Two Big Tig Ole Bitties

Guess who's back in the em effin' house?

 

This one!

 

I have officially crossed the seemingly endless bridge of work that has kept my writing life at bay for the past 3ish months.  I've missed you.  I've missed me.  There are plenty of good posts ahead.  More to come.

 

So there's that,

Laura

Simple Joys

All I want right now is rice pudding, a hot shower and a cold bed. So finished with this day.

So there's that,

Laura

Reboot Universe

"Today, I came up to a cross walk. Right before pressing the button I noticed the sign above it said 'Reboot Universe.' I was too afraid to push it, so I went the long way. You're welcome, Universe."

My Life Is Average #449895

So yeah, no posts in a while. The blame is threefold:

1. Busy work schedule
2. General funkiness
3. PopCap Games

This is my busiest time of year at work. I won't bore you with the details, but I'm pretty much effed against a wall until October 16. I go to Indy next week to staff a continuing education course, and I come right back to work on more stuff for our organization's annual conference next month. Don't use these links against me; I worked very hard on them.

By the time I get home, I'm tired and stressed enough to binge eat. I've been good about not giving in, but I must admit there were a couple nights I came home to a dinner of Chunky Monkey.

I don't want to get on the computer when I come home, but I do anyway. I login to my work computer from home and do the mindless stuff while I watch TV. I don't have time to paginate a 700 page, 26 chapter PDF when I'm trying to explain my work to a new boss and juggling calls regarding the above-mentioned programs.

But that's work, and I saw it coming. I'm just trying to visualize how life will be on October 16th. I know it's a gross analogy, but I imagine it will be like coming down from a big orgasm, except the stuff leading up to it isn't as fun. And I promise never to type "orgasm" again. Henceforth, I shall call it an "OG Readmore."

And when I get done with work-from-home, I spend a few hours watching mrsa infection videos and then warping my brain playing Bejeweled, Zuma, or Atomica on popcap.com. I don't know how it started, but now when I close my eyes I imagine rows of gems that I have to sort by color in groups of three or more. It's completely effed up.

I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I like my job, I like where I live, but there are so many opportunities I know I'm missing. I'm doing the improv thing, but I feel like I can't really connect with it anymore. Taking two years off really screwed things up; there's new blood, and though I've been where they've been, I feel out of touch. Like I'm thisclose to being one of those weird older people taking improv classes. I'm 27, and I feel like I'm doomed to be the cougar taking classes at IO just to branch out away from work and get in touch with the hip young crowd. Makeup caking in my wrinkles and flouncing about onstage in my open-toe sandals and my age-inappropriate Lane Bryants smelling like powdery Estee Lauder eau de toilette.

Harsh, no?

This is the stuff of my general funkiness. I want to go to grad school, but I just don't know what the point is anymore. If I stay in my division at work, I can't really get above my pay grade if I don't have a masters...in anything. And I want a masters; I just don't know if I have the guts to plunge into more debt and spend three years of my life as a working student. Which is stupid - I know it's hard work, I know I can do it, and I know the time will fly; but I already feel like my life's been on hold forever. How can I start living if I have to work doubletime?

My life being on hold? Totally my fault. My confidence has taken a nosedive in the nearly five years since I've moved here. It's not the city, it's not the people; it's my own effing pisspoor attitude about myself, my weight and my relationships. I've said this a million times on this blog, but I've been living like a 40something divorcee all my life. Comethefuckon already Laura! Get your shit togets!

Every night I go to bed thinking I'll hit the reset button, but every morning turns into the same afternoon into the same evening. I go by barely noticed in my daily life. I'm at the same time disturbed and thrilled when I get into random polite exchanges with cashiers and commuters. I'm practically 5 cats and a crossword book away from menopause.

The pistons just aren't firing lately. Should I make them?

So there's that,

Laura

Miss You

This is the best spam email subject line I've had all month:

 

Your penis is too dear to your heart not to do anything for it!  Right on!

 

So there's that,

Laura

I hope you get fat.

I got on the bus this morning to find 3 remaining seats: seats 2 and 4 on the 5-seater row in the back, and one in the 2-seater sitting perpendicular to the back bench.

I took the one in the 2-seater for a few reasons:

1. I couldn't take seats 2 or 4 because it's a tight squeeze and it's the public transit equivalent of riding "bitch."


2. The first seat has a little more "hangover" space, so the occupant can skooch over to accommodate a larger bum.


3. If I take the second seat, it looks like tight squeeze, but the person in seat 1 has the opportunity to take advantage of the "hangover" zone if he or she is uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, seat one was taken by an Aryan blonde man, so I took seat two. Because he had the opportunity to skooch, I felt like I was doing him a favor. I had that smug sense of satisfaction that comes with doing something right, like recycling, taking reusable bags to the grocery store, and throwing styrofoam cups at Greenpeace activists.

Plus, I fit in the seat. The guy didn't even have to skooch.

But what did he do? After doing the obligatory huffing and sulking after a fat person invites herself to sit next to a person, he sat there for a moment. And then he bolted. He stood up, moved 2 feet forward, and stood for the rest of the 10 minute ride.

Bitch do what?

I was kind of put off by this. A little pissed, a little hurt. I moved into his vacated position and skooched as far as possible. There was plenty of room for a person of normal BMI, especially a no-hipped male. As you can guess, I spent the entire ride thinking of shit to say to this guy:

• Fine.


• Fine. More room for my bags.


• (Meekly) There's room for you now...


• (Haughtily) There's room for you now.


• Dick.


• A bit spoiled as a Hitler Youth, weren't you?

Finally I settled on the best response:

• I hope you get fat.

So simple. So true. So raw. What better punishment for someone who doesn't like fat people? I hope he gets fat so that he can see how much it sucks to choose a seat. To see how it feels to be imposing. To feel guilty for taking up space. To feel bitter when people choose not to sit with you. To start wishing it on other people.

I hope your partner gets fat. I hope you still love her/him anyway, but if you don't, I hope that you have an affair, get a venereal disease, get a divorce, lose your money, end up alone. The possibilities are endless!

I was getting so charged up that when Britney Spears' Slave 4 U popped up on the iPod, I started changing the lyrics to suit my needs:

All you people look at me like I'm no little girl

But did you ever think it would be okay to eat Karamel Sutra Swirl?

Always saying tubby girl don't step into Sam's Club

Well I'm just trying to find out why cuz eatin's what I love

eat it eat it eat it eat it oooh, eat it eat it eat it eat it oooh

I'm a slave 4 food...

He was still standing when I got off the bus, and I sooooooo wanted to whisper my zinger to him. How ballsy would that be? How antagonizing? How useless.

Instead I offered a curt excuse me as I brushed past him.

So there's that,

Laura

Stumped

Hey everybody,

Sorry for the absence as of late, but I've been stumped on how to move forward. I've been obsessing over gluten-free food, and I actually love it. I've been coming up with some really creative recipes that I hope to post here in the coming days. I find myself strolling the grocery stores, reading labels, and putting everything that's interesting and gluten-free into my cart. OVERSHOPPING! I have to put a cap on that this week. One of my goals.

Until then, I have this hilarious gif to share:

So there's that,

Laura

Put Down the Knife!

This morning I had to go in for a biopsy on my upper GI tract. 

 

When I did my pre-op testing a few weeks ago, they found I was anemic and had low iron stores on top of that.  The doc put me on a high dose of iron supplements and ordered another blood test last Friday to see if celiac disease was the culprit for my iron absorption issues.  I tested positive, so they set up a biopsy this morning.

 

This involved shoving a camera down my throat.  As I've had practice with long things in my throat before, the procedure was not altogether unpleasant.  I got some good sedatives and a nice midmorning nap.  Plus juice and graham crackers!  Hello again, kindergarten!

 

I just got a call from the surgeon's office, and he, the gastroenterologist, and the physician who oversaw my pre-op labs all agreed that surgery should be postponed. 

 

Because celiac disease requires a major diet overhaul (no gluten forever, no milk for awhile), they wanted me to get a handle on those changes before throwing new ones at me.  Plus, treating the celiac would help my iron situation immensely.  It was better for me to go into surgery with as much iron in my stores as possible.

 

I know it's all for the best, but this has truly broken my heart.  I sat at my desk and cried for a good ten minutes.  I was so ready for this!  Now I have to keep waiting.

 

I know that weight loss will occur in the interim, especially with these new changes to my diet.  But damnit, I've been visualizing this for so long.

 

Gah, I'm just bummed.  More to come.

 

So there's that,

Laura