So, the Rottenator and I have recently rediscovered the sitcom "My Name Is Earl" courtesy of Netflix and all I have to say is...it is a more pleasurable experience than trying to relive the "Arrested Development" resurrection which was, I hate to admit, a disappointment.
You know the worst part about getting into a show after it's been off the air is realizing that no more new episodes will be created and and they leave you with a cliffhanger.
On another note, my glasses broke today but luckily I managed to find two nearly outdated contact lenses so at least I am not completely blind. It really was scary for a minute; the whole being completely blind thing. For a couple of minutes all I could picture was this:
But all is temporarily fine; I can see, and I'm due for some new frames anyway. I can't decide whether I'm going subtle or for the Lisa Loeb look.
Normally I would not comment on things in the world that do not concern me, but I do feel a bit moved to express my opinions on a recent topic of interest:
Oh, I have such mixed feelings about Ms. Paula Dean. I loved her whole story when she first started: she had the whole agoraphobia, abusive husband, made her success on her own (which I still admire, btw) thing going for her, and sincerely, her recipes are the shit. As in, her food is fucking delicious, and I own many of her cookbooks...because I am Southern...and engaged to a very Southern boy...and I like my fried foods. And a lot of Paula's recipes satisfy that very comforting "food I grew up on" hole that occasionally needs to be filled. Sometimes you just crave peach cobbler with a gallon of butter, or a dinner of deep fried everything, you just do.
So I was torn when Mr. Tony Bourdain, who I have also LONG loved...(as in "have a huge crush on, and had Kitchen Confidential long before he became a Food Network/Travel Channel/CNN "star" yes, I am one of those "I knew them before" people) attacked her...via Twitter, no less (even though he was SO right, damn you Tony!)
But I understood. I mean, Paula was kinda shifty/shady when it came to the whole diabetes revelation thing. And Tony also reminds me of one of those angst-ridden "takes his craft so seriously everyone else is just a sell-out and I'm still edgy and holding on to my youth, man" people that I now, as a middle-aged ex-goth, want to punch in the face. Grow up. You are a sell-out. But at least I can admit that I admire you with no shame or embarassment.
Since moving back from the big city of Atlanta, back home, to my own Southern roots, and living with a VERY southern man, I've come to reevaluate a lot of things in my life. I'm not nearly as cosmopolitan as I used to be. I embrace biscuits and gravy, fried chicken, peach cobbler, all of that ultimately Southern "soul" food that would as soon stop your heart as look at you.
So Paula's recipes have come in quite handy. That, I appreciate.
This whole new thing that's happening with her. It is a mess. If it is true that she said the things that she said, it is wrong, and it is offensive, but the woman did not lie. The only difference between Paula Dean and a lot of southern women her age who live down here is that they are not in the public eye when they used that word. My own grandmother, who spent the last years of her life in a nursing home being tended to by the kindest, most generous attendants on the planet, referred to them with such the same word. Of course, she was in her 80s, and Paula is in her 60s, so is that an excuse? No. But it is a reality.
I agree that Paula should be called out for the things that she has said; she should know better. And it pains me to know that things like this still happen; actually, I am quite appalled. But not surprised.
Delving deeper into the whole affair, and reading Paula's transcripts, it is no better or worse than anything else you'd ever hear down here on a normal every day. Take that as you will.
All I can say is that she is of the old school. Not that that's any excuse, because there are also other people her age who were born and raised in the South who have realized the error of their ways, but then again, there are those that don't. But I also feel that prejudice exists everywhere. And it is not more predominant in the South; just a bit more reported.
But moving on:
I have mixed thoughts about Edward Snowden, and I my one wish in life is that I go out like James Gandolfini: good food, good wine, quick heart attack, boom, peace out. And it kind of freaks me out just a little that he was only 10 years older than me when he did check out.
I loved Tony Soprano, and beyond that, James Gandolfini. He was amazing.
So, what have I been up to? Not much. On Saturday, whilst cooking up frozen sausage links, I managed to flip them in such a way that the frozen meat combined with the hot grease that splattered all over me and therefore, gave me huge blisters and burn marks all over my face.
Needless to say, I was unhappy. It's amazing how much my sense of vanity kicked in when "faced" with the fact that I may have to go out in public with pretty obvious burn marks all over my face.
I felt like this:
It was a weird sensation; usually, I am so concentrated on how ashamed I am of my body, to have visible markings on my face, that really threw me for a loop, to have my face "disfigured"...yes, it made me realize how superficial I am, in that I took advantage of my sick time at work and just managed my way in today, when I was able to cover everything up with makeup.
And side note: I highly recommend Neosporin. It is like Noxzema in the way that it is a miracle worker. Sometimes the old remedies are the best; they are tried and true for a reason. I am nearly all healed up and able to cover everything with make up.
So, what else: once again, I realized that when the Rottenator and I are forced to spend extra time together, I am filled with murderous rage. In that: truthfully, it was his time to enjoy himself at home and I was the unwelcomed intruder, but in the other sense, I was significantly unhappy with the fact that we spent 48 hours watching ESPN and old Alabama football games on YouTube. I am again trying to deal with the fact that we have nothing in common but we still try to make sacrifices because God knows, we do love each other when it comes down to it.
Other thoughts: my happy pills: they seemed to be working at first but now I just feel angry and confrontational about my life...but at least I'm not depressed, right? I'm reserving judgement for at least two more weeks, but right now...I don't feel a significant difference.
My Mood Ring(tone) Of The Day...oh wait, I have two...
I love the Bloggess. She says what I wish I could say but she said it first. And she puts it so succinctly.
Which is why she has a book and I do not...yet...
I recently fought myself out of a deep hole of depression that was affecting everything in my life, and then I got myself some happy pills, and immediately felt better.
Yes, I realize that some of the "feeling better within an hour of taking a pill" was probably psychosomatic, but still, whatever works, right? Bottom line: I'm feeling pretty good right now.
As in: I don't feel that my job is destroying me. I have put that bad boy back in its place: it is a paycheck, it is a secure job, with possible advancement and decent benefits. It does not define me, and when I clock out at 6:30pm, I can leave it there. And I don't cry in the shower every morning before I have to go in just thinking about it. And seriously, Kathleen, with everything else going on in the world... snap the fuck out of it.
Yes, I talk to myself in the third person. It's one of the many things that Kanye West and I have in common. Incidentally, please take the time to read this article; Kanye is crazy. I love this man and his music is brilliant but he is batshit nuts. Which is probably why I have sympathy and love for him.
Bottom line: I'm feeling better. Life is manageable. And I am reminded time and again of other people who have it much, MUCH worse than myself who still manage to soldier through without a hint of a complaint.
I have a very close "work" friend who has lupus and was recently admitted into the hospital because her kidneys were failing, and she needs chemo. This very strong woman relayed this information to me very casually from her hospital bed where she was being pumped full of chemicals, and her one request: "just send me some funny messages to cheer me up".
And here I am, my entire family is happy and healthy, and I'm whining because my job may be a little bit challenging.
Whatever.
I have decided to forgive myself (it's easier that way) and focus on the good. And the funny.
With that in mind, let us all celebrate the fact that I have recently lost 7 lbs by doing no more than "doing" all of my major eating at lunch, and restricting my dinner caloric intake to a minimum...and cutting out the evening snacking altogether. It sucks, because I do miss my 1am gelato break, but I am willing to sacrifice it in the meantime if this is the end result.
So, my sister asked me to watch my nieces yesterday, because she and my brother-in-law were taking my nephew to a comic book convention, and I have to admit, at first, I was hesitant.
Not that I don't adore these chirren with all my heart, but still...it's a big responsibility.
I mean, anything could happen. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, broken bones, drowning, abduction, drug overdose, dismemberment, murder-suicide...you just never know.
But I agreed, and I am so glad I did, because we had the best day!
It wasn't 10 seconds after my sister left that the 7 year old turned to me:
"So...when are we going to the pool?"
Drowning.
But, I dutifully packed them up, and down to the pool we went...at 9:30 in the morning. We were the only ones there, naturally. Because it was barely 80 degrees and overcast, but still, we managed to spend a couple of fun-filled hours without anyone turning blue, and then the 7 year old turned to me:
So we dried off, slapped on some makeup, piled into the Mazda, and thanks to Google Navigation, off we went.
We didn't quite make it to Claire's, we were side-tracked by Justice where we bought all sorts of pink and sparkly things, then the 3 year old turned to me:
"McDonald's!"
Yes, not so much a question as a statement, so McDonald's it was, where many cheeseburgers, fries, chicken nuggets and flurries were devoured.
And when my sister got home, she was greeted by two happy, well-fed and exhausted girls who were not missing any appendages.
This chemical imbalance b.s. has gone on long enough. So, I procured some "happy" pills from the resident doctor, and I hope they do the trick. At least until my gynecologist appointment in July, where I expect a thorough up and down examination of what exactly is wrong with me.
My hormones are out of whack. That I know. It's going on nearly three months since "Aunt Flo" or whatever, my god damn period, has happened, so I know that my hormones are completely unbalanced. I have all the PMS symptoms without the "relief" as it were, so as well as mental issues, there are also physical ones that need to be addressed.
And no (Mother), I am not pregnant.
About three years ago, or close to, I almost died, and stuff, and I'm pretty sure it wrecked havoc on my body, so early menopause would not be a surprise at this point. And I have made arrangements to have this confirmed and/or denied, but the earliest appointment I could get is in late July, and my brain was not about to have that shit.
It was all like, "Hey! Pay attention to me! Because you know how you were all depressed in college and you were Emo and everything when back then it was just called Goth and you thought you were cool, well, it's not so cool anymore, missy, because you're nearly 42 years old, and now it's just called pathetic...and kinda sad. And you don't want to be that middle-aged chick freaking all the youngsters out at the newest, hippest club while they roll their eyes and try to avoid eye contact with you and barely move their bodies to old school Joy Division songs...that they think they invented."
My brain tends to ramble. And is obviously quite the fan of run-on sentences.
BTW, the best part about this video is this is EXACTLY how I used to dance.
Besides...I gots bills to pay, and adult responsibilities, so seriously, I need to get my shit in order. So, I have taken the first step in doing so.
Drugs.
Helluva thing.
Unlike Rick James, I have decided that legal anti-depressant drugs may just be the answer, so I'll keep you posted on how this turns out. I think it's a positive step.
And I apologize ahead of time for my COMPLETE self-absorption lately and my ignorance of all of my friends and relations, online, or offline. I promise to do better.
Don't feel too bad; the Rottenator has felt it too. Incidentally, he just got new glasses because his eyes are "shaped like footballs" or so his opthamologist (optometrist?) told him.
Meanwhile, I do not find it ironic at all that the Rottenator, who bleeds college football ("Roll Tide!") has "football" shaped eyes.
He is very excited about his new "crystal clear" vision. It's like a whole new world. Something that others in this household have taken for granted since, oh, BIRTH.
At least the Nooge aka "Fatboy" will no longer have the visionary advantage in this household.
Today was a day with promise.
My Mood Ring(tone) Of The Day (see how I did that?)
