What Would You Want to Do?

Please re-read my title one more time, just so were clear. Not what would you do, but what would you want to do... Because often times, there is a difference, for all of us.

Now, should I just tell you or explain why I want to do it? I'll just say it, and then explain...after all they say it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission right? Ha, just kidding.

There is just a tad under ten grand sitting in several accounts that still have my name on them, and damn if I don't want to just take it all out and put it somewhere it could never be found. Basically, I am still entitled to the $10,000.00. My name is still on these accounts as joint owner.

But in true form of how things were managed in my past relationship, my name is still on these accounts. I have gone to the bank and tried to remove my name. Even the bank rep wanted to know why I was being so nice and trying to take care of the accounts. All that was needed was an okay over the phone, but of course those phone calls that the bank made in front of me were never returned. We all know the hours it takes to walk into a bank and change accounts around. I have even called and asked him to take care of this...but ya know, he's just sooooo busy.

So, my divorce has been finalized for close to a year. And we parted easily, amicably, and I walked away with very little but my sanity. Which I am sure some of you would question! Ha!

But, back to the subject at hand. I won't go raiding these accounts even though the thought of it brings tears of laughter to my eyes and thoughts of another quarter of very expensive classes paid for. Yes, I am tired of living as a broke student again. For sure. My car is making funny noises and it has me concerned. I want to go to Hawaii for Christmas. My savings account is dwindling. Basically, I always have enough, but I want more than enough.

Besides, every time I get on-line to look at my account activity there it is. The past. The money that has my name on it but technically/karmicly is not mine. It probably is good for my credit to be an account holder on these accounts. But we all know, we don't always do or want what is good for us.

I will never touch the funds in these accounts, but a girl can dream, can't she?

Just Call Me Ms. Doctor Freud

So, forget the insanity of the entire situation regarding the doctor who impregnated her with the frozen embryos; here's what I think.

Call me Ms. Freud, if you will. My informal diagnosis is; first she is completely out of touch with reality.

She suffers greatly from Terminal Denial.

Second, what is it called when you want to be someone else (as in Mrs. Pitt?). She is not working for or sleeping with Mr. Pitt, so we can't call her a "starf..ker." So what is it called when you want to be/or think you are someone famous? In this case I think it's more extreme than wanna-be.

How about a new diagnosis or definition: Replicative Syndrome.

(If I have surgery to modify my appearance to look like you, do as many things as I can to mimic your life, then maybe one day, ahhh I will wake up and be you! Hence the numerous children and the way her appearance has been altered, etc..watch out Brad.)

How can this story possibly end well?

Sadly here is my prediction for the end of all of the hoopla; Given the current economy, and the negative way people have reacted to this situation her plea for help and donations will fall so short of what she actually needs there will be no way she can sustain a residence for these 14 children. Never mind food, shelter, and clothing. She will be unable to provide nurturing, love, and caring due to the sheer volume it will be required of her to provide. As calm as she appears to be, once she is sleep deprived by the new eight she will crumble emotionally. Period.

Dramatically, I think the children are taken away from her and provided with new separate families that can care and provide for them.

A devastated Nadya is committed to the Rubber Ramada.

Good intentions do not a good deed make. Unfortunately the thought of one woman and her grandmotherly mother trying to be financially, physically, or emotionally equipped to take on these 14 children was probably better left to a story book fable.

Call me a simpleton, but really I think it is that simple.

14 Of Anything You Love

is probably too many. I love pugs, but 14 is too many. I love my kitties, but 14 is to many. My mom, my dad, my brothers, my girlfriend, even my best friend one of each is just fine, thank you very much. Think of all your favorite things...other than maybe flowers, handbags, earrings, or shoes there isn't a one I need or want in mass.

Okay, so I know originally she thought it was going to only add one more baby to her bunch. That one more would have made the total 7. Call me crazy, but why would any sane woman want to be a single mother to 6, 7, or the possibility of even 8 if she managed to have twins again. Am I missing something?

Mean People Suck

This is what I think and I'm going to stand by it.

It's been awhile since my working environment was filled relaxing music, dimmed lighting, and a body on a table in some array of undress. That person eagerly awaiting the soothing relief my seriously deep tissue massage would provide them. Or the woman relaxing to a facial that will leave her skin glowing and heart happy that she feels younger. Oh the days when I was appreciated for my skills at work. When I was considered one of the best, and paid well for that compliment. Lately, those days seem far behind me.

You know how it is. There is always someone at work, who for whatever reason, likes to see you suffer. Likes to help in cause it, and then has the audacity to even smirk about it once they have been successful. It's people like this which caused us to invoke laws against maiming and killing. Seriously. Yielding a baseball bat may only bring about temporary relief from said anger, but damn those few minutes might feel like pure unadulterated joy. Yep, I want to bash a face in. There I've said it.

Those of you who know me, know I am not a violent person. But lately, since I've not been sleeping (due to above mentioned torment of late) and there seems to be no relief from stated obnoxious behavior - well let's just say I have my daydreams.

But seriously, wouldn't it be nice if could all just get along. Play nice. Play like a team player. Adhere to a very old adage, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it." Be respectful. Wow, even risk being kind. Would that kill those out there who just seem to be missing that bone in your body?

I like my job. (And yes, it's just a job.) Most days, I even manage to have fun there and enjoy myself. Having a quick shift fly by is good. Making money is good. Putting up with snotty, spoiled, ungrateful , rude people is not good. In fact I'm downright tired of it. I only hope I can think of a way to deal with it that will leave me employed.

I know the only person I can change is myself. That said, all that comes to mind is to continue ignoring the behavior the best I can and carry on.

Thank Goodness For Sundays

It's easy to be thankful for Sundays.

Especially after a tough few days working.

Today was a fun one. Slept in very, very late. Then brunch at the local tacky gay bar (another post entirely) with friends. Lots of laughter. Hanging with my love. A few very strong cocktails and some long awaited for breakfast.

Off to the Lowell Art Works, thanks to Sall's recommendation with some of above mentioned friends. More laughter, and a free boob shot thanks to one especially tipsy friend. Always love looking at creativity put into reality. Nudes, tattoo work, animals, photos, collages, ink on paper, sculpture, painting, and drawing everywhere. Ideas gone amok. Fun, fun, fun.

I needed it. Thank goodness for Sunday.

Girly Girl Breakdown

It's been years. Ages. Decades in fact. I am just so tired of going to work and coming home with nails split so low and broken in two they are painful. They tear below the nail line. I have not found a cure for brittle, splitting, fingernails. If you have one, I guarantee it won't work for me. You know why, I'm not going to try it!

So, after years of being a massage therapist and esthetician and not being able to wear any nail length I went and had my nails done today!

I'm not sure if I even like them, but they do look prettier. I have no idea how sturdy they will be. They are very short. Maybe not the perfect shape for me, but I know that is something we can change.

This I do know, I feel girly again! And I love it!

Same and Not So Same

Work is busy, no economic downturn at the microbrewery. Good for us.

Did have some funny visitors to the restaurant Friday night. Fur lovers, people who love with fur on? Something to that effect. Strange but very friendly. Something you don't see everyday in our humble little restaurant. Not like we are trendy or hip like late night Capitol Hill, but still they came. Caused a bit of a harmless stir and made us laugh. Thanks.

Valentines Day 2009

No flowers.

No over priced dinner out.

No five dollar cards with smarmy sentiment.

No calorie loaded yummy chocolate.

No cheap tawdry lingerie.

Just me and you, some home made cards, and dinner with some wacky friends at home. I couldn't ask for more.

You made my heart whole again. You loved me back to myself and then some.

Waking up everyday with love...the best Valentines gift of all.

Like I Know, It's Not As If...

there isn't Netflix. Movies, series, documentaries all available. Have you gone to abc.go.com lately? You can view The View, Grey's Anatomy, and many other shows right on your laptop.
And still I hesitate. Oh God I'm weak.


My insides, my coolness factor (OMG, yes I actually said that). I like to be up on just a few of the latest things. My pea brain wants to know and see it as unfolds like,"Who killed Jenny?" I want to see Showtimes' unveiling of Nurse Jackie. Love Edie Falco. Not to mention the brain wracking work I'm doing to make it into the field - and love anything that shows all sides of something, even if it is fiction. Yes, I love my Showtime. That, I don't know if I can get on my laptop. Hmmm, research time coming on, but I digress...


I have a memory of my mom watching TV in our curtain draw room in Harbor City the day JFK was shot and killed. She cried, I was two dancing around in front of the TV. It was smallish, black and white, but I remember it.


I remember the old black and white Zenith I inherited when my mom and dad finally got a color TV for the living room. They were in their early thirties. We had the family over to view the first landing on the moon. I and my cousins were so naive we thought we could run outside and see them there, we waved. It was so cool.


And then there is family TV night. Sunday nights watching Emergency with Randolf Mantooth and crew. (Yes, he is the only one I remembered.) My mom would make popcorn with butter, give us some squares of Hersey's chocolate, and a soda pop. For an hour, my family would all get along. My dad in his chair. My brother near by. I would sit in front of my mom or next to her knowing if I was near in proximity she'd brush my hair or scratch my back when the popcorn was all gone.


I got sent to my room quite a bit as a kid. There I feel in love with The Knights of the Round Table, Vincent Price, all things Guenevere and Sir Lancelot. It was just my thing. I also like to scare the bejeebers out of myself and watch Twilight Zone. Remember Talking Tina? Ugh, gives me creepers to this day. Or how about Outer Limits? If I wasn't listening to Bobby Sherman, Donny Osmond, or the Jackson Five I was watching my Zenith.


I loved Saturday morning cartoons. They kept me company while my parents slept late on weekends.


I don't remember watching TV after I came home from a 9 day stay in the hospital when I was 12 but I'm sure I did. One ugly abdominal tumor gone and some recovery time, I must have.


I loved after school TV and bonded with my girlfriends over All My Children and Luke and Laura.

Wow, now wonder I'm having a hard time letting go of TV. So much history. Through the good and the bad for a very, very long time.

It's More Than Just Pro's and Con's: The TV Debate Rages on in My Head

Yes, it is. It just is not as simple as that, or really as complicated. But it sure feels that way.
It's not like I'm in 8th grade and trying to decide why to break up with someone. Or choosing between two job offers, or apartments, or cars.

When I think about this entire TV issue I have a plethor of ideas that insist on invading my brain. Here are a few the ideas that are bopping around my brain like kernels of popcorn:

Think of all the projects, things, blogging, e mails, homework, housework, I'd get done if the TV was off for good.

Think of all the books I'd read.

Think of all the walks I'd take.

Think of all the quiet in the house.

Think of the advertising I wouldn't have to listen to or try to ignore. No more drug commercials! That alone should seal the deal.

Think of how much better I would feel about the world, not knowing that a single mom just gave birth to her 14th child. Okay, I would find out about it, but not immediately and not in my face everyday with a moment to moment up date on her latest mega-offer.

Think about the pride that I would feel, when I could tell all my old Starbucks co-workers I joined the cause and followed their lead. They actually have lives. They don't have cable. Some haven't in years. Causes me to feel pride for some crazy reason, along with a small lump in my throat.

Mostly, I think I should think about the bottom line. It's financially savvy. Something I don't have, but would like to possess. The damn bill for our new Verizon seems to have grown exponentially since we acquired it in November. How can it be over $400.00 to catch the bill up that inadvertently was misplaced over Christmas time. That means since November we have spent $800 on cable, Internet, and phone (oh, and cell phone for a short while there as well). Gasp. OMG, that right there should be enough to wallop me up side the head and quickly dial the phone and disconnect the damn thing, right? But it's not.


Like I said, can you say addiction?

In the twelve step program they say acknowledging that you have a problem is the first step. Okay, so here goes; I am powerless over my will of wanting to keep the TV cable and that my life has become unmanageable. There I said it. I don't feel any different. Hmmm. Maybe I'd better start saying it over and over and over. Like 20 minutes every hour on the hour. Isn't that how often advertisers use marketing to convince us of a new idea?

Addiction

It's not what you think. You will not see me on an upcoming episode
of A & E's ever depressing Intervention. I'm not hitting the bottle. I'm not considering nicotine to help me on my weight loss efforts. I'm not huffin' the spray paint. Not smokin' a doobie. Not crack, not crank, not pills, not H, not any of those. It's not even Fran's dark chocolate, grey sea salt encrusted carmels. No, it's TV. Television. Can you believe it?

It's been an on going discussion in our house for about the last four months. Should we or shouldn't we. As in just let the damn cable go for good. I mean we can always pick back up again if we decide we can't live without it, right? But the difficulty I am having agreeing with this decision tells me there is something more to it.

It should be a fairly easy decision. But it's not and I have come to this simple conclusion; TV is a habit that has turned into an addiction.

According to dictionary.com here is the definition of addiction:

the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.

Wow, judging from the difficulty of the act of letting go of the cable I am addicted to TV. How blase'. How American. How freaking embarrassing.

(Close your eyes and hear the smarmy music that opened and closed the soap you were raised on, please.)

So as not to bore you to death in one post, tune in tomorrow viewers as we learn the reasons she just can't let go but knows she must...

Can I Borrow Your Instructions? Thanks Head Nurse...

The following account sums up greatly how I am feeling today, although my head seems to be pounding to a rhythm all it's own. Thanks to Head Nurse's wonderful blog spot on Friday, January 30, 2009.

http://head-nurse.blogspot.com/

Hope this also leads some of you there...the spot is one of my favorites. Filled with candor, humor, and a peek at what it means to be a nurse.



How to have the flu
Day one: Be amazed how very bad you feel. Take Tylenol. Lie down, covered with every blanket in the house, while dressed in a sweater, two pairs of pajama pants, socks, and a hat, and shiver.

Day two: Repeat Day One, while coughing.

Day three: Get some good drugs. Take them. Fall over into a shivering, feverish stupor, completely worn out by your hour-long trip to the doctor and pharmacy. Wake up. Eat some soup. Marvel at how good soup can taste. Fall over again.

Day four: Wake up. Ponder the fact that you are still alive. Take some drugs. Drink some coffee. Realize that this is the second cup of coffee you've had in four days. Sit on couch, worn out from making coffee. Once you're rested, make some soup. Eat it. Fall over.

Day five: Wake up. Look around you. Notice your dog is still there. Wonder who's been feeding him for the past few days, then remember dimly that some guy in a chef's outfit has been stopping by several times a day to check on you and bring you Sprite. Take drugs.

Pat dog. Let dog out. Notice that the weather is beautiful. Make some toast.

Sit on the couch and shake while the toast is cooking. When the toaster dings, drag self into the kitchen, amazed at how weak you are. Realize as you take toast out of toaster that the weakness is probably due to hunger. Devour two slices of toast with peanut butter and retire to couch with a cup of coffee. Read an OZ book, then nap.

Wake up. Decide soup sounds good. Have some soup. Go back to bed. Sleep for three hours.
Wake up. Take drugs. Tell self that if you have to eat soup again, you'll turn into one of Warhol's paintings of a Campbell's can. Plan sandwich for dinner.

Realize you are exhausted from sandwich-planning. Retire to couch with book; go directly to sleep.

Wake up. Vow to self not to forget how absolutely crappy this past week has been, and that you will, in future, show more kindness to people who have to get out of bed after brain surgery and walk. Vow to self to have a better selection of soup in the pantry in the future. Vow to have an entire case of Scotch in the storage room.

Blog.

Fall over. Sleep. Dream of sandwich.

My Superbowl Account: Cardinals lack defensive capabilites and so do I.

Okay, so I didn't count points, keep track, or eat appropriately on Superbowl Sunday. Nope. I did not. Not too bad. Not to good. Just in the middle somewhere, lies my account of the day as far as eating. But now, I find I can't get back on track. It's not a good thing.

I want to keep the momentum up, and the pounds heading downward. Tomorrow is a new day. I vow to get back on track and keep on track. It's time for me. I can't let one damn day ruin five weeks of hard work and determination and boats loads of surrender.

A Little Confirmation

After I went to the produce store today I decided to save time and just run into the local "weirdo-o" vortex for just a few things. As I walked in I noticed a police car parked directly in front of one of the entrances. Don't know what happened, only overheard one of the bag boys say, "Do we need to have this place doused in Holy Water, or what?" Don't really care what I missed only know it confirms my feelings about the place. Yeah. Uh huh.