Thursday, November 24, 2005
Gobble Gobble Gobble
1. My Parents
: Even though I roll my eyes at them whenever they try to give me advice, I truly value their support, their "covered with cheese" jokes, their warped sense of humor, and their unconditional love. Oh yeah, and they buy me nice gifts too. I like that.
2. My "Other" Parents (aka The In-Laws)
: Even though it has been close to 3 years since my husband has passed away, I continue to grow closer and closer to my in-laws. So much so, that I no longer think of them as my in-laws, but rather as my second set of parents. They truly are the strongest people I know on Earth, having played the cancer game, not once, but twice. So far the score is 1-1, which leads me to item #3....
3. M.D. Anderson
: One of the most respected cancer centers in the world. The place that lengthened the life of my husband. The place that knocked cancer out of the ball park for my "other mom." The place the "cured" two other good friends (Taylor no longer has Hodgkins and Randy no longer has Leukemia.) And the place the helps many more people today, such as Debutaunt
, a fellow H-Town blogger, a single mom, fighting Leukemia. As much as I despise making the drive out to Houston's Medical Center to go here, if it wasn't for this place, the lives of my friends and family would be much shorter.
4. My friends
: They hold me when I cry, and they spit their drinks out with me when they laugh. They sing louder than I do while driving in the car, and they shut their mouths when they know that I want the spotlight. They buy me tequila when I need a drink, and they hold my hair when I'm puking. They bring me chicken soup when I'm sick, and they buy me ice cream just because. My non-Texan friends take me on vacation with them on the days that I can't stand living in Texas, and my Texan friends eat BBQ and watch the rodeo with me on the days when I think that Texas ain't so bad after all. I would do anything for these people.
5. My health
: Enough said.
6. My wealth
: I am, by no means, rich. But my house was not blown away by Hurricane Rita, it was not flooded by Hurricane Katrina, or washed away by some Tsunami. I have too much clothes in my closet, and plenty of food in my pantry and belly. (WAY too much food in my belly.) In fact, the only thing that I don't have enough of, is purses. But I'm working on that one as I type
7. My cat
: She's such a ghetto cat. But I love her and she loves me. She greets me at the door when I come home and cuddles next to me when I'm asleep at night. She makes my life, home alone, not as lonely. Plus, she likes to scratch boys that come over to my house. That always makes me laugh.
8. My DJ
: Last, but definitely not least. I continue to learn from his death and appreciate my time, here on Earth.
Happy Thanksgiving to Everyone!
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
...when you're not strong
What do you do when someone you love hurts you?
Do you scream? Do you cry? Do you punch the wall? Vent to a friend? Go for a drive? Blog?
Do you say hurtful things? Or do you hold it all in?
I am prone to saying hurtful things. If not to your face, then definitely behind your back. But it will usually be to your face. And then some more behind your back.
But today I held it in. I held it in because I wanted to think that this person didn't really mean what they said to me. I wanted to think that this person only said these things to me out of their own pain.
But it still hurt me.
And today, for the first time in a long time, I wished that my husband was here to hug me and make it all better.
I usually do just fine, all on my own. I've been strong. I've been independent. And I've even learned how to lean on my friends, every so often, whenever I lose my balance.
But I could really go for just one DJ hug right now. A good tight one to carry me over for another 3 years or so.
Friday, November 11, 2005
A Dog Wouldn't Have Worked
Here's what I hate:
I hate it when someone tries to go behind your back and get your friend's phone number, and then when she shoots him down, he comes back to you and says that she's a bitch. And then you say to him, "Um, no, I think you're the bitch, BIATCH!" And then he's all, "I'm a doctor... worship me." And I'm all, "Whatever. Then buy me a car, biatch." And then he e-mails you pictures of his cats, and you think to yourself, "Whatever, biatch, I hate cats. Wait...no I don't...I LOVE CATS. And now I love you."
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
This is the 3rd day IN A ROW that I've been to the gym. Look out, Olympics, here I come!!!
I typed the word "Olympics" into the Google-Image search box and this is one of the images that came up. WTF???
Labels: Let's get physical, Randomness
Monday, November 07, 2005
Boulevard of Broken Cars
Dear retarded lady who crashed into my car in the post office parking lot,
Next time you try to convince me that you didn't crash into my car, but that "Ooops! We must have crashed into each other!" I will pull out my knife, gouge each of your eyes out, and say, "Ooops! My knife and your eyes must have crashed into each other!"
See that reflective little rectangle hanging from the ceiling of your car? You know, the one right smack dab in the middle of your ceiling, right up next to your front dash? That thing is called a "rear view mirror." If you look into it, it magically shows you stuff that's behind your car. I'm not sure how it works...must be some old jedi trick or something, but you should try using it sometime. Then, maybe next time, you'll be able to see that there is a bright blue car, sitting at a complete stand still, right behind, and perpendicular to your car. And maybe, just maybe, you won't decide to peel out of your parking space, in reverse, and bash the crap out of my car.
Oh yeah, and that girl sitting shotgun in my car? She's not traumatized or anything. Nope, not one bit. She only spent the next 4 hours talking about every single car wreck she's ever been in and how much she never ever wants to even see a car, let alone set foot in one. Other than that, I don't think that today's incident phased her. So no need to worry.
Anywho, just wanted to let you know that we're all ok. No one was hurt, thank God, and at the end I remembered that a car is just a car and that what matters is that you, my friend, and I were in no way injured. And this helped me get over the whole thing. Well, this and my insurance agent, who assured me that "you don't have a thing to worry about, Merry Widow...we'll take over from here and all will be taken care of."
So thank you, retarded lady who crashed into my car in the post office parking lot. You reminded me of what really matters in life: health, good friends, and great auto-insurance.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
I Don't Have Bette Davis Eyes
So as long as I can remember, my right eye has constantly watered. All the time. Non-stop. 24-7. Like it's always crying a river. Literally. My right eye has cried a river's worth of tears. In fact my eye is tearing right now, as I type this. But just my right eye.
So for a long time I thought that my eye was watering because I was always outside, in the cold wind. Yes, I thought it was weird that only my right eye would water, but it seemed like a reasonable explanation at the time. Then, as years passed, and the wind died down, I thought that perhaps my right eye was more sensitive to allergens than the left eye and maybe that's why it was always tearing. But then the wonderful drug, allegra
, was invented and even though I eat that stuff like it's chicken fried rice (yummy) my right eye still hasn't stopped watering.
Anywho, I finally broke down and went to see an Ophthamologist today so that she could fix my damn eye and it would stop watering and I could start wearing eye shadow on that eye again and looking symmetrically fabulous.
And after what seemed like 800 puffs of air shot into each eye ("to test the pressure of your eyes,") and 12 million hours of staring into a light that is 10 to the nth times brighter than the sun, the doctor turned to me (at least I think she turned to me...I could only see white light at that point of my visit) and said, "Well, from what I can tell, your tear ducts do not seem clogged. Why don't you try using these tear drops for the next 3 weeks and then come back. If the drops haven't helped, then we're gonna have to probe your lacrimal duct to see if there's blockage." PROBE MY LACRIMAL DUCT??? WTF??? Basically, Dr. Evil wants to rotor-rooter my tear duct. I guess those 4 years of evil medical school are finally paying off for her.
So now I have visions (ha! pun intended) of me having to go through this:
and also this:
Just so I can end up with eyes like these.
Perhaps this lady:
And also this lady:
Should consider having the same procedure done.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
As Good As It Gets
I think I have obsessive compulsive disorder.
I once ate ramen noodles for every meal of the day, for 64 days straight, until one day I decided that just the mear thought of ramen noodles made me throw up. Just like that. I haven't eaten ramen noodles since. But my obession with chicken fried rice is growing.
Every night I set and reset my alarm clock 5 times in a row, just to make sure that it's still set for 7:00 and that the setting is set for AM and not PM. The ironic part is that I never wake up at 7am. I usually wait til about 8am to roll out of bed.
I cannot leave my house unless my bed is made. I don't care if my house is burning down, while I happen to be naked in the shower, and I have to frantically run outside in order to save my own life. Naked. I will make sure that my bed is made before I leave.
I am obsessed with this show
. If I don't watch at least 3 repeat episodes of it every night, then my life is not complete.
Since December of 2004, I start every work day by listening to Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daughter
Even though I went on a date, this past weekend, with a really really really fabulous guy, who happens to be good looking, smart, funny, out going, a DOCTOR, and, well, pretty much perfect, I am soooooooo obsessed with Guy #6 (who is HOT, but not smart, not funny, not out going, and who has no job) that while on said date with said doctor, all I could think about is when I could sneak in a secret text message to Guy #6 to see if he wanted to hang out when I got home.
Everything in my life is set up in right angles. It's all 90 degrees, all the time. When I'm feeling crazy, I'll throw in a 45 degree angle.
Did I mention my obsession with Guy #6? Shoot me now. He's my heroin. Such a rush...so addicting...but not good for my health.