Sunday, May 16, 2010

A New Age For Coaxial

I insisted I would be the one to set up my parents' TV.  Dad is old and cranky and knows little about today's technology.  I knew he would have Mom running for the hills if I let him set up that thing.  Dad works nights, which is good because I was able to set it all up without him over my shoulder.  I told Mom if he were home while I did this, she would have to keep him away from me.  If he hovered, I would leave.

I love my dad, don't get me wrong, but he can really drive me nuts sometimes.

On his way to work, Dad picked up the TV from the store, and we shoved it into my Mazda 3 with the back seats laid down.  I made the thirty minuet drive to my parents' home sweating the whole way.  I was really scared stupid someone would wreck me while I carried my parents' new $800 television across the highway.

This TV really is a nightmare because it has only one coaxial connection.  I'll spare you the details but I had made two trips out there, one to a local TruValue store (that was unnessary, the clerk lied over the phone), back to my parents house....

It was a little miserable.  When the local channels went digital, Dad put the new antenna in the attic, EVEN THOUGH they have a thrity foot tall antenna pole in the back yard.  Because they could reach local channel Fox, he set up rabbit ears.  I had to hook up the satellite box, DVD player, VCR, outside antenna, rabit ears....all with only one coaxial connection to the back of the TV.

Don't ask me how I did it.  I got it on the second trip after I'd brought some things from home, from my stash of cables, cords, and whatnot.  I'll tell ya this much, I probably couldn't do it again.  But they get Fox and Dad can watch NASCAR so everyone's happy.

Mom.  My dear mother offeed to pay me for all of this.  "Don't be ridiculous!"  I laughed.  She just went on about how Dad would be cursing after spending hours on it and how she appreciated it.  "I'm doing what grown kids do for their parents!  You don't have to pay me!"  I never gave them grandchildren; it's the least I could do.

Dad didn't help though.  He had unconnected everything and really, to be fair, he was trying to help.  He labeled all the video cords and coaxial cables for where they coming from and where they were going.  One coaxial cable was labeled "AA" and I assumed this stood for Analog Antenna.  No.  No, no.  HA HA!  the piece of tape labeled AA was for the satelite dish!  Ah, that's my dad.  Of course, it's always been easier for me to strip everything and start from scratch.  Though it is helpful to know what the cables coming from the floor and the ceiling are atatched to.  AA.....HAR HAR!!!!!!

And some point, on my first visit, Mom is saying to me, "You don't have to do this, I am sure Dad can figure it out."
"No he can't," I said flatly.  "There's too many things to hook up, and not enough places to put them.  He'd be throwing a fit.  I don't mean to sound ugly, but I don't think Dad would get this."

What helps me is that I've done it about a hundred times between moves, moving furniture, and accepting secondhand furniture.  I've hooked up so many gadgets through a VCR, a member of the Geek Squad would be proud to see an original Nintendo, Xbox, cable TV, and Super Nintendo all going at once.  (you only need to change what is plugged into the strip, of course)

So far, the TVs have treated us well.  The only complaint I have is the lack of coaxial connections on the rear of the TV.  And the fact that I cannot record using that TV because there's no where to connect both the VCR (or even a DVD recorder) and satellite on the same line.  A DVR would work, but seriously, we need speakers first.


Gonna be a while on those speakers.  Shawn has decided to build a trike in the garage.  His welder went out today so he's off to the store to buy a new one.  He says he could probably sell this trike for around 3 grand or so once the NOS is connected.  Sigh.  Why do boys always have to make their motorcycles go the speed of light?  Excuse me.  It's a trike.  Not a bike. 

We Did a SIlly Thing

About a week or two before the computer went out, we did a silly thing.

For about a year, my parents' television had been acting up.  They'd had the thing for twenty years or something so it was time.  I did some extensive research on flat screen TVs and came up with a Sony Bravia 46" that had amazing reviews and came in around $800 online through Best Buy.

There's more.  Shawn has been drooling on himself and down the front of his shirt for years over the Sony Bravias.  He does apartment maintenance so he regularly goes into people's homes who have such massive televisions.  And to makes things worse, most of these people are those who do not work, do not have jobs and are living on our dime because they are too cracked out to go earn a living.  Not all of them, but most of them.

Shawn has always thought it unfair that he works so hard each day and could not have one of these TVs.  On his lunch break, he used to go up to the Circuit City and stare at the Sony Bravia 50" TV.  He'd them hook up the HD and just foam at the mouth.

After discovering that the TV was only $800...not over $2000 like the like one he'd wanted originally, I finally caved.  I could really care less about the TV.  I could care less if we'd continued to use the sixty pound dinosaur or got a flat screen.  I just really don't care.  A TV is a TV and that's all there is to it to me, personally.

I was shocked at the prices of TV stands.  We finally settled on one for around $300 I think, and it took Shawn about 3.5 hours to put together.  Now this I like.  We had this HUMONGOUS entertainment center my parents had second handed to us and it took up most of the bedroom.

That's right, the bedroom.  Our main TV viewing is in the bedroom.  You cannot watch TV in the living room past 10am because whoever designed this house was a idiot.  We went to Best Buy with my parents and I haggled the manager down from store price to online price.  One problem.  They didn't have the TV in stock.

There was only one within a 60 mile radius, the other was ordered for my parents since we had already moved the beast of an entertainment center down the hallway and had built a new one for the bedroom, all ready to adorn our new television.

This really was an all day event.  We started sometime in the morning and wrapped up everything around 9 or 10pm.  Dad would have to pick up his TV that following Friday and that's a whole other story.  After we set up the TV, I to work on the surround sound system.  We discovered that only two speakers were working so we found an extra we'd stashed in the den and hooked that up.  The rear speakers were blown long ago and Shawn tried rewiring them, etc, but nothing worked.  Like I said, they were blown because someone around here like to listen to his music at blaring volumes.  (He's also going deaf as a result)

Speaker issues somewhat resolved, I finally got everything hooked up and going.  We had three front speakers and that was OK for now.  Two days ago, one the front speakers went out and we have no more reserves.  Sigh.

I'd done some extensive research on decent speakers that will work well with our system and sustain Shawn's horrible music.  Of course, we cannot afford them at the moment so I've simply tucked away all this information with a plan to buy one at a time in the near future.

Next, we needed to contact Dish Network about getting set up with High Definition TV.  I ordered a 30 foot HD cable to run from the box in the living room to our brand new flat screen TV.  That night, I called.  Dish Net would charge us $150 for setting up HDTV because we need a new box and a cable guy to go up on the roof, pretend to do something, and serve us with a bill.  This was another several-hour experience and I don't know why.

Today, we are operating on one left front speaker, one middle front speaker, and no HD.  Oh well.  At least Star Wars looks cool on DVD through this TV.

More PC Garbage

I was able to obtain an enclosure for my old XP hard drive. It seems to be just fine.  Except for one thing.  Well, a few things, really.

I had spent hours making a video made from scenes of that old TV show, Titus.  It was set to Puddle of Mudd's "Psycho" and was perfect!  It was hilarious and matched to the music perfectly, scene by scene.  It was pulled from YouTube long ago because Warner Bros. had a hissy fit over my using the song "Psycho" but I never cared because I had it safely tucked away in my hard drive.

Or so so I thought.  I cannot find it.  I spent two or three hours looking into each folder of the drive, I ran search after search.  It isn't there.  Did I burn it to a disc?  Not sure.  I have a stash of DVDs of videos I had made.  Hadn't checked it yet.

The handful of photos that were on my PC--gone.

I also had dozens of Word documents.  Short stories, neat little things, recipes, things I had written.  Also, gone.  Cannot find them anywhere.

I have spent much time emailing people, visting forums, etc.  No one can really help me with this.

I also have an external hard drive, for storage.  It's 20gb monster with ALL of my photos--every photo I've taken in eight years.  And every CD we've ever owned and resold, is contained within that drive.  So, as you can only imagine, I was quite nervous to plug it in.

Ureka!  I was able to view all my photos, all my music is present!  Whoppie!  We have The New Testament on CD and I had been ripping it and putting it on my MP3 player to listen to at work--you know how I've complained about how boring my job is.  It's wonderful to have something different to listen to and it helps pass the time.  I cannot fit the entire New Testament of The Bible on my 1gb memory card so I figured I stow the ripped discs on my external drive so I wouldn't have to continuously rip the CDs over & over. 

Naturally, if you been following along, you know this can't be an easy task.  I had a nightmare trying to get the PC to recognize the drive again.  It will not accept anything new, no matter what it is.  The drive was no where near the old XP when lightening struck, so I have no idea what is going on.  After another full week of messing with this tupid device, I've decided that I'll just get another that will work with stupid Windows 7 and Windows Media Player whatever-version-it-is.

Given all this, I had been pretty upbeat until the last few days.  I hit a wall and fell hard.  I spent most of yesterday crying and today, my eyes are STILL swollen.  Gonna take an extended break from all of this hard drive business. 

I'm a PC.  And my brain is fried.

The PC Fried....My brain is fried

About three weeks ago (?) a thunderstorm hit us and the power went out for about two hours.  That power outage resulted in the deep frying of my computer.  I changed out the power box--whatever it's called--and nothing.  I returned it to the store.  Since changing the power supply does nothing, this means the mother board is fried.  Many local PC repair folks told me so over the phone.

Bugger.

I bought a new PC which doesn't come with Windows XP, of course, because everything electronic changes and needs to be "enhanced" aporximately every fifteen seconds in this world.  Even today, I am still learning where everything is on the Brand New To Me Windows 7.  Although I must say it is easier to navigate than had been told to me about Windows Vista (*shutter*)

About a day or two after setting up the new PC, the monitor went out.  Bugger again!  I quickly switched out the monitor with a 1987 Special, forty pound reserve monitor I had int he back room.  Just in case, you see.  That too went out within 24 hours. 

My boss had two dinosaur monitors he didn't need, so I took one and brought it home.  The next day, Shawn insisted we buy a new flat screen model.  Sigh.  Naturally, that turned out to be an all day event.  New monitor in place...guess what happened the next day?  Sure.  You guessed right.  No pictured when I turned it on.  For some reason, Divine Intervention, perhaps, it occurred to me to turn off the brand-new-just-bought power strip before I turned on the PC.  This is something I had to do whenever there was no picture.  Had to turn it off somehow.

I noticed that without touching the power strip, the computer didn't beep.  That morning, before I touched ANYTHING at all, I switched off the power and turned it on again.  I turned on the PC, the monitor, and sat back, holding my breath.  It beeped!!!!!  I had my computer staring right back at me from the new monitor!!!

This was all within a week.  Within that week, I was exhausted, staying up late to get everything set up, researching what I needed to pull info from my old XP hard drive, etc, etc, boring, blah, blah.  As it turns out, one night I was trying to get the cat out of the house, so I filled her bowl outside with dry cat food.  This trick always works at bed time.  I went to put the container of cat food away and simply placed it into the refrigerator.  Oh, double sigh!

This week had not been a good one.  Ten minuets after I arrived at work one day, I ripped my jeans right down the front leg.  And wouldn't you know it?  Shawn had been in school so I hadn't shaved in like a decade.  I couldn't hide the fact that I had Wookie legs.

At some point, I had dumped solvent-based sizing all over my shoe and had to walk around barefoot until my shoe aired out so it wouldn't turn my skin to a Hazard Level 3.  And....you really do not want to be walking around barefoot at work.  Trust me on this.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

I have not been around for a week

I am grateful for my one regular reader!  It means a lot to me that someone out there enjoys what I write, even if it is sometimes quite depressing.  Our computer was fried (yes--fried) a week ago in a thunder storm so I have not been able to write, much less think straight. 

This is gonna be a looooong story.  A lot has happened in the last week and I even have little notes in my purse where I'd jotted down depressing events and funny happenings, such as the moment when I was so exhausted I fed the cat and to put the cat food away, I placed it in the fridge.  (it's a large container filled with dry food.  No need to refrigerate--that's just silly)

There have been issues at work, home, my parents' home, etc.  It'll most likely be at least a two-parter.  I'm writing this now to let my one reader (hi!) know I have not fallen off the face of the earth (yet) and will be writing all of this very soon, I hope. 

I do hope to get some writing time in within the week.  Stay tuned for this train wreck.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Tidbits

I read in a magazine that every pair of dirty underpants has one-tenth of a gram of feces,

Not my underpants!  I don’t know what the rest of you people are doing, but I wipe!!  Then, I go through about six baby wipes afterward because I prefer to be REALLY clean.  I dare you to find any fecal materials in my underpants.

………………………………...................................................................................

I place make-up in the same category as hot dogs.  Everyone loves hot dogs.  You don’t know what’s in ‘em, you just know you like ‘em.  It’s better off that we do not know for sure what’s in a hot dog.  I personally have always believed they are nothing more than leftover parts, the beaks and the feets. 

Make-up is much the same way.  It was only a couple years ago I had learned that foundation had a base of animal fats.  Ew.  Did not need to know that at all.  Women (and a few men) love their make-up.  We go to great lengths to find just the perfect type, the perfect shade, the perfect match.  But we really don’t want to know what’s in it.

On The Discovery Channel, I watched “Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe”.  Mike had visited a pig farm where Las Vegas Buffet leftovers were recycled into pig slop.  The mess was sifted through by hand to remove non-food items, then boiled in what appeared to be the world’s largest soup can.  As it boiled, the fat and grease rose to the top and filtered into another area.  Mike asked, “What do you do with that?”  The pig farmer replied, “We sell it to cosmetics companies.”

Hmm.  Really didn’t want to know that!

………………………………....................................................................................

Couple days ago, I gave the dogs some flea medication.  It was a pill I had to split in two and crush into a fine powder because the little one, Lucy, will spit it out if she just slightly taste it.  I put the powder into little balls of cheese.  The dogs rarely get cheese and when they do, it’s simply a taste because I’m so paranoid about getting them constipated.  They’ve both got stomach issues so I’m careful about what People Food they get.

The dogs LOVE cheese!  And for Lucy to spit it out with mere crumbs of medicine in it--you can see how picky little dogs are.  So I divided it into several little balls for Lucy.  Our other dog, Prissy, licked the plate in one wide swoop and her cheese balls were gone.  I stood over Lucy so Prissy wouldn’t get a double dose.

Lucy picked up a cheese ball in her mouth, placed it on the floor.  She picked up another from the plate, placed it on the floor.  Sigh.  She finally began to chew on the cheese and looked comical as she smacked her jaws together as though she had just taken a huge bite of peanut butter.  About ten minuets later, Lucy has FINALLY finished all of the cheese while poor Prissy was searching nearby for more.

I was so paranoid I had gotten them backed them, I made a big bowl of vegetables for my supper and fed them all the broccoli they wanted.  I later had some Fiber One cereal and fed them more of that than I usually allow them.

I figured I may have upset things even worse as these two opposing forces would be battling it out within the dogs’ stomachs over the next two days.  So far, so good.  The dogs spent yesterday outside, so I’m not sure if they pooped or their bellies are in turmoil.

Ok, that’s all.  I don’t have kids so every once in a blue moon I have to tell a boring dog story.  Be grateful I don’t talk about my pets as though they were my kids.  I might be a little off, but I’m not like those crazy-cat people.  My dogs do not have more outfits than I do.  And they only get dressed in the bitter winter.  So there.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Well, at least i have a job

Wednesday, April 14th

Well today was certainly an interesting day.  Around 6am, I walked in through the back and noticed the tray around my dry cleaning machine was completely filled with solvent.  I clocked in, threw my sodas in the fridge and sighed.  Today was going to be a long day.

Unbeknownst to me, when I loaded the machine yesterday, I hadn’t latched the door completely, thus leaving the seal in the door, cracked just a smidge.  When Terry came in at 5am this morning, he turned on the machine for me and solvent slowly leaked out through the door and collected in the bottom tray.

I had not spoken to Terry yet, I just figured it was something to do with the lint filter, where solvent is pumped through continuously as the drum spins.  That’s usually where most of my problems begin.  I turned the pump off and just as I barely unlatched the clamp on the lint trap, petroleum spewed from the top of it like a volcano. 

I was drenched, head to toe.

I spent the next thirty minuets mopping up solvent with rags, spinning the rags out into the machine, mopping up some more.  My boss, Allan came in and asked what in the world happened.  “Go home, take a shower, change clothes.  I’ll finish this up and get your next load going,” he said.

By the time I walked though my front door, I was crying, purely out of frustration.  Shawn was only just collecting his things for a shower so I made it just in time.  Greatly concerned, he asked what in the world happened.  Through my sobs of “I hate my job!” I explained it to him as I peeled off my clothes and warned him not to light up anywhere me as I was covered in what is essentially, gasoline.

I soaped up and covered the red patches on my body with aloe vera.  This is the part where Shawn began to freak out.  My bras are slightly padded and that extra bit of padding soaked up quite a bit of solvent and held it there against my skin.  My belt and the waist band of my low-rise jeans, along with my underwear, also soaked up quite a bit.  So, you can imagine.

The fronts of my legs tingled, felt fuzzy.  I hung my under garments on hangers and piled the remaining clothes into a bag to take back to work. 

Shawn expressed great concern and demanded that I come home if I started to hurt or feel bad.  “I don’t give a **** about those people!  If you start burning, you come home and you call me!” he exclaimed.

I spent the better part of the day continuing to mop of solvent in between spotting job, loading and unloading washers, dryers, and the machine.  It’s not a big deal, really.  I’ve had this stuff irritate my arms pretty drastically.  It looks like I’ve been burned with boiling water, then my skin gets real dry and starts to crack.  Sometimes it feels irritating, almost like a slight burn, but it doesn’t really hurt dramatically.  Once you’ve had a few dozen steam burns, you change you mind about what really hurts and what is merely bothersome.

A couple of co-workers expressed concern for me, wanting to know what happened, was I alright, and so forth.  One co-worker nearly tasted the wrath that is The Back Of My Hand, simply because she spoke and words came out.  I wasn’t in the mood for her mouth today.  I bit my tongue because I was exhausted and really just wanted this day to be over.

Of course, it didn’t get any better from there.  I went on to burn two of my fingers and smacked my wrist into the dryer so hard that it bruised almost instantly.  People are complaining to me about how other people are doing things.  I’ve got my own issues to deal with.  You all just settle this amongst yourselves.

After work, I went to Sonic and got 5 strawberry slushes on their Happy Hour sale.  In all this time, I’ve never been to the apartment complex Shawn was transferred to.  I knew he would have a miserable day because they had to change out not one, but two building water shut off valves.

I figured this would be a great opportunity to meet everyone and spend the money I found in the dryer last week.  I got out of the car just in time to see Shawn and Ray coming up the hill and I handed them each a slush.  Once inside of the office, I finally got to meet Christy, the office manager.

Shawn had done some side work at Christy’s house after a major flooding and as mush as he’s talked about her, I feel like I sort of know her.  I was actually always surprised how Shawn was able to get along with her because he had issues with a man he’d worked with before.  The man was gay, and Shawn didn’t like that.

That’s about it.  It’s taken some time, but Shawn has softened a little.  He has now known two homosexual people and once he got to know them, he could get along with them.  I have no problems with Christy being a lesbian and I’ll tell you why:  It’s not for me to judge her.  I may not agree with that lifestyle choice, but no one has to answer to me.  I’d come to terms with this way of thinking a long time ago.  The only homosexuals I cannot stand are those fairies on TV that prance around acting like little six year girls.  They’re just really annoying. 

One of my own co-workers became a lesbian after her second divorce and it didn’t change how I viewed her, how I interacted with her, or our friendship at work.  She’s no different now than she was a couple years ago when all she did was gripe and complain about “that bastard who don’t pay no bills or nothin’!”

Christy seemed really sweet and asked how I was.  “Oh, you told everyone, huh?” I asked Shawn.  Of course he did.  Ray asked how I was, said that Shawn was concerned, that “we all were concerned.”  Wow, I’ve never even met these people, besides Ray!

“Oh, he exaggerates,” I told Ray.  “It’s really not that bad.”
“It was this morning!  At least what I saw!!!” Shawn exclaimed.  He must have asked me a dozen times if I was really OK.

Shawn called me later and said that Lou, the housekeeper said, “Shawn’s wife is pretty.  Why is she married to him?!” 
Shawn answered with, “I been asking myself that for many years now!”

Har har.  Still makes me feel good, though!  I know Ray and Christy are forever buying lunch and breakfast for everyone and we don’t really have the money to reciprocate for all of that.  I know slushies are not much, but it’s a start.  Maybe I’ll bake something in a few weeks.

Perhaps tomorrow will be better for both Shawn and myself.  He doesn’t have school tomorrow so we’ll have the evening together, at the very least.  This business thing between him and Ray may be getting started within a month’s time, on the weekends of course.  No one is quitting their job or anything.  The first project is to become a trike with NOS attached.

Of course it is.  Anything to give me a heart attack while I cover my eyes as my dear ‘ol husband goes screaming down our neighborhood street at 70 miles per hour.

You all may want to pull your cars into the driveways on first-test day.  And make sure your pets are all safely inside.  And place your children in the closet--especially the teenagers.  Not for safety reasons, they just get on my nerves is all.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Our Date With The Rock PART TWO

I had in fact, spent much time searching the wide, wide, world of web for a tape or a copy of the February 17th, 1998 taping of Shotgun Saturday Night, which aired that following Saturday (the 22nd, I think--not sure on that) with no luck.  As I age, my memory ages as well.  Old memories are replaced with the eye-hand coordination of remembering how to tie my sneaker laces each morning.
Ha, ha.

Even though Shawn never attended my school, he was the current gossip subject for about a month. No break up or pregnancy topped this story. And remember the three guys that jumped out of the first level seats to join us? They had witnessed they whole thing first hand and because of them vouching for my outrageous story, no one picked a fight with me the rest of my high school career.

It was insane. Everyone was afraid to mess with me for a while because they were afraid of Shawn. I got into a lot of fights with boys in school. I can actually say that to date, I've never been in a "girl fight". I didn't get along that many kids in school, and I still didn't after Shawn clocked The Rock, but I did gain a new found respect from the boys that picked on me.

(I was a little... Different. I didn't walk around wearing pounds of Gothic jewelery and dressing all in black but I didn't fit in with the country music fanatics. I didn't own a single shirt with Adidas or Nike written across the front and that made me an outcast!)

Shawn's parents had taped the Monday Night Raw saw so we could catch a glimpse of ourselves on TV. My face could be spotted for one-fifth of a second but you had to know where to look and what you were looking for! The main event had been taped for Shotgun Saturday Night, which as I mentioned, was never aired around here. So, if there's anyone out there with a recorded taping of the February 17, 1998 program, I'd LOVE a copy. I'm sure the camera men were instructed to veer away due to the reasonable probability of a pending lawsuit, though.

Several months later, however, we attended a another WWF show in Austin. Security was tightened. We had floor seats but had to remain in them. There was no roaming out of your seat for a closer look. When the people in front of us stood up to cheer or whatever all i could see were the backs of strangers. Every time I stood on my chair to better viewing purposes, a security guard would rush over and holler at me.

Howard Finkle was walking about the floor seats, working the crowd, early on. Shawn cheerfully shouted, "Hey! Remember me?"

Shawn explained who he was but Finkle seemed a bit confused. He quickly offered a "Oh, yeah I remember," and got out of there as quickly as he could. Maybe he did remember the young man who went postal over a ripped t-shirt. maybe he didn't remember at all.

The Rock came out for Cage Match, I believe and noticed us right away. If I recall correctly, he was a baby face at the time. While everyone cheered for him, we squarely booed and cursed at him. Rock's eyes met our direction and they bulged and bugged out like they always do. He glared at us steadily and shook it off to get into the ring. Once again, I'm unsure if actually recognized Shawn, or was maybe thinking, "Gee whiz, that guy looks familiar."

We haven't watched wrestling in years. However in the time following that night in 1998, we did notice some abrupt changes within the WWF. The metal railing had been replaced with a thicker half-wall. It appeared that spectators had been restricted to keep back, at least for a period of time. The Rock had not spit once into the crowd, not once or ever more to my knowledge.

And finally, the fan-wrestler match up had been popularized. we witnessed on television the most fake "fans" screaming at a wrestler only to be plucked from the crowd and body slammed to the floor. Be a normal fan boy, I'm sure that would be cause enough for a sizable lawsuit. Although I would imagine the wrestlers would be able to restrain themselves from taunting. As the crowd watched in horror as some frail-looking young man writhed in pain on the flood, all we could do was balk at a stuntman and think, "Oh, that is so fake!"

Shouldn't Shawn and I get a little compensation for giving the writers a little idea? Sure it was group effort, but I'm sure The Rock doesn't have like, a mortgage or a car payment.
We never actually sued the WWF. It never entered our minds except in jokes. I would however settle for meeting some of my "heroes" as reimbursement. I did, after all suffer some humiliation and embarrassment. And Shawn suffered having his neck scratched. Whiplash!

All in all, I'd like to someday contact the wrestlers involved in that three-way tag match. I mean, this isn't exactly the days of Andy Kaufman, now is it?
For months afterward I watched every little interview that involved the WWF, hoping that the little experience would be mentioned. It never was. I contemplating reading every book that every wrestler put out with that same thin string off hope. I never did.

Perhaps I should get on the ball and email all those fan sites in hopes that The Rock or Mick Foley should see it. What if?
My biggest point about this story is that is was as real as real can get. It was unscripted. There was no planning who would win, who would lose, who would be the heel or baby face.
And you know what? We'll probably continue to tell the story whether you believe it or not.

 

Our Date With The Rock PART ONE

I write this in February 2006 so my writing style may have changed a little.  I've wrote this particualr story about five times, trying to trim it, make it more interesting to the reader.  This is a re-posting from my old blog, I didn't re-read it, I didn't check for spelling.  I am simply just copying and pasting here due to laziness and the fact that I have a cold coming on.  After taking Mucinex, I am officially coughing up a yellowish-greenish gift from my lungs.  Enjoy.

I promise to you that story is true. Every time I’ve told it I get a well deserved “Yeah, right.” But it happened and it’s one of my most favorite stories because it is so unbelievable.
While my would be husband, Shawn and I were dating in high school, we were wrestling fanatics. We were more particular towards the WWF, or as it’s now called, the WWE. Sure, we’d always known it was fake and somewhat scripted but we still loved it.

On February 17, 1998, Shawn and his older brother, Tim and I had floor seat tickets to the live filming of Monday Night Raw in Waco, Texas. Shawn and I had worked our way up to the metal railing just behind the bell ringer. As I remember, WWF had removed the flimsy railing for a more sturdy, solid half-wall that was padded. And for that, you’ll find out why as you read on. Before the taping of Monday night Raw began, we were entertained by new comers, followed by the taping of Shotgun Saturday Night, which unfortunately didn’t air in our area. Ever.

I’d spotted some guys from my school on the first level up of seating. They hopped the short wall and joined us on the floor. I was annoyed at first that they should use me to get closer to the ring, but I rather grateful later as these acquaintances would prove as witnesses to my story the next day at school. Shawn bought two Stonecold Steve Austin t-shirts for he and I and we eagerly awaited the main event. The last match of the night consisted of a three-on-three tag match. “Road Dog” Jesse James, “Bad Ass” Billy Gunn and The Rock were poised as “heels”, or the bad guys. “Stonecold” Steve Austin, Mick Foley, (a.k.a. Dude Love, Mankind, Cactus Jack) and Chainsaw Charlie (a.k.a. Terry Funk) held the role of the “baby faces” or good guys.

Of course, at the time, everyone’s favorite marketing tool was Steve Austin. And everyone’s you-love-to-hate-him-guy was Rocky, as he was called then. However, I’ve always held a special place for Mick Foley and Terry Funk. This especially became true after reading Foley’s book, Have a Nice Day. Go get yourself a copy and find out how tough the “sport” can really be when cutting your teeth. I mean, this dude lost an ear for Pete’s sake!

For several months, The Rock had been spitting into the crowd upon being announced and arriving into the famed squared circle. It was quite common to see him do so on TV since he was the biggest heel The three bad guys were announced one by one and entered the arena. The Rock glared into the crowd as he always did and was booed and hissed at. Somewhere from behind our place of standing a wet blob was spat into the air toward Rock’s direction. Someone had spit at The Rock! Well, he in turn spat back! Out of no where, not yet realizing what had taken place, I felt this mass of goo land right on my face. The vein on Shawn’s forehead leapt out and throbbed. Shawn perched his feet along the bottom rail and reared back. His upper body thrust forward over the railing and an enormous wad of spit was sent flying into the ring and landed…
Right on Rock’s jaw. Good aim. But now Rock’s eye bulged and bugged out. We screamed obscenities. Two hundred and seventy pounds of six foot, five inch tall muscle came thundering our way. He screamed at Shawn as he wiped the mess from his face. Shawn, 6’4” and weighing in at a small 135 pounds, reached for Rock, scrambling to get at him from behind the rail. Rock wrapped a large hand around Shawn’s throat; Shawn wrapped his own leg around a vertical rail to keep from being pulled away.

In mere seconds four security guards and roughly fifty fans were all on top of Shawn. They were Pushing, pulling, screaming. I’d gotten shoved slightly to the side of Shawn. I heard Mick Foley’s entrance music and couldn’t help but look away from the turmoil. The chubby wrestler bounded down the ramp and head for the ring. He stopped suddenly and appeared confused, as though no one had told him this would be going on. If the words, “This wasn’t in the script” weren’t written on his face, his expression couldn’t be more clear.

Just as The Rock had grabbed Shawn’s throat, someone from behind hollered, “Hit him with this chair, dude!” A metal folding chair waved in the air as two of the guards wrapped their arms underneath Shawn’s armpits, preventing him from swinging. (Who exactly are they protecting here? The Rock from someone half his size?) Somebody had one of Shawn’s legs while his other leg remained tightly wrapped around the rail. He held on with everything he had and turned to the pair of arms waving the chair. “You hit him!” Shawn hollered. He was a bit tied up at the moment, as you can see.
Of course you must also realize that all this happened within a matter of mere seconds and as quickly as The Rock grabbed Shawn’s throat and Shawn’s arms were taken hostage by the guards, he’d freed an arm and swung at Rock, hard.

I heard a flat popping noise as I watched my boyfriend connect his hard, skinny fist with that of the cheekbone belonging to The Rock, a professional wrestler! Rock was immediately pulled off and placed in the corner furthest from us. He slumped in the corner and glared in our direction. I jumped on the rail and screamed at him, when suddenly, Steve Austin’s entrance music blared over the speakers and all was forgotten by the crowd. Thousands of people screamed and cheered as Shawn walked away from our spot.

Now, all night long we’d been fighting elbows and shoulders. You didn’t have an inch to yourself and everywhere was the scent of beer and body odor. All night long we fought against strangers to keep our coveted spot and were happily bruised for it. Imagine a huge concert where one dude tries to protect his five foot tall girl from being pushed out of the mosh pit. This is the sort of event where you better not even head to the restroom. Just hold it and forget it. Otherwise, you’ll never find your way back to your original spot, and you’ll probably not see your friends till the end of the show. However, as Shawn turned and started to walk away in a fit of rage, a very strange event had occurred. A path had opened for him as if Moses himself had parted the sea of people.
Shawn walked in the direction of the exit and the hole had closed up. He turned, started back toward me, and ironically, the sea of people had parted again, allowing at least one foot of space on either side of Shawn. The sea of humanity began to pat Shawn on the back as he passed saying such things, “You got some big ones!” and the like.

Shawn’s new twenty-five dollar t-shirt was torn at the collar and he bore bright red scratches across his neck, nearly bleeding, but not quite yet. Howard Finkle, the WWF announcer was seated next to the bell ringer. Shawn trumped right on through the sea of people and tapped Finkle right on top of his bald head. Shawn screamed over the noise that he’s just bought shirt and Rock ripped it and he wanted another! He paid twenty-five dollars for this shirt and he wanted another! For a moment, I thought Finkle might wet himself. How often does the announcer get tapped on his bald head from a deranged fan?

An assistant, or stage hand or some kind of gopher was summoned from backstage and came running with a generic WWF Attitude t-shirt in hand. Shawn screamed about how he’d bought this shirt, tugging at his Austin Shirt and “you bring me this shirt.” “No!” he hollered. “I didn’t pay twenty-five dollars for that dinky shirt! I bought this one!” The young man retreated and returned with a shirt identical to the one Shawn was wearing. I seriously cannot recall a time when I’ve seen Shawn’s face so red or the vein on his forehead so close to bursting.

Obviously, we’d missed most of the match. At the end of the match and as planned, I assume, Austin had beaten Rock. As Austin delivered several of his signature move, The Stunner, to Rock, we howled. It was as though Austin was delivering real blows to The Rock just for us.
Austin straddled the ropes, poked his fists into the air (as he always did to get the crowd riled up) and looked right at us. Of course, not that I think about it, today, he was probably thinking something along the lines of, “Stupid punk kids!”

We were elated either way. Austin had beaten Rock and that’s all that mattered at the time. Everything seemed right in the world. Or at least our little worlds. On our way out of the arena, people hollered and shouted at Shawn, they honked their car horns. “Mini-Stonecold clocked The Rock!” they’d shout.

Shawn’s brother had wanted to leave right away to beat the traffic but it’s something I often regret. Perhaps if we’d hung around we could’ve gotten backstage? Maybe get some free stuff as an apology and hung out with the Stars? I often wonder “what if?”

Monday, April 12, 2010

Like A Record Skipping On Its Turntable Part 2

I apologize for the length of this story.  I'll be reposting The Rock story from my old blog in a few days.  I hope you enjoy part two.  This is as real as I get, people.

 

Afterward, and for the rest of the day, I was alright. 

Until this morning.  Monday morning.  Back to the old grind.  For as boring as my job may be, I may as well be shoveling salt into a cart for nine hours with no lunch break.  The thoughts entered my head. 

Of course it doesn’t matter what these women say or do.  What matters is what Shawn says or does.  It’s his reaction is what matters.  But his story had so many details; could he have made it up?  And if he didn’t make it up, how on God’s green earth could he remember her shorts were blue from eleven years ago?  Do I know him as well as I think I do.  Sure I do, I’ve known him since I was fourteen.  He loves me and would never do anything to hurt me. 

But what if?  This line of thinking betrayed my own trust.  Don’t I trust him?  He brought me the biggest bouquet of balloons to my English class in high school on Valentine’s Day!  He gives me his paycheck every single week, for deposit into the bank so I can pay the bills.  He’s not like some of his work buddies who cash their checks, go get drunk and give their wives what little is left over.

For Pete’s sake, he cried when he watched the DVD I had made from ages-old VHS cassettes all about us.  I made it for his birthday to demonstrate how much I loved him, because I’m no good at speaking my feelings.  (It really was beautiful, if I say so myself!)

He sneaked into my car once while I was working and had placed dyed posies on the passenger seat.  He comes home to me every night.  In high school, he beat up Karl, when I got hit in the eye.  He took on The Rock at a WWF show after The Rock had spit into the crowd and the loogie landed right on me.  He took on a 6’4” and 260 lb beast, all because he was playing the villian and just so happened to spit on me (it’s in my other blog--I’ll post that story here soon).

All for me.  He talks about getting out of this dead-end job so he can give me and buy me all the things I deserve.  I tell him I do not deserve anything.  “You deserve everything,” he says.

But what if….?  The temptations are certainly there.  Shawn is easy to talk to, he’s fun and somewhat charming.  The women these days simply do not hit on the men any more--they go after them like monsters.  They flirt in a much more aggressive manner than I was ever aware of.

Shawn doesn’t wear his wedding ring because he often works with electrical stuff.  Understandable.  But these women do not ask, they assume nothing, they simply pounce like a hungry cheetah taking down the weakest of the gazelles. 

Still….

What if…..?

I couldn’t take it anymore.  I can’t live like this!!  My stomach was in knots.  I can’t read his mind.  Yes, I believe him, but can anyone be 100% sure of what is being said.  It’s only words, after all, I wasn’t there to witness anything personally.  You can bet that if I had been there, Little Miss Blue Shorts would have making a trip to the emergency room with a broken nose and I‘d be having my fist tested for blood-transmitted diseases.

No, I suppose that’s not very Christian-like. 

I couldn’t take it anymore.  I felt like I would throw up!  I recalled something Brother Henry had said, maybe it was at Easter service.  Maybe a few weeks ago.  I couldn’t remember.  He said, in so many words that you’ve got to be willing to give it to God, no matter what it was.  Be willing to give it all to Him, and he will take it from you, like that!

I’d spent the better part of three, four hours going through this back and forth.  I’d prayed God would remove this doubt, these ugly thoughts---then the torture would start again, like a broken record, skipping on it’s turntable…

Alright, God.  I AM willing.  I am willing to give it ALL to you, right here, right now.  Please take it from me, all these thoughts of doubt, any thought that I have against Shawn which is not true, take it from me.  I give it all to You.  I cannot do this by myself, I cannot live like this.  I know he loves me so I am asking you to please hear me and take away this pain, this torture, these thoughts that keep running through my head, I give it to you!!!  Let me forget all of this, as though it never happened.

There it was.  I was pressing a cotton blouse on the hot-head while I did this.  A wave of calm washed over me.  I was not light as air and hyper-active as I was last time, no this was different.  I was calm, mellow.  You must understand, I am NEVER calm.  I’m full of anxiety, most times, and when I am calm and mellow, it’s usually just before bed, or an hour after taking a Benadryl.

This was….so different.  I felt rational.  I felt very…calm.  I didn’t really think much about it the rest of the day until I sat down to write this. 

For the next couple of hours, at least, I prayed to Jesus that Shawn be given a new job, a good job, with good, decent people.  I prayed for a welding job, which he loves so much, and that the job would be so perfect, there would be no question whether it be right or wrong.  I prayed for Shawn to be showered with blessings, to be given strength, patience, to be led away from temptation and closer to God.  I prayed for my family, that they too, might know God.  I prayed for myself, for patience and understanding, for a direction in my life and guidance.  I prayed for a nudge to make me want to read the Bible, that I might learn something.  I prayed for Shawn to quit smoking, and for me to get off my nicotine habit, the Electronic Cigarette (see past posts).  I prayed that we would find a wonderful church here in the city instead of passing on the forty minuet drive nearly every Sunday to our regular church.    I prayed for strength in our marriage.  I prayed God would reach both me and Shawn and make us into He wants us to be, that we might help others and do what He wants us to do.

I do not yet know what my purpose is here.  Sure, we all have the purpose to love each other as much as possible before we die, but what are my aspirations?  What should I strive to do in life?  Surely it is not to clean stains from business men’s white shirts.  My relationship with God is easily described as my emotions--as a roller coaster.  Near and far, near and far.  Sometimes I battle God, sometimes, I yearn to be closer.  I prayed especially that He might show me what I am supposed to do while I am here.  Twenty-nine years and I am still not sure.  Maybe this is it.  This blog.  If I reach one person, would I be serving a purpose?  I think so.

I’ll admit that I am not a very good Christian.  I am not regular in church, I’m judgmental, and I complain too much.  I take everything for granted and I spend way too much time in front of the television.  I don’t treat my body as a temple, I’m addicted to nicotine, and I can be downright mean at times.  It’s hard for me to forgive, much less forget.  At times, I take too much stock in the things--merely things--that I don’t have, rather than be superbly grateful for all the blessings I do have.

Nobody said it was going to be easy.  But, I do believe I change.  Yes, I am that psycho girlfriend portrayed in all the romance-comedy movies.  But with God’s help, I can work to change that.  As it says in the Bible, and as my best email-buddy tells me so often…

I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.

Like A Record Skipping On Its Turntable Part 1

Something had been nagging at me to write this out.  I'm going to be showering about an hour before bed, still reeking of work but I felt like I needed to do this.  Usually when it's something very personal, I write it out onto a flashdrive to work out anger, depression, to maybe help me see some prespective.  I later delete it all when I'm feeling better.  However, I was hoping this might be of use to others.  For me, it has always helped to know I'm not the only one suffering through such irrational mess.  

This turned out to be just over five pages (!!!!) on Word, so I've split it into two parts.  



I’ve never apologized for who I am, which is one of the reasons I may not have any friends.  Shawn is my best friend, my mother is a close second.  I rarely speak to my sister, sometimes at family gatherings.  There’s no grudge there, we just don’t anything in common other than our mother.

Yeah, I’m loud, opinionated and I rarely think before I speak  This is difficult for me because I was raised in a strong Christian home and I always thought if I acted more like a Christian ought to act, maybe I could make a friend before I die.  Friendships are overrated.  Just one more way to get hurt.

So I’ve never apologized for who I am though I do hope you forgive me if I am coming off as “preachy”.  I do not mean to sound “preachy”, I merely wanted to explain something fascinating that’s happened to me over the last few weeks.  As you might’ve already read about my mood swings and severe depression, you know by now that I make no effort to hide myself.  There are plenty others who go through what I go through, and it always helps to know you’re not the only one out there suffering through the same mess.

Shawn and I had a HUGE fight beginning somewhere around March 15th and wrapping itself up late Sunday night, March 21st.  Even though we had settled and things had been resolved, I could not help but stew over things.

This went on for about two weeks straight.  I may have mentioned that while at work, I have nothing to occupy my brain.  So when a thought enters my head, it plays over and over and over, like record skipping on a turntable.  That’s annoying by itself, but imagine it being one, painful thought, torturing you all day, everyday.

Maybe I had not yet forgiven him.  Maybe I had and was simply still angry that we continue to have this fight.  Somewhere near the end of the second week, or maybe even possibly into the beginning of the third week, I’d just had it.

I can remember sermons being preached about banishing evil spirits.  Not everything evil is like the movie Poltergeist, I assure you.  And I’m not talking about sending legions of demons into a herd of swine.  This had become much simpler than that.

Something had seemingly taken over my thought process and I had let it.  I could not let this go, no matter how hard I tried.  But there it was.  It was I that was trying.  I searched my memory for past sermons I had heard as a kid and as an adult and I prayed I would do it correctly.  I had to try it; I was desperately tortured and the problem was that I was trying to take care of on my own.

I stood over the spotting board at work, working on a stain and prayed silently.  I asked Jesus to forgive me of my sins, sincerely, and I prayed for strength.

In the name of Jesus I command you to leave my thoughts.  I command you to immediately leave my head and leave me alone, by the blood of Christ, that was shed for me.  You have no power over me; I am a child of God and I belong to God and you shall not harm me!  You will leave and never come back.  I have the power of God in me because Christ shed his blood for my sins and by that power I demand that you leave!

This went on for about ten minuets.  I looked down at the stained shirt and had seen that I was merely drying a wet spot that had dried several minuets ago.

Immediately, I felt lighter than air.  I cannot fully explain it.  I felt as though load of cinder blocks had been lifted from my back.  I was elated.  I felt….

Free.

That, in itself is the only word that can really come close to describing what I had felt.  I was free from this mental torture.  It has not come back as of yet while I write this.


On another note, something else happened.  I am beginning to sense a trend here, as though there are unseen forces working to destroy either me and Shawn, or rather, just me.

Something that Shawn said in our last huge fight had hung onto me and I wanted to know more.  He works in apartment maintenance, which means he regularly goes into people’s homes.  I’m not naïve.  I know he sees things.  I know how women are these days and how aggressive they can be.  I questioned him about it on Friday, in a friendly, non-confrontational way.

He told me a couple of stories and I accepted them.  Of course the next day I was a wreck.  I found myself crying, hard, and after some reassurance and loving, kind words, I was alright.  Sunday morning, it started again.  Shawn was still sleeping while I tooled around the internet, making sure our online customers were happy and checking for orders.  The record continued to skip.

This time I became angry.  I prayed a prayer similar to what I had done at work, but this time, I did not ask politely.  I was downright ticked off!  The dog was so freaked out by my anger, she ran off to the living room.

Afterward, and for the rest of the day, I was alright. 

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Untitled

Shawn called in on Monday saying he had "personal issues" he needed to deal with and went to work at the welding gig--where supposedly things like safety had been corrected.

I personally had a good feeling about it all morning until Shawn called me on his lunch break.  He said first thing, they had a safety meeting.  All good intentions aside, literally less than 5 minuets after the safety meeting a man was screaming "Get it off me!  Get it off me!"

Apparently while lifting a panel, 2 on one side were ready, two men on the other side were not and it landed on one's foot.  The man's foot is broken.  On another occasion, a clamp broke and began to fall towards one of the workers.  Thankfully, luckily, the worker saw it just in time before it hit him in the back of the head with about 800 pounds of metal.

Shawn debated this all day, thinking this may be his only chance to weld.  "Do I go back to a job I hate, or do what I love and just wait to get hurt?"  This argument lasted hours but to sum up, Shawn went back to old job where he "might" get hurt and it wasn't a definete thing.

So when he came home yesterday he had a proposal.  Shawn has ALWAYS been in love with motorcycles and yet has never had one.  He once planned to build chassis and sell them over eBay until he made enough to buy his own bike.  He did sell one, but the profit was barely worth the time and effort put into it.  He continued to buy parts here and there (to my dismay) and there they sat in the old den and the garage.

He said he wanted to talk to me first.  He proposed going into buisiness with Ray.  Ray is the guy who was hired shortly after Shawn transferred in apartment complexes.  Ray and Shawn hit it off right away and I was glad to see it because Shawn has a thing about making friends:  They always burn you and it's not worth the time and grief.

Ray is a real cool dude, his english is about 90% (this IS Texas, duh) and mostly all he does is work, work, work to support his wife and two boys.  When Shawn called in on Monday & didn't provide a thorough reason, Ray and the manager over there blew up Shawn's phone with concerned vioce mail messages.  Ray even left a message on our home answering machine saying, "...If there's anything I can do or anything you need...."

What Shawn wants to do is build mini bikes to start, then graduate to full size custom bikes, building from the profits and so forth.  We can buy much of what we need on eBay as we always do and keep everything right here in the garage.  Supplies and materials would be split down the middle, as would profits, after the cost of another round of materials.  I told Shawn I had no problems with this as it has been his second love for many, many years (I'm his first, duh)

Ray seemed really excited about the deal though Shawn did tell him to talk it over with his wife first and foremost.  Shawn does not want to be the cause of any ripples.

Sometimes things are meant to be.  Shawn started looking for a job soon after he transferred to the complex.  Shawn has also been looking for an engine guy forever, someone he could really trust.  Shawn is great with his hands, knows a lot of stuff, but knows little about engines.  Coincidenatlly, Ray knows tons about engines.  Coincidents are God's way of remaining annonymous, right?

I was at first concerned about going in with someone else as I've read story after story of two friends going into business together, one burns the other, and they never speak again.  Shawn reassured me over and over this would not happen.

This could be a really great thing & I'm interested to see how things pan out.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Weird Weekend

Shawn had went back to his old job last Monday.  He went to the welding job he had quit to pick up his check and spoke to the boss for about 30 minuets.  They discussed the issues Shawn had at great length.  On Saturday, the boss called twice.  He wants to make Shawn a table foreman, they’ve fired the trouble makers and the losers.  They want to send Shawn to get a couple of welding certifications.

They’re fighting to get Shawn back.  We’ve been struggling with this all weekend.  On the one hand, if Shawn stays with Kenny, he has job security to some extent.  But Kenny has never cared about Shawn’s safety.  Shawn needed extensive knee surgery due to this type of work and no one there seemed to care.  Workman’s comp didn’t pay much, it simply kept the bills paid while Shawn laid up in the bed for a month healing. 

He’s ran into apartments and put out fires before the truck arrived.  He was involved in a police shooting where a bullet whizzed by his head by a few inches.  And has Kenny recognized Shawn for any of this?  Has Shawn received any extra benefits or pay?  In fact, he received a pay cut in January.  Also, I always consider the fact that many of the employees are riding on free rent and titles.

Where opportunities where open or available, they were not given to Shawn.  He’s worked there almost twelve years, working HARD, and has been passed over at every chance. 

I personally didn’t know what to tell him.  I was split down the middle.  My dad said that going with the welding job was risky because they might lose the contract, yes.  However, staying with Kenny would certainly be risky because Shawn would never get anywhere, obviously.

Shawn has had no intention of staying with Kenny; he merely wanted to finish school.  And Kenny has made even this simple task hard on Shawn.

The welding job would give Shawn experience, knowledge, something on his resume’.  After a week with these people, they want to make him table foreman and pay for his certs.  Either choice is a gamble.  Shawn hates working for Kenny and only wants to weld.

Shawn’s mother said it seemed these people for fighting to keep him and asked would Kenny ever do that.  Good point. 

When Shawn was transferred from one apartment complex to the other, the first fell apart around itself.  It was quite obvious who was getting things done over there.  So when Shawn put in his two weeks’ notice, Kenny said, OK, bye-bye.

Kenny didn’t offer Shawn anything to make him stay.  Kenny has never offered anything to Shawn other than grief.

After much prayer, I myself am leaning towards the welding job.  Shawn has apoken to much of our family and they all seem to push him towards this choice.  “If they want to put you in a position of power, that’s going to look good on any application you fill out anywhere,” my dad said.

There are so few choices in the job market these days.  Shawn’s been looking since last October.  He doesn’t want to leave us stranded if the contracts don’t pan out, yet he doesn’t want to work for Kenny a second longer. 

I told him last night that I could push a mop.  If he took the job and the worst were to happen, I could push a mop in the evenings, he could get a couple jobs pushing a mop; we would not be left without.  Even though the job market is tight, you can still find part-time jobs around here cleaning toilets.  A job is a job, and it would keep us fed. 

Of course, I hope it would not come to that.  I hope in whatever Shawn decides, he would thrive and be happy with his work.  I don’t know yet what Shawn will decide, ultimately.  I think today, we will do our normal Easter Sunday thing and continue to hash things out.

I haven’t been to church in a couple months.  Perhaps it will do us some good.  It could not hurt! 

Friday, April 2, 2010

Part Two: My Inner Child Says You're A Big Poopie Head

Another excerpt from what I had originally planned to become a book.  Or a really thick pamphlet.

When you consider that I am twenty-seven years old as I begin this, you may say to yourself, “What do you know?  You’re a baby!”  Yeah, well….YOU”RE A BABY!  Nanner-Nanner!  Of course, I might be forty-seven by the time this is completed and then you might be saying, “My, how you’ve grown and….wait, you didn’t mature at all!”  To which I will say, “Maturity is overrated!”  And it is, when you think of it.
  
When we are younger, we laugh out loud, to the point of almost crying when someone embarrasses themselves by letting out one of those squishy farts at an alarming, startling audible level.  Though it seems to lose its laughability as we age.  Why is that?  Booger jokes are no longer funny, they’re just dumb.   A belch that rattles the windows is no longer a situation that causes us to laugh until we pee a little (though it might produce a soft applause, which is a standard response to window-rattling).
  
This is why I have refused to mature.  Yeah, yeah, I go to work and pay the bills.  I run errands and take care of all the necessary stuff that life requires us to in this day and age.  But--and this is a big “but” so get ready--I have refused to grow up.  I am grown up in the sense that I vote, pay endless amounts of money to the government and occasionally get constipated just from stress alone.  The difference between me and most adults is that I find a good, smart booger joke to be completely hilarious.
 
Now, don’t get me wrong.  I do have standards.  I will not laugh at something so juvenile that a five-year-old wouldn’t snicker at.  But yeah, I do like some good toilet humor as long as it’s smart.  I play pranks at work.  I tell stupid jokes.  I like Monty Python.  The odd thing about me though, it’s hard to get me to laugh out loud.  I might think something is funny and not laugh at all.  On the other hand, when one of our dogs farts and the stink is so bad it could be considered a weapon of mass destruction I will laugh until tears are running down my face and I pee just a little as I run with my legs crossed to the bathroom, laughing all the way.  It takes real talent to run with your legs crossed.
 
You just can’t beat a good dog fart.  I don’t know if it’s the food, or the fact that they eat their own doody, but bottle this stuff up and drop it over whatever country we’re invading at the moment and I guarantee victory or your money back.
 
If your reading this and thinking, “Oh my!  How disgusting!”  I would suggest that you take a deep breath before reading the following statement:  It’s going to get much worse.  
 
Disgusting words you may find leaping off the page at any given time, but not necessarily pertaining to any subject:  booger, snot, diarrhea, toe jam, any and all forms of the word poop--including doody, fart, underpants, and any degree of the various disgusting infections that you can hear any patron loudly, yet calmly, discussing over their cell phone while in your local supermarket (I hate those guys, don‘t you?).  If any of these words truly offend you then I would advise that you read no further.  I would also advise that you take yourself down to your local hardware store (also known as “Home Depot”) and purchase yourself a sense of humor, preferably a new model.  Those used models tend to break down very quickly.
 
Why can’t we talk about this?  Why is it embarrassing?  Why do we giggle behind someone’s back instead of laughing with them?  It has long been considered in our American society to be gross by farting in public.  Why?  Who made it a rude gesture?  I get more rude gestures on the interstate than in the local Wal-Mart.  I wish we could trade flipping off motorists for farting.  Now that would be fun. 
 
It’s not like I don’t know that you fart.  Like, you’re the only one in the world that that has never farted (your stomach cramps must be unbearable).  As if I don’t know it was you as you hurry away from the canned goods.  And why should you hurry away?  You should be proud!  That was a masterful feat.  You must have had Mexican food for supper last night.  You should admit to your triumph and expect a soft applause from people like me and accept it graciously.  But don’t get cocky about it. 
  
All I am saying is that we should lighten up as a society.  We’re so tense and I think a lot of that comes from holding it in.  It comes out in other ways such as cutting off each other in the streets, gabbing loudly on our cell phones in public, and screaming at the solicitor who has just called in the middle of dinner.
 
Just let it out.  The whole lot of you.  If we all do it, it won’t be considered gross or rude.  And who knows, we might get a nice little chuckle out of it.
   
    Hey, that was a nice one!  Did you have a burrito for lunch?  I’d be willing to bet that your stress level has already decreased.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Part One: Introduction

Finally, I'm going to start posting the best of the best (or what I thought was the best) from my old, abandoned blog.  Here is page one....

As a child, I loved to draw and write.  Even if I wasn’t very good at it, I would create little “books” out of notebook paper, stapled together and complete with illustrations.  I was going to be an artist, I told myself.  Of course at one point in my young life, I also vowed to become a ballerina.  No one told me then that short girls do not become professional dancers, so I had no reason to believe otherwise.  I was determined to be a ballerina-princess.  Yes, a princess!

    Naturally, the wish to become a dancer only lasted for about a minuet.  Later, I wanted to become a rock star, only minus the cocaine habit.  In the end, I decided that I was simply in a rush to begin adulthood.  I moved out at seventeen, after receiving my high school diploma, thank you very much.  I moved in with my boyfriend of three years and we married three years later.  I was twenty for those of you with fuzzy math skills. 

Shawn (the husband) was twenty-two when we married.  I had begun a--ha ha--lucrative career in blue collar and Shawn had done the same.

    Still, I kept writing.  As an adult I had found the notebooks I had filled with teenage angst.  A whole pile of them.  I browsed through them.  Whole pages, front and back, in tiny writing were nothing more than the words of a seriously messed up teenage girl filled with anger, depression, and self loathing.

    I decided it wasn’t worth keeping.  I bagged them up and carried them to the Dumpster behind our house.  I considered the hours and hours I put into writing those pages.  Then I considered that those long hours and hours were merely a waste and wasn’t me anymore.  Hasn’t been for a long, long time.  I had a sense of pride as I trotted (yes, trotted) away from the Dumpster.  The old me was in the trash.  I had little to remind anyone of the old me unless you count the thousands of photos my mother hoards in her albums. 

    I still think I was too short to pull off the Grunge Look.  My generation was told that we could be whatever we wanted.  They were wrong.  My fingers are much too short to be a concert pianist.  My feet are too ugly (thanks, Dad) for me to become a foot model.  But anyone can be a writer.  Anyone.  In the age of YouTube and blogging, everyone can have their very own fifteen minuets of fame, even is all it amounts to is a prospective employer viewing some embarrassing footage of you on the internet that your college roommate posted, unbeknownst to you.

    So why not me?  I’ll probably write hundreds of pages, only to lose it all in a horrible Pepsi Virus (Definition:  When someone spills Pepsi onto the keyboard and the computer explodes), cry for days until I try to give it another go.  Then I’ll spend two years trying to get published until I give up and offer my book for free in a downloadable form and continue on in the wonderful world of blue collar.

    But I’ll never know if I don’t at least try.  If you’re reading this, I only hope it is in the form of a real book and not a bunch of papers stapled together.  Please don’t laugh at my illustrations.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Unmovable

Today was another weird day.  Yesterday many of my coworkers were asking why I seemed so down.  I didn’t exactly feel as though I had to explain myself.  Idiots.

This morning on my way to work the train was crossing Industiral Boulevard and I got stuck smack dab in the middle of the bridge.  I rarely catch the train and when I do I can often make it to the exit.  I found myself estimating the weights of the vehicles in front of me.  The Coca-Cola truck, the SUV, the mid-sized sudan….No Idea.  Even since I was young I’ve had a problem with bridges.  Not heights, mind you, but the idea of being suspended on a piece of construction built by the lowest bidder and holding up not only myself, but thousands of pounds of metal, upholstery and whatever is in the trunk.

I began to panic.  My heart pounded and my breathing became heavy and rapid.  Even though I sat in the car all alone I said aloud, “I don’t like this!  I don’t like this!” over and over.  I must have looked like a cat being crated for the first time.

I was finally able to make my way to the bridge exit so I could loop to the interstate.  Fourty minuets later, my smoking gadget, The Chuck, quit on me.  The atomizer (herein referred to as an “atty”) is what heats the liquid nicotine and water mixture and turns it into a vaper, allowing the user to inhale like a cigarette.  This is what keeps me from smoking currently and has kept me quit for nearly two months.  It died.  I dug through my purse and found my spare; never leave home without a spare everything.

My spare, brand new, out of the package, was completely dead.  I announced I had to run home and would be right back.  I clocked out and made my way home as fast as possible.  I nearly made Shawn crap himself when he heard shuffling around from the front of the house.  Good thing he was already hovered over the toilet.  New atty in hand, and everything working as it should, I got my needed nicotine fix and hurried back to work.

This is God’s sense of humor at work:  I got stuck on the bridge AGAIN by another train (or possibly the same one moving at a rate of two feet per minute) and got stuck on the bridge AGAIN.

Once on the interstate though, I felt a sensation I hadn’t recognized for a couple days.  I was hungry.  Really hungry.  I ate an apple about an hour later and stayed quit busy for the rest of the day.  Maybe you might say there is no God, but I believe there certainly is and He knew exactly what I needed to take my mind off everything.  I was actually hungry, for crying out loud.

Once I got off work, nine hours later and exhausted, I rushed through my errands and ran a marathon around the house getting Shawn’s dinner and school stuff ready while trying to shower and keep tabs on our flashlight e-cig customers.  I did chores with lightening speed because I knew I would hate to them tomorrow, on my birthday.

Shawn came home from work, I slammed a chicken sandwich in him and shoved him off to school.  A short time later, I found myself at the funeral home where I expected a simple evening visitation.  First of all, it was standing room only.  I stood alone in sea of strangers of all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors.

It was a full blown service, complete which beautiful music and a testimony of Marianne’s life.  A short, amazing sermon on salvation was given and a woman spoke of all the wonderful things Marianne had doone in her fifty-five years.  Marianne’s husband, David, spoke a very long time on Marianne’s giving and ministry and kindness, and love.  David sang many of her favorite songs, part in English, part in Spanish and it melding together like butter and sugar in a beautiful bi-lingual manner. 

Growing up in Texas you cannot live your life not picking up some Spanish, though I did not quite recognize the praise songs until David began to sing in English.  He has an amazing voice.

I saw only a couple people from work.  Enedina, who worked with Marianne in the alterations department for several years, her daughter Amanda.  I felt a hand on my back, there was Austin, the eighteen year old boy who works the front counter part-time.  I could be wrong, I mean, it’s hard to tell from the backs of heads but that was the only ones I saw from work. 

Marianne was one of those people you knew was different.  She had love in her heart and in her life, the kind of love only God can give.  I hate to sound preachy with this, but her actions and the way she spoke told you she had God in her heart, even if she not yet spoken to you about God.

Marianne was unmovable in her faith, never moving.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Oooooh!!! Shocking!!

I pulled up my homepage and there's this little news thing that is displayed there.  Take the term "news" lightly.  It's usually just celebrity bs that no one ever cares about.  Not people that have better things to do than keep up with all the celbrities' babies names anyway.

sigh.

So anyhow, there's a big 'ol picture of Ricky Martin with the bold headline RICKY MARTIN COMES OUT ONLINE

Yeah, I'm just as shocked as you are.  In fact, I'm as equally as shocked as when that weird looking dude from the one of those boy bands offically "came out".  You know, the one who tried to hitch a ride on a space shuttle or something.  HA HA HA!!!!!!!!

Feeling a little better.  I took a Benadryl to help relax--only one.  I am a light weight, I know, I know.  I'm suprised Advil doesn't knock me out like everything else.  First time in well over a week I've taken anything other than Advil so I think it's safe to say I'm dealing with things a little better.  This week anyways.  Next week might be different.

Have a $10 coupon for a large meat lover's pizza at Pizza Hut.  I now have dinner planned for the 31st of March, 2010.  I'll be twenty-nine year old.

...and freaking out.

;-D

To All Things...

It’s been a rough week, to say the least.  Shawn quit his new job on Friday due to safety concerns and things not being run the way things they ought to be.  I could write pages on the details but I’ll spare you the boredom.  He did get his old job back but his 401(k) will be all screwed up and he won’t have any vacation for a year.

This job thing cost us some money and he was really upset over the whole deal.  With that done and taken care of and the two of us feeling better about the job situation, I got my birthday meal on Saturday.

My sister, her husband and their four kids had made plans three weeks ago for my birthday weekend.  “They didn’t know…” Mom said.

Completely and totally joking I said, “They didn’t know?  My birthday has fallen on the 31st every year for the last twenty-eight!”

Of course I must emphasize how much I was joking because here’s the deal:  Either we could all get together on Easter Sunday and have pie or cake or whatever after dinner, or Mom said she would make chicken fried steak on Saturday.  Guess which one I chose?  I haven’t had Mom’s steak, mashed potatoes and homemade gravy in years.

I was in absolute Heaven.  Dad made a huge peach cobbler which came out perfectly and Mom had bought an Edward’s chocolate pie.  Both were divine, ha ha.

It’s the kind of gif that cannot be ordered or purchased.  To eat a meal that I didn’t cook is really something special to me. 

Ah, and then there’s the other thing.  Marianne had had congential heart disease for years upon years.  She was always in and out of the hospital because once the heart has issues, every other organ seems to follow suit.  I spent a lot of time with Marianne at work, in between things to do, chatting it up.

Last Thursday, Marianne’s husband called the store and said that she would be sent home on hospice care, given two weeks to live.  I brushed it off because Marianne has always gone down and bounced right back up like it was nothing.  “I feel fine.  I’m only sick, because they tell me I’m sick,” she would say, speaking of the doctors.

She once fell into a coma.  The doctors asked her husband what he wanted to do.  “Give it three days.  If she doesn’t wake up after three days, then we’ll do it,” Marianne’s husband had said.

Marianne woke up from her coma on the third day.

Mom called yesterday and asked for Marianne’s last name.  I gave it to her and asked if it was in the obituaries.  It was.

I checked it out online since we don’t get the newspaper and made sure it was Marianne.  There was her husband’s name, followed by the names of her four grown children.  She was fifty-five years old.  And about one of the sweetest people you could ever meet.

Marianne helped me when I had my wisdom tooth pulled.  She was the one who told me to alternate Tylenol and Advil when I couldn’t take Vikodens at work.  She constantly encouraged all my quit -smoking tries.  She was so happy when I quit and always asked how my mother (who she’d never met) was doing with her quitting smoking.

It’s been a rough day because most people go to work to get their minds off things.  My job is so mundane and boring that once a thought enters my head, it just strings along all day.  The folks in the back didn’t spend as much with Marianne as I did so I felt alone for the most part.  My stomach has churned since the moment my feet touched the floor this morning and the faintest smell of food makes me ill.  I feel as though I’m going to throw up and I know this is all simply due to my issues with anxiety.

I can however rejoice in the personal knowledge of Marianne’s faith.  I know she is with God now.  That, I am sure of and I know it deep in my heart.  Never again will she need to spend the night in that awful hospital.

I’m gonna miss you, Marianne.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

The Roller Coaster is On The Way Up Again

Felt as though I had an obligation to my (HA!) four followers.  Oh well, gotta start somewhere, right?  Next, I'll begin posting that 23 pages of good stuff--all worth a read and most of it is very funny.  My cousin said so.

Haven't had time to write much.  Shawn started his new job on Monday.  We were fighting for a solid week up till Sunday night.  His fault, he said so.  It's one of those recurring fights where nothing actually gets solved, it just keeps repeating itself.  I love him dearly, I just hate it when he makes me hurt emotionally and cry.

Been busy trying to get stuff Shawn needs for new job, keeping up with errands, work, extra errands, cook Shawn some dinner, send him to night school, do more chores....all of this has kept me very busy.  I only got my post-fight appetite back somewhat last night.  I ate 156 calories worth of popcorn.  It's a start anyway.  Say what you will about depression, but it works wonders on a waistline.  Joke in poor taste, I know.

Been OK this week for being so busy.  Next week will be equally busy.  Mom is giving me some money for my birthday and I desperately need sneakers.  On my feet all day & there's not much left to my current sneakers.  I'd also like to get this hack-job of a haircut I gave myself fixed.  I was sick of going to bed with wet hair so in February, I just began cutting.  It's really uneven because I didn't take my time at all.  I found a lady accross town who cut my hair once & I loved it; I'll go to her.  Also gonna get my teeth cleaned.  I quit smoking nearly 2 months ago--still haven't had that done.

While Shawn & I were fighting, I thought about smoking for 3 straight days.  On Sunday, I tried it.  It burned the back of my throat.  Felt like my thraot was on fire and tasted like I had licked one of those ashtrays that sit outside of 7-11.  It was Monday before the taste went away.  That's a good thing though.  It means I'm done for good.

Shawn is now smoking full time again.  I spent 3 hours scrubbing down the bathroom--he's smoking in there in the mornings.  Oh well.  At least I didn't paint yet.

There have been little things going wrong, things that would normally cause me to freak out but I've done OK.  Searcging for the correct respirator for Shawn (because he's welding galvanized steel--go do an internent search on zinc oxide) has been a night mare.  The lawn mower started, died, started again, died.  Then it rained.  If you look at the front lawn it appears that no one lives here.  There's more.  Usually when lots of little things pile up on is when I start to freak out but past couple days I've been dealing like a "normal" person would and not going into panic attacks or crying because one. more. thing. went. wrong.

Get it?
Asking for advice on meds, I posted to a depression forum, hoping to save some hassle in the future because the roller coaster will surely come back down ina few days.  For some insight, here are my replies in that thread:

My insurance doesn't cover psychiatry, therapy or anything like that. I have been to regular doctors for medication but it's always let's try this one, now let's try that one, over & over. They just pick one off the list and co-pay me to death

My moods are sporadic, the slightest thing can set me off into a rage, put me into a deep depression, etc. And my emotions are to the extreme. When I'm happy, nothing can go wrong. When I am sad, I wish I was dead. When I'm angry, I wish someone else was dead.

When I get down, it's hard to come back up. I'm very insecure and I have suffered with depression since I was a child. (my parents put me in therapy when I was 14, Lithium and it didn't help)

I need something that's available in a generic, won't cause weight gain, and doesn't have seriously scary side effects--the last pill a doctor gave me caused most reviewers to gain 10 pounds each month and as former big girl--i just won't do it. It also caused blood sugar to rise & fall dramatically. I don't want diabetes!

I have ZERO sex drive and Wellbutrin sounded promising but I was very allgeric to it.

At the end of my rope here. Husband doesn't understand why I go through this & I have no friends, no one to talk to about it all.

Does anyone have a recommendation for medication that I can take to my doctor and say I'd like to try this one?

I'm 29 yr old female, married, no kids

………………………………...........................................

I have considered bipolar yes. The last doctor I saw said what i described sounded boarderline bipolar. She gave me something that had something for a mood disorder and an anti-depressant in it.

I don't spend much money on this stuff. I had given up on it a while ago because I couldn't afford it. Usually now, it's just co-pay and the doctor will give me samples or I'll pay $15 for a generic presciption.

This feels so hopeless & i have no one to talk to.

………………………………................................................

Thanks for the advice. When things are like a roller coaster, it will take very little put me into angry/depression mode and then I stay there. The next day I may wake up fine or I may wake up angry/wishing i were dead.

This can last a couple days to a couple weeks. Same as the highs. I can be up for a couple weeks, a couple months even (rarely) but i often feel as though i cannot deal with things at times.

For example, my husband & i were fighting for a solid week. I barely ate and I took benadryl to make me fall asleep (only 1 or 2--i do not go over board) and i do this to "get away" from the problem. I resorted to causing bruises on myself where it could easily be hidden because I couldn't do anything with the pain i felt.

in hindsight, I did this about a month ago. I spent 2 straight days in bed over the weekend, not eating and keeping myself drugged slightly. I again bruised myself as a way to make the emotional pain into something I could understand. There was nothing to upset me; it just came on that friday at work--feeling worthless, not useful to anyone or anything, literally wishing i were dead. Nothing "happened" at work. Things slowed down & I became bored.

Past three days, better. Husband & I made up 3 days ago, getting appetite back but still only taking in about 700 calories per day--better than nothing. Sleeping solid at night with no drugs. This may last a week or two.

I do find when I am extremely busy between work, home, and other stuff I am more content because I do not have time to dwell on things.


Not sure if the bupropion I was given last year was SR or what--when I can get to the doctor, I may bring these up to her. Therapy is really not an option right now, money is a little tight but I can do another $35 co-pay in a couple weeks so I will mention these things.


for the record, since we've stopped fighting, my sex drive is off the charts.  This is new to me.  Between that and maturely dealing with broken things, I feel like a whole new person.  Not sure how long this will last.  Wish I could be like this all the time and become a functional & productive member of society.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Radium Barrier

Ring, Ring...

Me:  Hello?
(short pause)
Unknown:  Hello?
Me:  Yeah, I just said that
Unknown:  Hey, Misty what's going on?
Me:  Who is this?
Unknown:  This is Jason with something-something and we're calling everyone on West Avenue to see if they've checked the radium barrier in their attic.
Me:  Excuse me?  Radium what?!
Jason:  Radiant barrier.  It's sprayed on the rafters and support beams on the inside of the attic and helps protect, blah, blah, blah, talking, talking, talking, helps the air conditioner be more efficient--
Me:  Oh!  Radiant barrier.  Wait--are you the guy that sells this stuff for the company that makes it?
Jason:  Yes! And blah, blah, blah--
Me:  OK, then.  You need to call someone else to try to sell to, because we're broke and not interested in having some weird chemical sprayed all ove rthe attic.  Thank you!

Jason's voice trailed off as I cradled the phone and then he was gone and out of of my life forever.
Here's a little tip to you phone sales-creeps out there.  Refer to me as "Mrs. Jones" and DO NOT, I repeat, do not try to act like you're some buddy of mine.  I know better because I don't have any friends.  So there.

Go get a real job you shlub.



Note:  I can't find the spell check button because I didn't copy & paste from Word as usual.  So btie me.
HA HA!!

Friday, March 19, 2010

Dr. Jekell & Mr. Hyde

I honestly don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.  Am I a product of environment, or was I made this way in same way that the color of my eyes was decided.  It doesn’t really matter.  I haven’t felt like writing whether for public or private.  I began writing again because I thought it might help me work some things through.  As a teenager, I wrote and wrote and wrote.  It was all for nothing because that stack of notebooks is rotting somewhere in a dump under a pile of bacteria and electronics’ chemicals.

A few weeks ago, I found myself on my knees on the cold kitchen floor, sobbing like a person who had just learned their best friend was horribly murdered.  It was nothing like that, of course.  I don’t remember what, if anything set me off that time.  Sometimes I just wake up like that.  Sometimes, a small thing will upset me.

I’ve began o revert to my old ways of bruising myself and when desperate to get away from world, taking something that will help me sleep.  I haven’t mutilated myself as I did before.  It hasn’t come to that.  At this stage, as insecure and as fat and ugly as I feel, I don’t think I cut hurt myself in a permanent manner.  A bruise heals quickly and he’d never notice it since it’s still chilly and I’m still in sweat pants around the house. 

All I have to do is keep the lights dim.  We’ve been there twice and he never noticed it.  Not that I’d want him too.  I already told him I wanted to start looking into anti-depressants again.  This was met with little discussion or reaction.  I’m not sure what he thinks about it.  He didn’t really say anything about it.

“If that’s what you’d like to do.”

So, I don’t know if this idea upsets him, makes him nervous, or glad to hear.  I don’t know.  That’s men, really.  They don’t communicate.

I tried to be OK yesterday.  I really worked hard to push it all out of my mind.  Today I just couldn’t.  I simply woke up feeling funky.  Really, a just-don’t-care kind of mood.  Nausea hit again and my stomach makes a rumbling that reminds me of that Simpson’s episode where Homer get hit in the gut with a cannon ball repeatedly.

I want to join a gym and see a dermatologist.  I want to get my teeth white and straight.  I want a (good) boob job.

Will these things make me happy?  If I had them, I mean.  I doubt it.  Even if I had all of that, the killer body, perfect skin…I’d probably look into the mirror and see a fat, ugly loser staring right back at me.

What was I thinking starting a blog?  I thought I could keep it light and airy.  Who wants to sit there and read this crap anyway?  I wouldn’t.

I hate this.  I wish there was someone I could talk to--anyone--that would understand this and fix me.  I cannot talk to him.  No, that’s ridiculous.  To spare him, I told him I wasn’t comfortable talking to him about this when I brought up the anti-depressant search.  He wouldn’t understand.  Never has.  I’ve spent a total combined time of five or six hours reading up on different drugs and user reviews.  I’ve wrote down a few things.  Even one that was prescribed to me long ago but I never took it.  I don’t know yet. 

Where am I going to get the money to pay for a visit to the dermatologist?  Doctors visits and co-pays and drugs….I really hate staying after work.  I should be using that time to go for a run or something, maybe try to shed the fat off this body.  Maybe it won’t make me “happy” but it might perhaps make me a bit more secure with myself.

I really don’t know.  I just don’t know.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Growing Up and Moving On

I’ve been selling off our toy collection.  It was a mutual agreement that we do this since the toys have been sitting in boxes, unlooked at, not enjoyed at all.  We both felt as though we’d sort of outgrown it all.  So, little by little, I’ve been taking out things here and there.  We decide that no, we don’t want to keep it, and I list it on eBay for a fair price, sometimes taking the best offer.

The last three things we sold made us one-hundred and fifteen dollars.  Not bad, but probably not a massive profit.  We learned that these figures would be opened an enjoyed on a shelf by someone who still loves to collect X-Men and whatnot.

It was a little sad.  I opened a couple things to save the guy on shipping, only after I confirmed three times he really did not want the packaging, of course.  The box gives a toy its value, protecting it from man’s skin flakes and harmful dust particles.  The better the condition of the box, the better the price the item will fetch.  I delicately placed all of these things in a box myself, years ago, careful to avoid the bending og backing cards or scratching the surface of a plastic blister.


It seems silly, I know to keep something in it’s box.  It should be released from it’s tiny prison and displayed so it may be enjoyed as a small conversation starter.  What’s the point of buying something if you leave it in the box?  Years ago, I bought a set of cheap curtains.  I certainly did not leave them in the plastic wrapping they came in.  No, I ironed them and hung them in the windows, proud of my color coordination.

As I cut the tape on the side of the box, I felt weird.  It was like I was destroying a little piece of Shawn and mine’s history.  We shopped for this together.  We sometimes drove to three different stores looking for a figure in pristine packaging, paying a dollar or two more in a store that kept these types of things on the top shelf, out of small hands.



Ironically, it was the comic book thing that sort of got us together.  Shawn hadn’t known many chicks into that sort of thing and well, here I come along, toting X-Men trading cards, plucked from my bedroom which was wallpapered in Batman and Star Wars posters.

But it is simply cheaply, painted plastic.  And we’re not enjoying them.  Can’t we at least feel good about getting back the money we spent on the toys?  We know someone else is enjoying them and we have a little extra money in our pocket.  Hopefully enough to put into the can for a flat screen TV. 

Still, as I pulled the figures from their molded plastic display, I couldn’t help but feel sentimental about it all.  We would spend every Saturday scouring the stores for the next big thing.  We spent every weekend together, spending money we really didn’t have, but we did it together. 

As I wrapped each figure in plastic Wal-Mart bags to prevent scratching, I didn’t feel more grown up.  I felt as though I’d lost something.  Since I really don’t care about these toys, it wasn’t the value of a righteously protected toy-in-the-box for ten years.  I felt as though I’d lost a part of my youth, part of the fun Shawn and I used to have together just by simply spending too much money on worthless things.

Oh well.  Live free, Jean Gray, Scott Summers.  Fly on, Storm. 

Aw, screw it.  You know what?  Good riddance!  We’re gonna (hopefully) make enough money to get a flat screen!  Yee-haw!!!


SHAMELESS PLUG....if you're looking for any toys our eBay seller ID is table-top-warrior
Feel free to add to our Flat Screen TV Fund