A puffy eye and a bug bite...

I have a bug bite. More specifically, a spider bite. Which wouldn't be a big deal...if it wasn't on my eyelid.

I had noticed that my lashes were a bit sore to the touch, and decided on "no mascara" today. After all, they're one, they really don't know the difference. On my lunch break though, my mother was talking to me, and she asked what had bit me. On closer examination, we found it to be a bug bite, and to be on my eyelid, very close to my lashes.

As the day goes on, my eye is becoming increasingly less sensitive to touch--hence the reason I'm not touching with it. But given it's location, I can't exactly apply medicine to it either.

So I guess I'm stuck here, with a puffy eye, and a bug bite.

Just the teensiest bit...

I received a phone call tonight from someone I knew really well growing up. This is kind of a long, complicated explanation but: my mom married his uncle before we were both ever thought about. High school sweethearts, although I don't think that's a good way to describe my mother and anyone as I can't picture her being all lovey dovey. Anyways, despite the horrifying details of their demise, she became very close to his family, and especially his two sisters, all of whom attended the same high school. When she and Brian bit the dust, she remained friends with his sister Doreen (whom I call Aunt Doreen). Brent is her literal nephew (her twin sister's son) and because of my mother and her's friendship, we spent a lot of time together growing up.

We also used to date, but you're talking about back when I was in the 6th grade. So trust me, when I say it's platonic, it is.

Not surprisingly Brent has found himself in a bit of legal trouble, and is also in prison. He calls/writes me from time-to-time and I've been avoiding his calls. So when he finally called again tonight, I knew I had to take it...on the front porch.

The truth is that I don't want to waste his minutes telling him that I can't talk to him, but the other truth is that we're not as close as we used to be and there's only so much idle conversation a person can make. So I avoid writing and/or calling him. And because my life is work and school. Boring.

We talked for a bit, reminisced, and I blurted out (which is why I'd be a terrible liar, I forget whom I've told things to) that I'm moving to North Carolina. I didn't intend to keep it from him, I've just been keeping things on a need-to-know basis. And I thought I had told him.

All he said was "When?"

I explained about the interviewing, and the potentially finding a place to live good, fun b.s. and he told me that he'd like to see me.

Which would be all and good if I wasn't having dreams about getting together with the boy. (This is in no way a reflection of my current relationship status--um 6 almost 7 months says it all). Only he thought (in the dream) that I wanted to get back together, when indeed I just wanted to hook up. And he temporarily split from his girlfriend to "be with me" only to end up back with her. You know what they say, "When the pieces fit...". The most ironic part of the dream was that we ended up in North Carolina, where the same old "good-fitting feeling" was for me, and I knew I couldn't pass through without stopping to see it.

If my subconscious is trying to tell me that I have feelings for Brent, then my subconscious can kiss my ass. If it's trying to tell me that I'm just the teensiest bit scared of moving away from everything familiar to me, then I'd just nod my head emphatically. But just the teensiest bit.

These Are A Few of My Favorite Things...

Thunderstorms were a big deal when I was a kid. Not just in their inevitable "coolnesS" that made me hate my own impatience to just sit somewhere and "be", but long before that.

My mother was so superstitious about thunderstorms, that if it started thundering or lightening, we would immediately have to go and put our shoes on. To this day, I'm not really sure what that was about, other than (God forbid) if the house were to be lit on fire by the lightening we'd be safe to be outside.

We had a really good one the other night--the first good one of the season actually characterized by loud thunder, and big bursts of light that even with my eyes closed was enough for me to see bouncing off the wall.

Imagine that: two of my favorite things: shoes and thunderstorms

Approved Of

I realized today that in the midst of all the interviews, potential moving, and other micromanaged details, that I had forgotten to tell you about the most important part of my last trip.

It was Sunday, and I was spending my last few hours with Chris before I had to make a beeline for the airport (which later turned into lots of waiting in an airport terminal due to delays). We sat, talked, laughed, and just did like we always do. We were actually getting food when Chris, whom I had been checking out in the glass reflection of the vending machine door, suddenly turned his attention away from me. Curious, I whipped my head around in time to see a little blonde girl flying towards him before leaping into his arms, with a middle aged, but not unattractive woman not far behind her. I quickly summarized that it was Amber, Chris's daughter, and Janet, Chris's mom.

Chris's mom gave me a big hug, and introduced herself, before I stooped down to introduce myself to Amber when Chris beat me to it. Hiding half behind her grandmother "Hi," was all she said shyly.

We all went to sit down, and Amber helped Chris with his food. For such a little girl, she sure can eat. Amber "killed" us both (referring to me as "her") with her "magical powers" and I got to see Chris as a dad in action. It was quite a sight. What's stranger still is that for someone that hasn't been around his child for more than the hour visits she's permitted to see him, they have a really awesome bond. Even when Amber got in trouble for standing on the furniture in the kid's room, Chris crouched to her level and spoke softly to her.

At one point Chris's mom turned to me and goes, "Did he tell you what he did?" I knew instantaneosly what she was referring to, and nodded my head yes. She explained her side of the story which, much to my relief, was the same as his. Then I point blank asked her if she ever confront Torri about the whole "sperm donor" comment, and she explained that she had. "Like Chris said," I explained. "She can hold whatever opinion she wants, and she can say it to whomever she wants, as long as it's not to Amber." His mom agreed only in more words.

They only stayed for about an hour, an unfortunate amount of time. Chris's mom hugged me when she left and told me to call her the next time I was down.

Mom's approval: check.
Daughter's approval: check.

A Drier, More Sarcastic Side of Me...

Yesterday my grandmother made it known to me that she knows about Chris, his current housing status, and our relationship. I was explaing that Chris's mom was going to drive me around when she told me that when she had first heard about "this" (meaning Chris and myself) that she figured "Well if Chris has a few years then maybe she'll [meaning me] find someone else."

I sat in total disbelief. Not because of her nonchalant attitude-that I wasn't expecting. What I WAS expecting was the trumpets to blare and a loud declaration that they would not tolerate such an unacceptable display of our family. What a disgrace. Instead she hopes that I don't throw away my education. Either age has made her softer, and more tolerant, or she'd been abducted by aliens. And my grandfather knows too.

Instead I sat in total disbelief as Bruce, my stepfather had gone through the same boring spiel (but LONGER) just the week before. His exact words were, "Well people are nicer down South, and you may find someone else." Nicer as in I am incapable of meeting someone here? For the record, I have NEVER had a problem getting dates. But it's nice to know I'm so desired.

At A Loss

There seems to be this big cloud that likes to follow me around and rain on my otherwise optimistic nature. . Right now that cloud happens to be named Bill, my cousin's name.

You see, this month right before I headed to North Carolina, my family made their own little visit, and stopped in to see Bill. Well apparently Mr. William in his "not saying much" (as my grandmother tells me) told them that I had some papers he had sent to me about the "program" he's now part of. Which is true. He sent them to me to copy, and to send one copy back to him. I'm a busy lady, and the copier ran out of ink. So sue me.

My grandmother demanded the paperwork last Saturday, and on Sunday I was told to produce the papers by 5 p.m. no exceptions. I can't think of any possible recourse my family would have had if I hadn't produced the paperwork, but I did as I was told.

That alone made me want to throw sharp objects at him.

Yesterday I get a nasty note from my mother that SHE wants ALL paperwork of Bill's whom I have since sent a letter to (a very professional, emotionally-detached letter I might add)telling him that I think it's best that he not talk to me anymore. I'm tired of the games, and him talking out of both sides of his mouth, but bringing up THAT sore spot wasn't going to solve anything, so I didn't. I politely wrote her back and told her that I sent back all of the paperwork he sent me during his transfer. It had not been returned to me, and was likely confiscated by the prison. I also explained that I had already given my grandmother the last paperwork I had for Bill. And I left it at that.

Now I wanted to throw sharp objects and aim.

Last night post-shower I got the sudden feeling that I needed to go talk to my mother. She gave me the nastiest look in the world when I walked in the door, and I knew my immediate mistake was THINKING this visit would be a positive one. She immediately snapped at me, "What? Were your ears ringing? You knew I was bitching you out?"

My eyes got wide, and I shook my head no. "No, why?" I asked.

"Why the hell did you give those papers to Nana?"

Of course I explained the situation, and she brought up my "nasty" letter. I told her I was nice, and she told me that I was "downright vicious". That ALMOST made me laugh. I could have been vicious. I could have been spiteful and mean. And honestly, when I sat down to right the damn letter, I intended to be spiteful and mean. And vicious. But I wasn't.

Then she had to get on my case about the dog, and how I don't love the dog, and she just needs lovin' and she senses that I'm leaving, as if I'm incapable of GUILTING MYSELF! The truth is my 8 year old pooch wouldn't do WELL with the move, or being left alone all days and hours of the night. So moving her wouldn't be a good idea.

When I left that house I was so angry that I didn't know whether to cry or punch out shit.

Busy

I am so busy that right now I should be re-doing research on a paper I've already written, a paper I've yet to write, some other homework, and regular work paperwork. But lately I've been so busy that I haven't had time to write..no, I haven't forgotten it's just that between all the deadlines, the approaching (May 8) interviews, and potential picking up 23 years of my life and moving it 400 miles away (within the next month--3 months early no less), I've been just a tad busy. But I have some good stories, and I promise that they're coming at you soon, with the oldest first. In between working my ass off during my "free" time, and writing these godawful papers and presentations, I'm going to write about the oldest stuff first. You know, to make room for less important information. Scrolling down within the month to ensure that you've read all of my entries is an excellent way to avoid confusion later.

More soon!

Why My Life is So Crazy...

I know I've said I'm busy, and here's what I've been working on:

School:
I am one play, one paper, one test, and god only knows what away from finals, and consequently graduation. The heat is ON. Also, I'm anxiously preparing to send my final transcripts for "final" decisions on schools.

Work:
Same ol' shit, different day

Moving:
I had previously mailed out 40-something cover letters and resumes to potentially interested veterinary hospitals. The initial response was overwhelming, and one even suggested my starting the position at the end of May! I was excited! Then my job screwed me on my April trip, and wouldn't let me have Friday off. They told me to call them when I was down in May, but that they had put in ad in the paper, and had done three interviews already. Two of the other veterinary offices held on. We're meeting while I'm down for 5 glorious days on my May trip. I also e-mailed several restaurants, the one of which wants me to call him the morning I get into town for an interview. The other came from a catering company whom upon review of my resume wanted to take me on as a catering bartender. Upon closer examination we both agreed it wasn't a good fit, only because it's an hour and a half drive to the location, and aside from the long commute I'd be spending the money I made on the gas it would cost me to get there, and to get home!

I've joined Roommates.com and paid for 3-day access to my messages. I've e-mailed a kazillion people that were in my price range, but have only been e-mailed back from people that are in the $400 per month range. The one girl is now not planning to move out until the end of June (which will hopefully end up being far too late) and the other guy I'm going to meet while I'm down there. Any other offers weren't worth considering. I've also begun the application process of owning my own apartment. The *best* part either way is that I HAVE to work two jobs so I'll never be home, and I have no bed, at least for a while. My grandmother is however supplying some other intial necessities.

I'll keep you posted..

Consolation

Recently, I got an e-mail from one of my readers (and consequently someone I used to be friends with) about a post I had made. In it, he tells me quite directly that he feels like he never had a chance to support me in any of this. (This being my relationship with Chris). I have since written him back.

That e-mail made me stop and seriously consider if I was just beginning a whole new book of chapters, or whether I was truly burning bridges. His honesty surprised me. But it shouldn't have. In the four years we had been friends, he was one of those people that didn't even attempt to sugar coat a damn thing, and the wounds he left behind reflected that in their superficial nature.

In my mind then, and now, there is very little gray area. You're either with me, whether you agree with my decision or not, or you're against me. And if you're against me then I cut you out of my life like I would cut a picture out of a magazine: without much care for the edges, or what the final "picture" looks like.

His willingness to also attempt to make amends also surprised me. After all, he obviously doesn't agree with what I'm doing, and is, in my opinion, shocked at MY happiness with the situation. I was at a loss for words. This wasn't a time when "I'm sorry" was a Band-Aid that could temporarily make things better. I've never suggested, let alone thought, that his opinion was wrong. In fact, I've been supportive and understanding. And a part of me says that if you gave a damn that much then the phone works both ways. And the other part of me says, "I'm tired of trying. It's over, it's done, and nothing can make things go back to the way they were."

I was, and still am, adamant about my decision that this is right. That I've become a better, stronger person, and I've learned to lean more on me, and less on others. I now take others opinions into consideration (sometimes), but ultimately decide what I want first, as opposed to what others will think of me. And that is a very important lesson!

I was never able to empathize with him though until it was time for me to leave North Carolina. I had already explained the situation to Chris earlier in the day, or the day before, I'm not sure. My exact words to him were, "There's nothing I can say or do that will comfort him." Chris just nodded his head in understanding.

So it shouldn't have been any surprise when I didn't even make it out of visit before bursting into tears. It's not that I didn't want to leave Chris--I'm independent enough to handle it, and his being in prison is our reality. It's not wanting to leave North Carolina. And no amount of words, or consolation will ever be enough.

No Title Seems Appropriate

Yesterday I received an e-mail from someone I consider a former-friend. You see two of my former-friends have a radio show. I have nothing to say about it either way, because I don't listen. Anyways when we WERE still friends there was an MS walk they were planning to do. THEY are still doing it. I am the one being a shit-head and not showing up.

The rules are simple, raise $25 and you get to participate in the walk. I'd glad donate all the money in my bank account for this amazing cause, but I won't show up for the walk.

You see, my friends were there for me through two and a half years of bullshit with "J". They stood behind me, and supported me, no matter how many times I showed up crying. No matter how much I bitched. And then a funny thing happened, I got tired of the bullshit and moved on to the next endeavor. And suddenly my friends felt that they couldn't support me anymore. And as much as I wasn't okay with that, I understood.

Receving that e-mail yesterday made me want to hit reply and say "You know I'm not seriously going to show up, and it has nothing to do with the money, right?" But I didn't. Because what good could possibly come out of opening that box when my silence is just as effective.

If you know someone with MS or not, look into doing the walk, or giving a donation. It's not only tax deductable, it's emotionally gratifying and every dollar puts us one step closer to finding relief for people with MS.

Grabbed

Last week I was at the gym. I pick the middle of the three sets of lockers to change in even though the entry way to the women's locker room is right there. Why? I'd rather chance another woman seeing me and checking out my body, than seeing myself in some mirror. Ugh. The mirrors in my house, and the lighting are perfect liars. That's what I need.

Unfortunately though, the middle locker room was too full and the only thing I hate more than mirrors is tripping over people trying to change my clothes, and the inevitable bathroom run that will make me regret ever making it. (If you don't know what I'm talking about go out and have a few drinks, then pee. I dare you. You'll learn quick about frequency).

There was a woman, whom I thought I knew, with her head upside down blowing her hair. It turned out I didn't know her, but I think she wanted to get to know me. Said girl finished drying her hair and walking along the middle strip of the locker room suddenly turned around and headed the opposite direction bumping into me.

She didn't knock me over, I didn't hit my head, and frankly it didn't even hurt. But the way this woman grabbed my arm, stared deeply into my eyes, look down at my boobs, and then back to my face gave me flashbacks of Fatal Attraction.

"OMG are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine." I assured her with a smile, glancing down to still see her gripping my arm.

"Are you sure?"

I reassured her again and this time she let me go. Never have I hightailed it out of there and up the steps to work out so quickly again. Really, unless there's blood, or a concussion, no need to worry.

Sounding Board..

For three weeks I have been keeping my fingers crossed that I would get next Friday off. In reality, I have done everything short of standing on my head hoping, like a child with a magical dream of going to Disneyland, that I would get next Friday off.

In the grand scheme of things, next Friday isn't important date-wise, as we have surpassed all major note-worthy holidays. It was, however, when I had scheduled a very important meeting...in North Carolina. It's imperative that I interject that my "important meeting" isn't with Chris, although I plan to see him too.

You see, I am planning on moving sometime between now and August, and I need to meet with potential employers to guarantee (as much as I can anyway) a job. My job doesn't know that I'm job-hunting, let alone that I'm packing up and moving 400 miles away from everything that is familiar to me, but they royally screwed me when they told me that I couldn't have the day off.

Luckily for me, I know that in May I already needed to return to have a meeting with another company, so in my ever-so-wise foresight, I scheduled both April and May's requests off at the same time. The Friday in May was already approved, and due to recent events, I am now also taking 2 other days (Wed/Thurs) to be able to accomodate my lack of availability (to interview) this month.

Seeing my face as I walked into that room, you would have sworn that my dog just died. I had my hopes so high that I would be able to meet with these people, and make a decision in time to move for the end of May. (And I still might, but with considerably less time to do it in). I'm not even considering how much time it's going to take me to find a place to live, blah, blah, blah.

Thankfully Brittany was my partner yesterday, and sensing my distress listened to me complain about what is obviously not that big of a deal. I not only felt better afterwards, but I also felt more capable of continuing on with my day, and for that I'm grateful. I think I had forgotten how good it can be to have someone to bounce ideas off of.

I'm Officially Among the Child-Bearing

Last night I officially became a parent. Well that's not really true, as my lab partner really gets all the credit for the baby-making process.

In Biology lab last night, we had to make baby rebops. Composed of marshmallows, toothpicks, tacks, Good Plenty's, pipe cleaners, feathers, and gum drops, our baby rebop was formed.

The whole genetics process is a bit tricky to explain (and then I'd have to explain what really happens in the whole baby-making process..you know aside from sperm and egg meet) and so I'll spare you the eyes glued to the screen, as if you've just seen the most horific slasher film ever in your 8 years of life.

Be glad to know though that baby rebop is being kept in the "baby rebop" nursery, and not in the confines of my house, or there's a good likeliness that all edible parts would get eaten. Don't worry, I'd offer out the non-traditional food parts because I'm nice like that.

I suppose this is what I get for the case of baby fever last week...

Celebrity Endorsement

Chris is supposedly an amazing cook (and for some reason or another, I'm inclined to believe him), and he is not at all impressed with my ability to read directions off of a box and call it food.

So instead of whining about, I have kicked my ass into gear, and decided to learn not just how to cook, but how to cook well. Last night I started off with making pancakes. I wanted to make chocolate chip pancakes, but with less than a 1/4 of a bag, it's just a tease in my opinion. (I'm exaggerating...kind of). So instead I settled for regular pancakes.

I mixed the batter per the directions on the box and found the batter to be a bit..stiff (and not in a good way). So I added a touch of water, and found myself much happier with the consistency. I poured it into the not skillet, and nice little air bubbles began to form. Before long, I found myself poking and prodding the doughy mixture, becoming impatient as to when was the appropriate time to flip the little sucker.

Finally my impatience won over, and I attempted to flip it...and found that it happened just a bit too soon. I was left with a doughy pile of mess that resembled nothing of it's former shape or consistency.

Frustrated, I stabbed the mountain of glob with so much force it made the baseball bat Carrie Underwood used in her "Before He Cheats" look like she was smacking it with jello.

When my frustration subsided, I dumped the probably pancake tasting, but not pancake looking substance into the trash, and began again.

It is nights like these that I wish Chris were here (more so than other times, which is pretty hard to believe). Not only would he know when to flip the pancakes, but really, who needs syrup when there;s hair-pulling, and the kitchen floor?

This dirty thought is officially brought to you by the letter I received today.

Nightmare on I'm Not Telling Street

I've been having a lot of weird dreams lately. Weird in the sense of same theme (don't I sound like an English nerd), but different dreams.

Three nights ago I dreamed that Chris and I got married in a gazebo that sits on a pier. I know the place I would have been thinking of had I been awake: it's a gazebo in Skippack (PA, of course) that has a little walking bridge over the water that leads from a very expensive train-shaped restaurant to an Asian restaurant. It's actually quite pretty all lit-up at night.

In the dream Chris and I were surrounded by water, it was dark, and prety and we were with another couple that were also getting married. I just remember looking up at him lovingly, and suddenly the wedding band appeared. It was gold. I'm not picky about jewlery (for the most part), and I'm grateful for all gifts, but I do not like gold. It's too gawdy for me. And my engagement ring was shaped like a butterfly. (Do I really need to say that isn't me either?)

The irony is that when the alarm went off, I hit snooze, and rolled over, that all I said (in my half-asleep state) was, "I'm going to have to tell that boy that I don't like gold."

Two nights ago I dreamed they found the baby I miscarried when I was 19. It was found somewhere wooded, and I, of course, wouldn't admit to it being mine, but instead stared at it. I tried to identify the father by looking at him but he appeared to be 1/2 African American, and 1/2 White.

Last night I once again had the getting married dream. This time, Chris and I were in what I can only assume was Vegas. We were sitting in the front pew in a row of pews and a couple was getting married in front of us. We looked at each other, smiled and then jumped in line. The genius didn't feel it was imperative for us to have rings though.

Next the dream flashes to me at my new job, and one of the employees is showing me where things are located. Out comes Shannon from another room, and I'm standing there in disbelief as I keep repeating, "I'm married!" They look at me like I've completely lost my mind, that I shouldn't be so shocked at the prospect of being married...but I am.

And then the alarm goes off, and I'm awoken from that nightmare.

New Year's Resolution (Not an April Fools Joke)

Well it's the first post of April-Happy April Fool's Day- I have managed to escape yet another year unscathed. I have however created a New Year's resolution, months too late, to put my keys in the same spot every night. I say this as I glance up from my laptop perched on my legs and see that my keys are not in said spot. What can I say? It's a work in progress.

I have also made the resolution to eat better. When my willpower is strong, there isn't nothing cutting through. I wish this were true about "diet" and exercise (unfortunately even quotation marks around that nasty little word won't make it any sweeter). I'm good about getting to the gym, and logging workouts, but making progress? That's a whole other story. I will say though that despite the bad food, and consequent leftovers, from Easter, I have managed to lose 26 pounds and only gain back a pound and 1/2 from said junk food and my arch enemy: M&Ms.

Ladies, my boyfriend may be imprisioned, but in all reality he can still run farther, and faster than me, and nothing appeals to my willpower like competition.