Category: Uncategorized

>Bryan seems to think the back of my desk chair makes a suitable clothing rack.

I tend to disagree.

Granted, I live under the assumption that any stationary object in our apartment was intended to be a storage site for my various waterproof hiking jackets, but, I am extraordinarily gifted when it comes to double standards.

But in my defense my coats are never intruding on his personal, active space. I usually prefer the vacuum cleaner, unused floor lamps, the back of the sofa.

Although when using the back of the sofa, I must use caution. Not because Bryan uses the sofa. Because that would be included in the realm of his active space, thereby contradicting my above statement, and exposing me as being completely full of shit. Bryan does not use the sofa. No one…no human…uses the sofa. They couldn’t even if they wanted to.

You see, it’s already occupied.

This is Gee. This is Gee on the sofa. This is Gee’s sofa. I think one day she may become permanently affixed to it. I fear that day. It could be messy. I might need a new sofa. And a new Gee. Something tells me I couldn’t find that on eBay.

Preventative measures may be in order. Short of coating my sofa in Teflon I’m not sure what would be most effective. Waxed paper, maybe. Not that it matters. The sofa’s only real function, other than a Gee display case, is to provide balance and mass to the assemblage that is the living room. I tend to think of it as a placeholder for the day when we get another large, overstuffed leather recliner to match the one we currently have. It’s a nice recliner. Great for Spurs games and playing XBox.

Anyway, I’m tired of fighting Bryan for it. So we need to get a new one. And since our living room is an apartment living room, space is not one of it’s attributes. The sofa, Gee’s sofa, must go.

Preparations are already in progress. Right now I am working on how to best communicate this to Gee. I am not sure how she is going to take it. I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but I don’t think I’m getting through to her. We just don’t relate the way we used to.

I think it may be denial.

I’m just wondering where the hell I’m gonna put my coat now.

voulez-voulez-vous denial.

>Nothing more exhilarating than giving a “two-weeks notice” to a job you just don’t love anymore.

Of course, one must deal with the inevitable psychological syndrome known as, “whadd’re they gonna do…fire me?”.

Nice attitude, eh? I thought so.

Hangin’ in the PJ’s again, while Duke is trying to lick my feet. Ew. Bad dog.

So new job starts this week…server job, Monday-Friday, 10am-4pm (lunch shift). The most amazingly rare yet idyllic schedule in food service ever. In a very, very nice restaurant with $80 lobster and an impressive wine list. Good times will be had. I can actually sleep in with my husband on a weekend without putting a request in two weeks in advance, signed in triplicate, notarized, sealed in a vault in Bulgaria then shipped to management via African Swallow.

And no more waking up at bloody 4:30 in the morning. Bliss.

I’m off to bed. I had a 2-hour training session which included bouncing a 6-lb medicine ball off a wall, catching it, squat, throw, bounce, catch, squat, in 5 sets of 20.

I will indeed be in pain tomorrow morning. So off to bed I go.

Voulez-voulez-vous lactic acid.

>Okay, I did it. Took the plunge. Did the deed. Summoned all my courage and the first time in almost a year, I got my hair cut.

I have a strange relationship with my hair. It’s more of an emotional dependence for reasons which are unclear to me. My mother always kept my hair waist-length when I was a kid…I suppose out of habit I kept it long…until when I was in college I cut it chin-length in a fit of, “let’s try something NEW!”. As the beautician handed me the mirror, terror struck. Immediately I mourned my missing locks; then began to resent those that remained for being a mere remnant of the glorious tendrils that preceded them. I thus engaged in a full-scale, balls-to-the-wall growing-out process, which, in case you didn’t know, is long, arduous, and ultimately unbearable. Which is why I shall never get it hacked again. You have to fix hair more the less of it you have. This is coiffure irony.

So, minus four inches now and I must say I like it quite a bit. My ponytail is significantly shorter, but considering I work in a restaurant this is probably a good thing.

It was rather sad to see my four inches laying, rather dejected-looking, on the floor. Perhaps I should have gathered them up and bundled them in a hankie, assuring them that I still loved them and would take good care of them, split ends and all.

voulez-voulez-vous gotta love low-maintenance.

>I am trapped in an orb of mucous. Dammitall I hate being sick.

So, the Spurs lost. We’re still going to the playoffs, so stick that in your ear, Ray Allen.

I’m supposed to go to the gym today. I cannot delude myself into believing that I am exempt from such activities due to alleged illness, as my trainer informed me that so long as the symptoms are from the neck up, physical activity is permitted.

Bollocks.

Okay, back. Bry and I weightlifted together. We kick each other’s asses. It’s a good thing.

I do adore dates. They are deliciously tasty. What I like most about them is they curb my sweet tooth in a nutritionally sound manner thereby preventing me from running to the convenience sore across the street and gorging on an entire bag of Double Stuft Oreos.

That, too, is a good thing.

Never tried dates? Blasphemy. Go and get some. Now.

Besides, I need a crack-addict-esque fruit to hold me over until pomegranates come back into season. Six months…that’s a lot of dates. I shall be very regular. Ew. Overshare. My apologies.

Voulez-voulez-vous no necesito Metamucil

>

Tonight:

SPURS @ SONICS

4:30 pm. LIVE, at the Hardwood.

I’ll be wavin’ at ya from the first row, center court..

Fools.

>
bloody hell.

So, I’ve been tagged by Dariush, or called out, I suppose, to do the “meme”. I have no idea what the hell a “meme” is, but since I am such an uber-cool friend I shall cater to his whimsy and “meme” away. Here goes.

Tickle Your Pickle:
List seven songs you’re into right now.

* Waiting – Michael Tolcher. Heard it on an HBO promo and thought it was the coolest little ditty.
* Tangled – Maroon 5. Their “bitch go to hell” tuneage strums a chord in my vengeful lil heart.
* La Tortura – Shakira. Booty shakin’ is always a good thing.
* Geek in the Pink – Jason Mraz. I feel like Mrs. Robinson sayin’ this but this baby boy is cute as hell. (She can take her toys outta the drawer, then, cuz I ain’t comin’ home…) Brilliant.
* Don’t Dream it’s Over – Crowded House. Pure nostalgia.
* Enjoy the Silence – Mike Shinoda Remix – Depeche Mode. A kick ass rendition of some classic DM.
* In the Rough – Anna Nalick. One of my few indulgences in poppy chick music.

and one more just cuz Bry and I are Jammin’ to it right now:
* Come Baby Come – K7. Ya gotta gimme lovin’ and ya gotta gimme some…

Band for a Lifetime:
Choose a band/artist and answer ONLY in titles of their songs.

As much as I hate to admit it, Tori Amos.

1. Are you male or female?
Girl. Self-explanatory.

2. Describe yourself:
Sweet Sangria. Sweet indeed.

3. How do some people feel about you:
Strange Little Girl. Not so little, but it’s all I got.

4. How do you feel about yourself:
Little Earthquakes. Just unstable enough to be interesting…

5. Describe your ex-boyfriend/-girlfriend:
The Wrong Band Definitely.

6. Describe your current significant other:
Real Men. Hell Yeah he is.

7. Describe where you want to be:
In The Springtime of His Voodoo. Relevance = none. Coolness = 100%

8. Describe how you live:
A Sorta Fairytale. Although not so sorta.

9. Describe how you love:
Sweet the Sting. (devilish laugh)

10. What would you ask for if you had just one wish:
Snow Cherries From France. Well, why not?

11. Share a few words of wisdom:
The Power of Orange Knickers. Heed.

12. Now say goodbye:
Goodbye Pisces.

*whew*

I am done. All for you, Dariush. All for you.

I suppose this is like a chain letter type of system, so I must share the wonder that is the MEME with others.

Thus:

I hereby tag Shannon and Jason, since Shannon is on spring break and has plenty of time on her hands, and Jason ‘cuz he shall not escape the meme unscathed. Now GO, my young Padawans! Go forth and “meme” unto the world! (And no cheating! Keep your eyes on your own paper! And NO nook-ing!)

The Meme has you…

Voulez-voulez-vous meme

>I just realized what a depressing fucking blog that was.
What a pissy whiner I am. No wonder no one visits me anymore. I’d just turn them into a load of suicidal zombies. You are right to stay away from me! Get as far away as you can! Flee! Run away…run away!!!

Oh, you do love me. I knew you did.

Lucky for you I went to the gym and worked out my hostilities. Otherwise, the verbal lashing that may have ensued would have left you quite incapacitated and unable to prepare 23 baloney sandwiches for the Earl of Windsor when he decides to visit.

Exactly.

And in case you had forgotten:

The square root of 9 is 3
Red and yellow make orange
It is possible to walk and chew gum at the same time
and let sleeping dogs lie.

That is all. I bid you bonsoir, buenos noches, hugs and kisses.

Voulez-voulez-vous nitey nite.

I have sunken into a self-loathing funk today.

I do this once in a while. The fucked up thing is I don’t know what I’m in a funk about. I’m sure I do, on some subconscious level, but I don’t want to delve into that right now. I prefer deluding myself rather than coping with it and dealing with anything resembling reality.

Reality is overrated.

It’s a trade-off, this. I was on happy pills for 6 years. 6 years. Last July I just up and decided I didn’t want to be on them anymore. The thing is, they weren’t truly happy pills. They were ’emotional automaton’ pills. I did not feel depressed on them, no. I did not panic, I slept, I did not have chest-tightening anxiety attacks. Goal attained.

I also could not cry. I could not feel unbound joy. Anger eluded me. Romance was absolutely out of the question. I was nothingness…I was emotionless. I am not a cold, unfeeling being by nature. These turned me into something else. I did not like me very much.

So, I did a trial separation. Wanted to see if I’d re-engage in my self-loathing, destructive and panic-stricken behavior without excess serotonin flowing through my brain. If I did, I’d know I’d actually needed them.

Well, I was 90% right.

Today just happens to be one of the 10%. Like I said, it’s a trade-off. Payment due to the gods of non-chemical contentment. Bastards better appreciate it and not spend it all on weed again.

Besides, if people were meant to be happy and elated every minute of every day of every year, it wouldn’t be life. It’d be an episode of Full House.

*shudder*

So here I sit, in my glummy snit.

Side note: ever go through antidepressant withdrawal? It is good times.

I did some research whilst in the throes of the electric-shock sensations reverberating throughout my body and to my utter dismay and vindication (family was convinced I was exaggerating…) found that the symptoms of SSRI withdrawal are likened to heroin.

Heroin.

Observe:

The symptoms associated with heroin withdrawal that are similar to SSRI withdrawal are: nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, restlessness, and leg movements, or jerking. While heroin produces muscle and bone pain, insomnia, and cold flashes with goose bumps (“cold turkey”), which are not identical to SSRI withdrawal, the SSRI symptoms of headache, “electric shocks”, dizziness and hot flashes as well as psychotic mental state (violent anger/hopeless depression, unwanted suicidal/homicidal thinking) are similarly debilitating and certainly result in the return to the use of SSRI’s in the same way that heroin produces that result. Most experts agree that the major withdrawal symptoms peak between 24 and 48 hours after the last dose of heroin and subside after about a week. However, some people have shown persistent withdrawal signs for many months.

That’s the catch. The withdrawal symptoms are so debilitating and intolerable that you go back on them to make the nightmares, twitching, manic depression and blinding flashes of light to go away. The feelings of constant anxiety, panic and despair are so intense you believe that you do in fact need antidepressants. So back to the pharmacist you go.

I was determined. And just shy of psychotic. But my pride remained intact. I was not going to let a bottle of friendly-looking pink pills alter my brain chemistry and turn me into an emotional vacuum, which is what they did. I felt nothing. I had NO sex drive. I was a turnip. So, I flushed the fuckers down the toilet and plodded on. Granted the insomnia was unbearable, the random terror-induced sobbing fits freaked out my co-workers and the inability to form coherent sentences caused me to occasionally question my decision. But dammitall, this had to happen.

So you can see why I’m perfectly willing to endure the 10% just to feel human.

I shall sit in my cozy little funk here and reassure myself that the odds of having two 10% days in a row are highly unlikely.

Again, reality is overrated.

So, yes, I cry. I get angry, irrationally at times. I funk it out on occasion (10%). But I also laugh, make jokes, and find amusement in most facets of human nature. And the sex life ain’t too shabby, either. We got some lost time to make up for, after all.

 

>I have a blog? Holy shit!

Yeah, I know. Don’t start. I’ve had…stuff…going on.

Bygones.

Found myself in a bit of a pickle this morning. I got ready for work, walked out the front door, keys in hand, water bottle in tow.

Fiddled through the menagerie of keys that is my keychain, located the one with the black top and the Jeep logo on it, poised and ready to unlock the driver’s side door.

Alas, there was no driver’s side door.
There was no steering wheel.
Not even a drop of windshield wiper fluid remained.

Terror struck. My car was gone. Some piece of shit bastard had stolen my 1996 Jeep Cherokee with white latex primer spilled all over the rear bumper (don’t ask…) and a variety of hiking trail permits adhered to the windshield.

As I made preparations to explode in a frenzy of full-blown panic, a moment of clarity struck.

Cut to:

Last night, my apartment.

Bryan and I had plans to meet some friends for dinner. We were meeting them in Bellevue. Bryan works just a hop-skip-and-a-jump from our culinary destination so it was decided that rather than make the 30+ minute drive all the way back home to pick me up that I would drive to his place of employment, park in the employee parking lot, then leave for the restaurant together.

One problem.

The two of us failed to realize that when we left the restaurant that we were indeed in the same car. Hence my missing vehicle this morning.

As of 2pm I still have yet to retrieve my missing vehicle. I was home early from work, even. (Chauffeured to and from by my equally forgetful husband who decided to work from the ‘Snoqualmie Office’ today.)

I am, at the moment, cozied up at my computer clad in an interesting juxtaposition of my satin pajama top and plaid flannel pajama bottoms. I am uœber-hot. But now I must drag my sorry self up out of this chair, get outta my evil jammies, put some decent clothes on and leave with Bryan to retreive my vehicle. What a pain in the ass this is. I suppose it would be unfeasable for him to attempt this task solo. Thus I go.

Voulez-voulez-vous pain in the ass.

>My husband is the shiznit.

He calls me.

“Hi Zadough”

“Hi Schweets”

(Yeah, like we’re the only ones with goofy-ass pet names…)

“I got you a present.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s white, with some green…is wireless, plays DVD’s…”

“Oh you did NOT!”

“I did.”

“Dude, those things aren’t cheap!” (I was about to realize the ridiculousness of this statement…)

“But you’re Zadough!”

“How much did that set us back?”

“You’re gonna be mad…”

“Just tell me…”

“$800.00.”

(This is where the realization of the ridiculousness of my ‘cheap’ statement sinks in.)

Apparently he did not just buy any ole XBox. Oh no. He bought this.

Via Amazon.com:
Product Description
Are you ready for the next generation of insane gaming? Then dive into the Xbox 360 Pro Gamer’s Bundle and invite your friends over for some serious gaming. This bundle scores you the hottest gaming system around, the Xbox 360 System, two months worth of rentals from Gamefly.com (rental period begins when Gamefly.com rental card is activated, no additional purchase is required), a one-year subscription to OXM (subscription begins when Gamefly.com rental card is activated), and SIX of the most eye-popping “E”, “T” and “M” rated software titles to keep you busy until your thumbs go numb! Test your skills with these amazing games…Quake 4, GUN, Call of Duty 2, Tony Hawk’s American Wasteland, Ridge Racer 6, and Condemned.

Holy crap, man.

I assure you, he doesn’t do this all the time. But I’m not a fan of jewelry and clothes, so he’s gotta spend money on something.
The motivation for this grandiose purchase lies in a recent doctor’s appointment I had.
My doctor is in the process of trying to find the cause of my excessive bruising and nosebleeds. This has involved some blood testing (hence the blog about the inhumane band-aid/cottonball situation) and a great deal of worrying on my husband’s part. A great deal. He’s a sweet man…he just loves me very very much. So I think in an act of desperation and diversion he bought me this uber-cool get-well present in an effort to take some of the focus off of my medical situation, which in my opinion, is no big deal. But I digress.

Aside from the shockingly large price tag, this thing kicks ass. The major selling point for me is that it comes with Quake 4!!!!
I first became addicted to Quake when Quake III Arena came out for the PC in late 1999. It was the first online multiplayer first-person shooter I’d ever played, and it, too, was the shiznit. I was in college when it came out, which proved to be a problem. I spent way too much time fragging instead of studying. When I was feeling particularly ornery I’d hop into arena rooms, throw an all-caps “I AM A GIANT PURPLE BUFFALO!” into the void and bail just as swiftly. It was good times.

Ironically, after my husband and I finished college and moved out here, I didn’t play so much anymore, though I had much more time on my hands. I had discovered hiking, and felt that was far more fruitful than engaging in a testosterone-laden fragfest everyday. My priorities were all messed up.

We’ve had an XBox for several years, though in the past I never played it much. ‘Till he bought me Doom 3 last year. Holy shit. I played that game sooooooooo freakin’ much. It was unhealthy. Every spare minute, trying to get to Communications, Alpha Labs, get this PDA, find the missing scientist, find more shotgun shells ‘cuz the shotgun was my favoritest weapon ever…I played so much that I would dream I was in the damn game. (They should offer Gaming Therapy for this sort of thing). I still play it 2 or 3 times a week, but have hit a roadblock with which I am irritated due to the fact that I am having rocket launcher location issues. I can’t find the damn thing. I make it all the way to Hell, meet up with the Guardian, who is this guy:

And can’t do a damn thing about it ‘cuz I can’t find the rocket launcher. Chaingun, yep. Plasma gun…oh, sure. BFG even, hoo-yah. I even found a damn chainsaw. But it figures, the one weapon I need to defeat the Guardian and acquire the ultimate weapon, the Soul Cube, is frustratingly out of reach.

Y’all think you have problems.

It’s all good. To hell with Doom 3. (heh). As of tomorrow I will have Quake 4 and life will take on a whole new meaning. I have already set up my XBox Live User ID and will be ready to kick some ass when I get home from work. The challenge, however, lies in this: I have only ever played Quake on a PC. XBox controllers are slightly different than a keyboard. I have some serious training to do.

We should get together a blogsphere arena and get everyone on Quake 4 fragging the crap out of each other. Any of you fools wanna take me on…bring it. I’ll kick yo’ asses six ways from Sunday you sad-ass keyboard jockeys.

That is all.