I've Got a Feeling...Maybe I'm Not Perfect

Have you ever had that moment?  Where someone totally called you out on your bullshit? And you realized they were the one? Even though you'd been together for four years, you were still unsure and suspicious and never fully trusted them, but then...they totally have your number.

I hate that, too.  Why do you not recognize me as the perfect goddess I am; why do you point out my weaknesses? Because, ideally, I have none.

And you love me anyway.  Damn you, Rottenator.

Meanwhile, I went to DragonCon and all I got was this single lousy picture:

And this, I didn't even take it; it is courtesy of my sister, who illegally snuck a pic (allegedly) when Spike was not paying attention.

So, this is my only pic, and as you can tell by the date on my sister's blog, it may be a while before I have anymore, but trust that fun was had by all.

In fact, we had a really good time even though the crowds were maddening. I forgot how much I hated crowds, even if they were all sci-fi geeks, and very polite, I'm just old and can't do it anymore.  I was near panic attack mode, but it all ended up well thanks to one of my college friends who showed us around because he is an expert at these things.

The one on the right, we love him!

 I'm not saying I'd do this again, even though it was kind of funny; the Rottenator would have hated the crowds but Alabama was playing their opening season game the same weekend in Atlanta so there was an immersion of my two worlds; nothing made me happier than watching Alabama football fans clapping at Daleks.   Just sayin'...

Oh, did I mention that I passed my work test so now I have semi job security? What what?!?!?  Yes, this is a huge relief; I've actually mellowed out a little bit about life whereas the Rottenator has gotten more intense.  I was hoping that college football season would ease some of his depression, but not so much so far...maybe when they beat Texas A&M he'll feel better.  Plus, he's turning 30 this year which can't be easy; I vaguely remember it myself...although 40 was harder than 30...and now every birthday is just another excuse to eat cake and ice cream and possibly get some flowers.

Getting old is weird. Mood Ring(tone) Of The Day:

*Incidentally, this is the song that my sister and brother in law walked down the isle to when they got married...because they are fabulous...

What Up?

With me?  Funny you should ask, but big fat nothing, thanks for asking!

Not that I'm complaining; sometimes a lack of news is not a bad thing; it just means that there's no drama going on which makes for a very boring blog but no offense, faithful readers, I'll take it.  I'm dead tired of drama.

SO!  While the entire world was fascinated by Baby Cambridge, I myself was fascinated by another story about another British baby...aka Liam Gallagher's love child.

See, you don't know me like that yet, but I used to love, love LOVE Liam Gallagher.  I mean, he was my hero of Britpop, and not just because we shared the same birthday (Sept 21 in case you're interested in sending gifts) but also because I found him sexy as shit.

Dude did not age well:

But hey, who am I to say, I certainly have not aged as gracefully as I would have wished, but at least I don't have illegitimate children all over the world. And how happy am I now that I didn't accept his proposal of marriage that he made to me...in my mind...

Moving on, not a lot to report, really.  Life is continuing; oh, I did make a long overdue appointment with a gynecologist and let me just say: I do believe your gynecologist is the most important person in your life, because my last appointment (which was, let's say...many years ago) was so traumatic I have avoided the experience ever since.  However, this time, I trusted the judgement of my mother and my sister and went to their recommended doc, and although I would not say that the experience was pleasant, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.  He was congenial, quick, and efficient.

Even though...after the fact both my mother and sister confided in me stories about this man's infidelity with some of his interns; I mean, really?  I could have gone my entire life without having this information; why, for the love of God, why would you tell me that my gynecologist was a philanderer?  Allegedly.

Regardless, he is an excellent doctor and made me feel not at all self conscious and even switched up my meds a little bit when I let him know that the Wellbutrin wasn't quite working for me.  In fact, even though I was no longer crying in the shower before work every day, I found that I was very angry and aggressive.

So, we're back to Zoloft, and I'll keep you posted on how that's going.  So far, so good, but it's early days.  The Nooge and The Rottenator are relieved that I no longer want to kill them...on a daily basis.  It's been downgraded to once a week...tops.

Mood Ring(tone) of the Day...(ick, Liam we are SO over):

So Cheating...

First off, go here to see where I'm stealing this idea from; I do so love his blog.

Anywho, here we go:

1. What's something people might ask you for help with?

Answer: grocery shopping:  I have mad skills when it comes to food shopping on a budget; give me a price limit and I will give you a week's worth of food to feed any sized family.  Recognize.

2. What's something you might ask someone else for help with?

Math...and math...did I mention math?  Throw in a spot of algebra while you're at it; I could do with a refresher in that, too.

3.  Did your family take summer vacations when you were a child? If so, where did you go? If you're a parent, did/do you plan summer vacations with your own family? Did/do they resemble those you took as a child?

Edisto Beach, SC.  It's basically the only beach I know, and the only one I want to vacation at...although I hear the Gulf Shores of AL are lovely and I would like to vacation there at some point in the near future to see what their beaches are like.

4.   Pool-lake-ocean...which one is most appealing to you on a hot summer day?

Ocean...see #3

5.  Have you ever justified using the expression, 'you gotta be cruel to be kind'?  Was it really necessary or were you rationalising?

No, never.  I tend to err on the side of caution; I can never bear to hurt anyone's feelings.  What's the point of giving someone a bad day?  

6.  The Journal of Psychology recently mentioned the results of a survey identifying the ten most hated foods as-liver, lima beans, mayonnaise, mushrooms, eggs, okra, beets, brussel sprouts, tuna, and gelatine.  Of those foods, how many do you actually hate? Anything you'd add to the list?  

How could you possibly hate mayonnaise? If I had anything to add to the list it would be sweet or bread and butter pickles...they are an abomination.  Everyone knows that pickles should be dill or sour.

7. What's your favourite book or movie set in a beach or lake town?

Prince of Tides or Conrack.  I have watched both numerous times and I make no apologies.  Both are awesome.

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:

 I miss being in the UK...

Confidence, I Needs Some

So tell me..what does it feel like to be semi-successful at a job that you hate? Is it worth it? All of my reviews and call monitoring have been positive (aka "Kathleen is awesome say what?!") but still..the calls they don't hear are filled with self doubt and upper lip sweat.  *sigh*

I hate that this job is affecting me so deeply, but on the other hand, I blame it on the weather and the lack of vitamin D.

That's right people, it has rained 43 fucking days in a row.  No joke; it's probably rained 2 inches in the time it took me to compose this sentence.  How do you lot in the Pacific NW of NA or in the UK even deal with this?  My hair is protesting.

Anyhoo, I know that I should post more often, but there is actually nothing going on other than my daily routine.

I guess I should say:

New Girl: It's on Netflix now; I really REALLY wanted to like this show, but alas, I do not.  It is no Buffy or even Freaks and Geeks...or even Bones...or god forbid, How I Met Your Mother.

 PS for the last one: I forgive you, Willow...and Doogie...moving on...

I'm going to Dragoncon in Atl in September with my family and I need to pick out an appropriate costume. We are going as characters in the Whedonverse, so if you have any suggestions for any costumes for middle-aged overweight red headed women, I'm all ears...and fat rolls.

Meanwhile the Rottenator recently reminded me of this song because he stated that the Animals were the best British-invasion group to ever hit the US...above the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, but you know what, I could not fight him too much because the Animals did rock...

Thus behold, my Mood Ring(tone) Of The Day:  and btw, is it just me or does the lead singer Eric Burdon remind you of a young Gary Oldman?  I'm just saying..of course, I also think that Gary looks like Sid Vicious so who am I to judge....

Long Weekend...

So, I have a much needed four day weekend break from work thanks to the Memorial Day holiday on Monday, and my forward thinking to request Tuesday off as well, so woo hoo!  Good thinking on my part, because I am much in need of an extended break.

I won't know the results of my "pass or you get fired" test until early June, but things did not go well.  At least the first day.  I felt better about the second day, but there were math problems involved, and as we all know:

It tends to stagger me.  But we'll see.  I'll know whether or not I passed a stupid test that has nothing to do with my day-to-day job in order to keep said job in early June. Until then...I ain't bothered.

Other than that, despite my crushing depression that keeps me from even wanting to wake up in the morning, the Rottenator has been spectacular in supporting me the best he can.  I cannot say it enough: there is something to be said for someone who loves you unconditionally.  Yes, you may get angry when they leave the seat up...don't take the garbage can to the curb...play NBA basketball on Xbox non-stop, but seriously...then they spend a whole day taking you out to eat, enduring your shopping for clothes, feigning interest in the things you're interested in...it means a lot.

So you deal with the minor problems when it comes down to the fact that they are loyal, love you unconditionally, and do whatever they can to make you feel better...even when there's nothing that they can do.  That makes me sad for him, actually.  Because there is no logical reason for me to feel so down right now and he is scrambling to do everything he can to make it better, but he can't.  Stupid chemical imbalance.

But it's okay; I'm soon to get everything sorted;  tomorrow is my mother's birthday, and I made her a strawberry pie...I will post pictures tomorrow, once it's all decorated with the whipped cream and whatnot, and share the recipe IF it gets the approval.  It's a homemade version of a Shoney's strawberry pie, y'all.

In the meantime, I am losing myself in a marathon of "Arrested Development" on Netflix because it is one of my most favorite shows every, and they are debuting 14 new episodes tomorrow.  God love the internet.

My Mood Ring(tone) Of The Day:

Oh Canada!

I have to say I am fascinated by this entire story:

Because, and I do apologize ahead of time to my Canadian readers (Birdie, I'm SO sorry), but seriously: Canadians:  you're kinda like us!

At least, some of your politicians are.

And I think that ours may just have better representation.

You can read the whole ongoing saga here. 

I am not political, but sometimes I have to say, I do get a bit tired of hearing about how America is a cesspool of violence and corruption when it seems that other countries maybe, just maybe, might be experiencing similar issues?

Another case in point from another country that quite frankly, I adore:

This happened in England.  And it is indeed horrific.

Evil is evil.  And it happens everywhere.

Meanwhile, circling back to me.  I think I failed the first half of my stupid "keep your job" test.  Whatever.  I am in a funk right now that I'm desperately trying to climb out of, so it's just another disappointment.

Blah.  To end on a happy note, did you know that "cat bearding" was a thing?  It's so adorable.

 I want to try it out with the Nooge.  Hopefully soon I'll have a successful pic with minimal damage.

In the meantime, my Mood Ring(tone) Of The Day:

The Funk Soul Brother...

Quick post, because work has been particularly draining, depressing, exhausting, and soul sucking this week.

But, the Rottenator has decided that the Nooge has a new name.  Behold:  Fatboy Slim.

I am torn.  Because although I object to the potential self-esteem issues it may cause him by being called "Fatboy" I can't help but admire the fact that the Rottenator, lover of all things rap, has (albeit perhaps unknowingly) happened upon the moniker of one of my favorite Britpop/Techno dj's of all times...

Norman Cook.

I call him Britpop/Techno because, well, I'm probably out of times with current music of the day, but he was one of the members of my favorite bands, the Housemartins:

Don't think that I don't die a little bit inside to realize this was 27 years ago...oh...my...god...

Needless to say, I still love Paul Heaton, who went on to form the Beautiful South and also, Norman Cook, who became Fatboy Slim.

He also played at the London Olympics, which, yay, still relevant!

Anyway...the katten...he will always be Sir Nigel Wentworth Noogington, Esq. to me...despite what the Rottenator says....btw, every time I look at the Nooge, the first thought in my mind is "poe-faced".  Even though I've always heard that expression, I never completely knew what it meant.  But upon reading this definition:

British

: having an assumed solemn, serious, or earnest expression or manner : piously or hypocritically solemn 

 

I see that it totally fits.

In other news, we have another beach trip planned for this weekend, which I am beyond looking forward to. And maybe a side-trip to Charleston.  If you're not familiar with Charleston, SC, it's like Savannah GA, except without the nastiness.  And if you're not familiar with Savannah...don't worry, you don't need to be...

Born In The Wrong Country...

I am British at heart.  Always have been. I don't know where I get it from, really, probably from my dad, but I have always been drawn to the culture across the pond, as it were.

My Dad was an Anglophile as well.  I was first introduced to Dr. Who via PBS when I was a mere babe.

Tom Baker was my first Doctor.

Though David Tennant is my favorite.

Benny Hill was my first introduction to British comedy (although I still don't get the appeal; too slapstick for me, but so are the Three Stooges, which my Dad also loved, so there you go.  Male humor at it's worst).

But then came MTV...and the Young Ones...

And Billy Idol...

And Sting and the Police...

And then...Oasis and Britpop happened...

Oh my God did I love Liam Gallagher.  I mean, yes, Sting was my celebrity crush for many years, but Liam was the shiz-zit.

By the time I happened upon Liam, I was a professional celebrity stalker and one of the proudest moments of my life was tracking him down in NYC at his favorite hangout, the Irish Pub, and approaching him whilst he was singing along with his own music on the jukebox.  I told him how awesome he was and gave him an uncrumpled American dollar so he could play more of his own songs just to watch him enjoy himself.

He was very sweet and Mancunian mumbly. I was very Southern and nervous so unfortunately, it did not work out for us. Such is life.

I think Britpop is the music that will always define my life.  I think we all have those moments in time that we hold onto; probably when we were in our "prime"; for me, it was the early to mid 20s.  When I still had hopes and dreams and thought I was going to be something special.

Not a middle-aged woman working in payroll.

Whatever.  Life is full of twists and turns and I wonder how many of us turn out the way we think we would.  I guess I will never be the celebrated writer-slash-amazeballs-chef living in New York City married to a British rockstar, but still...maybe in the next life time.

Meanwhile, I shall leave you with my four most favorite British Ring(tones) Of the Day...my only regret is that I never saw all four out of four live in concert.

Jarvis Cocker, you owe me one.

Genetics

This is my daddy...

This is my niece...

We always debated over where Victoria got her spectacular blue eyes from, and that unique impish expression, and finally have photographic proof.

Genetics are a hell of a thing.  I miss my dad; it's been nearly 20  years since he passed away of "the cancer" (always said in a whisper) and I still think about him constantly.  How things would be different.  And how he would love his grandchildren, especially that little supastah up there.

My nephew turned 11 years old yesterday, and my mom and I travelled to my sister's house to celebrate this momentous occasion.

This is the birthday boy:

Yet I remember him when he was like this:

And even younger.  Man, I'm old.

This kid is awesome, btw. All of my sister's kids are.  Thank God she had some to carry on the family line because I sure as hell wasn't going to.

I can barely handle a Nooge and a Rottenator.

Such is life.

My sister, btw, is a cupcake genius.  Check out these badboys:

And they were delish. The Rottenator and I are on a budget to save up for a second car so currently I am no longer concocting delicious dishes (unless you count Hamburger Helper or Beans and Rice as delish, and why would you) so I am living vicariously through the sis's creativity.

And am massively impressed.

Meanwhile, it's St. Paddy's (not Patty's) Day and to honor my forefathers, here are my Mood Ring(tones) Of The Day:  (and oh yes, there are more than a few...)

And who could forget...

Lazy...so lazy...

So, I have stuffis to do but I am not feeling up to it.

I have to get my nails did, these claws are out of control; I have to clean my bathroom, I have to make dinner, but fuck it...I don't feel like it.

Sad, old ass hand

What I feel like doing is watching old (old meaning 80s and 90s) movies on Netflix and sitting here like a blob.  So I shall.

Even God rested on the 7th day, right?

The Rottenator and the Nooge are both asleep, so I am going to sit on my ass and enjoy the relative peace and quiet...until work tomorrow.  *sigh*

I just want to say that although I an grateful for the opportunity and the paycheck, I am just about over this job.

I was not meant for payroll and they have just restructured my department so now instead of just reporting to one manager, I have to answer to five.  Seriously, five.  No more hiding under the radar for me.  It's fine, I'm going to put in my time and maybe move onto something more rewarding.

First world problems, right? I know. I get it.  But still, I can't help wondering if I was meant for something better in this world.

I need to find my purpose.

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:

Amused Douche

Can we just take a second to discuss the Top Chef finale?

Let me just back up a moment to say that this is my favorite show on television; I have been a devotee since the very beginning, when Harold Dieterle won way back in 2005, way before the world was introduced to the semi-delights of one Padma Lakshmi.

I have suffered through the Hoseas ,the Kevins, and still...I love this show.  And not just because Tom Colicchio has the most amazing blue eyes since Ian Somerhalder.

But this year, the finale, I don't know...

First off, I am thrilled that there is finally another female Top Chef; it has been a long time coming since Stephanie Izard won back in 2008.  And Kristen totally deserved the win...but I disagree with the voting process this year.


Even though it did include my latest celebrity chef crush, Hugh Acheson, as one of the judges.

This year it was based on a round by round comparison; there was no debate at the end of the 5 course meal, there was a death by elimination factor wherein the judges decided there on the spot which dish was better.  And whoever had the best three out of five was automatically deemed the next Top Chef.

So Kristen won after round four. And Brooke never even got a chance to present her final dish.  So, what, Top Chef is suddenly a death match?

This is where my  mother and I disagree; she approved of the new format, stating, fairly, that normally during the debate portion of the program, certain judges can thereby exert their opinion on other, weaker-willed, easily persuaded judges, and proclaim the winner of their choice.

Fair enough.  But I always enjoy the debate. But I guess the bottom line is this: Tom Colicchio always gets his way.  And he's always right.

And it's near time for Top Chef Masters.  The scary part: Kathie Lee Gifford is signed up to be a guest judge.  *sigh*

Here's hoping this show doesn't jump the shark.

My Mood Ring(tone) Of the Day:

An Ode To Two Assholes

And for once I am not talking about the Rottenator.

1. My tulip tree.

But, let me clarify, and I just found this out!  What we call "tulip trees" in the south are actually these:

Saucier Magnolias.  It makes sense, southern, magnolia, etc.  But this paragraph in particular struck me:


Saucer Magnolias flower here in early March, and flowers appear before the leaves. I call these trees "frost trees" as they always seem to flower and bring on a killing freeze. This habit is their primary disadvantage, as the flowers are blitzed by freezes in one out of every four to five years.  

Yes they god damn do.  The day after this stupid fucking tree bloomed, we were hit by 20 degree weather and the damn blossoms turned brown and fell off.  I didn't even have the heart to take a picture of it, I was so depressed.

This is what it is supposed to look like in full bloom.

But mine never does.  It is the bane of my existence, because I fucking love this tree, it is my favorite type of tree of all times, and it never fails to disappoint.

Maybe because it is delicate and fragile...like me.

Anyway, one hard freeze later, and the damn thing is dead.  I'm super pissed.  That's why this tree is an asshole.

Asshole # 2:

This is only a minor example of the damage the Nooge has inflicted on Bella Cucina in the two days that the Rottenator has started training on his new schedule at his new job.  Which means that he is not here during the day and there is a slight disruption in the Nooge's routine and he has not reacted favorably.

This picture does not include opened cabinets, bottles of spices overturned, cans of diet coke spilled.

Really, cat?  Two days of being left alone and this is how you react?  Aren't you supposed to sleep during the day anyway?

Well, the Rottenator returns to an overnight shift Sunday night so maybe the Nooge will stop acting out and destroying my house which I am too tired to clean at the moment.

He is currently in quarantine because he has overturned our lamp and busted a light bulb for the umpteenth time and has attacked me every time I dared to move.

I think my friend Birdie had the right idea when she suggested crating.  It can't just work for dogs, can it?

And speaking of, the Rottenator desperately wants one. I am more hesitant.  Mostly, because I am not a dog person.  And they smell.  And I cannot even fathom the amount of damage that will be inflicted upon my house should we disrupt the Nooge's routine even more by introducing a sibling.

He is definitely the ruler of all he surveys and don't you forget it.

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:

God, I will never not love Britpop.  It will always speak to my soul.

 

And another thing...

I first started this blog over a year ago; 02/12/12. And I've kept it up for over a year...albeit just slightly.

Still and all, well done me.

My Bloody Valentine

My philosophy on Valentine's Day (and feel free to disagree if you dare)...

1. It is a manufactured holiday created by Hallmark.
2. It is for women only.
3. It is a peer pressure competition.
4. It should mean nothing but it does.
5. It is the one day of the year where men actually have to take two seconds to think about the women in their lives and appreciate them.
6. If you claim that you don't want anything for Valentine's Day then you are a female who has obviously had amazing Valentine's Days in your past and that is the only reason why you feel free to not celebrate it this year. Or, you are a big fat liar.

Suffice to say, I did not receive anything for Valentine's Day this year.  And because I have always been the loser fat girl loner who never had an amazing Valentine's Day, I was pissed.

Because this time should be my time, I have a fiance, we just got a bulk of our lost money back, and therefore, I was primed and ready for a semi-decent celebration of my awesomeness.
 

Alas.  There were no gifts for Kathleen this year; there were no roses or chocolates, or, quite frankly, any celebration whatsoever of my awesomeness. Because the Rottenator was "tired" and he "meant to, but not today, maybe this weekend, it was on his list of things to do..."

Whatever.  Meanwhile I was dealing with a day full of balloons, flowers, chocolates, and edible arrangements confronting me around every corner by every female that ever existed in my office building.

And the endless postings on Facebook by luckier women than I who had the nerve to post pictures of the fantabulous gifts bestowed upon them by their grateful partners.

I believe my breaking point was when I read the post on Facebook by that really annoying girl that I've known since highschool.  You know the one who is still the most useless creature that every existed on this planet whose claim to fame is the fact that she used to eat her own hair?

Yeah, so even she received a beautiful bouquet of roses from her clueless husband. And all that would have made me happy would have been a plastic gas-station purchased rose.  And perhaps a Reese's Cup.  King-sized.

So, okay.  After much suffering, heartfelt apologies and grovelling in general, the Rottenator was forgiven.  And I have been promised that this error in judgement will never happen again.  And that every holiday from Easter until the day I die will be splendiferous.

So, come March 31st, I'd better have a Hello Kitty Easter basket bigger than my head.  And positively overflowing with live bunnies and chicks.

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:

I've Got A Feeling It Doesn't Matter

I really need to get back to that thing I was doing for a while where I would just keep myself so busy all day every day that I would fall asleep into bed utterly exhausted, too spent to even allow my brain to wander.

Because my brain wanders into dark and dangerous places when I get too bored and have too much time on my hands, my friends.

The Rottenator got a new job, thanks in large part to moi.  He was miserable at his old job and they were starting to cut back on his hours and working him harder and harder and therefore, not only he was suffering, but we all were.  So, I got to looking, filling out applications, fancied up his resume, and boom, new job and he starts in a couple of weeks.

It will take a lot of stress off of him (I hope) and will mean more income and benefits (actual health insurance and 401k, say WHAT?!?!) so it is definitely a good thing.

My job is finally calming down as well.  The end of the year is nightmare in the tax/payroll area of expertise, but I managed to claw my way through it, and the job is settling back into a comfortable routine.  I take my final test, my "pass or get fired" exam later this month or early next one, but I'm not very worried about it.  And it comes with a 5% raise, so woo hoo.  Things are looking up.

So why am I bored and lonely and letting my mind wander into the Land of Gloom and Doom?  I do not know. I have long ago given up trying to figure out my dark and twisty mind.

The cat is driving me bat shit crazy, I know that.  I don't know if the Nooge is going through a growth spurt or catapause, but he will never let up.  He just...won't...quit.

He is clawy and bitey, and will not settle down.  I have a little side table beside my chair on which I put my drink and remote controls while typing away on my laptop and he is determined to tip it over and push it across the room, and knock shit off of it.  Currently he is running laps around the living room, trying to jump up onto the fireplace mantle, and springboarding himself off of what little bit of my lap isn't supporting my computer and I want to kill him.  God help me and I hate to admit it but only because admitting it probably makes me look like a horrible person, but I am not enjoying him one bit right now.  The only thing that saves his life on a daily basis is the fact that he is not a bad natured kitty and I know that he loves me.  That, and the fact that I couldn't live with myself if I did one day become so enraged that I threw him out to fend for himself then saw a little orange flurry splatter on the road as I drove to work the next day.

That would be devastating, so I will deal with him and his current unpleasantness.

Ah, well.  Tomorrow I will cook chicken alfredo in my oven that doesn't work right half the time and I will refrain from killing the cat who now has turned his attention to our lamp and will no doubt knock it over for the umpteenth time and shatter yet another lightbulb.

My Mood(Ring) Tone(s) of the Day:

A Perfect Illusion

It's not easy being perfect.  Believe me, I know from first hand experience.  It's hard work.

It's also terribly frustrating carrying on this pretense of perfection.  And lonely.

For many years, I strived to be perfect and that got me absolutely nowhere.  It left me isolated, friendless, jobless and hopeless.

Because for many years I had a problem, an addiction you could say, that thankfully I managed to break myself of.  Unfortunately, it was not my eating disorder.  That is still a work in progress.

But the entire time I was suffering and weak, I was afraid to show it to anyone, even my family, which was truly devastating, because it almost cost me my very close relationship with my sister, that I value very deeply. And rightfully so, because I was a hot mess.  I was so wrapped up in myself that I couldn't get past my own selfishness to see how my behavior was affecting others.  Others who cared about me.

Luckily, my sister was the better person and hung with me long enough to see me to the other side.  For which I am eternally grateful. Because she is my best friend, my bestie,  my BFF.  Probably the only other woman on the planet that I can get along with for an extended period of time, because honestly, women can be so catty and competitive and nice-nasty that they get on my last nerve.

But maybe that's just Southern women, I don't know.  And for my female fans, I apologize.  Maybe it's just me, maybe you have tons of fantastic girl friends, then good for you.  I do not.

But I digress. What was I talking about?  Oh, ME, that's right, my bad.

And my selfishness.  I'm still selfish, very, but I'd like to think that I've grown out of that somewhat.  I'm not the sort to inconvenience myself regularly for the sake of others, but if I like you, if I care about you, I'll put up with some of your imperfections.  Oh, sure, I'll judge you silently, but I'll take the time to listen to your troubles, buy you a birthday cake, make you dinner, loan you a few bucks if I have it, wait with you when you've left the lights on in your car for someone who knows how to jump a battery to wander by (I'm looking at you, Meryl), but I'll generally take some time out for the common man.  Occasionally grace you with my appearance to your social functions.

And although this may seem the bare minimum of human interaction, it's a far cry better than I used to be.  When I lived by myself, I was a hobbit.  I would spend every night, week or weekend, sat in my dank disgusting little house, watching television and numbing myself with a number of substances.  I was a social leper.  Self-inflicted.

Because I did have friends, I did have people who tried to get me out of my house to interact with them.  I would always have a reason not to.  Always have some fabulous other made-up plans, or a mysterious illness that kept me from joining them.  I lost a lot of friends that way.  My isolation from society worked perfectly.  And it made me more depressed and alone and so began a vicious cycle that got to the point where my isolation was not so much self-inflicted.  People stopped calling, people stopped inviting, and people stopped caring.

And I let them because I was afraid to admit that I was sick, that I had a problem, that I was not perfect.  All they saw was a selfish bitch who obviously did not give two shits about them so why should they give two shits about me.

Touche.  Their hatred was well warranted.  Because they didn't know the truth, because I didn't let them.  Because I grew up thinking that the most important thing was to appear normal and perfect and anything less was a sign of weakness.

But here's the thing, and I hate the fact that it took me to 40 to realize it: appearing perfect ain't all it's cracked up to be.  In fact, generally speaking, people don't like people who appear to be perfect.  Because we are all, when it comes down to it, hot messes.  And there is so much freedom in finally being able to admit that.  And by not appearing to be perfect it's amazing how much you find that you can relate to other people.  And life is substantially less stressful.  And lonely.

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:

(I've finally perfected a Britpop station on Pandora!)

My, but we are a persnickety bunch

I'll be first to admit it: my family has issues. 

For a long time I thought it was me, I was the black sheep of the family, the problem child.  But no, oh good God no, I finally realized that every one of my characteristics and my troublesome nature are derived from somewhere in this branched and crooked family tree.

Number one would be my food issues.  I'm sure I've mentioned my relationship with food before.  As in, it's mine, all mine, not yours, there is no edible scrap of food anywhere on this planet that does not belong to me.  I don't care if you bought it, you cooked it, you cared for it and cleaned it, it's mine.  Even if I don't want it.  I may develop a taste for it someday and therefore, you cannot have any, because it may never be replaced, and then I will starve to death.

In like...50 years, because I'm pretty sure I've stored up enough fat that my body can subsist on its own for that long by devouring itself.

But hey guess what, I'm not the only one who has this til death do us part relationship with food.  So does my sister.

We discussed it ad nauseum this weekend at her house during my niece's birthday party:

That, btw, is the one and only picture I managed to get of this child because much like her Aunt, she doesn't like her picture taken because she's afraid it may steal her soul.  That, and she doesn't appear on film.  This was a miracle Hail Mary shot.

So, where as all of the food on the planet belongs to me, my sister's thing is that she's desperately afraid that the planet's food supply is going to run out and it's never going to be replaced so she will never be able to eat again and starve to death.  This is actually a realistic fear because being that the food is mine and I seem to be eating everything in sight, a world-wide famine is highly probable.

It's always amazed me that some people view food as merely the fuel by which we need in order to survive.  It doesn't matter if it tastes good, they have no particular favorites, they just eat what they need to and move on.  Even crazier are those people who forget to eat.  How can you "forget" to eat?  Like, didn't your stomach growling, or the fact that you're feeling weak or fainty clue you in to the fact that you may have missed a step.  Like, sleeping, peeing, pooping, blinking, or, breathing?  It makes no damn sense.

I've always had food issues.  I don't know if this was a turning point for me or just another phase in my food obsession, but I distinctly remember connecting food with my father.  We would have long, drawn out family meals that lasted for hours, long enough that you'd finished eating one meal and were hungry again for another one.  It was where I developed my love of food, connecting it with family, and good conversation, and togetherness.  That's also where I learned to eat slowly, so slowly that when I watch the Rottenator devour an entire chicken in 0.02 seconds, I am equally fascinated and horrified.  Our meals are nothing like that.  He's seriously done in, 10 minutes, tops, and I am struggling to keep up with him which usually ends up with me puking in a bathroom because I've eaten too much too fast and I'm totally stressed that my stomach is in a knot knowing that meal time is almost over and I may never get to eat again.

I finally understand my sister.

Going back to my father, I also remember when he got sick with cancer.  The extent of his illness was hidden from me for a long time, I was maybe 12, so I didn't understand how serious it was.  He was dying of cancer, but I remember my grandparents (my mom's parents) buying him Ensure because he was getting soooo skinny and losing so much weight he was getting gaunt and weak and they were trying anything to get him to keep his strength up.  And I remember thinking to myself, "if only he would eat, if only he gained weight, then he wouldn't be so sick and he'd get better".

Food saves all.  So maybe that's why I'm fat.  Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with my love of ice cream and cheese at all.  I'm just sayin'.

Another issue I have is OCD.  And it's getting worse the older I get.  This I get from my maternal grandmother.  Yes, the older I get, I am not, in fact, turning into my mother.  I'm turning into my grandmother, thereby completely bypassing middle age and hurdling straight down the tunnel of death towards the light with breakneck speed.

I remember my grandmother driving me bat fucking shit crazy when she got older because when she got something on her mind, it had to be taken care of now, not later, now.  Like, stop what you're doing right this very second and handle this thing now.  I don't care if you're in mid-stream, or driving, or solving the budget crisis, if you don't change this light bulb right now, the world is going to end, Rottenator.  I mean, Buster (my grandfather).

Because I'm nothing like that at all.  And neither is my mother who recently called me while I was getting ready for work in a panic because she couldn't figure out her direct TV remote and Judge Judy was coming on...in six hours.

I'm just sayin'.  These issues run deep.  And the good news is, I don't have to beat myself up for my bad habits anymore.  It's hereditary.

And what exactly does this have to do with my trip to Orlando to Universal Studios in September to see Harry Potter?  Not a damn thing, so it's not worth mentioning.

That's pretty much how I'm going to see every conversation for the next 8 months: "And what exactly does this have to do with my trip to see The Wizarding World of Harry Potter?  Nothing? Then why are we still discussing it".

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day: