Conversation

(handing a marked-up report back to its originator)

Me: I need you to translate this for me.

Boss: Huh?

Me: Runic script went out quite awhile back.

Retail Therapy

Or... not so much.

Today, Mom and I took the boys to one of our semi-local malls.

Back in the day I'd have said "to the mall" or "to [insert name of mall here]." Because back in the day there was one local mall (we now have two) and other malls were far enough away (i.e., more than 15 minutes) to merit a name mention.

Now? Two local, like I said, and several others under an hour's drive. Welcome to growth central, AKA central Florida.

Anyway, we went to one of the semi-local ones which was new a mere 15 years ago and which has also just had a face lift. Our primary purpose? To burn some Saturday hours. Our secondary purpose?

To purchase a bedding set for the eight-year-old. Sigh.

Remember the child back in the Walmart/SpongeBob post? The one who didn't care what kind of bedding he had?

Uh-huh. Those of you with kids older than mine knew what would happen. He finally wanted to pick out his own comforter and sheets.

We ended up at Sears (not Macy's -- I'm crazy, not stupid).

Thankfully, he ignored the delightful Sponge Bob display.

Unfortunately, he spied the Pirates of the Caribbean display.

Ouch.

So now my eight-year-old is the proud possessor of a Pirates comforter, bedsheet set, and decorative pillow (with glow-in-the-dark appliques!).

Need I mention there are a couple of skulls in all this happiness?

Yeah.

So anyway... one kid, Sponge Bob Central.

The other? Skulls.

On the plus side, at least we have an "at sea" theme going. Eyeroll.

(Amanda wanders off, clutching her head, and hopes she'll shake this new practice of referring to herself in the third person in short order...)

My Speeding Non-Ticket

Babs just posted about how she got out of a speeding ticket, and I was inspired to share my story.

The one ticket I ever got out of was just off I-10 in Florida. I was driving back to Tallahassee from visiting my little brother in Gainesville.

Well, at that time I-10 was 60 MPH. I'd just taken the exit and was on US 90.

Which was 50 MPH.

I had no cruise control, and it appeared that gravity was weighing a bit heavily on my gas pedal, so I was still going 60.

The nice FHP guy in the median just stuck his hand out of his patrol car, pointed at me, and waved me to the side of the road, where I very politely and panickedly waited while he put on his lights, did a U-turn, and pulled in behind me.

I was hyperventillating pretty well by the time he got to my window.

"License and registration?"

As I handed them to him, I just burst into speech:

"Officer, I swear I wasn't speeding. My foot was."

He stood there for a moment, stunned. Then he choked and laughed.

"I take it this means you'd prefer a written warning?"

"Sir, I would adore a written warning."

So he went back to his car and ran my information. When he came back to my car he handed me my warning and told me to raise my right hand.

"I want you to repeat after me:

I swear I will never again speed in the State of Florida.

And if I feel the need for speed, I will go up somewhere in Georgia and do it."

I did what I was told. As he walked back to his car he was still shaking his head bemusedly.

Poor guy. I think that was the first time he'd had someone blame her foot for breaking the law.

Corporate Interest

Looks like the folks at Publix are interested in my thoughts about baggers:

(double-click on the image to enlarge)

On the off chance there are any other visitors from the Publix corporate offices, please also see my thoughts about deli workers who sneak black olives into pre-made wraps.

Thanks for coming by, y'all! Always happy to offer feedback.

Comment Responses (and a bonus rant inspired by AYC)

Okay, yeah, it's kind of a cheat to use a response to comments as an entire blog post itself, but this got so long in the little comment boxy thingie that it was just silly to keep trying to type in there.

Anyway, on to the responses!

Dr. A, man, I hear ya there on the Diet Coke. I was really low on it by the time yesterday night rolled around, so today I bought two twelve-packs in two different places, just to be sure I was adequately supplied.

Those will last until Wednesday. Because I'm working and will be drinking the office's Diet Coke during business hours.

Angel, I'm working on the vasectomy thing. At this rate it looks like I'm going to have to go somewhere and make him the appointment myself, which I understand is difficult what with HIPAA and everything.

Like I said, if I get pregnant again it will be a case of immaculate conception and I will make an absolute killing in the tabloids.

Awesome Mom, I have that eye-poking-out urge over the SpongeBob bedroom going on for sure. Plus I think I'm developing hives.

The elder son, who didn't care what was on his bed? Now wants to get a new comforter and sheets for his room. If he chooses SpongeBob too (he is also a fan) I'll be blogging from the psych inpatient ward.

Scott, it was indeed both a fun and crazy Sunday. And hee! on the Problem Child room. You know, in the second Problem Child, my old orchestra director and his chamber group were the quartet in the wedding scene.

Yes, that is my one claim to vicarious fame.

As for kiddie bedding in stressful medical situations, well, I took my pillow to the hospital when I had my first son and had my old Raggedy Ann and Andy pillowcase on it, so I'm totally with you there.

The jury is still out on the sponge wall. We shall see. It isn't too complicated, so it could happen. When he hates it in a few years, he can help us paint over it.

AYC, three isn't so bad? What's one more?

:faints:

Woman, you do understand that at three children, we adults would be freaking outnumbered in this house? And that's only the beginning. The younger son is trying figure out how to spell to put a sign on his room keeping his elder brother out (because his mean mommy won't help him spell it), and the elder brother already has a sign on his door (because he wrote it himself without any assistance from me) saying,

"No little brother.

Unless I send him to get something.

Then he can come in."

Now, ma'am, picture these two little dears sharing a room.

I'll give you a moment for that to sink in.

Now picture them alone with their new sibling, a frazzled daddy, and a mommy who's practicing crocheting with a blunted plastic hook on the eighth floor of our local hospital.

Yes, that would be the previously-mentioned psych ward.

Ain't happenin', sister.

(But thanks for giving me a good rant to sign off on!)

WalMart and SpongeBob

No deep introspection today, folks. Just me, my Chantix, my bubble gum, my Diet Coke (they will have to pry it out of my cold, dead fingers), and life in general.

This morning we made a run to WalMart. Now usually it takes an act of Congress (or my lunch with my parents) to pry me out of the house before noon on a Sunday. But for various reasons, most of which are totally under my control, my younger son's bedroom was never officially "decorated," and we finally remedied that today.

Back when we bought this house we were at one kid, and one kid only. Then one day (I think Bloody Marys were involved) we both agreed that if we were going to have another child, we should really get started on it sometime soon as Himself didn't want to be seventy years old watching his own kid graduating from high school.

Well, the birthday of the younger child puts him firmly at sixty-three when that child will finally graduate, so he's safe there unless I get knocked up at forty.*

But on the day of our closing, neither of us knew I was about eleven days pregnant. Neither of us knew that God had been actively listening when we said "We really should get started on it soon," and took us at our word (or failing that, He was pretty sure we'd change our minds if swift action wasn't taken).

When we were driving home from signing our lives away for the next thirty years (I think by now we own the pantry outright), I realized that I was technically "due" that day and nothing had happened.

It wasn't only that, though, as I'm notoriously all over the map as far as my periods are concerned. It was also the fact that I'd been napping and had developed an aversion to both coffee and Cool Ranch Doritos, which for me are pretty sure signs of gestation. Also, there was the weird development that while most of my body measurements were going down (I was in week three or four of the Body-for-LIFE program), my waist measurement was increasing slightly.

Eeewwww.

So I put the then-only child to bed, and hurried off to buy a home pregnancy test.

I came home and did the whole pee-on-a-stick thing, then sat and watched the results window.

Two lines.

Huh.

I walked out of the bathroom, found my husband, and handed him the test. His brilliant response?

"There are two lines. And?"

"Yes, there are two lines."

"Ohhhh... two lines. Uhm, are we happy about this?"

"I'm not sure. I'll let you know in the morning. In the meantime, I think we'd better scratch that idea about having a guest bedroom."

They're not kidding when they say "Man plans, God laughs."

Anyway, the next morning I'd had time to absorb what this new pregnancy meant and was more fully with the program.

"Honey?"

"What?"

"We're happy about this."

"Okay."

So we moved from our apartment into the house in a few weeks when morning sickness was finally in full swing, which made me so much less helpful than I would have liked to have been. We got the extra-utero child's room fixed up for him with a big boy bed and matching sheets and comforter.

He didn't care what was on his bed, so I picked out something semi-normal looking.

The crib went into the "guest" room, along with various boxes that contained nothing vital enough to unpack (but of course vital enough to move) and a full size bed my husband had in storage. I made that one up with some other sheets and comforter that I chose. So for about eight months we had a guest room/ nursery/ storage room.

Time passed, the second son was born, the boxes were eventually unpacked, and for a couple of years he couldn't have cared less about what was in his bedroom. However, eventually he wanted a "big boy" bed. So we moved the full bed and the crib out and got him a little twin bed like his big brother's.

I had good intentions about getting him a comforter and some such stuff, but my grandmother had just died and we had tons of sheets and other things from her house. He fell in love with a set of butterfly print sheets (very old, very soft, very orange -- the child has an interesting sense of style), and things just kind of remained that way for the next couple of years.

But last weekend as we were doing the weekly dredging of his room to be sure he still had a carpet, he mentioned he might like a bedspread other than his SpongeBob throw blanket. So that's how I ended up at WalMart this morning, relieved that we were finally not going to see SpongeBob plastered over the top of his bed anymore.

We walked down the bedding aisle and he saw it. The Holy Grail of bedspreads.

(Y'all know where this is going, of course.)

Yes, it's got SpongeBob on it. So does his new set of sheets and both pillowcases.

And then there's the little fold-out SpongeBob table and chair set we got to complete the look, because, well, we must have somewhere to do all our artwork, I guess.

Oh, and to write the sign he's affixed to the door of his bedroom which says "No cats. Only kids allowed." He wanted to add "No big brothers," but I told him that would be a bit tacky.

Emily can't read, though, and scoots through his door anytime she can manage it, much to his eternal consernation.

His SpongeBob throw blanket is now carefully arranged on his floor as a rug.

He has also informed me that we need to paint one of his walls to look like a sponge. I told my husband, who just clutched his head between his hands.

It's SpongeBob-ariffic. I kind of wince when I walk by, but he's such a happy prideful little guy about it that I end up smiling even though an interior design desecration induced migraine is trying to beat my eyes out with a ballpeen hammer.

So anyway, that was my day. Happy four-year-old, pained-but-amused husband, and an eight-year-old who still doesn't care what sheets or bedspread are on his bed, but who is now the proud owner of a purple beanbag chair.

It's all minor, but sometimes life is just good. Even with WalMart and SpongeBob.

*God, please don't take this as a challenge. I will swear off sex before I have another child, and if you're that determined I should lose what little is left of my mind and become the mother of three, I'm gonna make a killing in the tabloids.

Weight and Body Issues (and other stuff, because I'm ADD-ish like that)

Well, I told Scott I'd address this in another post, so here I am.

Addressing it.

In another post.

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First though, I've been visiting a ton of blogs by people who are much much better at this writing thing than I am. Like, say, Scott's blog. Or the Queen of Dysfunction, who is now totally my idol in blogging about family matters and such. That chick knows how to bring the funny. Seriously. And although I know it's difficult to contemplate, I think she has a better grasp on profanity than even I possess.

I have an English degree (which I've mentioned once or twenty times here). All I can think when I look at this blog is that my professors must have been on some serious crack.

And then there are all the clearly focused blogs, like Mostly True Stories (labor and delivery), or any one of Angel's blogs (chronic headaches, weight loss, hurricanes, quilting, and crafting, in that order), or Stan's blog, which chronicles his adventures in Chantix land and the aftermath thereof.

Me? I'm all over the place. Rants? Got 'em. Family silliness? Got it. Bleeding forever without dying? It's here. Smoking? Yep. And now the quitting smoking and Chantix stuff.

I'd link it, but, well... you can find it in the archives if you're interested.

And to all this mish-mash, I'm adding weight loss issues.

Oish.

So if any of you come here hoping for some kind of consistency in the nature of the posts, I'm very sorry for disappointing you.

I mean that sincerely.

Hell, sometimes I wonder why I do this myself. I'll notice readership going up, get all freaked out, and wonder if I should even keep inflicting this mess on a small but slowly-increasing segment of the unsuspecting public.

But then I screw my head on straight and figure, well, I like blogging. I liked it before anyone even read this damn thing (I have two other ancient blogs to attest to this). And apparently, it's good enough for some folks to read.

I just question your judgment and mine in my more dark and introspective moments ;)

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Anyway, on to weight issues!

I was always a very skinny little kid. Or slender. Whatever. When I was four I had my tonsils out and scared my parents out of about ten years' growth by my impersonation of an ambulatory skeleton for about six months after the surgery.

Mom was very conscious about feeding her family healthy food. I remember once in mid-elementary school we were learning about what happens when food goes bad. It must have been related to a book the teacher was reading us or something. But anyway, one night Mom was serving us meatloaf and I spied something, uhm, "off" in my slice of loaf.

"Mom! This meat is bad! It's... it's... green."

"That's just a spice, sweetie."

Uh-huh. But gullible child that I was, I swallowed her lie.

And the freaking peas that she'd ground up and put into my Holy and Sacred ketchup-drenched meatloaf.

I hate peas. Hate them with a passion unequalled. I came home from class one day to find my husband (who is well aware of my hatred of these particular legumes) feeding our precious-and-then-only son this vile vegetable.

The little ingrate was gulping them down with great relish.

Since that time, when the man cooks? He makes peas as the vegetable. And I, conscientious mother that I am (I will set a good example, dammit), shovel them into my mouth in HUGE spoonfuls, hold them carefully on my tongue, and then swallow them down whole with a huge gulp of whatever liquid I'm happening to drink that night.

If it's wine, I'm good and buzzed by the time I have to do the dishes.

When #2 son was born, I stared the nasty beast of engorgement dead in the eye. What was the solution to the agony of my breasts? Frozen. Freaking. Peas.

God, I can still smell them thawing/cooking on my chest. I saved them for after-care for my husband's vasectomy-that-has-yet-to-happen.

I probably should toss them, along with the frozen breastmilk that's been gathering dust for four years.

And then there's the placenta from Son #2's birth, which we really meant to plant/ bury somewhere. But we didn't, and as it's a biohazard we're supposed to take it back to the birth center to dispose of it. So there it sits, taking up room in my freezer... oish.

Anyway...

Brought up eating healthily, even if slightly against my will, skinny kid, blah blah blah... which brings me to high school.

I was in the high school orchestra with Angel's husband. Our director was an interesting individual. One time I was wearing a skirt that clearly showed my rather narrow waist (it was twenty-two inches back in the day), and our conductor said, "Do you ever eat?"

Uhm, yeah. Actually, I did. I had a rather healthy relationship with food. My parents had given up trying to serve me peas -- it helped that I ate just about any vegetable that wasn't a pea -- and when it came to hunger, I ate. When I wasn't hungry anymore, I didn't eat.

You know, reasonable stuff like that.

But with this being orchestra, and with various evening performances and eating afterward, it was like some sort of eagle eye was upon me.

We'd go to Pizza Hut and I'd eat a slice of pizza or two, and all I'd hear was, "Good lord, eat girl! You're going to waste away to nothing!"

No, no I wasn't. Yes, I had a very narrow waist, but that isn't where I gain my weight. First place any excess weight goes on me is to my thighs and butt (the song Baby Got Back was so written for me). Saddlebags are the bane of my existence. In a full skirt with a narrow waist, sure I looked like a toothpick. But put me in jeans, shorts, or a straight skirt and it was very VERY clear I wasn't skeletal.

Still, I was at that whole "craving approval" stage, so I ate on command.

Over time, I got used to eating more than I should, just so no one would look at me with that "She's anorexic, we must feed and/or institutionalize her" expression in their eyes. Luckily, at that point my metabolism kicked all kinds of ass, and I stayed within the 122-127 range.

Unfortunately, over time my metabolism slowed. And over time my stress increased, and I dealt with stress by cramming more and more food down my gullet. After all, eating gained me approval. Approval felt good. Ergo, stress was relieved by eating!

Brilliant, eh?

Still, I managed to hold my weight around 140 or 150 up until I hit my early thirties. I wasn't totally happy at those weights, but my husband met me at 140 and thought I was the most beautiful creature he'd ever met (have I mentioned how insanely brilliant he is recently?), so I was content.

But then I went back to work. And although working was definitely a stress reliever in some ways (I didn't have to potty train my second son -- hah!), it brought stress in other ways, especially the whole "Dealing with clients who are getting divorced/ dealing with CPS/ looking at prison sentences" thing.

And so I ate, and ate more. Because it felt good.

Then I was out trying to buy something to wear for my brother's May 2006 wedding. Holy cow, everything I tried on made me look fat!

I was wearing my size 18 "immediately post-partum" jeans by then, but still, they were clothes I already owned, so I hadn't really paid attention to the increasing girth of my body.

The pictures came back from the wedding. Ouch. I'd weighed myself sometime within relatively recent memory and had seen that I was weighing about 180. Not good.

But that "recent memory" had been several months in the past.

Finally, in August of 2006, it happened. That "Eureka!" moment. The moment I knew I'd crossed the line from "rather curvier than usual" into "fat."

It was a Saturday. I was at Publix with my kids. My elder son got on the scale to weigh himself -- it's a hobby of his -- and then I figured I might as well see the bad news.

I didn't have to see it. The dear boy broadcast it for the entire store.

"Mommy, you weigh 200! Isn't that quite a lot?"

Shit.

"Yes, honey, it is quite a lot."

My mother had noticed my weight gain more than I had up until that point, and had said that she'd pay for a month of NutriSystem for me if I wanted to try it out. She wasn't pushy (she's never pushy with stuff like that), but she let me know the offer was there.

I e-mailed her the following Monday and let her know I was ready.

I stayed on NutriSystem for three months, and lost 27 pounds on it. After that point, I decided to do it on my own. And besides, Lean Cuisine is really rather tasty, in a "good Lord, would they just give me MORE FOOD" kind of way.

So since that time I've been counting calories, and have attempted to keep my daily intake between 1200 and 1500. If I go over it, eh, it happens. And if I'm under 1200, I eat until I've made it to 1200. I don't want to totally freak my body into starvation mode or anything.

Besides, cheese is really really good at 10:00 at night. Hee.

So now, about a year later, I weigh between 159 and 160. It's hugely different from the 200, but it's still a far cry from the 150/140 I was accustomed to, and even farther from the 122-127 range I used to enjoy.

I don't need to ever hit the 120's again. But I wouldn't mind dipping into the 130's. So I keep going, keep counting, and keep hoping.

So anyway, that's my whole "Amanda Gains and Then Loses Massive Amounts of Weight" story. Yeah, it's "only" forty pounds, but folks, it's FORTY FREAKING POUNDS. That's EIGHT 5 lb. sacks of flour.

That's the weight of my four-year-old.

So hell yeah, it's an accomplishment. And I'll shout it to the rooftops.

And that, dear readers, is why I'm panicked about gaining weight while I quit smoking. It's not totally rational, but I hope this makes it a bit more understandable.

Just Stuff

First, I've been tagged to do a meme by Babs. Topic? TANSTAAFL, or in other words, There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch.

I must cogitate.

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And trying to think about how I'm to do justice to that particular topic is a bit difficult at this point, because I took my first Chantix today and it appears to have fried my brain. The good news is that I'm not wanting to smoke as much even now, which I'm sure isn't due to the Chantix because a) I felt like this before I popped my little pill (yay!), and b) the stuff really hasn't had enough time to build up in my body anyway.

But still, it's definitely a good thing.

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In the realm of "not such a good thing," or perhaps, "too much of a good thing," I ate too much for lunch. That wasn't bright. I've spent almost a year scraping these forty pounds off my formerly-ever-widening-ass, and the last thing I need to do is pile them back on again. Yeah, yeah, one meal won't kill me, I know. It's the cumulative effect of overeating that'll do me in.

Since I'm quitting smoking, though, and am on Chantix, I have this lively horror that I'm going to pack the pounds right back on. I like how I look now, and am working on dropping a few more pounds (5'-7", 160 lbs, small bone structure... yep, still need to lose a few). I know how to make it work. I just need to continue obsessively calorie-counting and diary-ing my food, and make sure to stay within certain limits.

But it's really got me freaked out a bit.

Thank You Note

Forty-eight hours and no one's dead yet. This is definitely an accomplishment.

On the other hand, I've been doing some reading on withdrawal from nicotine addiction, and now firmly believe that whoever thought of calling this first week off nicotine "Glory Week" seriously needs to be shot.

At any rate, as my mother always told me it was only polite to express one's thanks via written form:

Babs and AD, I'm going to look into Chantix. I know it's very easy to lapse (see my fine print), so I figure I need all the tools in my arsenal I can get. Actually, I'd heard of the new medication but could only remember it started with a "C", so the reminder was quite timely (and most appreciated)! Now I just have to get off my duff and call my GP, who said he'd prescribe it for me the moment I asked him to.

Bless that man.

Awesome Mom, thank you for your hopes that we make it through this without killing each other. We happen to share that hope, although there are doubts of the outcome at certain times. Currently Himself is voted most likely to be the victim of any capital crime, primarily because his method of dealing with stress is to be an outward ass. Mine is to be an inward bitch, which is much harder for him to catch.

Okay, I just read that to him and he says it's not hard for him to catch at all, so perhaps the stakes are somewhat more even than I'd thought.

Monkeygirl, I had to laugh at what you said. The office is currently trembling in fear. Well, they're trembling when they're not laughing behind my back as the withdrawal is making me incredibly ditzy. I have my moments of dopiness here in blogland, but at work I'm usually damn sharp. This week? Not so much.

Thanks for the waves of support -- I can definitely use 'em!

Maui, I've heard it can be like that (where a cigarette will smell good for a moment even decades after quitting). My father and mother quit over 30 years ago, and they still have that urge occasionally. I just need to get far enough along that I'm not seriously tempted to torch one up. Way to go for you on 25 years!

{{{{{Angel}}}}} Thank you! Just think, I won't have to sneak out of the restaurant when we finally have lunch to go fire one up :) And I don't know how hard the Lyrica withdrawal was. I remember reading about it in the backposts of your blog, and I think it's probably equally hard, just with different difficulties in different places. For me, it's both the nicotine addiction (which I'm helping with the gum) and the physical habit, like, "Gosh, I'm sitting at the computer... now where is that danged cancer stick anyway?"

Judy, I didn't know about your husband, and I'm so sorry to hear about it. Thank you for your support and for sharing what's going on in your life {{{{}}}}.

Felicity, thanks, and LOL on the "breaking up with your husband," part. It doesn't sound quite right, but I know exactly what you mean by it so it's all good.

Besides, it made me giggle and that's totally welcome at anytime, especially at this moment!

TZ, thanks for pulling for me! And here's hoping you and AD are right on this. I know my family history is bad, but who knows, I could have been dealt some incredible combination of genes that will make this all work out.

Even if not, I've still done some good. If not as much for me, but for my kids.

And fishwithoutbicycle, thank you for dropping by and the well-wishes!

All of you are very much appreciated. I'm going to find a pencil to gnaw now. One of my hugest fears is putting the weight I've lost back on.

On the plus side, I can always re-lose the weight. I hear it's a bit harder to recover from death.

Blonde

My husband and I are watching Legally Blonde this afternoon, which led to the following conversation:

Me: Did you notice your wife is slowly going blonde?

Himself: Yeah, I did. And what's that all about anyway?

Me: Uhm... I'm having fun?

Himself: You do realize you lose 25 IQ points when you do that.

Me: Stealth intelligence, sweetheart. They'll never see me coming.

Grocery List

This conversation took place after several hours worth of disjointed "We really should get [insert item here]" notices by each of us, re: the grocery store.

Himself: We need eggs, too.

Me: Okay, when we stop by the grocery store on the way home from lunch tomorrow, you and I can both try to remember everything we need.

Himself: Somebody should write it all down.

Me: Yes, somebody should.

Himself: :looking pointedly in my direction:

Me: :looking pointedly at Himself: So, you're going to write it down, right?

Himself: Me?

Me: Yes, you.

Himself: Huh. I'm supposed to write it all down. Alrightie then.

(Somehow I suspect no one will write anything down, and we'll end up at the grocery store rattling our brains in the hopes that a relevant memory will somehow make its way down the chute...)

Vertigo Update

Remember the lovely case of vertigo I got back when I was driving up through Georgia? Well, it hit me again today.

Yuck.

Actually, looking back, it had come in yesterday and also had made its unwelcome appearance a couple of weeks ago as well. The latter event was back at Orientation for my elder son's third grade year. I hadn't had much sleep the night before, so I thought my lagginess was just due to being overtired, but when we turned around quickly in a hallway my vision narrowed down to a pinpoint until I got my bearings back. If I'd had more time to think I would have been a bit freaked out by it, but as I was trying to get through all the school hoopla and move myself toward work in a reasonable amount of time, I just shook it off and chalked it up to exhaustion. I think I survived Orientation okay, and I managed to make it through the day at work.

Yesterday I was also feeling crummy, but I blamed it on my being somewhat under the weather due to this stupid cold I can't shake. My head kept feeling weirder and weirder though... congested, but different from my standard sinus-y congestion.

I popped a Drixoral and went to bed after attending Open House at the elder's school.

Today, though... ugh. I just felt "off," yanno? And then finally it hit me... this was the same weird dizziness I felt when I was having the twenty-two day period from hell. I put that together with how I felt when I was trying to keep my bearings driving on tiny back roads in Georgia (I again apologize to that entire state for my horrendous driving that day)... and it clicked. It probably would have clicked sooner if I'd had to deal with heights or something, but I avoid those like the plague anymore and am greatly assisted in that endeavor by the fact that I live in a very flat state.

Anyway, the verdict? Same. Damned. Thing. Which my GP diagnosed as an inner ear thingie after the first event. That would explain the odd congested feeling.

Whew. I'm weirdly relieved, because that whole dizziness issue and panicking over embankments episode really freaked me out. Now I know it's definitely all in my head, but at least it's not a psychological issue. It's strictly physiological (okay, the anxiety is psychological, but at least there was an underlying cause for this particular event). I just have to get in a phone call to my GP and find out the name of the medication he recommended last time I was in (it's OTC... starts with an M, I think?) and I'll be set.

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On another note, while researching vertigo awhile back (I've come to the realization I've been having this off and on since late last fall) I found the website of an ENT which linked to his personal, primarily non-med blog, Balls and Walnuts.

Dude's a hoot, and apparently it's a very popular blog. Check it out!

Meet Amanda, TechnoGeek Extraordinaire

Well, regarding the title, not really... but I faked it well.

Our normal in-house IT guy is on vacation this week. Of course, this week was also when the digital recorders and accompanying software arrived.

Guess who got to do the install? Yep. Ms. IT-Degree-Dropout-who-Calls-Computer-Related-Parts-"Doohickies"-and-"Whatchamajiggers".

First, the DSS reader program didn't want to install fully. Then when I installed the recorders at the USB ports, the USB ports didn't want to recognize that they were even there.

Of course, once the computers saw the recorders were, yes, indeed there, did they want to recognize there was a test recording (made by yours truly) on them?

No, they did not.

However, many restarts later (many, many, MANY... numbering well into the double-digits), the system worked.

Now I just have to get the program and recorder installed in our remote office. THAT should be fun.

I think I might possibly call in our contracted emergency back-up IT guys on that one.

One Year Blogoversary

I'm never quite sure how to spell the one-year celebration of one's blog. Blogoversary? Blogiversary? I like the former, but I've seen folks say the latter is the more correct option.

Oh well, my blog, my spelling. I don't think Webster's has added the word yet so I'm free to mis/spell it as I please. Not that that stops me anyway... I can typo and not catch it for MONTHS. I've gone back to ancient posts and corrected stuff in them that I've just found.

Self-editing is a bitch.

Yeah, I know, English major, former teacher, etc., I should do better. And I try (although I don't always run spellcheck, sometimes to my detriment), but here I'm just relaxing, not worrying about a term paper or official correspondence. Also, you'll notice I don't go around correcting other folks' grammar, mechanics, and spelling. That's because I know I'm perfectly capable of slaughtering the English language myself. Additionally, I often deliberately use sentence fragments and questionable punctuation for general literary effect; so again, just not hopping on the Grammar Police train.

I write this blog the way I talk. Yes, at 37 I still say "Dude" in certain circles with certain friends. "Bite me," is also a part of my lexicon.

Of course, then I use words like "lexicon." Eyeroll.

:Ahem:

So anyway, Happy Blogoversary to me!

A year ago at this time I was finally getting out of the legal field, and I started this blog in part to just put my thoughts in order. Apparently I did that fairly swiftly, and my poor blog languished for a few months, but then I started posting again, more and more frequently.

I can't say I've changed a great deal over the past year except for the fact that I no longer lose sleep over clients. I lose it over personal stuff, but at least it's MY stuff, yanno?

And it wasn't like any lost sleep due to clients counted as billable hours or anything. That might have reconciled me to it somewhat.

I can see the invoice now:

2.1 hours, Nasty Family Law Case, Para (not that I was a certified paralegal, but that's how I was billed), Couldn't Sleep Due to Upcoming Hearing, and Worry that her Boss Might Lose his Freaking Mind Between Now and Then, or Failing That, That the Client Will do [insert stupid action here] before the Judge can Issue a Ruling.

Yeah, that would have had the billing department (all one of her) on my ass in a heartbeat. The solo practitioner I worked with immediately prior to leaving the legal field would have laughed her ass off at it, but again, unlikely that it would make the official bill.

Life is much more peaceful now.

I've also learned in the last year that Stinky Birkenstocks are a topic of many Google searches. Yes, that post would be my most popular Google search, the whole medical blogger thingie notwithstanding.

In the last year I've lost 40 pounds.

In the last year Angel and I re-made contact.

In the last year I lost my beloved dog to old age.

In the last year, I opened my home to three cats.

And in the last year I've run into many interesting blogs, and met some great folks. I'm glad y'all are around.

It's been an interesting year. Here's to Year 2 :)

Blogroll Additions

I normally don't announce additions to my blogroll (because, like I'm so big it's a major announcement or something?), but in light of the fact that I've either a) nominated these folks for awards, or b) passed awards to some who have then nominated these folks whom I *would* have nominated if I had half a brain, I just wanted to say that Adventures of an Awesome (Sometimes) Mother, The Laundress, Zimmerhouse, and Mostly True Stories are now up in my sidebar.

Oh yeah, and I put Angel's weight loss blog, Slayer in Training up there too (her main blog is "Give Me Something to Sing About").

Check 'em out, y'all :)

Sleepless Nights

Appropriate title for this time of night, don't you think?

I'm so tired (which I'd hope I'd be at nearly 3:30 a.m., regardless of what my post-stamp says -- sorry, Speed, tried to fix it back when you pointed it out and haven't been able to even now), but beyond the physical "God, I'd really love to SLEEP now, but I freaking can't!" issue, I'm tired of so many things.

Just insert standard working mother with two kids and husband with atypical work hours whine here. And a few other things.

In the immortal words of Lily Tomlin's Edith Ann... "Bleah!!!!"

Good thing the elder kidlet has orientation for third grade tomorrow and I'm taking part of the morning off already. I need a bit of extra sleep.

Sorry for the whine. It's just... three-thirty! ACK!!!

Nite, y'all. Hopefully I'm saying that to myself and not just to blog land.

Kitchen Update

I hosed down the kitchen, then gave Whatshisname a few snarky comments regarding how when we (meaning he) mess(es) up the kitchen by four to six pots and assorted non-paper plates, we (meaning he) really need to clean up after ourselves and not leave the pots and dishes festering for an unprintable amount of time.

Otherwise, we (meaning I) get pissy about the condition of said cookware/dishware, and post ugly things about us (him) on our (my) blog.

And yes, I feel better now. :P

Random No. 6, and I Give

If one wishes to awaken at a certain time in the morning, it is a very good idea to turn on the freaking alarm clock.

Geez.

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Okay, I tried to be good.

I really did.

But what I ended up doing rather than posting was sitting here reading my books and surfing other blogs since I wasn't blogging myself.

I also felt guilty about the comments I hadn't responded to. Please note that I have now responded to all comments. Whew. Forget the Catholic Guilt Ethic, that Protestant Guilt Ethic smacks my butt quite nicely without the Pope's backing.

Kitchen? Still a pit.

On the plus side, I have managed to get through a few loads of the never-ending laundry generated by two small-ish dirt-prone boys and one large-ish husband who works outside in the heat all day.

Tonight I may tackle the kitchen. I do have more laundry going, though (have to do some for myself, dontchaknow), so perhaps that will suffice for this evening.

Time Out

Or not?

I need to do some housecleaning. Our A/C out in the computer room developed an unfortunate leak, which necessitated me moving lots of stuff that really should have been moved ages ago.

Yuck.

So I'm inspired, cleaning-wise. What this means for those of you who check in on me regularly is that I may post a bit less often.

Operative word being may. This blog is my crack, my pitiful sitemeter stats notwithstanding. But I'm hoping seeing this little reminder up here when I open my blog will knock my behind out of my chair and back into cleaning mode.

We'll see :)

My 2004 Campaign Poster

No, I'm not kidding. Yes, this was the poster I displayed during the '04 elections.

I'm an equal party offender. And at this point? I'd trust these guys more than the folks we currently have in office.