Thoughts From the Dirty City

In general I’m not a fan of new years. Too many expectations. Too much pressure.
But I get it.
It’s hope wrapped up in a day. Hope for a clean slate. A new start. The promise of better days to come.
As silly as it is, and as much as my rational side knows that tomorrow morning will be just like this morning, a little bit of that hope has seeped in.
So here is to a new year, new possibilities, and most of all hope.

Yup. That pretty much covers it.

but it made me smile

Sephora just opened up shop in my neck of the woods. I knew it was dangerous so I avoided it like the plague. But after a not so great couple of days and a general feeling of unnecessary yet overwhelming anxiety I said screw it. The plan was to stock up on some basics and not get roped in by all the pretty pretties lining the shelves.

But then a little voice inside my head told me to stop being so sensible and just treat myself to something really special. I usually try to ignore the little voices in my head, but on this occasion I let them lead the way.

Enter my new favorite makeup thing:

I’ve never been a fan of lipstick. Chapstick, yes. Lipstick, no. It just feels all wrong and gross. But lately I’ve been experimenting with lip stains. Most are crap that taste like a chemical wasteland and wear off in about 20 minutes.

This stuff however…AMAZING. It’s super sheer so it just gives a tiny pop of color. Add on a few layers and it glams up for that “hey I’m wearing makeup” look.

I was skeptical of using it as a cheek stain fearing it would make me look like a rag doll with big pink dots on my cheeks. But with a bit of advice from Sephora’s bomb ass makeup artists (and a new and much loved arsenal of makeup brushes) I think I’ve got the hang of it. Blended properly it gives just enough color without actually being noticeable.  I am officially swearing off all powder blushes.

Did I mention I also may have splurged on some new makeup brushes? LeSigh. This is where the “indulgence” part really kicks in. Makeup brushes, they are expensive, but oh-so worth it. Especially my new foundation brush. I swear the thing is made of unicorn hair or something. I’ve never had a foundation brush that blends so perfectly. They call it the airBrush, and it too is pure amazing. It also does double duty applying the cheek stain – hence the lack of big red dots on my face.

Did I really NEED any of this stuff? No. But sometimes you have to do something special for yourself and indulge a little to remember not everything in life is a total crap sandwich.

Be good to yourself.
Be good to others.
And remember, nothing goes better with a total crap sandwich like a margarita and a smile.

I love this quote and I like to think that the impossibly bad typography is intentional.

…and it has gotten me to thinking about movies I haven’t watched in a long time that need to be revisited.
On the list so far:

The Burbs
Fight Club
The Never Ending Story
The Cube
28 Days Later
Heathers
Ferris Buellers Day Off
A Trip To Bountiful
Reality Bites

Stumbled onto this today. It was a nice reminder to not dwell too much on the little things that can bog me down.

It’s been a while since I paid a visit to this crusty old blog. I think it’s been since my life got flipped-turned upside down.

Yes folks, I have trouble in my neighborhood. If only I was the Fresh Prince and had an uncle in Bel-Air to escape to when things turn sour. Uncle (any one of you), if you are reading this, get on it!

I’m not getting into it here. My debacle of 2011 has leached enough time and energy from me. Besides, drama is bullshit. And I think you have to treat it like an angry dog….no poking it with a stick. Avoid eye contact and get as far from it as possible as quickly as possible. But don’t run or it will chase you.

This is me, backing away slowly.

In my head that analogy made perfect sense…

Anyway.

My summer got a bit sidetracked and I’m still kinda sorting through the detritus.  Slowly but surely I think I’m turning the corner on the angry dog. Until then I’m distracting myself with shit-lit (chic-lit is just insulting) and junk food.

2011: the summer of  cream cheese and pain killers

I’m giving up on Tooth Imprints on a Corn Dog. Actually, I gave up on it about a week ago I’ve just been to lazy to find something else to read. It’s not that the book was terrible or anything, just not my thing. It’s a collection of pseudo short stories, a lot of rambling nonsense and one clever little play smushed in the mix. I think what bugged me most about this book was the authors need to use the biggest word he could think of in every farkwading sentence. You’re smart and have a great vocabulary, I get it. If only he was actually saying something with all those big words. Alas, halfway through I started to think that none of the rambling was really going anywhere and gave up.

Since putting Corn Dogs down I’ve been supplementing with Grimm’s Fairytails. A lot of the stories are familiar ones (Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, etc) but some I had never read or heard of. Most of them were only a few pages long and nowhere near as grim as the title would have you believe. All the tails are odd and seem to just stop mid thought and wrap everything up in a sentence or two. Probably something to do with them being written for kids. It’s been nice just leafing through and reading in bursts, but I’m ready to dive into a novel again.

So I went to the library and grabbed the first thing that looked interesting. I do this a lot at the library. There is a list of books I want to read and authors I enjoy, but somehow when I walk into a library my mind goes blank and all I can think is “books…burble…words…huh”. Sometimes the random grabs work out, sometimes not so much. Either way, I have something to read again!

The random grab: The Plague by Albert Camus. (I blame my recent stomach issues for drawing me to a book about disease.) Here is hoping it works out better than the Corn Dog book.

Also:
Working extra hours and spending vast amounts of time hunched over a production table with an exacto have rendered me nearly brain dead the last few days. My hands, shoulders and feet ache. I will be so freaking happy when this project is wrapped up and I can get back to some sort of normalcy.

A while ago I discovered bento. For those that don’t know about bento it’s a Japanese style of boxed lunch that’s proportional and balanced, with a focus on presentation. The size of the box will determine the number of calories you eat for lunch if proportioned properly. For example a 600 ml box will have about 600 calories if you have the right balance of carbs, protein, veg and fruit…but it’s all approximate. The point for me is to not be obsessive about calorie counting and just eat well balanced meals. That is a very general and loose description. If you want to know more google it…the amount of info and sites is insanity.

Anyway…so I picked it up a while ago and kept it up for about a week before getting off track and going back to my hodge podge packed lunches of leftovers and whatever happened to be hanging around.

Last week I stumbled onto a site that was doing a 6 week bento challenge and decided to give it another go. If there is one thing I could use in my life its balance and portion control. After reading through the challenge I knew I wouldn’t make it through. It required a few hours a day and tons of research and pre-planning.I know me. I might get through the first week but would probably get burned out after that.

But not being into that challenge doesn’t mean I can’t get back into the bento thing! I just need to ease in a bit and learn as I go at a more reasonable pace. Hopefully this way I will be able to stick with it and make it a part of my daily life.

Here is my attempt at getting back on the bento horse…one of hopefully many bentos:

For breakfast there is yogurt with strawberries and a few oatmeal cereal squares. (not really a bento…but whatev)

Lunch is two small rice balls, sesame chicken with green onion, broccoli and grapes. The gaps are filled with raw veggies (carrots, green pepper, cabbage and radish) just to keep everything packed tightly together and separated. The idea is to keep everything in one box but not be a big shaken mess come lunch time (sesame grapes would be gross).

I’m also bringing two snacks along just in case, an apple and some pretzels. I know i don’t need them but better this than a trip to the vending machine if I get a case of the stress munchies.

Obviously presentation is something I need to work on. I figure it will get better once I get some of the cute accessories…and a whole lot of practice.

I’m not going to post every bento I make, but I think I might try to do like a weekly review of how its all going. It’ll be interesting to see how it progresses…and how well I keep up on it!

Before I start this little story, let me just say, my Dad compared me to Bridget Jones today. He has no idea….

So, last night I decided to dye my hair. I had bought the dye weeks ago but wasn’t sure if I should do it or not. Around 11pm last night I decided to just go ahead and do it. But my better sense set in as I was perusing the directions and I decided to wait until today when I was more awake and wouldn’t eff it up.

This morning I woke up super early and couldn’t get back to sleep. Halfway through my first cup of coffee I decided I needed a shower. Then I remembered my plan to dye my hair. Since they say it’s better to dye your hair when it’s dirty it seemed only logical to just go ahead and get it done with.

Away I went. Half asleep, gloves on, coffee in one hand, hair dye in the other.

I’ve dyed my hair before (many times), but never when my hair was this long. So I was surprised when I used the entire bottle. Usually there is a bunch left over and I have to deal with disposing it without staining everything in my path. I figured it was a plus….easy disposal of empty bottle.

This was also the moment I started to think about what a waste of time this all was. I have brown hair that was left slightly rusty from a year of going red. The dye was really just to even out the brown and get it back to my natural color. I figured I would rinse it out and not be able to tell I had even done anything. Oh well…at least hair dye makes my hair super shiny!

As I stood fuming up my bathroom I realized this down time was the perfect time to start my french lessons. (Hello, if I’m moving to Paris for 6 months I better learn the language!) I know, super productive for early Sunday morning right?! Pat on the back to me.

About ten minutes into the lesson it struck me I had no idea how long the dye had been in my hair. Oops. So I did the only thing I could…I guessed. I figured it would be like baking, if I started to sizzle it was probably time to rinse. Anyway…I guessed and gave it another 15. How much harm could a few extra minutes do anyway?

After rinsing and conditioning and repeating I stepped out of the shower and checked out the results. Black. Yup. As it turns out a few extra minutes will take a medium to dark brown straight into 90′s goth me mode. Ugh. Oh well. It wasn’t too bad. And dye fades. Not that big a deal. At least I couldn’t complain that it wasn’t noticeable!

I fully admit that after drying it I had no motivation to feck with it any further and proceeded to pull it up into a ponytail. And that is how it stayed all day. Up up and outta the way.

About half an hour ago I pulled out the ponytail and was finger combing through it when I noticed something odd. A reddish patch. Oops again. Guess I missed a piece even though I used every drop the kit came with. It seemed like a small piece so I figured no big deal…but I went to the bathroom mirror just to be sure.

Not good.

There is a fairly large patch of hair that doesn’t seem to have been hit with the same level of dye the rest of my head was. Awesome. And I discover this as I’m heading to bed to get a good night rest before launching into a new week. Frick. Frick. Frick.

It would seem I have two choices:

1) Leave it patchy and go with the whole “I’m too punk rock to care” thing (I’m not entirely sure I can pull this off)

2) Stop at the store after work tomorrow, buy more dye and try to fix the damage. (how bad is it to re-dye hair the very next day…especially when you may have accidentally left the initial batch on a bit too long?) (this is gonna end well, I can feel it)

At this point I’m not sure which way I will go. Regardless, I’m pretty sure I will have my hair up at work tomorrow until I can get a second party to weigh in on the situation. It’s hard to see the back of your head no matter how many mirrors you use.

If you see a post next week about the how cruel the world is to bald chicks, you will know what happened.

Ugh. Oh well, at least I tried.

This is my life. And yes, it makes me laugh…a lot. And no, oddly I’m not that upset. It’s just hair and I’ve done far worse damage before this. I mean honestly…I had bangs once!

Maybe I can just go with calling it calico…the ultimate cat lady look for ladies that are allergic to cats and tend to prefer dogs.

Earlier today I was talking to a friend about dreams. Not the kind you have when you are sleeping. The aspiration type. The “someday I will” type.

I realized that it had been a long time since I really let go of all my sensible ways and allowed myself to dream big. And I don’t mean winning the lottery or finding the means to independent wealth (though I wouldn’t be apposed to either.) I’m talking about something else…

Way back when I used to be a total dreamer. It seemed completely logical to me that one could drop whatever it was they were doing and spend a year traveling the world (for example)…without thought as to how one would actually fund such a trip. The how’s and why’s just never crossed my mind. It was all just possibilities…

But lately, my dreams are a lot more down to earth.

Reasonable.

Doable.

Crap.

Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with having sensible goals. With knowing you want something and working towards it. But those are goals, not dreams. There is a difference. You start with a dream…and turn it into a goal. When you’re just daydreaming about all the possibilities, there shouldn’t be limits.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to become so sensible and logical (for those that know me and snickered at me calling myself logical…stfu). It just sorta happened over the years. Being a grown up takes it outta if you aren’t careful. So, I’ve decided I’m taking the dreamer back. It’s time to cut loose and allow myself the liberty to dream big. Without regard as to how’s and why’s and without any thought as to the likelihood that these dreams are impossible.

And on that note…

I’M GOING TO MOVE TO PARIS FOR 6 MONTHS!! (someday…)

Smile big y’all. Anything is possible.

Not as often as I should…but I do go. As I’ve passed the minutes on the hamster wheel (ps – they should make those for people. It would be more entertaining than a treadmill) I’ve noticed a few things:

1. Cologne and perfume should be outlawed at the gym. Especially that axe bullshit. Ugh.

2. The YMCA playing Highway to Hell will never NOT make me laugh

3. Sports bras are not shirts

4. on that note…when you cut the sleeves off your shirt to the point I can see your bellybutton it no longer qualifies as a shirt

5. There are a ton of people that work out in denim. Uh…ouch. Why would you do that?

6. Letting your children play in the workout area is beyond not cool. Esp when there is free child care downstairs

7. I can’t help but laugh when people scream things like “come on”  “I got this” and even just loud grunting. It happens all the time

8. Having individual tvs with headphone jacks on each piece of cardio equipment is so awesome. I can’t tell you how much I don’t miss working out to the communal tvs that always seemed to be showing Food Network or sports.

I’ve also noticed that I’m totally out of shape. While I’ve progressed a ton since signing up at the gym, the progress has slowed if not stopped. I really need to put in some extra time and really start pushing myself. For starters, it would help if I actually went on a regular basis instead of just a few times a week. This isn’t all about looks or loosing weight either. It’s about getting stronger, going further and accomplishing more. I haven’t felt that push in a while. At the same time just showing up to the gym is rough sometimes.

My OPI obsession has been pretty well documented here over the years. For a long time I didn’t wear anything but OPI. Mostly this was due to the fact that they came out with new lines on a regular basis that were drool worthy enough to keep me from looking elsewhere. But a while ago I was having trouble tracking down the new lines and was compelled to try something new. Thus Essie entered into my collection. I really loved the Essie and ended up getting a few shades (red, brown and an earthy green).

This weekend I went out in search of new nail polish and was once again dismayed by the offerings of OPI. They seem a bit obsessed with this shattered nonsense. I bought it a while ago, and generally liked it. But it’s sorta novelty polish and I got tired of it pretty quick. Since that was pretty much all I was finding in the OPI section I moved on.

Essie has a cute new french inspired line, but they all seem like colors I already own or wouldn’t really get much wear out of as I don’t do pastel as a general rule. So on I moved…and found this:

Nothing says summer is coming the way day-glow does! I love this color It made my nails look like they were painted with a highlighter. But I’m kinda glad I picked it after lopping off all my nails. I don’t think this much bright would work with really long nails. Also, it turns out matte finish polish looks weird on toes. What is fun and funky on fingers jut looks busted and old on toes. Nothing a top coat can’t fix.

This is my first bottle of Zoya polish and I have to say I’m pretty impressed. This is part of their new summer line “Mod Matte” called Mitzi. I tried an OPI matte polish a few years ago and hated it. I loved the finish, but it chipped almost instantly. I’ve had this on for almost a full day now and it seems to be holding strong, though the natural oils from my skin and lotion are shining up the matte finish just a bit.

All these great choices of polish. I feel this summer is going to come with a whole lot of polish changes. Which reminds me…I am WAY over due to sort through my polish bin and toss the stuff that’s old. Old polish goes on crappy and chips a lot sooner. But it’s a good thing, I’m going to need the room

PS – my nails are so effing bright and happy now!

I’ve always been told that you either love Bukowski, or you hate him. There is no middle ground. While I get what people mean when they say this, I think for me it was closer to loving to hate him.

The book is fairly autobiographical of the authors younger years…and his life was not an easy one. He grew up tough, the ultimate outsider. And while I think we can all relate to that on some level, it’s a bit tougher to relate to someone (for me anyway) so uninterested in finding happiness. This books gives the impression that Bukowski gave up on the idea at a very early age.

Bitter and angry at the world (for good reason) Bukowski seemed to move through this portion of his life doing anything in his power to be as mean and aggressive as was in his power. Like I said, it isn’t necessarily without reason. The guy had it rough. And I really wanted to like the character. To relate to him. But I couldn’t, and I’m not entirely sure I was supposed to. Or anyone was supposed to for that matter.

At the same time I really appreciate the honesty and intensity that Bukowski puts out there. He says it as he sees it and feels it, without the need to fluff it up in anyway. It’s powerful and touching somehow if not somewhat frustrating and completely unnerving.

A lot of people compare this book to Catcher in the Rye. As I wasn’t a huge fan of that book and don’t really remember too much about it I wont really comment. But having just recently read Hesse’s Stepenwolf I couldn’t help but see some parallels between the two. Both were written about characters almost completely removed from society. The intensity of loathing for both themselves and the world around them seemed to follow the same grain. But while Hesse’s character searched for answers and a deeper understanding of himself, Bukowski seems content to numb himself and travel further and further from a need for explanation or understanding. Content to just exist in the most removed way possible.

So, would I recommend this book? I think I have to. I mean Bukowski is one of the most iconic writers of our times. How can you not at least check it out and see what all the hype is about. At the same time, I have no doubt that there will be a lot of people that can’t relate to it in anyway and will be completely turned off by it.

I’m not going to immediately pick up another Bukowski book, but I know this will not be the last of his books that I read. I think I just need a little time out before exploring further.

Next up: Tooth Imprints On A Corndog by Mark Leyner
I have NO IDEA what this book is about but it has corndog in the title so I’m hopeful for something a bit more lighthearted and humorous.

I’ll start with the author’s description:

“This is a bawdy tale. Herein you will find gratuitous shagging, murder, spanking, maiming, treason, and heretofore unexplored heights of vulgarity and profanity, as well as nontraditional grammar, split infinitives, and the odd wank . . . If that’s the sort of thing you think you might enjoy, then you have happened upon the perfect story!”

That is being nice. This book is down right raunchy. But not in a bodice ripping smut novel kinda way. The raunch is really the platform for the humor. A way to take a tragic comedy and flip it around on it’s ass…or in this case, it’s codpiece. In any case, I’m a fan of Christopher Moore and like pretty much everything of his I’ve read. So I really liked this book. It isn’t my favorite of his, but it’s definitely up there.

There are hidden meanings and agenda’s in all his books. Some profound, most just snarky. This one falls somewhere in between. I would say it’s a slap to the face of Shakespeare and the class system in general. It’s basically a rewrite of King Lear told through the perspective of someone who likes to say the “f” word a lot.

I give it two thumbs up because it is, in fact the kind of thing I enjoy from time to time. Sometimes it’s nice to pick up a book that isn’t exceptionally emotional and is written more to entertain than to change lives and enlighten the reader.

If this is your type of thing, but you want something slightly less raunchy you might want to pick up Moore’s book A Dirty Job. It is equally funny, but far less insulting for those that don’t appreciate vulgarity quite so much.
Next up: Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski
Part of me thinks I’ve read this before, but I can’t remember. I checked it out from the library so I figure if it all starts coming back to me in chapter two I can just swap it out for a different one. I do know I read a Bukowski book many years ago and only kinda liked it. But I’ve also been discovering that things I didn’t like or relate to years ago are now starting to become some of my favorite things. Yeah, I’m old now. It happens. So I’m either giving it another shot, or picking it up for the first time. Either way…I’ll let you know how it goes.

Sometimes I wish I lived in a big city. A place where public transportation could easily take me where I needed to go. But I don’t. I live in Akron, where public transportation seems to exist only as a last resort. On top of that, I commute to work. This means that public transportation is wickedly impractical (as in it would take more time to get to and from work than I would actually spend working). So, like most in this area, I own a car.

Most of the time, I LOVE owning a car. It offers a certain sense of freedom. As horrible as it is for the environment, I fully admit that there are times I love nothing more than climbing behind the wheel and just heading out to cruise around, clear my head and occasionally see and find things I didn’t previously know about. As great as that freedom is, sometimes, owning a car is just bullshit.

This weekend was one of those “bullshit” times.

For a while now my car has been leaking…something, and making a funny noise when I make a turn. I looked under the hood and the only fluid that was even slightly low was the power steering fluid. I figured this was good news as power steering isn’t something that will either A) kill the engine if it goes out, or B) make the car not drivable. It wasn’t great news, but I figured it was far better than some of the alternatives (read – OMG please please please don’t be the transmission.)  I also figured, since it was the fluid that controls the steering this was probably also the cause of the noise.

A little voice in the back of my head told me I was being delusional, but I decided to tell that voice to go fuck itself. Until that is the little voice was validated by my dad (who knows more about cars than anyone else I know). According to him, that noise could be a lot of things…few of which are good none of which should be ignored.

Sigh, time to head to the mechanic. NEVER a good thing. Even when there is nothing wrong and your just dropping the car off for basic upkeep stuff, it still sucks royal. When something is actually wrong it doubly sucks. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I had a trustworthy mechanic I knew I could take my car to. One who would tell me what is wrong and the cheapest possible way to fix it. Not one who tells me everything little thing that COULD be wrong and basically wants to strip it down and rebuild the whole damn thing (Midas).

My usual plan of action in these situations is to take it to a place like Midas (because they do free inspections) then take their list of insanity to my dad (who knows about cars) and ask him what on that list ACTUALLY needs to be fixed or repaired. I try to prepare myself for worst case scenario, because with cars that is usually the way it goes.

Saturday morning I did just that. And the news was not at all what I was expecting. The leak…not power steering. My car was leaking oil from the plug. Not a big deal really. Plugs go bad…and are cheap and easy to fix. Midas wanted almost $70 to replace the plug and give my car an oil change cause you can’t do one without the other. Now, I don’t know what kind of magical unicorn horn plug they were planning on using but that quote is just criminal. Thankfully my hero had taken me out to breakfast while Midas was doing it’s thing and was sitting with me when I got the news. He laughed and said we can go buy the stuff to do all that for $20 and fix it that afternoon. Like I said, hero.

But that leads me to the real reason I was having them look at my car in the first place. That funny noise coming from the wheels when I was making turns. Obviously it was totally unrelated to the power steering leak, as there was no power steering fluid leak. Nor was it the CV joint, which is what I was fearing it would be. Nope, it was the axle. Which according to Midas was completely blown. Again, this is Midas so who the hell knows how bad it really is. Either way, a bad axle is nothing to eff around with. Especially when you spend an hour a day on the highway. Bad news bears is what it was.

But, first things first. That cursed oil leak. Normally this kinda thing isn’t all that big a deal, but when the plug is so worn you can spin it by hand really bad things could happen. Again, nothing to ignore. So off me and my hero went to do the quick fix of putting in a new one. Aside from having to make two trips to find the cheap oil and a place to buy the plug it was going pretty smoothly. That is until it was time to put in the new plug.

More bad news. It wasn’t the plug. The oil pan itself had been stripped. Ffffffuuuuuu – igures. This could only mean one thing. The last people to change my oil had over tightened it and sent me on my way without fixing it or even notifying me it had happened. Way to go Valvoline. Awesome.

In the midst of all this my mom had been calling for updates and reminding me of other things I was supposed to have done but had put off. When I told her there was more bad news all she could think was “enough, it’s time to buy a new car”. Back and forth we went about this and that and buying a new car not being an option. I know she meant well and was only trying to make things easier/better for me. Her heart was in the right place. At that moment it just pushed me to that breaking point. Trying to figure out what to do with the problems in front of me that I had no idea how to fix, and convincing her that a new car wasn’t an option (wishing more than anything that it was) I snapped. In that moment I just crumbled. It was bad. And totally unnecessary. But it happens. I’m no good at having too many questions and not enough answers. But I pulled myself together. My hero patched up my car with a temporary fix and got it drivable. Dad said he could fix the oil pan the next day. It was all going to be fine.

But something irked me. That something was Valvoline. They charge an assload of money to do a reasonably easy job. If anyone should be fixing this mess it should be them. So Sunday morning I gave them a call, and as expected they pretty much told me to piss off. The dude listed a few possible explanations that would make this not their doing, all of which were bullshit. I called him on his bullshit and made it known I wasn’t going to shut up about this. He said all he could do was start an investigation report and let me know what the find in the next few days. Not helpful. I said I would be fixing my car by then and even though they wouldn’t pay for someone else repairing it I was still going to see it through and at the very least expect them to cough up an apology. I did this with a lot of very colorful language.  A few hours later the manager called back to ask me a few more questions…I lost it. I was beyond irritated. He finally caved and asked me to bring the car in to see what they could do. In the end they fixed it that afternoon and were very apologetic (without actually admitting fault). But whatever…FINALLY something went right and at least one of my problems was fixed.

I came home content that things were turning around and realizing more and more that these little minor set backs in life that while irritating aren’t really worth spending too much time fussing about. A realization that extends far beyond just car trouble and emotional meltdowns. In the long run it all works out. You just do what you have to do to get over the little hurdles along the way and only give them as much time and attention as they absolutely require.

As I was relishing my new found calm and resolve to just do what had to be done and not stress or think about it all that much when I heard a noise. A somewhat welcomed noise. It sounded like rain. I love rain, so I walked over to the window to check it out. Nothing. All quiet outside. Hmmm. Odd, I definitely heard rain. It was raining in my bathroom. And a bit in my kitchen. I had to laugh. I mean really, wtf. It was the perfect “ffffuuuuhhh” to end the weekend. On the plus side, whatever was causing it to rain wasn’t my problem. That is one of the small benefits to renting. I got on the horn to my landlord and got to laying out some towels. He called back a few minutes later and told me the peeps in the apartment above mine had overflowed their toilet and it took them a while to get it to stop. Yup, it was raining nasty toilet water in my apartment. Oddly, I still just had to laugh. It was gross and not something I WANTED to deal with…but ultimately not a big deal. The rain stopped, the clean up commenced. Either my epiphany to not sweat the small stuff really had sunk in or I was just all tapped out of the ability to give a shit. Either way, I found it more funny than anything else.

Today I get to deal with the remaining problem of my busted axle. I found a local mechanic who came in with a reasonable quote for the repair. The shop is right down the road from me and has been around for 50 years. This is great on so many levels. One, they are a local small biz and I’m always in favor of supporting them over big corporate chains. And two, it’s walking distance from my apartment! This means I can drop it off and walk home while it is being fixed. HUGE plus in my book.

Yeah so, to make a short story long, I guess what I learned from all this is that shit is going to happen. You can make a big deal of it or choose to just muster through as best you can without letting it get to you. Obviously this is easier said than done, and I’m sure that there will be some shit in my future that causes me to sweat. That too is unavoidable I imagine. That is life. But for now I’m glad I’ve calmed down and seen the situation for what it is. No big effing deal. A minor inconvenience that will be history in the very near future.

PS – my poor neighbor was SO embarrassed and overly sorry about the minor plumbing mishap. I felt bad, but all I could say was “no worries, shit happens.” This did not make her less embarrassed. People are so weird about this stuff. (Myself included.)

Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn’t seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps, “My friend is dead! What can I do?”. The operator says “Calm down. I can help. First, let’s make sure he’s dead.” There is a silence, then a shot is heard. Back on the phone, the guy says “OK, now what?”

Additionally, I think that “cunt” is the dirtiest of the swear words and can/should only be used in extreme cases where no other word will suffice. More on this later.

I said I was going to make an attempt to keep up on tracking what I’ve read, and what I thought about it. Sorta fell off that wagon the moment I jumped on it.

Anyway, here is what I’ve been reading lately and a breif recap of what I thought. I’m not going to write any synopsis, or go over the plot…that is what book jackets (and google) is for.

Herman Hesse
Steppenwolf and Sidhartha

I’m going to be very vague and speak generally about both.  Ultimately, I think both are about the journey of self discovery. The author was very into Eastern theology. That was obvious through both books, though much more obviously in Sidhartha. Each book presented a very different journey, but both had the same goal; to find unity and balance within oneself (they just name that something different in each of the books). The Steppenwolf’s journey was through torment and self doubt while Sidhartha’s was through knowledge, experience and eventually self sacrifice.

Way genaric description of both. But honestly, I think these are the kinds of books you just have to read for yourself. I think each will mean something different to each person that reads them.  Regardless, both are very powerful books. I highly recommend. I do want to add that Steppenwolf is about as uncomfortable to read as a book can be, but totally worth it.

Alice Steinbach
Without Reservations: The Travels of an Independent Women

Where titles are totally unrelated and I say more than I’m comfortable with…but am saying it anyway.

I’m an anxious kinda girl. For the most part, I’m okay with that.

There are lots of kinds of anxious. One for every emotion I’m capable of having it seems. There is “happy anxious” and “sad anxious” and ” >:{ anxious”. (for those that don’t know me that well, the last one roughly translates to “stab. stab. stab.”) And on most days, that little bit of anxiety hanging on to all my threads doesn’t really bother me. It’s like a low hum in the background. Part of the noise, but not really disruptive in any way.

Background noise.

Except…. (holy crap, I do not like talking about this)

Once a month, every month, since puberty struck, the volume gets turned up on my background noise. The anxiety consumes me like an emotional wrecking ball of hell. I always thought it was just PMS and I was just being much more of a cry baby than most people. I thought it was normal and did everything in my power to ignore it and “just stay positive”. (hahahaha. Like that works. Mostly I just pretended I wasn’t collapsing in on myself in a fit of “whoa is me”)

For three (sometimes 5 – ugh) days a month I feel like an alien enters my body. My thoughts and actions are not my own. Well, they are mine, but it’s like they are being dictated by a 13 year old girl. It’s like I’m watching myself from the sidelines. Rationally thinking through all the overreactions and meltdowns but powerless to stop them. My head can see through the fog, but it can’t seem to reach that part that keeps my emotions connected to rational thought in any way.

A few years ago I finally fessed up to my OB/GYN. She scrunched her eyebrows together and asked me to tell her as much as I could. When I had finished and she had asked a few questions, she told me it was PMDD and that she was switching my birth control. I got all “huh?!” and “isn’t that just PMS”. She said a lot of big words that basically amounted to “No. Not really.” But I was reassured it was pretty common and that the meds should get me back to feeling like myself.

Ah, the magic meds would make it all better. Except they didn’t. They helped. Sort of.

It’s like I became a lot more hurky-jurky with the whole deal. Some months I was okay. Some I was not. And when I wasn’t, I REALLY wasn’t. It seemed like when it was bad, it was worse than it had ever been.  I convinced myself it was all in my head and that knowing about it and thinking about it was the reason it was getting worse.  Le sigh. Like that kinda thinking ever really gets anything fixed (true or not).

So…on to my family doc. She asked the same round of questions my OB/GYN asked. Agreed with the PMDD theory pretty quickly and asked if I was interested in anti-depression medication. It wasn’t that I was adverse to taking it…it was just…well, it seemed silly to take something EVERY FUCKING DAY FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE to fix something that only plagued me a few days a month. Being that she is awesome, she totally understood and just wanted to make sure I knew my options.

She also offered me xanax, but with great caution and warning. It’s addictive. You will develope a tolerence to it. Etc. Etc. Etc. Here is the thing. I DON’T LIKE PILLS. The idea of taking the xanax freaked me the eff out. (for many reasons that I wont get into here) But of the two…at least I could just take it as needed. But because I don’t like taking them, sometimes I don’t even when I obviously need them. (Ever had a real full blown anxiety attack? If so, you know what I mean when I say “NEED” them.) I know this needs to change. If I need them, I should take them and not feel bad about it. At the same time, I don’t want to need them and am trying to find alternatives to lessen (if not eliminate) the necessity.

I hate this about myself. I hate that I have the issue. I hate that I have such aversions to the things that could help me. I hate the way it makes people close to me feel. I hate that it makes me say the word hate so much (something I’m really trying to let go of). Maybe that is part of the problem. The hating it. The trying to deny it’s happening. Maybe if I just learn to embrace it, and be okay with it I will be better able to deal with it.

I think in general, if I eased off myself and just loved myself a bit more a lot of things in life would be easier.