Right, Yet Wrong. Wrong, Yet Right.

Saturday we were at the mall (blech) getting birthday presents for his grandma.
Lunchtime found us in the Food Court. yippee. Fried food and sandwiches.
Steve went to order food and my eyeballs were floating, so I detoured to the restroom.
As I was trying to leave, there was a mother having an argument with her 6/7 year-old-boy. Once again, remember I am torrible at determining children’s ages, however, this kid looked too old to be with Momma Bear in the ladies room. ANYWAY, so the mom’s all, “There’s too many people* for you to be in here alone.” and the kids hanging on the door handle, begging to use the family restroom. Meanwhile, I am standing in the little alcove/entrance/exit way, [what I thought should be] clearly in view of at least the mom.
Finally, I walk as close to the door/wailing child as I can and loudly proclaim, “EXCUSE ME.” to which the mother is gives me the Can’t-You-See-I’m-Trying-To-Reason-With-My-Kid-Glance and reluctantly pulls him off the handle. “Sorry.”, she spats.
“Thank you.”, I reply, to which I get the Screw-You-Lady-I-Didn’t-Have-To-Move-My-Kid-Look. Regular readers know that I have a personal vendetta against saying, “That’s okay!” when it’s not okay**.

Back out on the floor, I spot Steve waiting for his food.
We discuss how I’m not hungry for anything here, (him) but I should eat, (me) I am not in the mood for anything fried/mystery/full of carbs, (him) I can have some of his hot dog, (me) No thank you…
I find a place that has veggie burgers. After my order is passed to me, I turn to head towards the table and there’s a lady standing thisclose behind me.
You know, in case someone took her sub.
“Oh, gee!”, She says, clearly not realizing I can feel her breathing on me, “I’m sorry!”
I say nothing and walk away.

At the table, “Everyday is an exercise in not killing people.”, I say to Steve.
“You have to stop taking things so personally!”
“I’m not trying to be the Manner Police, I’m just saying you [the general population, not Steve… most of the time] don’t need to be such dicks about things. However, I say something to someone who is in the wrong, and I’m the horrible one? What the hell?”

At my wits end of a day of insurmountable inconsideration, we’re “watching” a slideshow of old photos*** for Grandma’s birthday, the cousin who put together the slideshow wedges in and stands directly in front of me. I start a conversation with one of the cousins I enjoy; can’t see anyway, nor can she. Wedging Cousin turns around and asks if I can see.
“Your acknowledging standing in front of me makes you invisible.”
Sheepishly, she moves, only to be replaced by some weird aunt who stands WAY TOO CLOSE to me and just came in from smoking.
Awesome.

Reader(s), what’s your stance on correcting public/unnecessary rudeness?

* Three ladies at the sinks/dryers, some stalls occupied and me
** See also: getting hit in the ankle with shopping carts
*** Every other comment was “Who’s THHHHAAATT?”

Turning Anger into Kindness

Parking farther away then I care to, in the rain (uphill, both ways), wind and cold, I made my way to the front of the store.
There’s a car parked directly in front of the doors.
“Who the hell does that person think they are?!”, Angry Stephanie wonders.
As I get closer, I see there’s no one in the drivers seat.
“They must be pretty damn important to just leave their car here!”, comments Angry Stephanie. “AND, no [handicapped] parking permit…”

As I round the back of the car, I see a woman, about my age, fighting to get an ottoman-style storage bench from the backseat onto a cart.
“Do you need a hand?”, I asked her, double-taking as my anger turned to apathy.
“No no… I’ve got it.”, She said as the cart was being blown away.
A woman so much like myself.
“Well, I’m going to at least hold the cart her for you… it’d be annoying to get it on the cart only to have it push the cart further away.” And I put a foot on the bottom and held the handle bar.
Grunting, she got the bench from the back seat and situated on the cart.
“And I’ll even get the door for you…”, I said, holding the door from behind.
Another woman joined in, getting the other swinging door and we got the bench into the store.

Afterward, I felt so much more rejuvenated than exhausted.
It’s hard work being angry and I think I want to be done with that.

Few Things Feel Better than Progess

I can’t lie.
This past week-ish has just been beyond frustrating.
Things not going as expected, I’ve not doing things right (in others opinion), stress, stress, not being able to go the gym, nightmares, exhaustion… you get the idea.

Tuesday night is Arranged Gym Night with Trainer Cammie.
Trainer Cammie is AWESOME and she works me. She knows where the trouble spots are and she’s so very encouraging; something I don’t get too often.

Anyway, she met me last night with the usual, “What do you want to work on tonight?”
“You know what? I don’t care. I just want to be distracted for a bit… walking out with a sense of accomplishment would be just great.”
“Let’s go upstairs*.”
“Right on.”
So, we started with some Arnold Lifts.

As shown naw.

We alternated with shoulder presses… I piped up, “I’ve been working on my arms and well, I’ve using 12lbs because 10 was too light, maybe we should bump up to 15…”
And Trainer Cammie is over at the tree picking up 15lb dumbbells.
There was no crying and fatigue really set in during the third set of 12 reps.

Back downstairs, we had fun with the Roman Chair (and now I’m beginning to see how the gym sounds like a giant orgy)

Can also be done with your legs at a 90 degree angle from hip

I’ve pumped through the exercises, still reeling from how I feel about becoming stronger, faster, confident…
“Look at you go, doing more than 10!”
“Oh yeah, I did more than 10! Not quite 13, but more than 11!”
“Holy crap girl!”

Sure, once I got back in the car I was agitated again… but, it wasn’t as bad as it was before… I think I just need to find a way to deal with what’s going on. Like S.Le.

*Upstairs at the gym is where the no-neckers hang out… 45lb empty bars, heavier weights, intimidation….

Best Laid Plans

First and foremost, I am in such a good mood (right now).

Last night, armed with my last last-minute-list, I headed to Wegmans.
Not at all off topic, but for those of you who aren’t familiar with Facebook, there’s an application called “Pick Five” in which you’re given a category and well, I think it explains itself.
A while ago, I posted this Pick Five:

(Peanut butter, disposable razors, a basket of kittens, lighters and Lucky Charms)

Right, so, where was I…
When the time came to load up the belt with my purchases, I realized that my order must have made me look like I was preparing for one hell of a good time.
18 pack of MGD64 (for female VIP), 12 pack of Miller High Life (for Steve), 12 pack of Saranac Summer Pack (for me), Mt. Dew Code Red (for Male VIP), Vitamin Water, fruit flavored seltzer water, black tea, milk, 12 rolls of 2-ply toilet paper (for Steve), 3 rolls of 1-ply TP (for me), shaving cream and a Lean Cuisine.

Party up in here!

superpoop.com

Pass the… LIVER???!!!! eeewwwwwwww

Well folks, the results are in from last weeks blood-letting.
While everything “looked good” (as I was told), ends up that yours truly is a bit lacking in the B-12 department.
I’m sitting at about half the level my doc would like to see.
This basically means I get to add another pill to the daily routine, with the hopes that my body can absorb and use some of it.

WebMd says that this may explain my fatigue and joint pain. The uppage in B-12 could also help with The Crazy.

Some noms rich in B-12: liver. Sardines. Hossenfeffer. Various other fishes. Duck. Steak and Kidney Pie.
Seems to me that this list is missing some vegetables.

And a “British” site said I can try something called “faggots”. Now, I thought those were smokes/cigarettes and I don’t really see how THAT is going to help anything.
Oh, ew, just googled it…. meatballs wrapped in intestine. Um, does anyone have gravy? Lots and lots of gravy. And cheese. And sorbet (that last one is for me).

In Which Stephanie Doesn’t Expect You to Understand

As most of my faithful readers know, I have Dysthymia. And no, I can’t pronounce it either.
For those of you new to the fray, it pretty much means my brain can’t shut-off the nasty voices in my head and I’m pretty much always sad on the inside.
Because we all know that wikipedia is The Do-All-End-All in knowledge (I kid, I kid) here’s the link if you’re interested: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dysthymia

Anyway,
Easter saw me in an “episode” which was included, but not limited to, curling up in a ball and crying… for no reason.
This is part of my, gosh, disease makes it sound so, je ne sais quoi, leper-like… affliction?
I’ll pretty much be down, hiding any type of real sadness from Joe Everybody, typically using humor and once and a while, I  have a major breakdown.  I.E. Easter.

The doc and I discussed these “lulls” and medication and vitamins etc…
Last night, Steve and I were discussing the same and he looks to me and asks, “Really, is your life that bad?”

No.
No it’s not.
My life actually kicks ass.
Which is why I wish I knew why I felt sad on the inside.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to explain to someone that you’re crushingly sad and you don’t know why and you can’t “just cheer up”?
Trying to explain your mental state to someone who doesn’t understand?
Gosh, it’s really hard to put into words.
And yes, it is all in my head. I know that. The meds help take care of that, but it’s hard to explain (even to myself) how and why this happens.

I just feel, beh, like I wish there was a way to get him inside my head to see and hear what it’s like.

Like that movie, The Butterfly Effect

Truthfully, I think it’s got a lot to do with the way he was raised… of the “walk it off” mentality… and I can’t. And he doesn’t get it. And I’m at my wit’s end.

Grrr./Cookie Therapy

Well, after another odd night (socks, no socks, socks, BaileySocks)- which I will chalk up to nervousness about The Lump- I’m back to anticipation phase.
The Doc can’t get me in until tomorrow at noon.
So now I need to decide how to plan my morning tomorrow… see about working at home in the am; come into work, leave, come back; come into work in the morning and just go home afterwards?
Meh.

Knowing that cooking/baking makes me feel distracted, I opted to pick up items for
oatmeal scotchies.

3/4 butter
1 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
1/4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp vanilla
1 3/4 cups flour (I used whole wheat)
2 cups oats
1 bag of Butterscotch chips (or less, to taste)

1. Beat softened butter for 30 seconds on medium/high.
2. Add in sugars.
3. Add in soda, powder, vanilla.
4. Gradually add flour.
5. Mix in oats.  It’s advisable to do this on a very low setting.
6. Stir in chips.
7. Bake for 8-11 minutes at 375.
8. Let stand on sheet for a minute then transfer to rack/waxed paper.

“Hey, so, what are we doing for dinner?”, Steve asks at 730 last night.
“Dunno.” I say, realizing that my nose is sore from Another Incident I Don’t Want to Talk About, thus making me cranky.
“Cookies?”
“Sure, we’re adults. Not like anyone’s going to yell at us.”
And that’s when my parents called.

FYI: I had 5 cookies for breakfast.  because they’re tasty and make me forget things.

Could Socks be the Answer?

For two nights now, I’ve worn socks to bed and for the last two nights, I’ve slept like I should.
Prior, I’ve never worn socks to bed (I have sweaty footitis) and have  not awoken to damp socks.
Odd, isn’t it?

In other news, Not-a-Doctor-Steve thinks I should go to the real doctor… so, maybe Monday I’ll have more info.

Confidence OR How I Chose to Ignore the Tag and Love My Shape

A while ago, in a publication I can’t recall, there was an article that kind of hit home. It was about a woman who wasn’t happy with her weight/image and decided that she would “reward” herself for reaching milestones. It then occurred to her when she hit a wall, that she would probably not ever reach her “ultimate” goal. This resulted in her accepting who she was and being happy.  I always felt a bit envious of her.

Now, does this mean that I have given up on my non-resolution? Nay.
It does however mean that I realized that I am (much to my poutingness) not a size 4, am not svelte, am not ripped, etc.  and that PERHAPS, I should embrace my um, transition, phase AND STOP LYING TO MYSELF.

Intending to just go to Barnes and Noble to deplete a gift card, I found myself at Macy’s with an exchange card that Steve would never use (his words, not mine) with $20 on it.
Scouring the racks, I found a top that is patterned (gasp!), bright (gasp!) and as the gasping alludes, Very UnStephanieLike.
Figuring that I should also look for pants/jeans as the top only took up 1/4 of my card (who’s a power shopper?  I am…) I picked a pair of jeans off the rack in the “realistic” size and not the “denial” size.
In the dressing room, a ray of light came down (probably from the halogens in the ceiling, but whatever) and as I turned to face myself, I did a double take.
Is, is, is that, me?  me in clothes that fit?  Clothes that make me look like an adult? No tugging?  No lumping? An outfit to be proud of?
And at that point, I let the size tag blur.
Gliding to the counter, my retail $88 ensemble came in at at modest $28, with $8 actually coming out of my pocket.
Sure, I care about my size (as much as I try not to) but I also know that I am taking active steps to become a size where I will not have to pretend that the tag doesn’t say what it says it says. And today, I am more confident that I’ve been in a loooonnngg time.

*blink**blink blink*

I figure the best way to do this is to give incidents events titles and dates.

Friday Afternoon: No.  No.  REALLY, NO.
It’s 12:15 and I’ve walked from work to Ye  Olde Trailblazer (“YOT”).
I call his mom (here in referred to SMS, as I introduce her as “Steve’s Mom, Sue”) and let her know I’m on my way with a stop at the bank.
I arrive at her house and she’s got her keys in hand and announces that she’s driving.
–Note the following issues: 1) I already told her, at great lengths, that she is not driving.  2) She has her keys, to her car.  A Car.  A car which we filled to capacity last year.  A car which does not have four-wheel drive.  A car which can not handle the impending snow we will encounter. 3) She CAN NOT drive.  Let alone in snow. —
After justifying why I should drive either YOT or her husband’s Trailblazer, she relinquishes power.

Friday Afternoon: “Are You Even READING the Screen?”
Flurries starting, I opt to give her my Nintendo DS with “Brain Age 2”, which I consider to be one of the easier, less advanced, games.
A few minutes in, she’s randomly tapping the screen, talking to it when she shouldn’t and not talking to it when she should.
“Why won’t this work?!” she asks.
“Are you even reading the screen?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s why.  The screen has directions.  Follow them.”
“*snaps DS closed* I don’t like this.  Oh, look, it’s snowing.”

Friday Afternoon: Bad Advice
It’s pretty close to white-outing.
I have YOT in 4-wheel-drive and we’re plugging along at 20 miles an hour.
Four-way flashers are on, I’m following traffic and being super cautious.
“You know, ” she says, “If you can’t see because of the snow, you should turn off your headlights and drive with your foglights and hope there is a truck in front of you.”
“That is a horrible idea and doesn’t sound at all safe.  We’re okay.  I’m driving really slow and watching the road and traffic.”
“Oh, you’re right, that is a bad idea…” She replies, knowingly, “I’m just saying I’ve done it before.  Boy am I glad you’re driving.”

Friday Afternoon: We Made It.
Checked into the hotel.  Looks shady from the outside but is actually really nice on the inside.
We decide to shop the inside/non-anchor stores tonight, grab dinner, hit some out-parcels and stop for beverages (alcohol) and wrap tonight for an early start tomorrow.

Friday Night: Hibachi
We find a hibachi place in an out-parcel.
I order a beer, she gets a vodka tea.
The chef arrives and sees that I ordered vegetables and asks me, aside, if I mind that he cooks the veggies on the same surface as the meat (in case I was vegan).
He chops up some baby corn and starts tossing it at people to catch with their mouths. One of the other six people caught a piece.  I caught one and when the chef threw two at me, I caught them both.
Feeling triumphant, I “woot!” and throw my arms up, only to bring my right elbow down square on the next seats chair back.

Friday Night: “Lush.”
It’s 9:30 and we’re looking for adult beverages.
We end up at “Six Pack House of Beer”.
Stephanie=kid in a candy store.
Except a sixer of mid-range brew was over $10.  (Point of Reference: A twelve of mid-range in NY, $13).
I see they have taps and growlers.
Growler: $4.50
Fill: $10
With SMS’ encouragement, I opt for “Bells Two Hearted Ale”  (note: the only other place I’ve seen Bells is Michigan)
Slipping back to the car, she comments, “Lush.”

Friday Night: Plan of Attack
Sipping my relief, I ask her when she wants to leave the hotel by.
“Well, I’ll be up around five, so why not set the alarm for six?”
“That’ll work out fine because if you get up first, I’ll be done with my stuff when you’re done with yours.”
“Six it is.”
“Right on.”

Saturday Morning: Now I See Where He Gets it From
Six am, alarm: beep beep beep.
me: Sue.  Six.
SMS: Meh.
Five minutes later: beep beep beep.
me: Sue.  Alarm.
SMS: *snort*
Five minutes later:  Beep beep beep.
me: SUE!
SMS: *rustle*
Five minutes late: beep beep beep.

me, in my head: Screw this.  I’m getting in the shower. *optimism kicks in* I get my choice of towels.  I know where the soap has been. I probably won’t run out of hot water….
me: Sue.  Bathroom’s free.
SMS: *harumph*
I proceed to watch a movie.
seven AM: SUE!  IT’S after SEVEN.
SMS: Huh?  What?  Oh.  FINE.  I’LL GET UP.

Saturday Morning: Acrylic Sweater War/I will leave you here Pt.II
I comment that I like a sweater and that I will buy it.
“Here, add it to my [in-store shopping] bag and you can carry my [prior purchases] bag.”
“Kay.  Look, I really have to use the restroom, so I’ll be back in a few.”
I come back and she’s got a purchases bag.
“Oh, can you hand me my sweater?  If you’re ready to check out…”
“I already checked out.”
“Oh.  Okay.  Do you still have the sweater I picked up?”
“Mayyyyybeeeee.”
“Okay, well, I wanted to get it for work, so if you put it back, I’d like to pick it up.”
“Perhaps Santa will bring it to you.”
“Perhaps I’d like to wear it to work.  How about I just give Santa the fifteen dollars for it.”
“Maybe I put it back.”
“If you did, please let me know because I’d like it for work.”
(note, while unpacking YOT at her place, she basically threw the sweater at me, despite having PLENTY of other things to wrap for me for Christmas.”

Saturday Late Morning/Early Afternoon: WOMAN!  I am Going to Leave You Here
For this scenario, I will list a number of variables.
“What about this for white elephant exchange?”/”This is a nice sweater.”/”Cousin may like this.”/”Would you like something like this?”/”Jeans.”/”It’s got stripes, he won’t wear it.”
And SMS’ response?
“Really?  hmmmmmm.”

Tie a scarf around it and call it SMS

While stopped for lunch, I  mention that I’m chilly and ask the waiter for coffee.
“Hot chocolate sounds good.  You should have gotten that.” She remarks.
“But I wanted coffee.”
“You should have gotten hot chocolate.”

Saturday Afternoon: Survey
YOT’s back hatch is pretty brimming.
The back seat is pretty packed… like stuff falls out of the door when opened.
–Note: we did purchase some large (size-wise) items but she can shop…–
me: Pffftt, and you wanted to take your car.
“It would have fit.”
“Um, pretty sure it wouldn’t have.”
“No, I think it would have.”

Saturday Night: Cross-Country Beer Pong to Numb the Pain
Steve: Hey honey!  You’re home!
me: Yes.  I did not leave your mother on the side of the road in Pennsylvania nor do I have to flee to Mexico.  Where is my beer?
Steve, producing ping-pong balls, which he starts throwing at my mug from across the living room: Loser has to drink all their beer and get beers for both of us.
Me: I hope I lose because I’m about to snap.