Upside Down Cake... Er... Life

So right now you could say that my life is in a period of transition.



No, I am not pregnant.

No, I am not moving.

No, I am not dying.


No, I won't elaborate.


What I will tell you is that my anxiety is in full bloom, working overtime, and my feeble little brain is having a hard time just getting through daily life as a normal, kempt human being.

F_ck you, Blogger, I decided that kempt is a word, if unkempt is one.

Anyway, I've been travelling a little. I've been looking at my house and realizing how little we've done to maintain, upkeep, NAY improve the house since our descension onto this lovely little street with 3 dogs and 1 cat over the years.

Also? I think that decension is the wrong word there, but who cares.

Spring cleaning = unsurmountable.

Have you ever gone a long, long time without cleaning your house, only to have company come and experience a cleaning blitz like no other to prepare for their arrival? Where you hope they won't spot that pesky dog-vomit stain on the carpet... the chewed up baseboard, or the fact that your front entranceway is missing a few tiles?

I find it sad, but so true, that we get so used to seeing our surroundings day to day, that we don't realize what might look absolutely horrifying or ghetto-fabulous to someone seeing it for the first time.

Like dog drool on the popcorn stucco ceiling that can't be cleaned off.
Stupid cluttery shit like those candles you bought at Winners for $4 about 10 years ago that are collecting dust on dollar store metal plates.
The ever-expanding collection of elephant knick knacks and carvings that have somehow overtaken your shitty IKEA wall unit.

You know, those things.

I am a mini-hoarder, so it's hard for me to part with shit like that. SHIT. (Well not the elephant and Africa stuff... that stuff is travel-memory GOLD).

Someone in her twenties might be stoked to buy those things for a song at the thrift shop... so why don't I purge? Declutter? Donate? Clean and cleanse?

Why do I have an emotional attachment to an ugly candle?
Maybe because I only have one nice candle?

The "just in case" factor?

I don't understand myself, but something has to be done to clean this place up. Laundry doesn't count, but maybe I'll start there.


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Have I Mentioned I Hate Cleaning?

So, I rolled my lazy ass out of bed somewhere around the noon-mark yesterday (mothers everywhere, feel free to hate on me).

As soon as I was up, Feyoncé was already cleaning up papers, putting crap away, doing laundry, saving lives and giving money to the poor.

I felt like I had enough energy to eat. Maybe, MAYBE even go to the store to get fruit to have with my wheat and dairy-laden waffles and coconut yogurt.

After I bravely faced the hoardes of slow-moving elderly shoppers at the jam-packed grocery store, fought through same drivers in the parking lot, grabbed a coffee and made it home, I was ready for a nap again.

What did I end up doing, you ask?

Well, Feyoncé was talking about this "spring cleaning" phenomenon that I am vaguely aware of. He went to the store and ran some errands.

I ended up cleaning the front entrance way.

On my mother-effin' hands and knees.
Using a mother-effin' toothbrush to get all the dog drool and dirt and grossness that couldn't be reached with regular, upright cleaning methods.

People, a MOTHER-EFFIN' toothbrush.

I inhaled all kinds of "Fantastik" cleaner, I Swiffer wet-jetted that vinyl flooring like no other assault it has likely ever seen in its life. I think I vaccuumed before washing about 3 times, just to be sure. And I used that weird pointy, funnel-down-to-a-point edge attachment.

Yes, I used central vaccuuming ACCESSORIES, I was so hard core.

The soundtrack to this wondrous (if not atypical) cleaning event?

It's pure gold... bellbottoms.

Oh yeah, Abba, on full blast, so as to hear it over the vaccuum, scrubbing, swearing, sweating, and brushing. (As in mother-effin' toothbrushing the wood floor trim).

Feyoncé came home. I could tell the music was jarring to him. So while I was on my hands and knees, Feyoncé literally said the music needed to be turned down.

WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?

But... they're so HAPPY, honey... it's ABBA?!?

I'm on my mother-effin' knees cleaning the mother-effin' quarter-round wood trim, and he DARES to try to soften/quiet/stop the ABBA?

I was angry... I need the music to motivate.  (p.s. I would have been much happier playing with a kite instead.)

Anyway, the poor guy ALSO worked his butt off doing the mile-high stack of dishes, to the only slighty-quieter ABBA soundtrack.

I later found out that he truly, deeply hates ABBA, that it was an awful experience for him, and, when asked, he was hard pressed to tell me ANY OTHER POSSIBLE MUSIC I could have played that would have been worse for him. (My apologies on the abuse of the comma there).

Anyone else need loud music to clean?
Clean their floors/rim with a toothbrush?

Anyone else think Swiffer is total BULLSHIT, since it makes it LOOK clean, but makes it sticky, which will ultimately just attract more dirt, requiring you to Swiffer again, causing an endless vortex of swiffer-squirting-then-sticking-then-resquirting?

No? Just me? 

FINE.

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Holy Divorce Batman!

So, I was reading People online (go ahead, judge). I had actually broken a hard-core addiction to celebrity gossip about a year ago, and figured I would pop on over to see what was new. (I bet you thought I was going to say porn, didn't you?)


And my gaaaawd... there is so much I have been missing out on!

Alicia Keys, Neil Patrick Harris and 8 bajillion other celebs had babies!
But, more interestingly.... holy effing hell is everyone and their dog breaking up? Divorcing? Separating? "Trial" Separating?

Obviously, if a couple isn't in love any more, then it's time to move on if you are both unhappy. Or there's abuse. Or cheating.

But honest.to.Jebus this stuff scares me. I mean, if a solid, secure, normal, down-to-earth, wholesome, squeaky clean couple like Christina Aguilera and Jordan Bratwurst Bratface Bratman can't stay together, do the rest of us have a hope in hell?

She is practically DRIPPING with commitment, people!  Image Credit

BF and I have discussed our fears about that dreaded 50% statistic for marriage success. SO, I did the math, and that means at least ONE OF US is going to get divorced after we get married. Fuck.

I know people in their early twenties who (whom? whatever) I love dearly who are already divorced. It breaks my heart. Not because I think they should stay together if it ain't workin'... but... what a shitty deal.

You fall in love with someone, commit to spending the rest of your life together, and then things turn so sour, sometimes so violently/horribly/gut-wrenchingly sour that you despise the person.

In a million years, I couldn't imagine ever being more than a tad bitchy at BF for, say, not using a clean dish cloth to do the dishes! (WHAT?! Go ahead, judge, but food-counter-wiping-uppage leaves bacteria on that shit! I don't want bacteria-laden clean dishes~! Hmph!). I couldn't imagine a life without him. I wouldn't want a life without him.

And when I think about it, I can only assume that almost every.single.other.couple out there at least started out feeling the same way. HolyShitPanic.

Some of the bloggers I follow are divorcees once or twice over. While I ADORE the snippy edge it gives some of them and their dastardly humour, I couldn't imagine enduring one divorce, never mind two! To those of you out there that have had to do this, I tip my hat.

Well, not like, good job, so happy to hear you are divorced. But I mean, for, you know, surviving through it all. Especially if you have children, too, and have to see your asshat of an ex semi-regularly.

All of this feeds my fears about marriage and beh-bees. I am not a religious person (please don't unfollow me, lol), but I feel the need to be married first before having any beh-bees. I need to lock BF in at least THAT much, so it will be a real hassle for him to leave my future-saggy-pimple-covered-stopped-going-to-the-gym-'cause-I'm-married-and-don't-have-to-even-try-anymore ass. Oh, and my beh-bee(s).

Approximation of post-marriage pimply ass.

Wow, I'm getting ahead of myself.

But I fear that, too.

More than a couple of people have told me that people just 'stop trying' after marriage. Jaysus... I don't want that. I need the motivation in the pre-engaged state we are in to keep showering (sometimes) on the weekends. If we're married... hell, maybe I'll go weeks unbathed.

Have to chisel off the lumps, as my dad says. (Which reminds me, I need to dedicate an entire post to all the odd sayings I have learned from my father that I thought were mainstream phrases until I frequently saw the look of confusion on BF and co-workers' faces. I digress).

Celeb couples who have recently bit the dust (or at least recently enough that I remember, or was saddened at some point):

• Sandra Bullock and Jesse James (though he always seemed a little douchey)
• Britney Spears and K-Fed (Whahhh? Not happily ever after forever?)
• Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt? (I am STILL mad at Brad for that one)
• Courtney Cox-Arquette and David Arquette
• HELLOOO? Jim Carey and Jenny McCarthy (that made me so sad)
• Ryan Phillllllipppppe and Reese Witherspoon
• Christina & Jordan
• Patti Stanger and Andy Friedman (She's the Millionaire Matchmaker, people, the light of hope is dwindling...) Okay, they weren't married, but still.
• Heidi Montag and that Spencer Pratt douche.
• A bunch more I've forgotten and am too lazy to google.
• Did Catherine Zeta Jones and the old Douglas break up?

This is sort of the opposite of my point, but the results are still horrifying, nonetheless.

Alrighty... well, I never expected this post to go quite the way it did, but, meh, too lazy to overthink it tonight.



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Proud Moment

Okay, I am supposed to be cleaning the house because I am a PigSlob who is:

1. messy
2. cluttered
3. mildly hoarding-like
4. easily distracted
5. what was I saying?
6. Oh yeah....
7. hey! something shiny! (focus, dammit, this is Wal-mart and the nose leash all over again)
8. painfully addicted to the internet
9. unable to throw perfectly good things out (see No. 3)
10. incapable of properly organizing donations of things (and I feel guilty asking those certain ones to come to my door - it costs them gas money so how is that helping?)
11. don't know where to send perfectly good toiletries I haven't opened or don't want any more (even women's shelters around here won't accept them) which sends me back to No. 9.
12. indecisive, often stopping myself before I start, especially with tasks like this
13. quick to get frustrated/impatient and want to give up

Okay, I'm done making that stupid list. It's depressing (see No. 13).

Anywho, I had a proud moment today. Thought I would share it with you all so you can once again say "I'm so happy I don't have her life".

I have still been losing weight (and hair) and now I am getting pain in my teeth. The latest (racist and incompetent) dietitian told me to try to ignore the 'BANNED' or 'CHEAT' list and start eating more foods because I am simply not getting proper nutrition.

SO you know what my wonderful idea was today? Why not lure a co-worker to come to the PIZZA.Freakin'.HUT.Lunch.BUFFET. And I lured. And we went. And I ATE beyotches. I ate like it was the last supper, or.. well... the first good lunch I have had in a loooooong time.

What? Not a good idea?

I ate 8 pieces of veggie pizza, and 2 pieces of dessert pizza. Oh, and 2 bread sticks for good measure.

C'mon! Those are SMALL pieces. (Note, all but the onions and tomatoes are on the banned list in my irritant-free, G.I.-friendly diet).

I returned to work. The cramps worsened. The nausea bloomed. But I expected that. Tomorrow will be rough. But I signed up for it, so suck it up, right?

I had to return a bunch of bathroom items from the renovation (I seriously took back 5 shower curtains, among about 25 other things - have I mentioned I hate making returns yet do it all the time? See No. 12 - indecisive).

I pulled into the mall parking lot after successfully stopping and returning stuff at 2 stores. And I felt it. After 7 months of vomiting daily in 2009, there was no mistaking what was coming next.

I was in a freshly paved, non-porous asphalt parking lot. There was no storm drain nearby. Even if there was, I wouldn't have made it in time.

SO the vomiting commenced. Leaning out of my driver's side door, trying to simultaneously keep the door open enough to not puke IN the car, closed enough I had a shred of a veil/cover from the public in the lot, keep my damn sweater cowl neck from becoming a strainer, and hold my stupid brown/purple terrible-multi-length-cut-hair from becoming entangled in the drama in front of me.

What a proud moment.

Thought I was done.

I wasn't.

Image Credit

In... uhhh.. unrelated news - Did you know that asphalt is really hard? That things can BOUNCE back upwards if shot downwards with enough force?

Yeah... my last post about the spa lost me two followers (that's 12%! How depressing is that?!). I figure this post should clear out at least 5 more.

But this is my life. This is the glory and the glamour. This is the frustration, the hunger, the lack of portion-control. This is my body telling me to eff.right.off. I still had to make returns to 3 more stores, on shaky legs. I popped an organic, all natural, sugar and sweetener-free mint, cleaned up with a napkin, and had to forge ahead.

"Hi..... I'm here to look legitimate and mature and make some returns. Mmmmkay? What? Something on my face?"

Maybe it was really just triggered because two of my co-workers were egging me on when Bublé came on the radio before I left. One even started singing. Then playing it on his computer. Loud enough to enrage me (so, simply audible I guess).

I say it's Bublé's fault.

Too bad I couldn't explain that to the lady beside me in the line at Winners... who kept inching further and further away from me...

Gotta go clean. BF's folks are coming into town and I have to deal with Nos. 1 through 13 now.


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