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Change, LifeView all 2 comments

I informed one of my co-workers earlier today, that she was the outbreak monkey of our office. At the beginning of the year she returned from a vacation sick as a dog. She was so sick, she had to go home at lunch, but she was right back the very next day coughing all over the place and breathing everybody’s air. Thus began the outbreak. Ever since, this plague has been passing from one person to the next in our office, which isn’t all that surprising since I don’t work in that big of an office. So far out of 14 employees, 7 have gotten sick and missed work. 7!

Monkey

At first I thought I was safe, because I’m in the lobby which is separated from everyone else. I felt great, and I did my dead-level best to avoid talking to anyone with a sniffle or a cough. I was in the clear . . . until now. Now I have the plague, and I blame the outbreak monkey. Despite my bitterness about this, I did realize something though. While I am clearly sick – my nose is running like a faucet and I’ve got a cough – this thing hasn’t wiped me out like it has everybody else.

Everyone else has missed at least one day of work, because they were so sick they physically couldn’t get out of bed. I’m on day three, and getting out of bed hasn’t been any harder than usual. I mean I would have preferred to stay for a couple more hours this morning, but it wasn’t a necessity. I also haven’t been running a fever, I’m not achy, and my lymph nodes aren’t that swollen. My immune system is actually fighting this sucker off!

Okay, this might be a bit of an exaggeration.

Okay, this might be a bit of an exaggeration.

For the first time since I started this god-awful allergy elimination diet, I’m actually glad that I’m on it! Normally a bug like this would have knocked me flat. Instead, since my body isn’t in a perpetual state of allergic reaction, I can fight off a cold. Whoo-hoo! It’s the small things that make life worth living. Oh, and for those who have asked for an update – asparagus, bananas, and peppermint have been moved to the permanent DO NOT EAT list – coffee, honey, pinto beans and garlic(in small amounts) have been moved to the YOU CAN EAT list. Only 28 more foods to test . . .

Inspiration, LifeLeave a comment

I am not what you would call a music connoisseur. I listen to quite a bit of music, but I’ll listen to just about anything that’s on, and I generally don’t know band names. I certainly don’t the names of anybody in the band, and with the exception of the Barenaked Ladies, I don’t go out of my way to see a concert. In other words, I enjoy music while I’m in the moment listening to it, but I’ve never been inspired to dig deeper. It’s not my thing.

Yep. Definitely gotten this mixed up before.

Yep. Definitely gotten this mixed up before.

That being said, I fully recognize the power that music can have. I love a good movie soundtrack or score, because there’s a story told through the music itself. They’re great! The Pirates of the Caribbean score will always pump me up and get me ready to work. Therefore, I made a series of mixes in my iTunes that I can play to match the mood I’m in. Sort of like different soundtracks for my life. There’s the slow mix, the workout mix, the belter’s mix – for when I’m in the mood to sing along! – but, I realized that I didn’t have an empowerment mix. A mix of music that pumps me up and makes me feel like I can take over the world. As I was working on a talk that I’m giving at the beginning of March, I decided that I needed an empowerment mix.

Here’s what I came up with, in no particular order, as I generally listen with it on shuffle.

“Respect” – Aretha Franklin

“Fighter” – Christina Aguilera

“Fight Song” – Rachel Platten

“Independent Woman” – Destiny’s Child

“Who Says” – Selena Gomez

“You Gotta Be” – Des’Ree

“I’m Every Woman” – Chaka Khan

“Love Myself” – Hailee Steinfeld

“Stronger” – Kelly Clarkson

“Rhythm Nation” – Janet Jackson

“Brave” – Sara Bareilles

“Born This Way” – Lady Gaga

“Confident” – Demi Lovato

“Ready for the Good Times” – Shakira

“Hit Me with Your Best Shot” – Pat Benatar

“Roar” – Katy Perry

“I’m Coming Out” – Diana Ross

“Get on Your Feet” – Gloria Estefan

“Let’s Get Loud” – Jennifer Lopez

“Raise the Roof” – Jennifer Holliday

“Powerless” – Nelly Furtado

 

I would love to hear if you have any additions! What am I missing?

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Over the past few weeks, I have been on this crazy mission to clean and organize everything in my apartment. My roommate, God bless her, has tolerated my mania and even joined in to take care of her areas. I love me roommate. Well last night I finished . . . okay 95% is done. There are still a couple of little projects but those involve reorganizing something that is already in its proper place. Therefore, for all intents and purposes, I finished last night.

As I looked around my dusted, vacuumed, organized, color-coordinated, alphabetized – just kidding, I didn’t alphabetize anything . . . yet – this profound sense of peace settled over me. I even folded a fitted sheet neatly, that is how Zen I was.

Sheet

I LOVE being in a neat and tidy space. It makes my heart happy. My grandmother would be so proud, I definitely get this from her. It’s not that it has to be sparse, it just has to be neat. A place for everything and everything in its place. I feel like I should cross-stitch that on a pillow or something.

My living space hasn’t looked this good since I was a kid. It’s always close, but there’s always something amuck. Some area that is a disaster area, and I have done this on purpose for years. Growing up I felt as if I had no control over my life. My mother was sick and our lives were ruled by her sickness. Therefore, I found myself something that I could control. Namely, my bedroom. It was pristine, at all times. Everything had a place, and I knew if someone had moved a tchotchke even half an inch. How did I know this? Because I kept such a tight rein on all of my belongings that I would be driven to distraction until it was returned to its correct place. It was the only thing I could control, so half an inch was that important. I can only assume that my friends picked up on this, because when they came over they either put things back exactly where they got it, or gave it to me to put away.

OCD

Sounds pretty OCD, right? That is because I had OCD, a mild case thankfully, but OCD nevertheless. I had to cope with mess and disorder everywhere else, but in my room, everything could be perfect. And there is the reason that I’ve always left something messy as an adult. After leaving college and getting my first place on my own, I discovered the downside in needing things to be perfect. Perfect is a dangerous word, because it is un-achievable and will only make you crazy. Over time, I broke the OCD cycle and have never let myself be completely organized since.

It was earlier this year that it occurred to me, that I’ve come a LONG way since I was that depressed, OCD kid looking for an outlet. A LONG WAY. I no longer need things to be organized, I like them to be organized. Therefore, I decided that it was high time that I love the space I live in. It was high time, for everything to have a place, and for everything to be in its place. A milestone had been reached. To celebrate, I cleaned and organized my entire apartment. I know how to party.

Life, Live and LearnOne comment so far

I worked in retail for years. Everything from a mom and pop tourist junk shop to fine jewelry to a major department store. And if there is one commonality between all of them, it is that there will be people who come in and act like assholes. It doesn’t matter what you’re selling, what your price points are, there will be people who come in and do nothing but make fun of your prices, your merchandise and sometimes you. It’s good times. (insert sarcastic font) As employee in these establishments, the only thing you can do is grit your teeth and hope they get bored and leave sooner rather than later.

Despite my years of experience dealing with this, now that I’ve been removed from it for a couple of years, I had totally forgotten about this phenomenon. Until this weekend when I had a yard sale. This woman came by and started browsing through stuff. Every time she would ask for a price, she would roll her eyes. At one point she even laughed at me. Now mind you, the majority of the items at this yard sale were priced at $1. However, we had a couple of larger, nicer items that were priced accordingly. She of course, was only interested in the nicer items, but still expecting the $1 price tag. Calling on my years of training, I gritted my teeth and waited for her to go away. She did and all was well. Until she circled back.

Customer

It was at this point that I remembered that I was at a yard sale, and I wasn’t anybody’s employee. Therefore, I didn’t have to deal with her shit. Nor did I have to sell her anything if I didn’t want to. The individual prices of everything were still the same, however because of her behavior I would now impose a twat tax on anything she wanted to buy. What is the twat tax, you ask? This tax doubled the asking price to compensate me for the mental anguish I suffered from having to deal with her. Surprise, surprise, she didn’t buy anything, but I felt better.

Fast forward to last night. I’m trying to sell a rug on Craigslist and this guy and I have been going back and forth negotiating price. Scratch that, he’s staying the same at 60% of my asking price, and expecting me to come down to his price. Last night I got fed up, threw out my final offer and said that I wouldn’t go any lower. This twat responds with, “You can do my price. Where do you live, I’ll pick it up tonight.”

Can't Be Serious

Are you kidding me?!?!?! Does that actually work on people? Too bad for him, I now have a twat tax, and he most certainly qualifies as a twat. Only this guy graduated to a whole new level of twat, and I decided that I was done dealing with him. So I responded back with, “No, I cannot, and I am now done dealing with you. Please do not contact me again.”

Amazingly, he responded back and actually said sorry and made a counter offer. Mind you, it was a counter offer that was lower than the price that I said was my lowest offer. Nope, delete! Then I got an email offering to trade me his 37” TV for my rug. What? Nope, delete! Hate to tell you buddy, but if you want something, don’t be a twat to the person who has it. The twat tax. I’m a fan.

Happiness, Live and LearnLeave a comment

I think the universe might be trying to tell me something. Over the past couple of weeks, I have come across several articles that all have the same basic principle behind them: even in your dream job, there will be things that you don’t like. I don’t know about you, but that is not something that was ever addressed during career day back when I was in school. A dream job was always painted to be something that would make you so happy that every moment was going to be akin to skipping through dandelion fields, with a puppy and a kitten, while being chased by butterflies to a rainbow’s end. They left out the part where you’re allergic to the damn dandelions, the puppy is chewing on your shoelace, the kitten keeps eating the butterflies, and there’s no such thing as the end of a rainbow. All of my childhood dreams have been crushed. Okay, not really. Mostly because I always hated, loathed and despised career day. I never knew what to say.

I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Even as an idealistic six year-old, my response was a shoulder shrug and an,

“I don’t know.”

Little-Girl-Meme-I-Dont-Know-02

When I was told that wasn’t an acceptable answer, I switched to,

“A teacher, I guess.”

This seemed to make everyone happy as my dad was a teacher and my mom was a retired teacher. So I stored this away and whipped it out every career day. Truth be told, I had no desire to be a teacher, but as it got everybody off my back, I professed my undying love for the profession. This worked great, right up until my senior year in high school when I realized that I had to pick a college and a major and actually do something with my life. Cue major existential crisis! I was right back to, “I don’t know.” And no college I could find offered that. Trust me, I looked. Seriously, I did.

Fast forward 16 years, and I finally friggin’ know what I want to be when I grow up. And now I’m left pondering, what will the crap be, and am I willing to put up with it? As one article put it, what shit sandwich are you willing to eat every day? Pretty graphic, I know, but poignant, and stuck in my head. This is what happens when I read articles online.

Shit sandwich

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In science there’s this theory called Occam’s razor. The basic principle is that if you hear hoof beats, assume it’s a horse not a zebra. Why? Because while that cough might be an indicator of a rare lung disease, 99% of the time it’s just a cold. It’s a theory that makes a heck of a lot of sense. Unfortunately, I tend to fall into the 1% zebra category quite often.

Occam

When I was a kid, my knees were hurting like hell. They tested my tendons, my ligaments, my meniscus, etc. All of those were normal. Eventually a specialist figured out that I had plica syndrome. Plica what? Exactly. They’ve been testing my thyroid for years and every time it comes back in tip-top shape despite the symptoms I’m exhibiting. Turns out I’m allergic to sulfites. I have made more doctors scratch their heads in puzzlement then I can count. For whatever reason where my medical history is concerned, if you hear hooves you should assume zebra. Or gazelle, elk or a cow. Anything other than a horse.

Therefore, several months ago when I started to notice that my eyes were getting tired and dry after lunch I started investigating. Maybe it was low vitamin A? Eat more carrots, up my A. No help. Maybe one of my prescriptions was causing it? I switched up the timing of when I take my prescriptions to see if that helped. No help. I looked into the different diseases that can cause dry/tired eyes – lupus, scleroderma, Sjogren’s syndrome. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nothing made any sense and nothing I was doing helped.

Then a realized that I work in front of a computer screen all day, under fluorescent lights. Perhaps my eyes were simply dry and tired by the time I hit the afternoon? Today I tried some eye drops. Guess what? My eyes aren’t dry or tired anymore. It’s a good thing I’m pretty. Friggin horse.

Count Rushmore

Inspiration, Live and Learn, TheaterLeave a comment

I have seen a lot of live theater in my life. Last year alone I saw over 50 productions. Clearly, this is an art form that speaks to me. Just in case I wasn’t sure about that, I got proof positive over the weekend. On Saturday I went to a highly anticipated and much lauded new contemporary art museum, on Sunday I saw the multi Oscar nominated, “The Revenant,” and on Monday night I saw a recording of the live broadcast of the Kenneth Branagh Theatre Company’s production of “A Winter’s Tale.” Anybody want to guess which one was my favorite? No, not the modern art. Modern art is weird.

modern-art-simplified

That leaves the movie and the play. Mind you, “Winter’s Tale” is one of Shakespeare’s problem plays. It’s technically a comedy as it ends in marriage, but you have to wait until the second act (In the viewing convention of two acts, not Shakespeare’s second act) to find some levity and even then it’s sparse. Like I said, it’s a problem play and not one of my favorites. Truth be told, with the exception of the best stage direction ever – Exit pursued by bear – I really don’t even like it that much. It gets ranked somewhere down around “Henry VIII.” That being said, I LOVED this production! It wasn’t perfect, no production is, but I left the theater after three and a half hours of Shakespeare energized and inspired. Even the scene changes were beautiful capitalizing on silhouetted choreography. Every aspect of this production had been given thorough attention and it paid off in dividends. It was a fantastic piece of work that still worked through the translation of a camera. Wonderfully done!

“The Revenant,” on the other hand, is another story. The majority of the cinematography was gorgeous and Leonardo DiCaprio certainly delivered a stellar performance. However, I’m pretty sure that my roommate’s favorite part was listening to my rant during the car ride home about how and why I hated it. SPOILER ALERT START Even if you are willing to suspend disbelief and buy that this guy is attacked by a pissed off mother bear – twice! – that he didn’t bleed out, that none of his wounds festered with infection and became gangrenous in the oh-so-clean environment he was in, he would not have survived how long he spent in that river. There was ice on the deeper, slower running parts which means that water’s temperature was in the 40s maybe 50s if we are suspending our disbelief. A man, who is already horribly debilitated from TWO bear attacks, and is fully submerged in water that frigid never would have made it out. Hypothermia would have kicked in, and he would have lost control on his limbs making it harder than hell to swim to shore, and damn near impossible to build and light a fire. Movie is over, our main character is now a popsicle!

Popsicle

Even if you are willing to suspend disbelief for that, later he falls off a god-damned cliff, into a massive tree and splats on the ground. Not only, does he not have any additional scratches on him, but he is fully capable of pulling a Luke Skywalker and climbing inside of his Tauntaun, er horse which is dead because IT FELL OFF A CLIFF. What the actual fuck? Apparently being attacked by the mother fucking bear imbued him with some sort of magical, invincibility. Somebody tag me, I’m out. It was about this time that I took a leisurely restroom break. I’m assuming that while I was gone he was set on fire, shot and beheaded before finally arriving back at the fort. SPOILER ALERT END

Needless to say, I did not feel energized or inspired after the movie. I felt annoyed. Now true, that movie was clearly not my cup of tea, but in all honesty, while I can think of a few movies that left me energized, I can’t think of any that left me inspired in the same way that “Winter’s Tale” did. And that was from a script that I don’t like. I don’t know what the point of all of this is, I just find it interesting. Also, what was up with the bear theme?

WritingLeave a comment

I am reading the book On Writing by Stephen King. Okay, technically speaking I’ve been reading this book for over a year. It’s one of those that I carry around and when I have a moment I pull it out and read a bit. Therefore, it’s taking me a while to get through it. It also isn’t exactly a thrilling page turner, not that I think you could make a book about writing thrilling, but if anybody could, it’s King. So since he couldn’t, I’m going to say that it can’t be done. It is an excellent book though, and even if you only consider yourself a some-time-writer, you should really grab it from your local book store. Or Amazon, do local book stores even exist anymore? That totally made my heart hurt, writing that sentence.

Crying gif

At any rate, I’m reading the damn book, and I just read a bit about how as a writer, a large part of your job is simply sitting back and letting the story and characters do their thing. It will write itself if you let it. Now if you had said this to me five years ago, I probably would have laughed at you. Not in your face laughter, while pointing my finger, but walking away, “Boy is that guy a kook,” laughter. For me writing used to be a laborious task. I had this never-ending impulse to do it, but it was laborious. I worked for every word and debated over every plot point. It’s no wonder I never wanted to share my work with people. It had taken blood, sweat and tears to get those words on the page and that was obvious even to the reader.

Hemingway

I had been trying for months to write the first chapter of my novel. I had ideas bursting out of my head for this novel, but none of them were the first chapter, and as all books start with the first chapter, clearly that is where I needed to be starting. Or so I thought. Then one day everything changed. Tired of literally banging my head on my desk – sometimes it actually works, you should try it – I said, “Fuck it!” and started to write the first chapter that came to mind. Now that all is said and done, it is the eighth chapter. I wrote my eighth chapter before my first, and when I did something magical happened. My brain and fingers started the chapter, but the story and my fingers finished it. I didn’t have to think about what happened next, or what such-and-such character would say, because they were simply doing it. I was a conduit for the story. It was the most exhilarating and exhausting moment of writing I had ever had. Needless to say, I continued to write my novel in this out of order, whatever part was on my mind fashion.

I would love to say that the whole thing came that easily, but that would be a gigantic lie. There were definitely chapters that I had to fight for. My blood, sweat and tears hit those pages, and unlike some of the other chapters, they required large amounts of finessing in the subsequent drafts to bring them up to snuff. But the absolutely beautiful thing, was that every time I would get stuck, or I when I couldn’t figure out what was missing, all I had to do was stop thinking about it and work on something else. Eventually my muse would return and the story would inform me of where it needed to go.

Muses

I have been stressing all week about the opening of my novel. Unintentionally, my two main characters didn’t make an appearance until the fourth chapter of the book. I went backed and asked some of my readers and across the board they all agreed, it was a little odd. None of them said it was bad, per se, but definitely unconventional. The more I thought about this, the more I started to worry that I was starting my entire novel off on the wrong foot. I need to fix that! So I started looking at my opening chapters and investigating a rearrangement of the chapters. Remember when I said I wrote this thing out of order? This is not the first time I’ve rearranged the order of chapters. I finally came up with something that I liked, but realistically it was going to require the addition of another chapter. Cue prepping the blood, sweat and tears because Lord knows, I thought I was done telling this story, so I have no clue what is going to go into that additional chapter. That’s when I decided to hold off, and work on something else. Lo and behold, the next thing I know my muse is back and whispering in my ear what has been missing this entire time. The missing chapter is here! I guess I’m not done telling this story yet.

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I work on the 8th floor of a high rise building, and all of the offices on my floor have access to one men’s room, and one lady’s room. Over the past several months there has been some serious drama brewing about the lady’s room and it cracks me up to no end!

First, there were complaints that people were dripping water all over the counter and not wiping it up. Now true, there are definitely days that you go in there and it makes you wonder if somebody has been handwashing their clothes there’s so much water on the counter. But it’s water. It doesn’t get in the way of washing your hands. Yes, maybe you want to set your purse on the counter. Not a problem, grab a paper towel and wipe dry a spot. This is WATER, not nuclear waste. At least this is my philosophy on the whole thing. Apparently the women on my floor, do not share this philosophy. Not only was there a note left in the restroom about wiping up the water, but about a month after the note, an email was received by all of us from building management requesting that people wipe the counter after washing their hands.

I don't care

There were enough people complaining, or just one very persistent person, to get management to send out an email. ABOUT WATER! Hysterical! To their credit, it worked. People started wiping the counters, and the amount of water decreased. So you would think, that the drama would be over, right? Wrong! Emboldened by their win, the Restroom Gestapo moved on to phase two of their restroom crack-down plan. What is next on their list you wonder? Poop. Apparently people have been pooping in the restroom. How inconsiderate! The noses of these delicate flowers have been grossly abused, and thus a second note appeared. I really wish I would have gotten a picture of it before somebody took it down, but alas. The premise of the note was basically requesting – kind of demanding – that these inconsiderate pooping fiends start bringing air freshener, or a match with them to cleanse the air. Then at the bottom, in big bold letters, was written, “We Know Who You Are!”

Know who you are

Really? For the health and regularity of all of the women on the floor, I’m hoping it’s everyone. However, the Restroom Gestapo seems to think that it’s only a select few individuals who are stinking up the joint, and they know who! That is my favorite part. At no point have any of these notes been signed. Or polite for that matter. So we have no idea who the Restroom Gestapo is, but they know who we are. Can you say passive aggressive? As you would expect, this was not received well. Actually I lied, this is my favorite part.  I am not the only one who thinks these notes/people are ridiculous. Ever since that second note showed up, people have stopped wiping the counters. There are now times that it looks like someone has had a full on water fight in there. And no, there has not been an up-tick in the use of air freshener. Take that Restroom Gestapo! It’s like the sixth grade wild, wild, west in there! It cracks me up. I’m sure this whole thing is really ruining someone’s day/week/month, but for my part it is pure comedy.

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You wanna know what phrase I could live the rest of my life without hearing and be happier for it? “If I couldn’t eat that many foods, I would just kill myself.” Or some variation of that. I have lost track of how many people have said that to me. It’s gotten to the point that I avoid bringing up my food restrictions with new people unless I absolutely have to, because I am so fed up with getting that retort. Especially since that retort is usually coupled with a look that says one of three things:

  1. You poor thing! – think injured animal on the side of the road
  2. What kind of weird freak are you?
  3. Drama queen, just get over it.

Dramatic

I realize that I don’t know what is meant by the looks, as I have never actually asked. So that is an assumption on my part. However, let’s take a look at the comment itself. “If I couldn’t eat that many foods, I would just kill myself.” So, my life is not worth living. Or I am so broken, it is not even worth trying to function anymore. Awesome, that makes me feel really good inside. All warm and fuzzy. I guess I’ll just excuse myself from the dinner table and go slit my wrists in the bath tub.

Yes, I know that is not what these people mean, because there are some people who I am close to that have said some variation of this at some point. It may not be what they mean, but it is what they are saying and that truly sucks. It sucks even more because there is nothing that I can do to change. There is no pill that I can take, there is no exercise regimen, there is no Tibetan chant that I can recite to make my body digest foods properly. Trust me, if there was I would be doing it! Even if I had to eat while standing on my head, taking the pill and reciting the Tibetan chant all at the same time. I WOULD BE DOING IT! Because having food restrictions sucks. Having as many as I do, is practically crippling if you want to get food outside of your own kitchen. I am well aware of this without people pointing out that if they were in my shoes, they would kill themselves.

If you haven’t guessed, this is in response to a comment that I received about Tuesday’s blog topic. Not on the blog itself, it was said to my face. I’m quite sure this person meant well, and was simply trying to empathize with me. It didn’t work. In fact, it hurt like hell. Here’s a newsflash: suggesting suicide as a means of empathizing, never works. Go figure! Instead, try out this phrase instead, “That totally sucks!” It’s simple. It’s to the point. It’s honest. It’s something that I have thought many a time, and hearing it come out of your mouth will likely make me giggle and then agree with you whole-heartedly. I’m not 100% sure on this, but I would wager that people dealing with other chronic illnesses, like type 1 diabetes and such, would agree. We fight like hell every day to stay alive. Please stop making it harder to do so.

bad day