billable services.  Part of what each clients pays goes to the stylist and the rest goes to the salon to pay the bills and purchase supplies.  If there is no work to be done.... you earn nothing.  What can create a war zone like no other is having a team-like atmosphere implode because one person is determined to take every client that walks in and does not share.  Yet again, C has outdone herself by walking away from one client in her chair to claim another client that walked in, and right in front of another stylist talking to the client that walked in!  If I was the client in the chair being ignored for a new client.... I would never return to that salon and definitely not THAT stylist, but sadly people are sympathetic to her tale of needing money and offer her a second chance.  Now, usually I don't let her antics bother me because I have my own clients to attend to and the walk in clients that I have gotten when C is not there are happy to see me again.  It is that one day that we both happen to be working that she tends to get me angry.  Especially since she tried to poach one of my clients right in front of me.  Luckily, my client has been loyal to me for years and told her as such.  They decided to wait for me and I was happy about that.  Of course, I was completely ticked off that she would do such a thing, but obviously she refuses to see the error of her ways.  Since that day, she has been in my sights and I am determined to shine a light on her when she pulls this garbage when the boss comes around. 

Fortunately, in times of war, there are moments of peace.  Sadly, the only time that there is peace is when C is not there, or when the owner of the salon (as known as... the boss) is present.  Suddenly, that greedy little monster is back on her chain and behaves.  It is C's classic move to make everyone look delusional.  I have a strong desire to change that game.

Now, we cannot just talk about C and her inability to play with others.  We need to share with you yet another facet of drama and that is....  The puppet master.  Every salon has one.  Heck, they probably have more than one, but this puppet master is one to keep the toxicity flowing with a dash of insane.  I think I will call her.... L.  L is a self-diagnosed gluten intolerant person that claims to be bipolar and has attention deficit disorder.  Talk about it being a mish-mosh of crazy.  I'll admit that she does seem nice.... on her good days.  On all the others, it is like watching a fully grown person pull a temper tantrum that a two year old does.  She has announced to every client that she cannot do a haircut in under 30 minutes (it usually takes her an hour or more), and don't get me started on how long it takes her to do any chemical services.  She is more vocal about her frustrations with C.  Probably because C manages to always take clients from L's chair and put them in hers.  The only thing I can really say about L's work ethic is that if you have a day to spend at the salon and she is on her "A"-game, she does do some good work.  All in all, L enjoys pointing out C's greed and does round up everyone else in the same category when things don't go her way.  Not all that sure if there is a way to control that kind of drama, but I have some ideas.  They will most likely fail miserably.  I'll keep you posted...

Now, to add a little more drama on this environment that is supposed to be my happy place...  There are at least three people that are so part time that I could easily forget they work here.  These are what I call "the ghost" hairdressers.  The protocol goes as such....  A client calls in to make an appointment with one of the ghost stylists (and I will call them GS from here on out).  While the GS does not have an actual schedule, per se, a phone number needs to be taken with the promise of a return call of confirmation if the GS can come in for them.  After roughly three texts and four phone calls, an appointment is finally made.  Of course, the GS manages to forget the appointment and does not show or arrives at least 15 minutes late for the appointment.  Trying to assure a client that their hairdresser is to arrive shortly is stressful enough.  Especially when they don't show up and won't answer the darn phone!

Now, since you have a feel for the characters I deal with, I can consider doing journal entries for the antics that happen "behind the scenes" in a salon.  Not sure if there is much to go with, but I do have some things I can mention in the future, that is, if it happens to change into something story worthy.

This looks like a good place to stop for now.  Have a good day! 

A milestone of a day....

Good morning!  Pleased as punch for a few things today....

Well, for starters, today marks another year to being married to my friend, my partner, and sometimes my last nerve that I affectionately call here... DH.  Yep, 17 years ago I got married to DH.  A lot of memories to share about that day, but for the sake of time, I will condense it....

*It was 90 degrees in the shade (much like today)
*The best man managed to irk a priest from the beginning and got me to a point to where I wanted to strangle him.  His antics included... the impromptu "kegger" in the parking lot before the ceremony and the pizza delivery during the wedding reception as well as being snarky to the priest at the rehearsal.
*How I felt when my father gave me away.
*The photographer taking a spill at the reception venue, possibly cracking a few ribs, rushes the rest of the pictures and only has 2/3 of them when I pick them up.  (he got a call for another job that paid more while he was at my venue, thus the tumble down the steps and the quick ask to leave early)
*The flake of a wedding planner at the reception with buying the wrong alcohol and coming back with what I can all the redneck version of a wedding reception.
*The complaints from management for the "hole-shots" and "burn-outs" in the parking lot from my guests, as well as the mentions of how cool they were in my sign in book.
*My first night of being a wife... watching my husband be passed out drunk while I try to figure out how to get out of my dress and what movie I watched - which was the Wedding Singer starring Adam Sandler.
*Knowing (of course at a much later date), exactly when my first panic attack (of many) occurred.  (FYI: it was a mile from the church on my way there).

I am pleased I have made it 17 years.

Next thing I am pleased about is....  I think the chaos of the past few months has finally settled.  I think.  With DD in the hospital in July, and me in August with the blow up of our refrigerator in between, I can say that I have hit my limit for unfortunate events.  Sadly, these unfortunate events come at a cost and we have not tallied the total on the cost, but it is safe to say that if there was any chance of getting ahead financially.... it is long gone now.  Heck, the expenses we have endured for DD's Sophomore year of high school has put us in the red faster than a jackrabbit at a greyhound racetrack.  I just hope that we can climb out of this rut soon.

The final pleased at punch moment is.... just being on this side of the sod.  Getting older is not easy.  Not saying I am ready for retirement, but with my line of work.... I may never retire,  There is zero fiscal benefits to my line of work and I am now too old to join the ranks of those that get stock options and a 401K.  Sure, things are tough.  Marriage is not a cake walk nor is affording to just exist among the masses.  Death and taxes are the only guarantee in life, but just being able to open my eyes each morning and to take a breath is pretty darn awesome if I say so myself.  I have my fair share of less than desirable things happening in my life.  Money is tight.  DH and I are stressed over finances.  We worry about DD and what the future might bring.  There is chaos out in the world!  It is just grasping that small grain of good out there that keeps us moving onward.  Some days are harder than others, but getting through it is an accomplishment to be revered.

Well, gotta bolt.  Things to do today and more blood work to endure.  The doctor is looking at my progress since leaving the hospital not so long ago.  Fingers crossed it is good news....  Thanks for reading and have a great day!!!

A change in the wind-a-comin'....

Lets see here.... a few things that really needed to get off of my chest....

1). Darn you yoga pants!!!

Every woman that happens to pass the age of (cough, cough) 40 begins to have a love affair with stretchy yoga pants.  I should know.... I am one of them.  While all comfortable and stretchy that they happen to be.... the wearer loses sight of the body's changes into the less than attractive state you used to be.  Heck, the closer to 50 you get, the weight seems to pack itself right on and not be noticed.  Eating properly goes by the wayside and suddenly your waist is no longer able to fit in your jeans without having that telltale muffin top of living life in the junk food aisle showing.  The buttons of your favorite jeans are now being tested for tensile strength to holding in now what you can only say is your full term pregnancy weight of almost 16 years ago.  Yep, simply put.... yoga pants are an aid in to getting fat.  It is the stretch in the material that allows you to eat whatever you want and remain in denial that you are getting fatter by the day.

Now, I am not saying that just eating right and exercise is going to mount to anything beyond fluctuating a 10 pound weight loss for the next 6 months when you happen to be going through my second topic of discussion....

2).  Menopause!!!  UGH!!!

I have been informed about 6 months ago that I am now within the age demographic for the female patience killer, menopause.  Heck, I even got my hormones checked and was sickened by the result.... According to the standard FSH blood test (that is, the Follicle Standing Hormone blood test, that figures the stage of menopause you happen to be in via hormone levels through a draw of blood), I happen to be "post menopausal".  WTF?!?!?!???  POST????  MENOPAUSAL?????  Well, needless to say, I was quite upset about this because my body was not exactly giving up on my monthly situation that I have had since the ripe old age of 12, I think?  Not exactly something I keep record of regardless of how many times my gynecologist asks me on the papers I am required to fill out every. stinking. time. I. go. there!  Really, my sex life is not all that it is (or was), to recall every blinking moment on a sheet of paper for it to be looked at by a doctor, nurse, or nosy medical transcription professional out there.  I think seeing the same doctor for almost 18 years and being married to the same person for just as long should be a big, neon sign that says "nothing new going on here to report thankyouverymuch".  Needless to say.... I have not been as "regular" as I was in the last 5 years or so, but it still comes from time to time.  Usually, at the worst times imaginable. Okay, back to the topic here.... Since I was told I am post menopausal, but still getting a cycle... My diagnosis changed from "post" to "peri".  Meaning, until I no longer get that visit from good old aunt Flo, I am still apparently a viable woman.  Just not as viable.  What the gynecologist did not share with me is what the body truly goes through when you are apparently menopausal.  So far, my list has been as such....

*Weight gain (well, DUH! Apparently, eating bad has a friend.... it is called hormone imbalance and it refuses to play nice with even the most proper of diet, eating like a hummingbird, and constantly moving like you are on drugs that make you twitchy if you sit for too long.  Hormones affect your metabolism and our thyroid - both tools in weight management)
*Mood swings (trust me, it is HARD to keep my moods in check)
*Itchy skin (at first, it was insane, but has tamed a little since)
*Hot Flashes (OMGoodness!  This is just AWFUL! Imagine being all comfortable and then.... BOOM!  You are sweating like a whore in church and you didn't even move.  Happens often throughout the day and not when you expect it.  All you want to do is strip off all your clothes and crank the a.c. to a polar like temperature.  Fun, right?)
*Night sweats (this is still in the not-so-frequent stage, but waking up in the middle of the night drenched like someone sprayed you down with a hose is not exactly all that fun.  Especially when your laundry loads have increased due to the number of t-shirt changes that happen because of it)
* Panic attacks (if you happen to have suffered them in the past and got them under control without medications - like me - there is an increase in generalized panic disorder relapse.  That means.... if you thought you got your mental woes under control... you are sadly mistaken and get ready to deal with those emotional bags you thought you left behind because they are back... and with a vengeance)
***  What is even more sad is that this is just the tip of the iceberg of misery that awaits me because apparently there is more to come and I learned that from my next topic of discussion.....

3).  The internet and the information it possesses

I am a curious person.  I look things up when they come to mind.  When I wanted to learn more about menopause (since I am experiencing it), I went to my good friend, Google, and basically absorbed way too much information on the subject and apparently I have come to the conclusion that I can now blame everything on menopause and from here on out.... I am one screwed pooch!

I was recently in the hospital for severe pains.  The kind of pains that had me thinking I was going to head for the pearly gates.  I could not catch my breath, I was sweating, and hurting across both the front and back of my chest.  At first, I thought it was just another one of those back spasms that I happen to get that wake me in the middle of the night.  Or at least I thought that is what it was, but when the nausea started.... I decided to pay closer attention.  The pain was becoming unbearable and not seeming like it was going to ease up any time soon.  I wanted to avoid the hospital.  I hate that place.  But sadly, the pain, the panic, and the nausea wore me out and I asked for DH to take me to the hospital.  I waited as long as I could to see if this thing would pass, but at 4:00 in the morning, I was being driven to the hospital by DH.  I got in the ER rather quickly and had hopes that they could get me fixed up and out of there just as fast, but sadly that was not the case.  The only relief I had going for me was that the immediate EKG that was taken ruled out heart attack.  DH stayed as long as he could before heading home to take care of things at home and DD.  He left shortly after I was told I was being admitted for observation and more tests.

After getting an ultrasound and an MRI (with imaging dye), the results came back with an answer that has me wondering even more....  They called it..... Non Alcohol Fatty Liver Disease (NAFLD).  Upon yet MORE internet searching, it is simply put like this.... It is the result that there is excessive fat in my liver that is usually caused by drinking too much alcohol, but since I have not had a drink in about a year.  It also is a predetermining factor for type 2 diabetes (or the risk thereof).  I am not diabetic and my cholesterol in under the limit of 200, but I do know that my triglycerides are a little high.  I am overweight and the solution to my problem?  I have to lose weight.

All I could say is.... well, DUH, Captain Obvious! I already KNOW that!  I have been battling the bulge for... ever!!  I am not anywhere near what is portrayed on magazine covers, but I am not as bad as those on disability because they cannot get out of bed, either.  I am in that median group of people struggling to at least meet the reasonable higher end of the healthy weight according to that government regulated BMI chart that my doctor has at her office.  All I can really hope for is to lose this weight and take me off the list of people getting that stamp on the bottom of my foot that says my mortality rate and date of expiration.  Sadly, now the cards are stacked against me since I get to blame a stage of life I never signed up for has arrived and causes problems like these.

This is the conclusion of the main issues I needed to get off my chest....  Now, onward to something else.....

WHEW!  What a month it has been!  Beyond my hospital stint, DD was in the hospital, too.  Just a few weeks before I landed my backside there, she went in with stomach pains, diarrhea, and nausea.  She was diagnosed with pancreatic issues.  For all intents and purposes, it looked like she had the flu, but I don't have the alphabet after my last name, nor do people call me doctor.  Lucky for her, she bounced back rather quickly, but had my head scratching at how a teenager could get a pancreatic issue if she does not drink alcohol.  Apparently, it can happen, and does to more people every day.  They called it an idiopathic occurrence and she is doing great!  She is watching what she eats and is actually eating a balanced diet like people are supposed to, but teenagers rarely consider doing that.  Heck, most teenagers opt to skip breakfast, snack whenever, and turn their noses up at a balanced meal.  Half the time it is because they never seem to have time to eat, the rest of the time it is lack of interest of what is in the fridge.  So glad she is doing better and finally eating right!  That long time battle is finally over and she finally gets it!!!  Mom finally wins a round!!

Between DD's and my stint in the hospital, our refrigerator blew up.  Not literally, but the compressor made its last attempt before making a burnt smell fill my kitchen.  DH and I were in a panic.  We just did the weeks grocery shopping the day before and really did not want to lose the food we just bought.  Not exactly budget friendly to throw away a weeks worth of food in one day to have to replace it.  Luckily, we managed to find a replacement quickly and got it home the same night.  All food was saved!!  Go us!!

Of course, with a win, there is a loss.  Our new fridge is slightly smaller than the old one and we now have less usable space.  Speaking of usable space.... I built a pantry that I have asked DH to provide me for years and I am not minding my kitchen all that much since I now have a little better organization going on.  Now, I have to tackle the challenge of cleaning out my cabinets and really getting organized.  Not so thrilled about garbage day today once I start tackling that chore.  On a final note, I was humbled and felt those warm fuzzies I used to get when DH complimented me on the good idea I had as well as the good job I did assembling said pantry.  I know how to use tools and follow instructions, but it felt good to get some accolades for my efforts.

With my kitchen getting organized and that I happen to be the only one cooking specialty diets for the family (DH needs to be low cholesterol - he has cholesterol issues, DD and I wanted low fat - hence the obvious for me -  her? - not so much), and with current time restraints on everyone (work, school and such), I thought I had a good bead on things.  Sadly, I have been either working late or going in on my days off to help over there so I thought I could make meals ahead of time.  Of course, this simple plan had its challenge added recently.... I am to cook only individual servings for everyone since we are all watching our weight.  DD really does not have a weight issue (her BMI is perfect).  It is her father and I that have the battle ahead of us.  Sadly, food does not come in serving sizes divisible by 3 and I have been utilizing my measuring cups, scales and whatnot to make this work.  Bulking up ground chicken, turkey, or in the rare occurrences sirloin with shredded vegetables to meet the weight requirement to make something that serves normally 4 into something that serves 6 and divide that into two separate meals that do not repeat themselves.  Yep, I am about to get the slide rule and abacus out to explain my methods, but the challenge is not to only make individual servings of balanced meals with the correct fat contents.... I am to make sure we do not have leftovers that end up getting thrown out at the end of the week.  That is really controlling the budget to a whole new level.  Just thinking about the power cook session I will be doing today has me wanting to take a nap.  Could be that, or the fact I have given up soda completely for the past 3 days (I am on day 4 today), and only drinking water... plain water (blech).

Sorry for the ramblings, but here is yet another moment of the warm fuzzies coming....  Before landing in the hospital, I purchased some covered, dividable containers for the meals I am preparing.  Kind-of like looks like TV dinners when you see it.  Each container has an individual serving of a meal prepared within the guidelines set before me.  all that needs to be done is reheating your meal and eating it.  I started doing that with a power cook session Wednesday night and by Thursday morning (and I mean the wee hours), I landed in the hospital and left my family to fend for themselves with the assured mind that the rest of the week's dinners were there for their consumption.  For added measure on preparation, I made DD's lunch for her first day of school and that was sitting in the fridge alone with her freezer lunch bag chilling in the freezer.  Talk about being on my game!  I was supermom and superwife all in one!  When I did come home from the hospital (this is the warm fuzzies part), I got hugs from BOTH my teenage daughter AND my husband with words of appreciation that I am feeling better and back home.  How sweet was that???  Oh, and both DD and DH are stepping up to help more.  DH has been helping with the dishes, DD is helping with the household chores, DH is helping me be motivated to move more (not like I wasn't moving in the first place) by going for evening walks with me, and DD is doing what she can to keep me positive that things will get better instead of being the sullen teenager she tends to be.  Who knew?  The things I do before landing me in the hospital would have both people in my life appreciating me a little more for what I do and wanting to keep me around a bit more.

Well, I have taken up enough time.  Thanks for reading!!!

Not so sure WHAT to think... (an experience at the local 7-11)

Today, I decided to take it easy and try to get all my errands done early, but alas, an early afternoon call resulted in me making yet another errand run for supplies. (sigh)  So, after DD goes out to hang with friends for a while, I decided to motivate myself to get back in my truck and run to one of the local beauty supply places I go to for supplies for a client (aka my early afternoon call).  Since I was already out of the house, I figured I would stop at the local 7-11 and get something to drink.

The local 7-11 convenience store is filled with teenage kids loading up on frozen treats on this nice, summer day.  Well, only one teenager was there with a mission at hand to achieve and that mission was witnessed by me and it got me thinking.......

Poor kid, probably not a day over 16, is purchasing a box of condoms and the look on his face was priceless!  It was a cross between embarrassment and boastful pride.... apparently this little youngster had some serious plans for later (if you catch my drift).  While I am relieved that this is a sign of a responsible member of the horizontal activities club, I am also reminded that the teenage years are the most difficult.  It is all that love in the air being tossed about with zero clue what love really means and the differing expectations of people.  In the mindset of a girl (well, hello! I happen to be a girl, so I am aware of this part of the thought process...), the act of sex (yep, I said sex) is seen as a serious commitment between two people in love.  While at that young age, what they believe is true love is nothing more than hormonal lust and desire.  It sadly takes roughly until they are in their 30's to figure that out.  Hmmm.... I think I recall telling DD she couldn't date until she is in her 30's.... I think I need to remind her again why I would prefer to have her not date until she is at least 30 years old. (food for thought)  Now, in the thought process of a boy (remember, I am only assuming here... and these thoughts appear to be accurate), boys have a far lower thought process of what love truly is and having sex (yep, I said it again) is some kind of rite of passage into being one of the cool guys out there (aka a player, or you can add a little slang to it and call him a play-ya).  Sadly... heck, even more sadly... most boys lack acknowledging true love until they are darn near 40 (and that is a very small window because I believe DH hit his midlife crisis or change of life just before he hit 50).  While I know that not all men go from adolescent to adult and then back to adolescent in the same time frame, but I have yet been able to meet a man that has the ability to truly know what the difference between love and sex is.  In simpler terms.... Women see sex as making love and men don't.  So, seeing this young man (I will call him that on the sole premise he is being responsible with buying the condoms), had me thinking.

In all honesty, I cannot give you a solid answer to how I really feel about seeing a teenage boy buy buying condoms at the local 7-11 in the late afternoon.  Part of me is laughing at the idea that this kid thinks he is going to get "lucky", but another part of me feels concerned... the idea of doing something as serious as being intimate with someone is seen as an adult act and in my eyes... he is not old enough for something like that (at least mentally).  Then, I became concerned for the person that was not with him in the store buying those things.... what about the other person?  Are they sure that this is the right thing to be doing?  Are they strong enough to carry the burden of being talked about behind their back?  Girls won't kiss and tell, but boys are known for boasting and bragging to their friends.  Maybe this boy is sincere, but maybe he is not.  I have heard stories (and heck, have experienced it myself), of the ultimatum game (If you love me, you will have to prove it), or the play of emotions game (Let me show you how much I love you)... peer pressure at its finest.

Of course, I do have to acknowledge one other thing and it happens every day with every person on some level..... It is the desire to be desirable.  Magazines peddle the scene and people eat it up with a spoon.  Looking a certain way may make a person feel good about themselves, but it can send a very wrong message toward others.  That level of expectation based upon how a person looks has me concerned.  While a girl may feel good running around in a bikini, I guarantee that there are boys getting an eye full of lusty thoughts and some of the bikinis I saw this summer had less coverage than the underwear I have on.  Obviously, I put my foot down when it came to DD's swimwear selection (she has a one-piece), and I am the judge of what she wears outside my home.  I am not afraid to tell her my reasons why I am this way.  She might argue with me, but when she gets older.... she will understand and then thank me... I hope.

It is a scary world we live in.  That is all I can say about it.  What I recall as innocence of youth is tainted in many shades of grey and I am cynical enough to see them all, sarcastic enough to laugh over the discomfort that kid suffered buying condoms, and scared enough to seriously consider to chain myself to DD in order to protect her from what I am calling "the hormonal years".  Fortunately, I am open enough to talk to DD about these things and to remind her that love, only the truest and purest form of love, is not measured in putting out.  It is measured in patience and respect.  Oh, and I told her that regardless of the "rain gear" he wears... he better have a wedding ring for her, a steady job, and a firm understanding of what a commitment means because condoms are not 100%... only abstinence is.  If he believes she is worth it... then he can wait until marriage.  If not.... then he is not worthy.

Thanks for reading!  Have a great day!!    

The breaking point....

Have you ever hit a point in your life where you just happen to just lose your firm hold of patience?  I know I have.  Of course, I have no doubt everyone has, but have you ever really paid attention to when that snapping point has occurred?  As the old saying goes....."That was the straw that broke the Camel's back", we tend to all have that moment happen.  It all varies in degrees ranging from a simple eye roll to hugging yourself in the corner of a padded room.  The verbal action can range from silent to screaming, or even to motor-boarding your bottom lip and swearing in tongues.  That pressure valve on the proverbial pressure cooker of one's self needing to ease the pressure from within. 

Of course, as we all strive to keep a level head at all times, we tend to shy away from letting that pressure cap pop off and really let the steam fly to get the needed release we so desperately seek in order to feel calm again.  Some call this hitting your threshold of patience and understanding, but lets be honest here.... it is not actually hitting a threshold as it is breaking through a barrier that separates inaction from action.  

Here is what brings this topic to blog-worthy status today.....

Just this past weekend, I was sick and not some easy-peasy little sniffle with a cute little sneeze attached... nooooooo, this was the NAPALM of attacks.  It hit hard and fast.  I did not have a chance to foresee the magnitude until it was too late and darn near passed out at the wheel on my way to see a doctor or anyone with a medical degree that could get me hooked up with the necessary medicine to battle the cold (which became a bronchial AND sinus infection in less than 24 hours from the acknowledged onset).  Believe me... I am still not at 100%.  I still feel weak and tired, but the antibiotics are finally doing something as well as the decongestant sprays and oral decongestant I needed in order to feel somewhat functioning again.  Needless to say, I was nowhere near my A-game of attitude.  Heck, to be honest.... I would have needed a map, a GPS, a compass, and a Sherpa to get me even close to familiar territory. 

Knowing I was so far out of my element, I hoped and prayed that my family would step up and take the reigns of what was needed to be done in my absence.  I probably should have prayed harder, but I was just too worn out to do more than I did, but alas, my family stayed true to protocol and expected me to do everything.  I barely managed to make dinner on Saturday night.  When Sunday came about.... I was completely useless.  I had virtually no strength in me.  I was attached to the couch, my pillow and my blanket.  The night before, I battled hours of shaking from a fever, suffered another back spasm, and flipped about trying to find relief from clogged sinuses with a stack of tissues catching the constant drip from my nose.  Eyes watered without emotion in such a way that upon looking at me, you would think I was crying.  Heck, it felt like I was being water-boarded and I had no secrets to keep from enemy soldiers.  When I did manage to stand and move about.... my family looked at me with eyes like a starving animal was silently looking at its owner to telepathically demand me to feed them.  Guilt came over me that I was just not physically able, but as soon as I acknowledged the feeling.... I was enraged at how nobody would just step up and do anything to help me (or themselves).

DD asked me to give her a ride to the animal shelter for her volunteering stint.  REALLY????  I am obviously feeling (and looking like death walking), but apparently I am supposed to put being sick on the back burner and drive DD to the animal shelter?  Why isn't DH stepping up and taking her?

I tell DD to ask her father to take her.

DH drops off DD at the animal shelter (literally) without walking her in to verify the time of pickup.  Heck, he never left the car.  He pulled up to the door, dropped her off, and drove back home with zero clue to when she will need a ride home. I, on the other hand, obviously know when since I am the one always doing the driving on the weekends.

DH decides waiting for me to feed him is not happening and he grabs a sandwich.  Never offering if I may need to eat something.  I guess a grumbling tummy makes you forget that the wife suffering on the couch just might like a hand from time to time.

I notice the looks DH is flinging my way.  That, "aren't you going to make the grocery list?" look.  The audible sighs of impatience that I am not buzzing around the house compiling the weekly shopping list or asking what he would like for the weekly meal selection since I gave up choosing what I would like to cook because of the picky palates I am required to accommodate.  Since I am not in the mood for a fight, I bite my tongue and make the list, and went to lay down afterwards.  I left the list for him and thought he would go get DD from volunteering and take her with him to the grocery store and get this task done since I am too sick to even move.  I apparently was wrong.   I wake up from a short nap and see that DH has not left the recliner and it was time to get DD from the animal shelter.  I look at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him to do this weeks grocery shopping trip without me and get our daughter from the animal shelter.  He looks at me with a reply of a man waiting for his wife to get her backside in gear for a fun trip to the grocery store, oh, and I (the sick one) gets to drive.  

Suddenly, my attitude changes to one of a woman on the edge and looking for a frying pan to fling at her husband.  I sigh and succumb to my fate that I will have to go grocery shopping and get our daughter, too.  The hopes of getting a break to rest have been crushed.

With shoulders slumped, I grab my coat, shoes, purse, keys, and the grocery list and tell DH we need to go get this errand done so I can rest.  DH saunters off to the bathroom for the before-we-go-anywhere potty break while I mumble cursing statements on my way to the car.  Our first stop is the animal shelter to get DD.  I ask DH to go and get her and he refuses to leave the car to do so.  I sigh and get out of the car, muttering more curses while I enter the animal shelter to get DD.  Upon getting DD, I inform her that we, as a family, are now required to get this shopping trip done.  She is not happy and gets her ear buds out to tune out her family.... oh joy... and gets in the car and off we go to the grocery store.

Upon parking, DH bounces out of the car and practically skips into the grocery store while DD and I were walking like we are heading off to the executioner.  Her, tuning out everyone with her music blaring in her ears and I, muttering angry thoughts between sneezes and coughs.  I grab onto a cart for balance and push myself through the store.  I ask for my healthy family to grab the things on the list while I push the cart so I can try to contain the illness within my little bubble... sneezing and coughing in my coat instead of my hand.  

We are half way through our shopping and in the frozen foods section.  DH is bouncing like a kid at Christmas, wanting to show DD a brand of ice cream that the brand name is the same as his.  DD is not interested and I think she said, "whatever", and DH blows a gasket with the comment of, "oh joy, I get to deal with a pair of crab-asses in the grocery store", in a tone that finally snapped my filter of trying to be reasonable.  That is when I just snapped and shouted in the grocery store about not being all that happy being dragged to go grocery shopping while I am sick (cursing/colorful language included).  People turned and looked at me snap back at DH's comment (which, by the way, was not shouted, but loud enough for others to hear).  DH was not all that happy about my outburst and the rest of the trip consisted of stuff being literally slam-dunked and thrown in the cart.  The silent treatment started and has not exactly ended as of yet and it has been since Sunday afternoon and it is Wednesday now.  

DH is not a fan of talking things out and even less of a fan of considering another's point of view.  Heck, I doubt he acknowledged me struggling to remain upright while being as sick as I was.  I think he refused to believe me that I was that sick.  I, of course, can admit that I am just as at fault about this.  I should have asked instead of assumed that people would be willing to do what I usually do when I am obviously sick as well as I should have informed everyone that my patience is basically nonexistent and to leave me alone so I can figuratively get my head on straight.  Even more obviously, I should have never enabled my family to be they way that they are.  I do everything without asking for help.  I never delegated anything to others because if I can do it... why make someone else do it for me....  Sadly, as I am willing to admit my faults, DH refuses and thus being on day #3 of the silent treatment, with probably a few more days of silent treatment to go.  It is just now a waiting game for DH to cool off and return to acting like this never happened in the first place.  Sure, it is wrong to wait for the other person to decide when to let things go and move forward without talking, but this is how it has been handled for years.  I would love to change it, but when only one is willing and the other is not?  It is a waste of energy pushing the issue.  I should know.  I have tried for the past 15 years and I am out of ideas on how to change it and I am just so very tired.

Now, another event that happened while I am trying to get back to my "A- game"....  I asked DD on Monday if she could at least clean her room.  I know.... I know.... Every parent argues with their child over how messy they are and there is a perpetual long-standing argument over having a clean living environment.  I know I had those same arguments with my mother about cleaning my room.  While I will admit that I am not at the level of OCD neat-freak status, I am not exactly a slob either.  Sure, I will go into shut-down mode and not clean for a few days.  Heck, I even managed to take a week off from picking up after my family.  What baffles me is how my family can look past the mess and not do anything about it.  I can only assume that the threshold of acceptance of being messy is far higher than mine because I always manage to hit a breaking point and just do things myself.  I am just saddened at how my family seems so at ease of not caring anymore and even more saddened at how it is easier for them to shame me into taking the reigns and take care of things all the time.  Sure, there is a level of enabling on my part because I do care more, but how do I convince others to care as much as I do?  Words are not working.  Actions are not appreciated.  Even not doing a thing refuses to create a spark in them to do more.  I just don't get it and I guess I never will, but haven't you ever wondered?  And if you managed to tap into knowing their threshold, how so many arguments can be avoided with that knowledge? 

Needless to say.... DD has not cleaned her room, DH has not tried to talk things out, I am still out of ideas in getting any change in a positive way, and I have stuff to do.  I just have to take comfort in believing that I am not alone on this journey.  Thanks for reading and have a great day!!