Tuesday, January 31, 2012

How My Heart Behaves

Well, I went in the RA doctor's office ready to hear the bad news, sign the waivers (after peeing in a cup to prove I wasn't pregnant), get the lecture on how my new wonder drug will stay in my system for up to 2 years after I stop taking it. I get, I get it, I GET IT! I will start my look for an IUD tomorrow. No babies for me, no a lot of things for me. I get it, I'm getting robbed as my Dad says.

Then the bomb dropped.

I was asked to take this new blood test called the Vectra-DA test. It is the latest and greatest in the world of Rheumatology. This test measure 12 certain proteins that are only distinctive to people with Rheumatoid Arthritis. There is a scale of activity from 0 to 100. They calculate the 12 proteins and those specific percentages and then they calculate some other fancy pants formula to give you your dumb dumb head number. Mine is 70. Now I think 70 isn't that bad, but apparently it is one of the highest numbers my office has seen, and one of the highest numbers the lab in San Francisco has seen. I'm like..."no shit sherlock". I knew my disease wasn't under control but I didn't know what was coming next.

The test tested a CRP. My CRP was quadruple the normal range and I was in the 99% tile for that. What is a CRP you ask? That is one of the biggest inflammation markers, in particular an inflammation marker for your heart. I read in the past how some RA patients suffer with heart issues, well I'm one of them now. I have an inflamed heart that needs immediate attention. So not only do I have to go to the hoo-ha doctor for a painful IUD, now I have to race to get to a cardiologist to have my inflamed heart checked out. When does it ever effin end? I always knew I was an over-achiever, apparently Rita is too. My Rheumatoid Arthritis is an over achiever.

My doctor looked legitimately sad for me today, so much so, she gave me a hug. I didn't break down. I waited until I got in the car for that part. I came home in shock and the tears wouldn't stop flowing. I have to compartmentalize what happened to me today and what will continue to happen to me. I do not know how long that will take but I am shellshocked. I hate to be a complainer, I know people have it worse. I just don't know how much worse.

So, as I drug myself up and attempt to shut my brain off, I keep listening to two songs on repeat.

How my heart behaves...it behaves inflamed apparently. Then Shellshocked.

I planned on writing 365 posts, but writing double today will lend me one for tomorrow that I will not write. I need alone time in my own head. I have to give my heart a break before it attacks.




Mourning the loss of someone I never had

Rita's done it. She finally nailed her last nail in my coffin. Here lies, Andrea of normal body and a reproductive Goddess. Not. I'm about to go in, take my bad news like any solid person would take their lickings. I'm going in to be told I'm being put on yet another wonder drug for Rheumatoid Arthritis, yet this is the drug that will finally ruin any chance, thought, or glimmer of hope for having a baby. I'm mourning a baby I never had. Or is it that I'm mourning the fact that I'm truly no longer a tip top shape of female species? I'm sad that I will once again go through something horrendous like this alone. Instead of planning future plans of weddings and starting my own family, I have to now concentrate on which IUD will be best for me so I don't risk the chance of having a severely deformed baby. I'm now planning on how I no longer have hopes of any 32 year old female normalcy I'm entitled to. It's done, Rita won. She took my last hope and wish away. I'm empty and have nothing else to give, or anything else for her to take. I am in a serious mourning phase. I do know that. So in about 2 hours, I have to put a brave face on and sign off that I will take all precautionary measures not to have a baby on this wonder drug which will strip me of my hair, my liver, and my kidney function. I will listen to the shpeal on how this might slow the progression of my running rampant Rita. The doc doesn't get it. Nothing or no one stops Rita. Rita is me as a disease. She's a relentless and feisty bitch. She's out for revenge and she won.

So when I'm finally married, I'll now be able to say I can't have kids and get those awful "poor you" looks. I get those looks as it is now with my disease and my age. I feel alone and no one to talk to about this. It's been a rough go and the odds are not in my favor. Wish me luck and bravery as I walk in there.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Let your Bitch Flag Fly Toots

My mom stated to me today, "let your bitch flag fly toots" when I left for my umpteenth court hearing for that WONTON disregard I have for property. Well, today was priceless. I came to the conclusion that there are a lot and I mean A LOT of bad asses in this world, these bad asses named me small fry today. There were over 200 criminals and no room to breathe. The A-L section were cry babies...as one guy convicted of kidnapping called them pussies.

The M-Z crowd was the tough crowd. I was part of that tough crowd. We went to an unattended overflow room for an hour and we all got to talking. When finally one guy asked me, "Excuse Snow White, but what the hell are you in here for? You look like you don't belong." I stated "I'm bad ass". They all laughed at me in the room. I told them my story and they all laughed at me and couldn't believe why I was in there. We all were herded back downstairs and the roll call began by the meanest DA I've ever come across. She was young and had something to prove. She would roll her eyes and belittle other lawyers in there. I was thinking, hell I could do this job! Hahahaha.

My judge called me out personally and asked what I was doing in there. I told him, "quite frankly your honor, I haven't a clue". He then yelled at the court and cops to stop making a names for themselves out there and bringing in BS cases. I was dismissed but I have to go back April 23rd. I have no clue where this is going, but I do know the court system here is nuts. It's such a colossal waste of tax payers money. One old lady has been appealing for 2 years. She was 70 something. I say just die with "misdemeanor" on your headstone and get street cred up there by the pearly gates.

What a waste of a day and a cause of an unwanted and unneeded headache. Ugh. Calgon, take me away.

These are the only pics I was able to snatch.


Even the architectural aspects of this building is morose and atrocious I might add.





My theme song today? REBEL YELL by Billy Idol.....duh.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

I have Dockets in my Pockets

There should be a Dr. Seuss book for adults who are fighting misdemeanors. It should be aptly titled "Do You Dockets In Your Pockets?" Like that old saying "do you have a rocket in your pocket?"...slang for packing heat. All I'm packing for tomorrow's court appeal are two magazines (Allure and US), a snickers bar, and a pack of Starbursts. I plan on enjoying the show.

I looked up my docket for tomorrow. There are 211 of us shhhhmoees fighting the system. Yet, let's play the game "One thing is just not like the other". I will be in a room with some of these other punks and their charges. Ready for the litany of awesome charges I'm hanging with?

DWI=Driving while impaired (a good 40% of the 211 had this charge)
First Degree Murder
Possession of Pot
Possession of cocaine/intent to deal/intent to steal/intent to snort, lick, or rub...who knows?
Possession of illegal firearms/intent to use
Assault on a Government official
Assault on a female
Kidnapping
Rape
Breaking and Entering
Making Harassing phone calls
Grand theft
Larceny
Some schmuck didn't pay his taxes....HELLO FEDERAL COURT NOT CRIMINAL COURT.
Animal abuse (hope the prick gets the max on that one)

Then there are 2 that just don't fit:

1. Failed to stop at a stop sign
2. Property damage to an illegally parked car on van accessible lines next to a handicapped person.

I'm hanging with the big boys tomorrow. How this shit happened to me is beyond me. I really don't get it. It's comical now. I just don't want to see these hardened criminals cry tomorrow. I hate when they break and cry in front of the judge.

In my last case it was just me and this 17 year old boy who looked the judge in the eye and didn't shed a tear. I even saw a hardcore lesbian breakdown. If I was a lesbian, I'd be ashamed of my people. Don't cry people! Take it like men. Cry in your car or in the bathroom stall, don't show weakness in front of others. You lose street cred for god's sake. Ugh. I even know that. Hell, even my 3rd graders knew the cry babies were the one's getting the beat down on the playground. Boys just shouldn't cry, hardcore ladies shouldn't either.

I will keep you posted on the hooligan behavior tomorrow. I'm sure it will be a real blast.

I leave you with two poignant songs by The Cure and Public Image (Johnny Rotten), I once knew this cat that hung out in a bar I used to go to way back in the day, he named himself Johnny Useless and he had this busted tattoo on his neck of a broken beer bottle. It looked like he did it himself (sorry for the side note).

Boys don't cry and May the road rise with you.....Happy Sunday



Saturday, January 28, 2012

Fallout and Shame

I was a mean girl last night. I'm not happy to admit that, but it needs to be admitted and fixed. I have an uncanny way of almost blanking out as I spew venom and say things that I don't --yet do mean at the same time. That old adage of think before you speak? Well, that never worked for me because I sometimes speak faster than I can think (and I am a super fast thinker). Plus, I am not the type of person who sits there and stews for a bit and plans on saying things. I am not a planner or a plotter. I free flow my venom. It's all off the cuff really. It gets worse when I feel hurt or threatened. I have a a built in defense mechanism stronger and more bullet proof than most. I have steel walls surrounding brick walls that surround another layer. I have long arms (literally) and I keep people at my wingspan's distance. I have always had a bad habit of that. I thought I was getting better but i think I may have digressed some. I'm miffed at myself and embarrassed at my thoughts and words today. I feel pretty low actually. This past year has been a real hell of a tough year but a rewarding one at the same time. I jumped a lot of hurdles this past year, really tried working on changing my outlook and perspective on things, I let someone special in past all of those walls. I feel like I am digressing a bit, and that does not sit well with me.

I hate apologizing because that show two things 1) I was wrong and 2) I had a moment of weakness. However, sometimes apologies are necessary and crucial. I apologized and that usually absolves the normal person's guilty conscience, but not mine. I stew, toss and turn, turn and toss with guilt. I take guilt to the umpteenth level. I take everything to the umpteenth level. I should apply apathyology to this scenario, but I can't. I feel awful. I feel as though I should be alone and not make others suffer because I have problems and issues I can't control--but constantly stay vigilant and cognizant of changing them. How can you tell someone they deserve better? They do deserve better. I was always so good at self-punishment. I still am. My parents were always amazed how they never had to punish me because I punished myself first and I took punishing to extreme levels. More so than my parents would have. I punished myself today but that didn't absolve my guilt either. Always a work in progress but this work is hard.



I'm crazy and he's beautiful.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Boys

I can safely state, I will never ever understand the male psyche or male rationale. I was not raised with older brothers and my father was not around a whole lot growing up because he was busy working and living in different countries. It was mainly just me and my mom, my mom and me. The few boys I did make friends with growing up, well let's just say they were not the jock type. They were the sensitive artistic type that understood the ebb and flow of emotions.

Now, I have a manly man who hangs out with other manly men. I feel like an Anthropologist by trying to examine their male behaviors. I noticed they like sports, wings, titty bars, computer gaming, not talking about their feelings, and hanging out in garages. Well for the ladies out there reading this, I also found out that they like to gossip a bit but they call it "busting balls". It's all in the name change-right?

Well, I am a very secretive person and like stated in one of my other posts, I do not mingle or play well with others. I never was an open book. I like to keep somethings private and I have a MAJOR issue with people talking about me/making fun of me/ or just a general anti-policy of speaking my name and/or thinking about me in a non-positive fashion. Especially, if I don't know you.

Let me get one thing straight though, I can laugh at myself and be the butt of a joke with the people I personally know, love, and trust. I can't however, be the butt of a joke, ribbing, or busting of the male balls when I don't know you, love you, and trust you...and believe me, I have GIGANTIC trust issues.

I don't think I will as an Anthropologist understand why men feel the need to bust one another's balls about the "old ladies" or "ol'ball in chains" in their lives. I don't feel I am particularly wretched. Hell, I even said it was okay to go to a titty bar the other day, just so another dude could have fun with his friends. I felt like I should have scored cool chick points for that, even though deep down inside I don't get the fascination with naked bodies and fake tits. I guess I had to look at the naked human body so damn much during all of those fine drawing classes for my art degrees. Tits are tits and well nads are nads.

I do not make that many rules up and I don't have a short leash or noose on my man....but why must men bitch and complain like chicks about being with a lady? If all of you men feel so strongly about it, then just hire prostitutes when you want to get laid and live and die in your man caves that wreak of body odor, flatulence, and old food lying about.

Should every human just be alone their whole lives? This way, not one soul (either gender) could complain about the opposite sex. I'm at a loss today. I should be working on a very important paper but I just could not concentrate worth a damn.

Busting balls isn't for me, I'll leave it to the boys and fully and whole heartedly admit I do not understand the manly man species. All I do know is please men, stop being chicks by complaining....oh I mean ribbing, no I mean busting balls about having ladies in your lives who love you. If you feel that strongly about it, then be alone and play with your one hand all day. Another thing men, please understand that there are quite a few women out there that can be good sports, but good sportsmanship can only go so far, especially when it becomes what feels to be-- a personal attack even though you weren't there to defend yourself and "bust your balls" back. It's not easy being a woman or man. We both have up hill battles, but some of us are more sensitive than others when it comes to the process of busting balls. I don't have actual balls, but do not discount me. I have lady balls, a bigger set than most men and I am not afraid to speak my mind or cut you down when I feel threatened. I would have never ever hacked it as a lady back in the day. I would be stoned to death in other cultures too.

I am done with my Anthropologic reporting for now....I must return to my wretched paper.

I do leave you with two songs that sum up what it is personally like for me being a lady, a sensitive one deep down inside and takes matters to heart and brain. Yet, one that will rip the living you know what out of you if I am being messed with and don't like it or have not given approval for it. I'm a dichotomy... a sensitive fighter....that could be an oxymoron but I see it as a dichotomy. Please listen to the lyrics fully to get it.



Happy Friday.

Peace, love, and punches....maybe a kiss or two as well ;)

Thursday, January 26, 2012

A THURSDAY TWOFER!

Part One of the TWOFER: My lovely and loving fiance!

I had a what ol'WW called "a great fiance/fiancee" day today. We usually start our days with a phone conversation. We're saps, we bookend our days with one another. This morning's phone call was a great one. I will not go into specifics but I just loved him even more. Than I was feeling unusually sappy and went somewhere for some Valentine's Day bag stuffers. He is getting a two part gift. One wrapped, another in a bag. I am big on presentations. So I bought my stuffers to go along with the bag's theme and felt happy and lucky that I have a Valentine's this year. Last year ol'WW was my Valentine's but me...well being me kept at a wingspan's length and suggested he donate to St. Jude's in my honor. He preciously did. I was really hooked then (shhh....don't tell him, wait he reads my blog daily). So today when I got home, I had a surprise waiting from him. A card. A card that made me cry happy tears. Plus, I just busted his balls about cards last night too, I felt a bit badly today. I placed it in my boyfriend/fiance box. You might be asking what a boyfriend box is?

Well, I learned this from my younger cousin. She's 8 years younger than me but has always been at least 10 years more mature than me in the love/giving your heart to another department. She started a box when she had a boyfriend. She would put various cards, ticket stubs, pictures, all types of little different mementos really, in this box. She collected everything she found special. I never did this in my life. However, I knew ol'WW was the one, so I started a box too. I love this box. I'm guilty of looking through it often. I won't share how often though. A girl has to keep her secrets.

Here are two pictures. One of the outside of the box, and one of the inside. My box is getting full.




I really love and appreciate my fiance. He's a great guy. I lose sight of the meaning of sacrifices because I am the quint-essential Veruca Salt. As she screamed, "I WANT IT NOW!". He teaches me lessons on patience. I find them annoying, but I do need them.

Ah hell, here is Veruca at her finest. Damn, how I love this girl.


Part Two of TWOFER: Shoe Shopping (what used it to be the greatest part of being a girl).

I have always had an addiction to shoes. Ask anyone from my past and they will tell you I always had awesome shoes. I have funky taste and that doesn't stop at shoes. I used to have a hell of a lot more shoes than I do now. Now, with Rita (RA), well that no good dirty bitch stole my fun. I can no longer wear heels, wedges, or platforms. I am supposed to wear orthopedic friendly shoes to support my shot knees, ankles, toes, and hips. Well ladies (and gentlemen), orthopedic shoes equals death to a 30 something fashion forward girl. THEY ARE UGLY AS SIN! They are made for old people. They are just plain disgusting. I can't bear to have Rita take away my fashion sense. So, what do I naturally do? I always gravitate to the shoes I can not wear and the shoes I shouldn't wear. I found a pair of awesome platform shoes today for spring. I talked myself into thinking I could physically pull it off. I had a $20 coupon and was raring to go. As I was meandering the rows upon rows of shoes holding my pair of kick ass wedges, I thought more and more. I said to myself, "wait kid, who are you fooling? you can't do this shit anymore." I sighed and told myself to put the box down and look for sensible flats that perhaps my custom made and costly I might add, orthodic could fit in. I was torn. I wanted the old me in those platforms. Then I had to say hello to the new me in flats. It was a bummer.

The last two to three rows of shoes are what I call the "NO NO ZONE" Those aisles are filled with the sky high heels. I sure as heck can't do that anymore. I still can admire.

Look at case A and B:


....and me with my swollen and shot ankle wishing I was just like a Barbie Girl living in a Barbie World.


...I'm sorry I couldn't resist. I sing and think of songs far too often....



Here was the final two choices.....THE OLD ME VERSUS THE NEW ME LIVING WITH RITA womp womp



I made the mature choice and went with the plain ol'flats. They were 29.99 and I had a 20 buck coupon. I walked out of the store with a pair of 10.63 shoes. GO ME!

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Confucius says: You will be blessed with longevity....You can keep that crap Confucius.

Today I was having a Chinese lunch with my pops.

BACKSTORY ON POPS: My pops is in his 70's. He had me in his 40's. He started his first 4 young, like 18 years young. He never thought he would make it to his age and he never thought his mother would make it to 95. Can you imagine you are legally considered a senior and taking care of your super senior mom? I can't wrap my mind around that.

......back to the story. So we were eating Chinese waiting to see my Nona (Nana/grandmother) in the nursing home. We were talking about how depressing that joint is and how we don't want to live that long. My fortune cookie comes. I always get first dibs. It's the only child syndrome in me. I have a ritual where I do not read my fortune until I eat my cookie. I find it to be bad luck. So my pops went on that his had to do with happiness and talent. I read mine out loud and it said: "YOU WILL BE BLESSED WITH LONGEVITY". I about choked on my cookie and I knocked on wood and prayed and wished that wouldn't be true. I said to my pops, if I hurt this much now with Rita (my RA), I don't even want to imagine what I would feel like at 95!!!!!!!

We then went to go visit my Nona. She was in decent spirits. Cognitively distant but overall healthy as a horse. She got to 95 with NO medical intervention what so ever. She did that on free will and tough bitch mind. I have to hand it to her. My portrait of Nona thinking about her mom, my Noonie. My great-grandmother lived until 97. Maybe longevity really is in my future fortune. Growing old ain't for wussies though. Her nursing home is like a senior citizen version of Mean Girls.

I don't want longevity.

My Nana:


....and here's an ambulance for some old person. That sucked. I see it too far often.



Keep it and shove it Confucius. I don't want to live this long.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Infusion Day? Pass the Angry Chick Music Over Puhhhleeeeaaaseee!

So today was icky infusion day to shut Rita the hell up for a few weeks. I still have the taste of that nasty medicine on my tongue and heart burn to boot. Infusion day blows for obvious reasons, like pain, needles, blood, sitting in uncomfortable chairs that were made for Chinese midgets, and the hours of boredom. However, today was a new shocker.  A snoring woman. The office stuffs in as many infusion chairs they possibly can so you are about oh less than 2 feet away from your infusion neighbor. Well my infusion neighbor today was knocked the eff out for hours. It's not like she was gently snoring, this woman was cutting down logs. I sat there and tried to block it out. I tried reading my new Vogue magazine, I tried thinking about Taylor Swift and if she is really that clueless and humble. I tried texting with my fiance, then I decided to stuff my ear buds into my ear as far as they could go to block out this snoring woman!

Evidence A: Snoring Woman (she really is passed the eff out).


Her snoring just set me off. Then I couldn't stop focusing on the smell of blood and how the damn tape was pulling at my arm hairs. Then I started fidgeting and working myself into a rage. The smell of latex is bothersome too. Any one ever notice that?

Evidence B: All the damn supplies it takes to get an infusion started. It's as though they are setting up shop for an arm amputation a la 127 hours.


Evidence C: Look at all of this damn tape. I'm Sicilian. I have arm hair and tape hurts folks.


Evidence D: Then I started fixating on the humming lights that drain your brain as they flicker. Then I didn't like my medicine bags floating up above me. Those bright orange caution stickers make me conjure up radioactive activity in my veins.


So then it was really time to shove those earbuds in so I could chill the heck out. I tried listening to new folksy indie music then I was flipping through my Itunes playlist. Then I have a section titled:
 ANGRY CHICK MUSIC!

Well, at that time (and most times during infusions) I'm an angry chick. So I started blasting my angry feminazi tunes and I thought....these poor teenage girls of today do not have awesome chick music to effin blast and wear combat boots to stomp around in!?!?! I feel sorry for teenage girls today. I'm not up and current and hip and fresh with today's music but who the hell do they have? Avril Lavigne? That poser snot head wannabe. Here is just a sampling of angry chick music I blasted in my inner ear canal today as the room was closing in on me.

THE AWESOME BREEDERS!

THE AWESOME VERUCA SALT! (2 PARTER)



PART TWO 


THE AWESOME POE 

THE AWESOME PJ HARVEY 


THE ONE AND ONLY AWESOME SINEAD O'CONNOR (wait until she real wails on the acoustic guitar)

MY TRUE LOVE BJORK (TWO PARTER)


PART TWO 

...and this is just a smattering. THANK GOD FOR ANGRY CHICK ROCK! It saved me today.

A special shout out to my AWESOME cousin Kim for calling me and checking in on me! That was so nice. <3

Monday, January 23, 2012

Apathyology

I have (now had) a horrific addiction to feeling too many emotions. Last night was my last draw which led to my 3 o'clock in the morning epiphany. You know how people have facebook depression from seeing their friends' happiness through photos and cutesy status updates? Well, I come to find out that I suffer from people.com depression. Before I went to struggle with myself and sleeping, I went on people.com. I saw that the 25 year old nit wit Krisen Cavallari is pregnant and engaged (again). She was quoted about how she couldn't be more happy...blah blah blah blah blah. So, for some strange reason I went to bed raging pissed. Pissed over someone I don't even know. Then it dawned on me, I was pissed because she had things going for her that I didn't. I literally cried like a nut case in bed and in the dark.

Then at 3 AM, I was tossing and turning and it then hit me. I really truly need to start giving a f*** less about everything. I imagined how much more simple my life would be, how much lower my stress level would be, and how nothing will get to me anymore. I started my frantic Google search on the philosophy of not caring. I came up with Apathyology.

Here are two interesting tidbits:

1. The conjecture is that by not caring about anything then nothing can bother you.


2. Just as it is unhealthy to eat everything you see - it is just as unhealthy to care about every emotion you have. Apathyology helps you to be more selective about where your caring energies are employed.

I think my first plan of attack is being more than selective about where my caring energies are employed.

I mean, I still care about my family, fiance, friends, and animals but I don't care about this shit anymore:

1. Bad health
2. Pain
3. No Insurance
4. Repo man if I am unable to pay a medical bill
5. Credit
6. A far off wedding
7. A job to be closer to be with my fiance (if it happens it happens: if it don't-well it don't)
8. Bills
9. People's attitudes
10. My upcoming court date that I have no control over
11. Getting that A in school.
12. Getting my work done first
13. well the list is endless.

I woke up with such a refreshed outlook. I simply didn't give much of a hoot today. It's really working so far. I did cave once today with a stroke victim. I had to help him because he needed help and I almost started to cry just thinking about his struggles and how bad off he was and then it reminded me of my Aunt Liz who had one of the worst strokes ever and wound up living a year paralyzed in her own body unable to speak. I did cave there. I did cry as I left the gym. Then I gave myself a "man up and grow some balls" (in the car mind you) speech to get me back on my path to apathyology.

Wish me luck on this new philosophical journey. I hope it works because I need to be numb for a while. I care too much and to such a high extent. It's not healthy for me. Crying on and off for the last 4 days for no real reason wasn't fun and I'm tired of being that nitwit.

To all of you who hate Mondays (here is grey and misty like Seattle without the awesomeness of Seattle) enjoy the Monday disdain tunes.





Sunday, January 22, 2012

Long distance relationships ain't for sissies...I'm a sissy.

It has been 20 long days since I last saw my fiance. I handled the departure well on the 2nd. Not so much on the 22nd. I hit, or am about to hit, rock bottom. Granted we have phone conversations, texting, and skyping...it's not the same as being side by side holding hands and laughing. I admit I slow played him big time in the beginning but my slow play is kicking me in the ass now. It sucks. I once googled how to make a long distance relationship work. I google a lot. I have a google addiction. Google gave me tips that were already in use. We send one another things and cards, we e-mail letters, we try and watch the same things so we feel we are sharing the same experience. It works, but not as well as I want it to work. I fear that distance will eventually make us grow apart. You may ask why not just be together now? It's a long story that includes a short bus of disability and a low chance of finding full time work where he is. I had to choose the practical man. I admire his practicality but I also disdain it because sometimes you just have to take that jump and see where it goes. I should be thankful for his practicality (and I am) but I'm lonely and I miss him. I never had a love that hurts before. This distance adds to the sting from the slap in the face.

I also was told a horrible story this week at my 95 year old grandmother's nursing home. I've made friends with most of the aids on the floor that help take care of my grandmother. So I came into her room this week and I saw Lorna (the aid) sitting with my Nana. She was telling her how she won't be here for a few weeks because she had to fly back to Kenya for her fiance's funeral. Her fiance was working in Dubai. They hadn't seen one another in a year and she was going to go to Dubai in May to spend time with him. Well, just the other day he went to sleep and never woke up. He was 38. Lorna was in shock and couldn't grasp the fact that he was gone. They were planning and saving...saving and planning. Look where that saving and planning got them? I was and still am so sad for Lorna, and that story resonated with me all week and has made me incredibly sad. That could easily be me and my fiance. Lorna is now in Kenya grieving her great loss and saying her last goodbyes to her love. It's not fair, she's so sweet, caring, and giving. Why did that have to happen to her?

 I hope this is the year that we get to be together full time. It means less time of both of us being further set in our ways and more time being together in case some sort of Lorna story hits us.

On a lighter note, I came across cute pillows the other day while ...you guessed it...googling Valentine's related presents. These pillows are cute for the long distance relationship people out there.


and....



The Bird and the Bee has a catchy tune that I listened to a lot this week...


....and the Chromatics cover of a Springsteen tune. This tune was always haunting but now it's double haunting.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Make-up whore? Or just trying to hide evidence?

I promised myself that I would blog every single day for a whole year. I luckily made it in time for today. I'm nearing an infusion for my RA on Tuesday (you'll read about that Tuesday) and I am so so so very very tired. I am the shittiest sleeper on the planet. Always have been and always will be. As my RA progressed, sleeping has become the biggest chore on the planet. It takes me forever to fall asleep and even when I think I am in my REM portion of sleeping, I'm telling myself "I hurt". I have had dreams of myself saying the same things too. It's freaky and sad.

Well thanks to the lack of sleep and the chore of sleep, I suffer from dark (really dark) under eye circles. Part of it is genetics. My mom had awful ones growing up but with her coloring they are not as apparent as mine. I have the fairest skin and the darkest of hair and eyes. So of course huge under eye circles will smack you in the face. Or rather, it looks as though I was the one smacked/punched in the eyes.

I also can blame my dark circles on my RA due to the lack of Vitamin D in my system and due to my severe anemia. So, I have a lot of things going against me in the eye department.

As I was applying make-up today it dawned on me that I spend shit loads of money on under eye concealers to hide said dark raccoon eyes. I was shocked to see how many products I hoarded just to help my situation. Guess what? None of this flipping shit even helps. I've tried it all from Chanel to Bobbi Brown to drugstore crap. I'm at a loss. It's been bugging the shit out of me too.

This picture is just a few of the eye items I actually have. It's pathetic.


All I want to do is feel pretty....I have the witty part down...not so much the gay part though (either in sexual preference or happiness).

Friday, January 20, 2012

Come on Get Happy...Chase those blues away...

I have been struggling lately. Happiness is a hard achievement for this realist. The new Jay-Z and Kanye song "N***as in Paris" has a lyric that states "My doctor says I'm the illest cuz I suffer from realist". You and me Kanye are in the same boat. I often feel guilty for not being happy all of the time. I do not have a bad life. I have parents who love me, a fiance who loves me the mostest (even though I coined the term first) and genuinely cares about me, and I have cats that love me (well probably because I am their food source). 


In the past several months, this whole buzz about Facebook depression was a bit comical. People do usually only post the happy nauseating BS you want to scream at. Scream, "Come on! Reaaaalllly?!?!"


Then today a friend was brave and posted (on Facebook) something so real, true, and beautiful. She stated,

"How does one stay happy? I sometimes feel like I purposely make myself unhappy. I don't want to do this. It just happens. Anyone else?"


You know what? How does one stay happy? She's a smart girl. I think intelligence plays a major part in the happiness quotient. That saying, "ignorance is bliss" has something going for it. I wish I could dull down those parts in my brain but all of the pain that I have suffered through the years from my RA has literally changed the topography of my brain. I have literal grooves in my brain where they shouldn't be. I have to take meds for it, it kills me to admit it, but I do. I hope my friend finds the answer and can share it with the rest of us. 


Happy (or not so happy) Friday to you all. This post makes me think of two songs and two songs only.


One, I am seriously waiting for the Judgment Day Judy: 




Then the polar opposite. A bizarre ode to realism. 



Thursday, January 19, 2012

Brain Cloud

I seriously heart the movie Joe vs. the Volcano. I loved it since a wee little tyke. It spoke to me on so many levels. Themes of being held down by the man, having a plan of running away as fast as you can, and the ultimate kicker and best medical term "brain cloud". These last two days, I, like Joe have been suffering a brain cloud. I think the inner pain is causing angst and restlessness and I don't feel like my life is going according to plan. Hell, I don't even have a plan. I guess that would help haha. I went to bed at a ridiculous bed time thanks to the help of sleeping aids. My brain never, and I mean, never shuts off. The pain keeps it up and raring. I need a break from my mind and body sometimes. So last night, I took a break. In my deep sleep, I dreamt of Joe. Instead of being on top of the ocean, I was under it. I was a jellyfish. I love going to aquariums. I'm jealous of fish. To have some joints but not feel them under the weightlessness of water must be so relieving. I hope this brain cloud lifts soon.

I leave you with Joe and his Brain Cloud and pictures I took of jellyfish.




Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Here comes the bride, all dressed in....?

I recently got engaged in November. Ever since I became engaged, the first few questions out of the mouths of others is like rapid speed arsenal. The rapid fire questions go like this and mainly in this order with barely any breath in between.

1. When's the date?
2. Where?
3. What type of wedding?
4. What type of bride will you be?

What type of bride will I be? Ummm....one that wears a dress? I don't even know how to answer these questions and I get slightly ticked off that I field them all, and my fiance fields squat. Quite frankly, I am getting tired of hearing these questions. The questions make me realize more and more that I do not have my shit in order. I do not even have a ballpark date. I was first shooting for the end of April (my favorite month), then that dream came and went. Then my aunt noted that October 13th is on a Saturday. She knows I am in love with the number 13. Should I shoot for that? I don't know.

Last night I was meandering in the magazine aisle. Since I have become engaged, I have the sick obsession and fascination with wedding themed magazines. I stumbled upon this one:

THE MAGAZINE TO READ BEFORE YOU GET ENGAGED!

Sweet, I was too busy laughing at the title, I did not even bother to look at the content. Perhaps I should have added this to my new bridal hoarding obsession?



In all honesty, do the bridal blues exist? I feel like I should have a plan....and be further along in my plan.   Days like today, make me want me to stay in my cozy shell in my bat cave.

Last night's GLEE was all about proposals. Emma the guidance counselor is the type of girl who had her  wedding planned since the age of 5. I, on the other hand, never dreamed of my perfect wedding as a little girl. I never even saw myself engaged and in this phase of life. Now that I am in it, I don't know what to do? Or how to plan? Someone please help me.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

YAY! Today is Dexter day!

My wonderful and loving fiance ol'WW had purchased season 1 of Dexter for me for Christmas. He swore up and down that Dexter would be my type of show. So, as we spent two blissful weeks together, I watched the 1st season. I loved it, and was bugging the hell out of WW for spoilers and I was chapping his ass by calling the serial killer "the ice box truck killer". On Christmas Eve, we went to a friend's house and he made ice box cake, so it was stuck in my head. So after we finished the 1st season...I said, "what the hell? you have me hooked on it now and you left me high and dry?" So, him being the best fiance EVER, he purchased all of the seasons for me that are available on DVD. I was very very happy to get it in the mail today. I don't have premium cable so I am years behind the Dexter trend. Let me live in the past/ my present moment.


On a funny and weird side note. I was almost involved in a gun fight this morning in the library of all places. I was the only white girl in the group and there was a lot of fuss and yelling between two groups of African-Americans concerning the need to gab at a loud level. No inside voices were used. A man threatened to pop a cap in someone's ass and that was my cue to split. I felt like Marissa Tomei in the 1st season of A Different World. I hummed the tune as I split the violent scene. I'm waiting to see who was murdered on the 5 o'clock news.

I leave you with the theme song stuck in my head alllllll day.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Little Miss Miserable or Little Miss Doesn't Play Well With Others?


I'm Little Miss Miserable right now. Most of the day was spent at the Rheumatologist's office. I knew I was in for a speech but not a minor medical procedure and three pricks in the arm! Yikes. My RA was a culprit to some long latin name before bursitis. Really, infected and inflamed bursitis of the hip. Needles and pain were involved. That is enough for me today. I am stationary on ice and in heaps of pain.

My mom drove me home and on the way home I had this metacognitive monologue in my head concerning the Little Miss books and my kindergarten report card. A few years ago I came across my kindergarten report card. That is the only report card I have from my past. Well, I suspect mom kept it for a reason. Either my kindergarten teacher was a true child centered psychological genius or a psychic. On my report card she quoted (verbatim), "Andrea does not play well with others.", "Andrea does not mingle with her classmates."(the exact word was mingle...I'm sorry was I unaware that kindergarten was a cocktail party???), and "Andrea needs to learn how to socialize.". As I read these comments, it dawned on me. This damn teacher had be pegged from the age of 5. I am in my 30's now and all of these comments still are quite applicable. So much so, I'm at a loss on how to make a friend. How do you make a friend in your 30's? I'm not married and I do not have children so that eliminates a good solid 70% of my age group. I am not technically allowed to drink due to my meds and liver and kidney failure, so I can't hang out in bars and make bar fly friends. Plus, let's face it...in your 30's the 20 something crown rules the roost and it's a slap in the face to see their young hip ways.

I am attending online school, so I can't make friends in class. I'm really at a loss. So much so, I googled.."how do you make a friend?" last night. Wikihow told me to join a sport. Well, that would be great if I was able bodied and athletic. I am a true misanthrope in a lot of ways, but this past year I have really tried to change my ways. I discussed this with my mother...her retort, "friends? who needs friends?". Yeah, that's the ticket. I guess the next thing I need to google is, "singular activities" (get your mind out of the gutter.

I leave you with images, images that describe me in my past, present, and future.




......I know some of you can relate.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Valentine's Day scheming + listening to Morrissey= One thing is not like the other

This year is my first (and hopefully) last Valentine's Day as a fiancee. I never really celebrated Valentine's Day with a man that I love. On top of that, I fell in love with a manly man. We all know this Hallmark holiday is really for the ladies and March 14th is a holiday for the men. Please don't ask me what March 14th stands for. I was shocked to find this out several months ago. I won't dare repeat it. I have been racking my brain to find things that mean something to him and that is cute...but not too cute. Well, there is a problem. The shit they sell for Valentine's Day is beyond girlie. There is so much pink and so many hearts...and glitter to boot. Today I went to JoAnn Fabrics to get some supplies for the one part of the overall gift and the aisle was WIPED out?!?! I'm looking around like "is the joke on me?". It's only January 15th. Valentine's Day is still a month or so away. I was shocked and left a little defeated. Which then led me to listen to Morrissey. Morrissey is against love and is celibate. I laughed at myself on my way home for participating in polar opposites today. I always did love dichotomies.



Happy Sunday everyone! In the winter, everyday is like Sunday.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

What do you mean there is no more?

I've been a bad bad girl. I literally just sang the Fiona Apple song lyric out loud. Ah hell, here is the video.

I feel like a Rheumatoid Arthritis criminal. I gave up on two medications without consulting my doctor. I felt like they were doing squat and I was tired of the side effects. I have not gone for my monthly blood work in...well...at least over 3 months. I'm giving my confession now because I have my one of many meetings of the mind this Monday and I am most likely going to get a speech. As I sit here and type the truth, it just dawned on me that I never picked up my X-rays or report for Monday either. I'm up shit's creek folks. I hate speeches, especially speeches on a disease I don't want or asked for. I know a lot of people are in my boat. Other auto-immune sufferers, MS folk, ALS folk, poor SMA babies and their families, cancer patients that did not smoke, drink, or burn themselves...it all blows quite frankly.

I used to be so good when I was first diagnosed. After the shock, I was just happy to know I was not losing my marbles with the way I was feeling, looking, and sounding. Then I decided I was going to be that pro-active patient and read loads of books on the matter. I was going to read quantitative scholarly medical journals from PubMed. I was going to be the smartest RA patient. Here is my proof:


Now I just feel like donating these books to the local library because I don't give a hoot. After the Diagnosis was my favorite one. Even though it was not meant as comedic relief, I howled through the whole thing. After? There is no after....THIS IS IT FOLKS. Medicines that cancer patients get, sick side effects, and deformity. No need in being reminded of this by reading more books. I subscribe to RA Guy on Facebook. He's trying to initiate a book club for some new book about chronic illness. I was close to downloading it on my NOOK. Then I asked why?? Then, my favorite Annie Lennox song came to mind. You're right...you don't know how I feel.


Which then leads me to my disdain for support groups. Oh how I despise support groups. No offense, but listening to someone else's woes makes me (A) want to gag and then (B) makes me want to yell "SHUT THE EFF UP!" That is so awful of me to admit.

There was that movie a year or so back with Anne Hathaway. She played a young woman who had early stages of Parkinson's Disease. There was a scene in that movie where she attended a non-support support group for Parkinson's and they all started with "F*** Parkinson's because...." Hell, now that is a support group I'd be willing to give a try. A support group that cusses is my type of support group. I think the movie was Love and other Drugs. There were parts that movie that resonated with me. 1. She was young with an incurable disease (a disease that was going to progress and change her abilities). 2. She was a free spirit that was confined because of her disease, yet she didn't want to admit it (Hello, this screams me!). 3. She didn't want anyone to take care of it, but in actuality she needed someone to help her at one point. This was the killer. The loss of free will. Free will is a powerful innate human attribute, and when it is slowly taken away, it's a killer. That one does not sit well with me. I still struggle with it.


Well kids, I'm going to get schooled Monday at precisely 11:20 by my RA doctor for not taking my disease seriously. I'm going to ask about children again. I've been told by numerous doctors that kids are a no go. I never really wanted them before because I never thought I would meet a genuine and beautiful soul like that of my fiance. Now that I have, I feel gypped out of something. That could be the only child in me speaking but I get a wee bit pissed off now that I'm told "no". Besides the meds (which I can go off of for a few months prior to trying), the doctors told me my hip joints could just not hold a baby. Then I was told my disease will hit me 10 fold after I give birth. I often wonder if they know what they are talking about. I'm a tough cookie. Don't under-estimate me. I know there are moms out there that have RA and children. I came across a book about it actually, but I didn't want to add it to my depressing stack of donate worthy literature that I already have accrued haha.

Lately, I have been listening to a No Doubt song and it hits a lot of buttons. I never wanted a simple life, but now that I can't have it....I want it. Go figure. I love these free therapy sessions.

I leave you with a Simple Kind of Life...

Friday, January 13, 2012

Friday the 13th...the luckiest of days!

I was literally born on a Friday the 13th. People always chime in and say, "oh that explains it!". Explains what? My quirky ways and outlooks? I personally find my birthday to be RAD. I was born on a super holy day too, a Good Friday...the day Jesus died. My father and grandmother were also born on a Friday the 13th. I come from a long line of a special birthday. People often fear this day. They are referred to as one who has triskaidekaphobia or tredecaphobia. Crazy right? A fear of a number. Well, I have to admit I have a fear of 666 and WILL not purchase anything that totals three 6's in a row. So, I guess I am in a different boat sailing on the same number sea.

I have had a tradition that I like to get tattooed on Friday the 13ths. This year my birthday falls on a Friday, so I will be going to get inked on my birthday to commemorate my favorite day and number.
Here are two examples of ink I had done on Friday the 13ths of years passed.

(Don't pay any attention to my wonky RA toes...they have been moving and changing recently to the deformity level)

My love for the 13th. It's a conversation starter too. People say "why 13? or what's up with 13?" Then I tell them and that's when I'm told "oh that explains it!" Does it get old? Hell yes it does.

Last year I did this major piece on a Friday the 13th...

I quoted my favorite quote from all time from no other greater brain than Mr. Albert Einstein. The evil eye wards off evil and puts that evil right back on the person who stared. My heart has the two colors that make up the Rheumatoid Arthritis awareness ribbon.

Then comes Emily the strange. I think the creator of Emily the strange met me somewhere and I was the inspiration for her haha. I have black hair, fair skin, an infinity for cats, and the number 13. When I stumbled upon her in some head shop in NYC, I picked up a few of her stickers that I placed on my Honda I had way back in the day. One was purrrfect. It had Emily with a 13 surrounded my a heart with cats in the background. I wish I would have saved that sticker.

Here are two images of Emily the Strange:



I wish all of you a magical day with great things happening! I also leave you with one of my ALL time favorite bands....THE CURE singing the 13th.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Phrenology Phil

The last few years, I have been on a phrenology kick. Some of you might be scratching your head and asking, "well, what is phrenology?" Well, at least you are scratching the corresponding body part to the study. The following is an easy breezy definition of phrenology.


phre·nol·o·gy/freˈnäləjē/

Noun:
The detailed study of the shape and size of the cranium as a
supposed indication of character and mental abilities.

Picture of Phrenology head which I aptly named Phrenology Phil


(This phrenology head was purchased in Savannah, GA in a funky little shop.)

I stumbled upon phrenology by researching something in my dictionary of psychology. Then I became obsessed. My self-diagnosed OCD kicked in. Yes, I self-diagnose.... a lot.

So, I then found a phrenology poster. I bought it at Urban Outfitters on sale...the sales girls didn't even know what the poster was about. So I bought it on the cheap. Sweet score.

(Big poster. I personally like the honker on this guy's head).

Then, for Christmas my wonderful and loving fiance Ol'WW found the neatest and oldest book from the 1800's about phrenology. It was some man's actual text book on the subject matter. I plan to read this bad boy very very soon.


The study of phrenology really speaks to me on a personal level because I am a very inward thinker. I like my shell and I like to contemplate, over contemplate, then analyze, then over analyze. I'm the girl that will beat the dead horse, revive that equine, just to kill it and beat it again. I have a wild mind. Such a wild mind, that in fact many psychologists and psychiatrists are unable to figure me out. I figured if they can't explain to me why I am the way I am and why the way I think is the way I think....then Phrenology Phil and my own didactic need will solve my personal mysteries. Wish me luck on my own personal study. 

My mom thinks of me often when she hears this weird tune from the 60's. I don't know whether to be flattered or frightened...







Tomorrow is Friday the 13th.....let the magic happen on the luckiest of days.