Sanity? Sanity, where are you?

Ever have your internal voice go rogue on you?  Wandering through the house last night, not only did my internal voice go on a strange tangent, it also became external without my knowledge.  Image my husband’s confusion/amusement as I stroll past him muttering a conversation that went something like:

“No”

“Yeah?”

“Nope”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh no”

“Oh yeah!”

Don’t ask.  I have no idea where this came from, what it relates to, or to who these two voices belong, really.  I wonder if I’m starting to lose my mind.

Speaking of which, my attention span is totally shot and all week I’ve been having a terrible time writing down letters or numbers if someone else is reciting them to me.  It’s almost as if the listening/comprehension part of my brain is disconnected from the recall/motor function part of my brain.  I feel like I should be more distressed about this development especially since --- ooh  shiny!

A Farewell to Prednisone

Dear Prednisone:

It seems our time together is coming to an end.  It’s been a really fun and interesting twelve years (off and on, I know, but I just couldn’t stay away!).  Sadly, my new medication is keeping my chronic illness at bay, and it looks like I won’t be needing your assistance in the future.

Not that I won’t miss you.  I mean, who could forget all the long nights we spent together, with you giving me insomnia, night sweats, headaches and paranoid dreams?   You made me feel so young, too.  The acne really brought me back to my high school years.

I’ll genuinely miss having to worry every day that you were leaching calcium out of my bones and possibly causing me ulcers, an enlarged liver, nerve damage and cataracts.

And the rage!!!  How fun was that?  I took such joy from being someone completely different than my normal self.  I would never typically spend entire days furious with the world, ready to punch the first person who spoke to me / looked at me / stood near me.  Seeing the world from this new perspective was truly interesting.

Most of all, I’ll miss the insane hunger, weight gain and bloating that you gave me.  (The first time we were together, I gained 30 pounds in three months.  You introduced me to stretch marks!  I’ll always remember that fondly….)

Nevertheless, it’s time for me to move on.  And while I plan on losing all the weight we worked so hard for, I just have one small request…..  Can I keep the boobs?

Perfectly good reasons to see "Flashdance"

I found out a horrible piece of information about my husband:  He's never seen Flashdance.  Being the caring wife that I am, I pulled up youtube last night and searched "Flashdance".  The ensuing video:

http://youtu.be/ILWSp0m9G2U

Yep, this is amazing.  The song rules (obviously), and the clips really make you want to see the movie.  Right?

Not so much for my husband.  He starts on some rant about "Why does all the music in the movies from the 80's suck?  What's up with this video?"  Boy, he's got this all wrong.  Flashdance RULES and he must see it.

Using my best persuasion skills, I hit him with the following argument:

Me:  Well, just look at how great she is!  She dances!  She skates!  She welds!  She has so many talents!

Husband:  Hmn.

No dice.  Ok, I go for a different tactic:

Me:  Hear where the song says "Dancing for our lives"?  What if we are... um... sailing around the world on our... uh... yacht and we get... boarded(?) by pirates and they say they will filet us like tuna unless we dance for our lives and since you've never seen Flashdance, you don't know the moves??

Husband:  Mn.  Nope.

What the hell?  I think I burned myself last month when I used similarly intelligent and well thought out arguments to force him to watch "Footloose" (He hadn't seen that one either!!).  Turns out, he has a slightly different perception of what makes a "great" movie.

Hmm.

I really hope that pirate situation doesn't come up.

The art of aging gracefully

Next week I celebrate the 7th anniversary of my 27th birthday.  No need to do the math folks, that makes me 34.  I am officially in my "mid-thirties" now.

And don't think this will be some rant about getting old and how much it sucks.

Well, I mean, it does suck, but...  I have a couple of things that I love about being older.

1.  I finally have my you-know-what together.  Mostly.  My bills are getting paid on time, I show up at work every day, I'm in a stable and committed relationship, and I've figured out a way to handle almost all of the crap that life throws at me.  On occasion when I get sick of feeling old and lame, I'm still young enough to blow off some steam in a most inappropriate manner (day drinking in the city followed by several *hazy* hours spent at a strip club, anyone?)  Thank god for good friends! (Who also develop through getting older & being a better person and all that....)

2.  I have wrinkles under my eyes.  Although that seems like it should be a bad thing, realize that they were caused by sunshine and laughter.  This, I believe, is awesome.

3.  I'm finally ok with "me".  I know that sounds all new-age and self-help-book.... probably because it is.  But seriously, I appreciate all my life experiences (good and bad) because they have given me perspective and helped me figure out what I want.  They've given me the gumption to go for the things I relish and the foresight to avoid things I don't.  Other good things that come from living my life: I've become more patient, more sociable and more magnanimous.

And hey.... when those reasons don't help me sleep at night anymore, I just remember I got ID'd for buying beer the other day.

That's right!  I've have officially been legal to purchase alcohol in this state for almost 13 years, but the guy at the counter thought I might not be old enough.

So when it comes right down to it, I'd have to say:

SUCK IT SPACE TIME CONTINUUM!!  YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME!!

Dots should not be stressful

I went to a Superbowl party at a friend's house last weekend.  (Don't worry, this post isn't about sports.)  He's done some renovations recently and it's looking pretty good.  Why this is important will become clear soon.  Stay with me.


I'm sure you've been to a sports-related party before.  You know how these things go.  There's lots of food and you're having a good time with your friends, and...  Well, lets be honest.  There's beer.  Not that that's a bad thing.  But it caused me considerable stress.  Don't make any assumptions here, I'm about to explain what the heck beer has to do with dots.


So midway through the football game, the beers inform me it's time to hit the ladies room.  (Or men's room because this is a bachelor pad?  I'm not sure on this point.  Another item to add to the list of random things I ponder, I guess)  Anyway.  I head to the bathroom and notice there is a new understated vanity/sink combo and new tile flooring.  This is nice.  I like.  Everything is going great.  I finish my business, turn around and am confronted by a most complexing problem.


The new toilet has no flush handle.  It possesses some novel technology that I am not privy to (Ha!  Privy!  See what I did there?)  There are two buttons on the top of the tank.  One has three dots.  The other has six.


*Insert moment of panicked confusion here*


My train of thought at this point is something like "Dots??  A choice of a number of dots?  Was I supposed to be counting?  Like: Dot-mississipi, dot-mississipi, dot-mississip?  Wait, that doesn't make sense.  Does this have something to do with how many squares of toilet paper I used?  Is there a manual in here somewhere?  Should I call for help?"  Rest assured, I am a big girl and I did not call for help.  I can figure this out for myself.  I mean, I once fixed a rusted-out muffler with an empty soda can and some electrical tape.  I am resourceful.  I can do this!


Obviously, there is something I missed along the way.  Maybe I haven't seen a new toilet lately?  Maybe I don't go to enough "fancy" places?


So what do I do?  I bite the bullet and I press the 3-dot button.  And wait.  And cross my fingers.


Crisis averted!!!


I head back to the party and continue to watch that golf tournament or whatever it was that was on the TV.