Nutcase 101

Every time I walk into the bathroom I’m faced with it. Sitting on the floor, making my brain send messages (depending on my mood), “It’s okay, just step on it. Maybe this time it’ll be kind to you. Or, at least you’ll know the damage you did you to yourself. ” Or “You fat cow, you need to know. You ate everything in site. If you don’t step on it, you’ll keep shoveling it in.”

I’m sure you’ve deduced what ‘it’ is: the scale.

I have a purely hate relationship with the scale because even when it’s given me good news, I still think that I should be doing better. That I should never have weighed the number that’s displayed at me and how dare I let myself get that way. Even a smaller number displayed will most certainly be a gain because I’m going to let it myself gorge on my ability to lose.

And up until the last few months, even as I was constantly gaining, I would still weigh myself four to five times a day. I’ve gotten the number down to one or two but I mental association with the scale is still a very negative one. It can still take me down, way down, emotionally to the point where I don’t want to talk to others or I mentally berate myself for hours.

My mental relationship with the scale is one I don’t know how to balance.

Dear Metabolism,

Obviously you’ve decided to take a vacation with Self-Control and didn’t fill out the prerequisite forms prior to your leave of absence. I would fire you, but honestly, you never did much work before hand and really, who’s going to replace you? The Glands are on your side and dagnabit, it appears the whole Endocrine system likes you better too.

So, after you get back from your ‘much needed vacation’ lets talk. Because there was a time you and I were buddies, pals. You loved me and I loved you and together we both loved our much smaller size of pants. But now, I eat everything in sight since Self-Control has talked you to the dark side.

We need resolution. I know! I’ll work out more and talk to Nutrition about fruits and veggies. Then maybe, just maybe that’ll make you happy? Then, you’ll tell Self-Control that it needs to work with you so that you can make Body look hot again? When it all comes together, those pesty cupcakes that I so love, won’t be able to talk me into being naughty and eating them because Self-Control will be in charge again.

Who knows. But I’m begging for forgiveness and hoping we can be besties once more.

With love and affection for size 10’s,

Nutcase

I totally was going to write a post about California. Seriously. I have many waxes to be poetic over Will and Nina (yeah, I absolutely know that makes no sense).

But then my mom called.

(For those of you who want to skip ahead, the following paragraph is going to end with I believe in prayer.)

I was raised with a mixed up view of religion. My parents were holiday pew warmers until we moved to Florida when my parents decided the non-denominational, sorta-Baptist worship was in their heart and Catholicism was in their wallets. We all gave our hearts to Jesus and Jesus told us everything was bad. Now, I promise I’m not knocking people who are whole-hearted bible believers but my own spiritual walk is not one where there is preaching on Sundays. I like think that I believe in more of a direct connect method, without the Verizon guy standing behind me.

But lately, I hadn’t put a lot of my strength, faith, whatever in God. And there is a saying that there is a lot more believers in a high power on bad days than good. I personally believe that God is with me with every step but that I’m more aware of my abilities versus his when the shit hits the fan.

Somebody released the shit.

(You can start reading again.)

My mom’s voice didn’t waver, nor did she seem upset, but I think she was a lot more calm that she would’ve been because my nephew, her grandson, was cuddling with her when she called and delivered the message: My grandmother has internal bleeding of an unknown source and she’s been hospitalized.

Grandma is awesome and the toughest old New York bird you’ll ever meet. She’s the mom to six kids, was divorced in her late thirties, put herself through nursing school and kicked life’s ass whenever it tried to put her down. Hell, in the last two years she’s had two strokes, a heart attack and malignant cancer. She’s won every single battle. But, I know she’s getting tired. It was in her voice when we last spoke (which was way too long ago now that I type that sentence, I can’t recall when that conversation happened). She’s still fighting some of the lingering effects of the stroke and the radiation/surgery. She’s losing weight and forgets simple things.

It’s breaking my heart knowing she has to keep fighting getting old and having a body that needs a major overhaul but it’s hard to know that her time on Earth is finite. She’s so far away. If I had known, Los Angeles would’ve waited and New York would’ve been the destination. One of my favorite vacations was to spend a week with Grandma after I graduated college. I had her all to myself and she shared stories and recipes and herself.

It is selfish to want Grandma to get better. For me. My mom. My whole family. For Grandma, so that she can keep on enjoying loving life, as much as we enjoy and love her.

That’s what I’ll be praying for tonight.

And a murder occurs in our house. We have determined that we have a serial killer living among us. B has been found innocent since I am his alibi. The same goes for me, obviously.

But, we’ll get home and find the body, laying there, torn to pieces for the whole world to see it’s inner parts. And we weep.

For the toilet paper has been murdered.

This has been a daily occurrence in the Nutcase household. Sometimes twice a day. We’ve taken steps to put the toilet paper in Witness Protection and still, the murder finds a way to locate it from it’s secret cabinet location. The murderess knows no fear!

(The main suspect looks upon the final resting place of the victim)

Unfortunately, with this kind of terror running amok, it means that our toilet habits have become out of sorts. Because every time we do our business, we’re reminded of this grizzly scene.

And neither B or myself can not shake the images that we’ve encountered. WHEN WILL IT STOP???

Oh the HELL YES we do!

A life without modern conveniences is one I do not want to think about. Seriously, I know I’m pampered and I know that if the world was run amok with Zombies, I’d be able to survive. (Daddy taught his little girl to use a shotgun – one more thing about growing up in the South!)

But I elect not to.

Unfortunately, our dryer did not know about my decision to never give up on things like fluffy, dry towels. No, it never got the memo. On Sunday, our apartment provided dryer decided it could no longer take the heat. (Yes, I went there.) This meant that Jen’s work clothes weren’t to be washed. And that was okay for one day. I had one pair of pants left because I’m not a skirt/dress kind of gal. But after that, the SHIT would hit the fan.

On Monday morning, at the appropriate time, I called the leasing office and informed them of the recent death of their appliance. Yes, it would be fixed that day and no worries, we’d be living high again in no time. YAY! But, Monday evening came and we saw no yellow notice of (read with deep, manly repair man voice) “We’ve been in your apartment and your dryer has been fixed.”

No.

The only thing we saw was a piece of the dryer front was not on all the way. Okay. Maybe Mr. Repairman forgot to leave a note. He’s human after all and fixing the dryer was his priority. But the dryer didn’t work. The shit started flinging. I was faced with a tough decision: Run and buy a new pair of pants or wear a dress to work the next day.

I decided to set my priorities straight, be a grown up and help the economy. I bought new pants.

A trip to Target provided me with a nice new pair of khakis.

But, I wasn’t a happy camper. Oh no. The next morning, I called the apartment complex and demanded ANSWERS. Let’s just say, we have a working dryer the next day.

(Side note: I only have a few pairs of pants that fit in my current plump state, so I couldn’t go to my stash that’s two sizes too small. Those pants hung in the closet and mocked me as I panicked about what to do. And, yes, I hating wearing dresses that much. I need a few days of motivation to put a dress on.)

BARELY. When I state that this week was busy, sleep was a complete after thought. I got to cook this week for a lot of people for a contest. A contest that I expected nothing from but I placed third. Sorry, I’m keeping my award winning recipe and the what nots under cover. Sorry. But, I’m proud of me and my cooking abilities.

We also are hosting my father-in-law who is a very dear man. He’s in from Phoenix by way of San Antonio (long story – that’s a familiar phrase I’ve been saying lately to get rid of my little side roads I like to take when communicating). The great thing about having my father-in-law over is that B really enjoys his company. I love seeing the two of them interact and how similar they are. And, I get to see that B is going to be a good looking guy when he gets older. WOOT for me people!!

Too add to our hosting, the nieces and nephew came over with my brother-in-law so that they could see their Papa. Unfortunately, I woke up sick today, the day the kids were coming over, and I promptly took myself to a Minute Clinic in CVS. I’ve been fighting a sinus infection for a few weeks and today it came to a head. I guess literally. In my throat, sinus cavities, ears, and all the fun things that made me hurt and want to cry. The clinic was really modernized and clean. The practitioner (a Physicians Assistant) was really thorough in the exam and ran all the tests needed. The computer system even sent the scripts directly to the pharmacy. It was great. Except for me being sick.

Once I was medicated I joined the mass of family at our apartment. We went to lunch at a local hot dog joint and then took the kids shopping for clothes; 6, 7, and 9, two females on the cusp of tweenhood. Both girls have been fed, until their easily manipulated minds are overflowing, with the desire to be like the kids on High School Musical or that they too can be Hannah Montana. Also, since the male adults had no clue how to judge if clothes fit the girls, I was honored with going into the dressing room with them to make sure things fit. Two runs in a dressing room with girls who are bouncing off walls because they are getting two outfits a piece from Papa. I was wiped out in less than 1/2 an hour.

Finally, home again. I’m now trying to recover from all that went on in the last twenty-four hours and rebuild my energy stores for tomorrow, where a lot of this will be repeated. Pray for me.

I’m awake and per usual, I don’t want to be. I want to be asleep next to my husband but the area of my brain in charge of sleep is being  a complete bitch and says, “NO SLEEP FOR YOU!” in either a german or north korean accent.

Fuck. All I want is to slumber because I do have to work tomorrow. Today. GAH!

Stupid, fucking, awful insomnia. Total bitch.

How are you?

I think that was an apt title for whomever is in Midland, Michigan who is reading my blog archives. Say hello. Drop a line. I don’t bite. Okay, I do. But that’s between me and B. Sorry.

And for the rest of this great big planet, it’s pretty cool that I’ve had some Austria, Australia, Italy, Spain and Brazillians popping by as of late.

For the rest of ya, I’m looking for some new blogs. Tell me a few of your faves so I can spy on them, steal their blog posts and call them my own. I’m kidding! No, I’m not. Yes, I am. (You all decide if I’m a plagiarist – then report me to the blog police!)

But really, I want some new written fodder to ogle over. I expect you, my lovelies, to pull through in a BIG way. No pressure.

because…

more animals

Because your bed is thirsty instead. Yes, ladies and gents, I spilled a perfectly good Captain and Coke all over my precious place of slumber.

I was showered, ready for bed – sans pants, naturally – with the girls hanging free. I got into bed for a lovely night of internet surfing while chatting with the lonely B. (Hell, I’m lonely too) Went to take a sip of my cocktail and the bed stole my drink. BITCH.

Honestly, it was really a fitting ending to my day, which I won’t elaborate on since I have my policy of this being personal life only. And, I’m sure you’ll take my word for it.

Thankfully, I am in a hotel and there was a lovely cleaning lady that came with clean sheets and sobered the bed up.