Well, the pain is still here.  Nuff said.  My trip to the emergency room on Monday afternoon did absolutely nothing except give me an all new sense of appreciation for the man that I like to call Mr. Wonderful. Yep.  He left work immediately after I called to let him know what my doc had said (“go to the emergency room”) met me in the parking lot of the hospital 2 minutes after I arrived, and stayed by my side the entire 5 hours…well except when I had to pee in a cup.  Seriously, do doctors/nurses realize how absolutely insane it is to give women who have had one or more children a cup with an opening the size of a dime to pee into??  And, yeah, then there are all the instructions (that I won’t go into so as not to gross you out too much) which end with “pee a little in the toilet, then stop, fill the cup, then stop, and finish in the toilet.”  Yeah. Right. Lady.  When I gotta go, I gotta go! There is no stopping and maneuvering and thinking going on here.  Just let me get to the bathroom and be appreciative of whatever drops I manage to catch!

Anyway, they did a CAT scan, took blood from my hand!! ouch!, and of course did whatever strange otherworldly rituals they do with human pee, returning me with the result of: nothing. Well, not totally nothing.  They gave me the handy-dandy printouts that all emergency rooms give which tell you some junk about what could be wrong with you.  Mine were “pins and needles” and “leg cramps.”  Nice.  Oh, and did I mention that my actual Doctor was only in the room with me for a total of 1 minute 13 seconds.  Seriously.  I timed it.

Of course, there is the follow up with my normal doctor.  (That’s today, in about an hour actually).  The nurse at the ER (wonderful lady by the way.  Spent much more time with me, talking to me.  And she brought me a pre-heated blanket!  If Mr. W wasn’t there I may have just kissed her for that one…or maybe he would have enjoyed that more…hmmm…) –anyway, the nurse told me they checked for mineral deficiencies in my blood and checked my brain for any abnormalities with the CAT scan (still no word on what the hell they did with that sacrificial pee…) and everything came back as it should.  She suggested I get a referral from my doc for a neurologist and get checked for MS.  Not that I particularly have anything that points to MS, just that MS is apparently one of those diseases that makes the symptom pointer spin like the wheel of fortune…so.

As for how I’m feeling?  I stayed home from work on Tuesday and Wednesday.  I felt so guilty about it and so completely useless that I drug my butt out of bed and went in yesterday.  The morning was ok.  Still pain, but hey, I can deal.  The pain is there, ok, acknowledged…now let’s get on with my life.  Yeah. Mistake.  By noon I couldn’t focus on anything.  The pain became something I couldn’t just move to the side.  By 1pm, my fingers and toes were crazy tingly and by 130 I was almost in tears.  I managed to get out of there before full break-down (although I’m still not 100% sure what was bringing on the choke in my throat), but had a small dizzy spell in the parking lot.  Not something I’d be too concerned about since it’s like a million degrees outside, with a million more added on top for humidity’s sake.  But the nice nurse (and the doctor, in one of her 12 second visits) asked several times if I’d experienced any dizziness.

I did have another realization at the ER.  Mr. W and I haven’t hit that “ultimate closeness” level yet.  During my initial explanation of symptoms, the nurse asked if I’d had any loss of bladder or bowel function.  In layman’s terms, have I pissed or shit myself unintentionally lately.  Well, no, but thanks for asking! When she left, I stared at Mr. W, wondering how that conversation would have gone if I actually had.  I mean, we don’t pee in front of each other yet, and he gets all weirded out if I even hint that I have, at some point in my life, pooped.  (Yeah, I totally use that one against him on a regular basis for torture.  hee, hee!) With all the goings on in our life, we’ve both dropped off on the healthy scale and really need to work on getting back on if these are the sorts of questions we are going to have to face together.  Either that, or we need to start talking dirty…and not in that good way!

I don’t know what the hell is going on with my body.  I swear, it hates me.  Pain.  Pain just, well, sucks.  Yeah, stating the obvious, but really.  It.  Sucks.  My entire right leg and right arm just hurt.  Like hurt in the bones hurt.  From shoulder to fingertips, from hip to toes, HURT.  And I don’t know why.  I had a theory, but that theory has gone way past its expiration at three days and counting with no ease. 

Friday, I used a nicotine patch on my left hip…you know, the whole (unsuccessfully) quitting smoking thing.  No problems.  Saturday morning (9ish) I put one on my right hip and by 1130 I ripped it off due to the radiating ache going down my right leg.  This is normal…for me (and my freak-ass body).  Lately, the second day of the patch, no matter what body part I put it on, that body part aches after a few hours of wear and it’s back to square one.  Didn’t used to happen, but it does now…go figure.  Anyway, the pain usually subsides after an hour or two.  Sunday I woke up still with the pain in my leg, but also with pain in my arm.  My calf ached worse.  The bottom of my foot ached.  Weird…maybe I slept wrong, thinks I.  By the evening, the pain was getting worse, not better, even with regular doses of ibuprofen.  I didn’t sleep much last night (pain) and this morning I woke up feeling worse.  Now it’s Monday, 45 hours after removing the patch at the initial onset, and I’ve gone from about a 4 to about an 8.  Add that I am unable to put full weight on my right leg, my toes and fingers are tingly, and when Mr. W pulled me by my right arm for a good-bye kiss this morning, ever so gently in his ever so gentle way, it hurt like he squeezed a bruise.  What the hell??

Now I’m counting the minutes until my doctor’s office opens, hoping I can talk them into letting me come in today.  Mr. W is freaking out, like, a lot.  Honestly, I am too a little.  I just wear “freaking out” a little better than he does.  It’s the whole pain management thing for women, I think.  You know, we can compartmentalize the pain.  Isolate it and put it away.  Yeah, it’s still there, but like background music.  The day must go on because quite frankly, life just doesn’t stop when you don’t feel good.  Men have more trouble with that.  Maybe we are genetically inclined, you know, with the whole labor pains, giving birth, cramps, etc, etc.  The last tattoo I got was on my ribs.  Fairly big.  The guy that did it was amazed that I didn’t make a sound (apparently it’s one of the most painful places to get one).  He said most guys come in for one there and are whimpering and begging for breaks the whole time.  Plus, something that size is usually done in several visits (I did mine in one, over 4 1/2 hours).  I just told him it was a woman thing.  We may not be tougher, but we can sure act it! 

p.s.  For those that care, yes, I am going to ask the doctor for advice/help/something to quit smoking.  I’ve been putting it off, but the patches are obviously not an option anymore, cold turkey just ain’t happening, and the lozenges/gum taste horrible.  Yeah, I realize this is coming from someone who generally tastes like an ashtray, but it’s different, sort of, maybe…

I know it’s been a bit, but I’ve been a very busy little bee over the last week…let me catch ya’ll up…

Well, Mom and Step-dad came and left early in the week.  They drove cross country to visit Florida, Virginia, then here for 4 days.  The kids came home for their two summer weeks with me the day before my parents arrived, so yeah, it’s been living on the fly for the last week.  Things are starting to calm a bit now, so I have time to catch up with stuff.  Namely by blog, my homework, my housework, my never-ending quest for organization…  Good news about the parental visit: they like Mr. W.  They really do.  It’s hard with the kids around to have a really good get to know you on an adult level set of conversations, but from what they see, they agree…he is wonderful!

I’ve been actively trying to quit smoking (yeah, I know I’ve said it before, but really, really trying now.)  I’m having trouble though with the nicotine patches.  They are about the only thing that keeps me from scratching my face off without smoking, but it never fails, the second day I put one on, whatever body part I apply it to (arm, shoulder, leg, hip…) gets this deep, radiating, throbbing pain that is literally unbearable!  I had one on all day Friday: no problems.  I put one on the opposite hip yesterday morning and 3 hours later, excruciating pain running down my right leg that I can still feel faint traces of now.  WTF, man?!  How am I supposed to quit if I can’t use any of the aids to help me quit??  Yes, I realize I could try the cold-turkey route, but seriously, with all the crap in my life…soooo not going to happen!

With the quitting smoking, and the back-up on my homework (yeah, 4 assignments behind) I’m doing my damnedest to enjoy my time with my kids.  I was away from the boy for 37 days total…and it sucked.  The girl had her normal visits, but it’s nice to have them both here together.  It’s like a double edged sword though…yeah, all you full time parents out there (some have verbalized this jealousy to me) think it’s great that I get some time alone, without worrying about the kids.  No doubt, it is.  I miss them terribly, but I do enjoy my time in quite solitude sometimes.  No external responsibility.  No schedule.  No screaming-fighting-yelling-mommying-arguing-blah-blah-blah…  Yeah, that part is nice.  Privacy and the ability to be adults for a night (read: go out to dinner/for drinks/whatever) is good for bonding with Mr. W.  It would be all well and good, except…

The ex-men don’t have the same parenting style as me…ok, that’s putting it very nicely.  They don’t have any freaking parenting style, unless you can count doing very little and letting your parents, who, of course are grand-parents with all the grand-parent allotted spoiling going on, do the parenting for you.  (Yeah, both still living with Mommy and Daddy.)  So when my kids get home, they rebel and struggle and all-in-all have a hard time adjusting back to my parenting style.  You know, one with rules and boundaries and schedules and healthy meals and minimal spoiling (ok, I spoil my kids, Mr. W especially spoils my kids…but not near to the level that their fathers by proxy of their grand-parents spoil my kids!).  So the sword is this:  If my kids were here all the time, we wouldn’t have this constant struggle.  They would know what is going on and what is expected of them and what they can expect at all times.  They would behave and know their boundaries.  We could spend time on enjoyable things rather than fighting.  We could spend time learning new things rather than reteaching old things.  It would be easier on them and easier on me as a whole.  But I wouldn’t get the time I so sorely need.  Time to study.  Time to do housework.  Time to relax.  Time to run errands.  Time for Mr. W.  Time for just me. Yeah…that’s about the story of my life…double edged swords all around.  No wonder I’m always covered in scrapes and bruises!

But, all in all, it’s been a nice week.  It was good to see my parents, of course.  And Mr. W took 2 days off work to get to know them, despite the earlier drama about taking time off.  We had some good family time…even his kids came along with us for one outing.    My mom and I didn’t start bickering until the end of day 3, so I figure 4 days is just perfect for us…you know, mothers and daughters!  The kids have been mostly well behaved.  Mr. W put a TV, DVD player, and a couple of the boy’s old gaming systems in his room, so the combination has kept them busy for a couple hours of the day since my parents left, allowing me the time to put a dent in the amount of housework and homework that is always looming.  The puppy has only peed and pooped in the house 3 times all weekend (new record) and is currently sleeping soundly at my feet.  Yeah…it could be worse!

Nothing fits.  No, seriously, nothing fits!  Not even my “loose” jeans fit.  Not even my “easy-just-throw-it-on-when-I-wake-up-late” dress fits.  Nothing fits!  I’m going a little batty here.  I have gone up 2 full sizes in the last 6 months, most of that growth happening in the last 2 months and I have no clue as to why!  In response to my whining this morning, Y told me “you know, I hate to tell you but a woman’s metabolism slows down when she hits 30.”  I’ve only been 30 for 3 freaking days!!  What, was it a preemptive strike on my physique and self-esteem?  No fair!

But seriously, I really don’t know why.  I stopped going to the gym almost a year ago.  I haven’t been eating any differently.  I mean, really, here’s my food diary entries for the last two days (yes, I started keeping a food diary…I’m that confused by this whole thing):

Tuesday:

• Sbux Tea Latte – 200
• Sbux Low-fat raspberry muffin – 238
• 12 oz Gatorade – 100
• 2 20-oz bottles of water (+ 3 more glasses at home) – 0
• Tomato soup – 180
• Sbux Chicken cobb sandwich – 470
• A handful of pringles – 100
• Ramen with one egg and cabbage – 380+90

                                            Total calories: 1758

Wednesday:

• 2 slices of toast w/ cinnamon-sugar – 150
• 2 cups of coffee – 50
• a banana – 108
• a tuna wrap – 400
• cottage cheese and peaches – 120
• tea – 105
• home-made beef and broccoli over rice – 550

                                             Total calories: 1483

That’s not bad, and that’s how I eat most days.  Yes, occasionally I will hit up a fast food place and consume all 1500 calories in one meal, but I’ve always done that and for the most part my eating is like the above…so why the sudden weight gain that shows no signs of slowing down, stopping, or reversing? 

Yes, I realize exercise would probably help me out here.  I also realize my energy (or lack there of) problem would also be remedied by exercise, but seriously, how does one, a regular everyday mommy-type person begin and maintain an exercise routine when you are already tired?  What’s the secret here people?  And don’t tell me, “just do it” because even Nike dropped that logo years ago! 

I will be keeping my food diary for awhile, just to make sure I’m not missing anything.  I’ll keep the look-out for a non-exhausted period of the day to get some sort of exercise.  And, eventually, I will stop whining…maybe…

Silver lining:  I guess I will have to go shopping!  (You know, since none of my clothes actually fit me, like, at all…)

Update:  30 seconds after posting this, I got an email from Mr. W, the supportive one, the guy that is on board with cooking at home, eating better, being healthy…telling me he’s on his way out to lunch.  Nice.

It is truly sad how much soul is lost in our world today.  We, as a whole, are so wrapped up in all the things that aren’t important in our worlds, that we have let true joy fall to the wayside.  Of course, being a sometimes-artsy type, I tend to equivocate joy with more soulful endeavors like art, writing, music, the kinds of creations which are made beautiful, not simply by their existence, but by their creators’ heart and soul as it is put into bringing them about.  Unfortunately, it seems with our (again the collective here) longer working hours, greater demands on our time and energy, and in some ways our money, with our technological advances, we have lost sight of the natural beauty of the world, created or even just nature itself.

Let’s start with the man-made stuff.  When one thinks of the “greats” in art, the majority lie in our long lost history:  Michelangelo, Van Gogh, Di Vinci, Rembrandt, Picasso.  Sure, we have some fantastic artist in our midst today, but can you name one?  Can you recognize their work by sight?  Composers/musicians:  Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Bach, Vivaldi.  Even if you want to step forward into more modern times, who can deny Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, or Aretha Franklin?  That quality of music doesn’t exist anymore.  The heart and soul poured into the piece or song can be feltby the listener in a way that some lyrics may induce from today’s pop/rock ballads, but it’s just not at the same depth as the old stuff.  In writing, what happened to the Dickens, Shakespeares, Vernes, Austins, and Hemingways of the world.  Their language, their imagery, their formation of thought and prose (or poetry) is something that can’t be found in modern writers.  I do love modern writers, but the unbridled exploration of language and its infinite possibilities just doesn’t make its way into print anymore.  In architecture, the sometimes ornate, always stunning works of art that are wrapped around old buildings are giving way to new, sometimes beautiful, but always functional and cost-effective facades.  Even the most minimal pieces of our past (think zen-ish temples and even the pyramids) have more character and simplistic beauty than that $10,000 sideboard from Pottery Barn could ever hope for. 

I think it all comes down to heart.  For centuries, great masterpieces in art, architecture, music, woodworking, writing, whatever were created by hand and by heart.  The creators had the gift and the almost primal need to create and share their creation with the world, not for fame or fortune, simply because they could.  They heard the music in the air, saw the sculpture before ever touching chisel to stone, knew the story and had the words to explain every depth of it, felt the draw of paint to canvas and obliged to bring them together in the poetry that they are meant to create.  These gifted among us (or the past us) weren’t looking for ways to get rich or get a bigger house or marry a prettier girl.  They were there, in their moments of creation, completely surrounded by, I’m not going to go so far as to say peace, because really, I’m sure some of them were those tormented-soul types, but they were surrounded by thier ”now,” embracing it, rolling in it, holding tight and creating something magnificent. 

These prodigies often manifested talent at a young age, and were provided (usually) the means to explore their talent.  Imagine for a moment that Mozart grew up in today’s society.  Most of us don’t have a piano in our homes.  Most of us will never touch a piano except maybe in passing in a music store at the mall in our lifetime.  If this was the world he grew up in, this world would be robbed of some of the most inspirational and inspiring works in history. 

Even when that pure, soulful talent arises in someone amongst us, there is little chance for them in our world.  Mozart began when he was 5.  I can’t fathom my son doing much of anything phenomenal like that at his age.  Not that he isn’t the most wonderful, smartest, sweetest, most talented boy in the world.  Of course, all our kids are.  But in seriousness, what Mozart could do is unthinkable.  Strip away the kids who are bragged on and put on pedestals for their perceived (by-rose-colored-glasses-wearing-parents) talents and find the true anomalies in our society.  Then add the reality that most won’t discover their talent, and if they do, will not have the ability or means to sink into it without scorn (or starving…why do you think they call it starving artist…).  I mean, really.  Editing and publishing costs money.  Paint and canvases cost money.  Pianos and other instruments cost money.  Woodworking tools and wood cost money.  (Yes, there were probably money issues back then, but back then they could also just go cut down a tree for wood instead of going to Lowes, they could mix a palette of colors from nature and stretch out the hide of a newly slaughtered goat or something instead of heading to Michael’s.)  Add to that the competition created by the machines of this world that can do it all faster and more “perfect,” including all that computer-aided music we listen to.  What’s left for the true, soul-filled beauty of our world?

Granted, some make it…usually, it seems, in the music world where there is still some appreciation for talent.  But even then, it isn’t recognized in nearly the same way.  Take that expiriment in the DC Metro back in 2007.  They put Joshua Bell, a world renowned, highly talented violinist in the subway with a $3.5 million Stradivari violin for 43 minutes, just to see what would happen.  This 30-something man, who coincidentally began at age 4, who gets paid $1000′s per minute to play worldwide, made $32.17 that day for his trouble.  A handful of people paused and tossed him some change.  One man stopped for 3 minutes to listen.  Most didn’t even seem to notice.  One woman actually recognized him, having attended one of his concerts earlier in the year and was shocked by the response of her fellow Washingtonians.  We don’t even recognize recognized talent when it’s right there in front of us, wailing away on a $3.5 million instrument!  One thing that was observed, however, was that every child that came through stopped (or at least tried to) and looked and listened to Bell play.  So what does that say?

I think our world of too busy, too much, not enough is a learned adult phenomenon.  I think we are all born the same, 100 years ago, 1000 years ago, or today.  I think that innate connection with nature and purity and the soul and all their beauties is there from birth, but it’s our lives that push it out of us.  Of course in the end it’s up to us, isn’t it.  We can go on with our “musts” and our “needs” and all the other illusions that drive us through life, or we can stop and listen to the music, see the beauty, feel the soulfulness, and find the words to describe it all with perfect descriptive clarity.  And if we aren’t lucky enough to be born with that gift of natural talent, at the very least can we stop and appreciate and support and stand behind the ones that are, for they are the last of a dying breed, the last of their kind, the last to bring that true, soulful beauty to us.  (Go hug a band-geek today!) 

Yeah, so today is my birthday.  I’ve decided this is a damn good time to start celebrating anniversaries instead…so yep, this is my first anniversary of 29.  My fabulous friend and confidant Y surprised me with a gift bag on my desk this morning containing some much needed Reese’s cups (WTF is up with our vending machine people that they are totally forgetting to restock the chocolate-peanut-buttery goodness that it Reese’s lately??), and a gift card to Famous Footwear (yeah, she knows me), and this fabulous stuff from Bath and Body Works’ True Blue Spa collection: “29 and holding!” I like the sound of that!  It’s some sunscreen stuff, with little mini bottles of “Tahiti, sweetie” lotion, “Watch Your Mouth” chap stick, and “So Aglow” tan-enhancing shimmer after-sun spray.  Just give me some fabulous drink (Mojito, please) and a little umbrella and I can call this vacation time!

Work was kindly too.  I got some wonderful training on a difficult flight (nice!), and today just happens to be the employee appreciation free ice-cream truck day here (totally planned around my birthday, I just know it).  Besides that, one of the guys at work bought me lunch (BLT and fries) and Ms. D brought me not one, but two decadently delicious chocolate cakes to celebrate …yeah, diet starts tomorrow).  Ok, so maybe everyone here isn’t an asshole…

But on to what will officially be called “The greatest birthday present ever!” from here on out:  My weekend in NYC, care of none other than Mr. W himself (cue drum roll, swinging lights, fireworks, sparkly things falling from the ceiling, all that stuff).

We checked into our hotel around 6pm.  He booked this gorgeous little bed-and-breakfast (more like bed and your breakfast will be like every other chain-hotel continental breakfast in the lobby at 7am) in Hell’s Kitchen.  Not sure why it’s called “Hell’s Kitchen,” but with the amount of simply fabulous restaurants and delicious food there, I can only deduce that food that good has to be a sin of some sort!  The first night we ended up in this little…I don’t really know what kind of restaurant it was.  The maitre d (I hate that I can’t use those little wavy things in my French words!) was from somewhere in South America and absolutely charming.  The food was delectable.  I had a spicy red snapper with the best Spanish rice I’ve ever tasted.  And the wine list, adorable!   It categorized it’s wine in the most divalicious way:

After, we walked the two blocks to Times Square.  Well, what can I say…it’s Times Square!  All lights and sparkles (and crowds, but who cares).

We decided to hop on a bus tour of the city, that took us into Brooklyn.  Very cool…no really, we were freezing our asses off and ended up in the bottom of the bus for the ride back.  I didn’t get a ton of pictures as it was dark and we were moving, but here’s one I did catch of Ground Zero (just getting started on the building, apparently).

We wandered a bit more after the tour until we found ourselves worn out (midnight) and headed home, planning on an early start the next morning.  Yeah, not so much.  We headed out about 9am, found a nearby Starbucks (of course…but then again, we passed about 100 in the length of our trip)

and after our much needed caffeine boost, headed to the “Top of the Rock,” Rockefeller Center.  Such a beautiful view of the city!  Here is Central Park:

And, of course, the Empire State Building:

And my favorite, St. Patrick’s Cathedral (I think):

I learned in some Art class once that all the old churches were built like this, in the shape of a cross.  That was by far my favorite part of New York, the architecture.  To see these beautiful old buildings set right next to these equally beautiful modern buildings.  It just takes my breath away!

Saturday afternoon, the piece de resistance (read with uncanny French accent, again needing the wavy things) of the trip…(again, flashing lights, falling sparkly things…) Wicked…on Broadway!! Mr. W and I have both read the book, and he’s actually read the second (of three) book as well, and he surprised me with the much desired tickets.  The seats were good, close (like the third row from the stage) but off to the right, so we couldn’t see all of the backdrops, but we didn’t miss anything!  The show was phenomenal!  I was mesmerized by the vocals, the story (a well-blended mix of The Wizard of Oz and Wicked), the costumes, the scenes…it was all, well, perfect! Definitely the best birthday present ever!! (Plus I picked up some merch, care of Mr. W: a hoodie and a “one night in New York” Wicked T-shirt…sweet!!)

After the show, we meandered back to the hotel, stopping to eat another delicious meal along the way.  We changed clothes and headed out again, this time to Central Park.  We started off at Strawberry Fields, of course:

And then just kind of roamed around, checking out that bridge that’s in like every movie set in New York:

While shooting this raccoon climbing a tree

there was some sort of commotion on the other side of the pond that involved a blood-curdling female scream, and a (very fast) man running away.  Nope, New York didn’t deprive me of any of it’s cliches!

By the time we made it back to the Hershey Store in Times Square, (and a couple other stops for cheesy souvenirs) we were both exhausted (and still had 4 stories of too skinny, too steep stairs to walk up).

Sunday morning we slept in, and hit Starbucks, of course, for breakfast and coffee.  Then back to the hotel to pack, check out, and back on the road home.  We did stop off in New Jersey for some “New York style” pizza for lunch though… 

I should totally be doing hon mework right now, but, eh, y’all know me.  I actually slept last night (yea,  melatonin!), but that means I can’t use tired as an excuse.  At least everyone can rest easy that 2am wasn’t killed last night in a fit of rage…  I’m just not getting my homework at all.  Discrete math…whatever that is…sucks.  You know, I totally love math and all it’s predictability and hard-core logic.  (yeah, I just referred to math as hard-core.  What of it?  So what if I may possibly be a slight nerd!)  But the discrete part seems to mean that the actual function, formula, makes-sense-ed-ness is sitting on the down low so the user (me) is totally clueless.  But I got 100s on my last two assignments, so apparently I’m hiding my cluelessness pretty damn well.

I bought (acquired) Dave Matthew’s new album when it first came out, Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King…whatever…  Anyway, I finally got around to listening to it, and it’s pretty damn good.  I’ve been looking for things that speak to me lately, music, books, movies, and have been floundering miserably.  I pick up a book, or more accurately download a sample to my Kindle…the greatest invention ever (Sorry Girly!), and read it but nothing really grabs me like I want it to.  Same with music.  I’ve been picking up music here and there, hoping for something that I can just sit and listen to over and over.  The last I found was Maroon 5, Songs About Jane…love that album!  It just felt right.  But, alas, the 5 was played out (it’s been like 2 years or something since it came out!) and I’ve been trying to move on but with nothing to move on to…until I found Dave. 

I’ve had a hot and cold relationship with Mr. Matthews and his merry band.  I know, I know.  He has quite the following, kind of like The Dead in their day.  But I just didn’t really feel him.  I did like the first album, and Crash Into Me will always hold a special place in my heart, but on the whole I’m kind of like eh.  Something about this new album gets me though.  Maybe it’s just the place I am right now.  Maybe I’ve matured, musically.  Whatever the reason, I’m really digging it! 

And never fear, I still have thoughts of mah man when I listen…occasionally.    You and Me may just make an appearance at our wedding (if I get my way) because it just fits.  Anything, baby!  You and me, together.  We can get through it all!  (And maybe we can teach our kids to fly!)

The hours between 1am and 4am are by far the worst hours of the day.  They straight piss me off.  You know when you roll over, all not sleeping and everything, already irritated, and when you look at the clock it’s 130am and you just get pissed, so of course you aren’t going to sleep now because you’re awake and now you’re pissed too.  Yeah, that sucks. 

I get up generally between 5am and 545am (depending on how many times I hit snooze).  I try to get to bed by 10pm, but anytime before midnight is ok.  At least that gives me 5 hours of rest.  Yeah, totally not enough, but ok.  But those nights that insomnia hits and 1am creeps past all stealthy-like, like it’s perfectly acceptable for it to exist in my waking world.  Then 2 then 3.  By the time I get a peek of 330 I’m downright livid.  Anger really doesn’t work so well for inducing sleep. 

I’ve been plagued by insomnia for-like-ever.  I’ve gone through periods of nightly assistance, to include Valerian, Tylenol PM, melatonin, and massive amounts of red wine (a sure fire way to end a date without giving it up…if you know what I mean!).  The problem is, now that my insomnia isn’t steady, I can’t stage a pre-emptive attack and take the measures necessary.  NO.  I don’t realize it’s going to be one of those nights until it’s far to late to take some sleep aid (or hit the liquor store for a bottle).  The worst part is when there are several sleepless nights strung together.  I figure the extreme tiredness I feel all day from not sleeping the night before pretty much guarantees an easy if not good night’s sleep so I don’t take anything to assist.  But oh, no.  My mind/body/whole existence rebels against me, and all logic, and I’m awake another night.  WTF, right?  Even worse than that is when I do take a melatonin or something, and I still don’t manage to catch those elusive zzzs.  2am doesn’t want to mess with me on those nights.  I’d dream of murder for all the anger in my heart…except that I’m not sleeping!!  After the third (or fourth or fifth) night, I’m so freaking tired that my mind quite literally goes to into a coma without so much as a note to my body.  Talk about zombie-fied!  There I am walking around, completely mindless and useless, looking totally normal on the outside, probably pissing off all those around my with my random grunts and lack of productivity, until my body finally gets a clue and collapses in a shapeless lump wherever I happen to be at that moment.  Yeah, that’s always fun! 

*Hint to Mr. W:  If you read this, do me a favor and drug me up with something tonight.  A lot of something…your choice.  Just please, for the love of LOST, Star Wars, geeky-computer stuff, WHATEVER, help me sleep!!  

So, I may have mentioned my imminent increase in age coming up, you know, the big 3-0 and all the crap unfortunate side effects stuff that goes with it.  Well, it’s Monday.  Yep, I am a 13-baby.  As a matter of fact, I was born on a Friday (yeah, go ahead and think what you want about Friday the 13th…but I swear it’s not true…well mostly not…well, maybe a little…). At 11:44pm.  6 minutes to midnight.  In July.  In Arizona (so my mom’s last few months just totally sucked!).  After 16 hours of labor.  By C-section…yeah, sorry Mom.

Anyway, so Monday is my B-day and of course Mr. W, in all his wonderfulness, has been plaguing bugging inquiring what I would like.  I did my list, but don’t really expect anything from it.  Yes, I would like to have someone buy me all of it, but I’m of the mind that if I want something, I can just go get it myself.  It may take a little longer, but then it’s really mine. Maybe it’s the whole you appreciate something more if you get it yourself.  Maybe it’s that I held out for so many years for things promised by my dad (computer at 14, Mustang convertible at 16, Honda Del Sol at 17, visits at graduation from high school/basic training/technical school, digital camera* at 26, MacBook at 28…) that I finally figured out to stop waiting thus ending the imminent disappointment attached. In the end, I simply told Mr. W that I would rather us take a trip somewhere than have him spend too much money on my birthday.  Damn he’s a good listener!

After work Friday, we will be driving up to New York!! We are staying at a fabulous bed and breakfast walking-distance from Times Square, and then Saturday…Wicked on Broadway!!! (At the Gershwin Theater!) Yeah, lots of jumping up and down and screaming and stuff has gone on since he told me.  I read Wicked about a year ago, and convinced Mr. W to read it as well.  We both loved it and have been foaming at the mouth at the possibility to see it, anywhere.  And now we are going.  (Did I mention on Broadway?!) Ok, so I’m a little geeky about the whole thing, but really, it’s Broadway. In New York! Of course, I will be taking Mr. D ( my lover, my soul-mate, my Nikon) with Mr. W’s encouragement, of course.  Times Square at night…Central Park…the Brooklyn Bridge…*sigh* I’ve also heard rumors that they’ve reopened the Statue of Liberty for tourists, so we may try to stop there too.  I’m so freakin’ excited!!

I’ve been to New York once.  Ex#2′s sister was at one of those IMTA conventions, so we went with his parents and the boy for support.  It was hell.  Ex#2 and his father have strong issues with crowds (among other things), so they were basically stressful assholes the whole trip.  The boy peed through his diaper on the subway, onto my shirt.  The sister didn’t get any call-backs, and was in fact told she was too fat to model.  Hmmm…I wonder if this experience fed into her later hospitalization for eating disorders…  Anyway, I didn’t get to see much of the city, and was sorely disappointed by the whole trip.  But now, all that changes thanks to my Mr. Wonderful!  He’s been there once before as well, with his Ex#2.  Better than my trip, but not exactly ideal for him either.  Apparently they rented an apartment for a week there, which she was responsible for.  Turns out the owners had cats there, and Mr. W is severely allergic.  Seriously, he coughs, swells, itches, the whole deal.  So they couldn’t spend much time there, which isn’t such a big deal in itself.  After all, it’s New York. Stuff doesn’t close there, so why the hell would you want to stay home??  Unfortunately, Ex-Mrs. W was/is a little, uh, high maintenance.  She has eating issues…so when she is finally hungry, MUST.  EAT.  NOW!  Also, due to the non-eating thing, she wears out fast.  And where does one rest when away from home…oh yeah, the cat hair-infested apartment that you rented.  Nice. Anyway, I’m hoping I can give him a good trip, as much as he is giving me.  (Give and take…that’s what it’s all about!)  Did I mention how excited I am?!

On a side (yet no less meaningful) note:  Mr. W’s wonderful childhood friend, and my friend, The Girl From the Ghetto herself, took time amidst feeling like crap post-surgery to send me something so sweet:

How wonderful is that?  (No wonder Mr. W adores you so much, Girly!)  Who sends Thank-you cards anymore?  Especially when feeling like crap and stuck in bed?  It’s the small things that touch my heart, and this surely did.  Thank you, Girly! I’m glad I could bring you some laughter, and I truly hope you feel better soon!  And to all you miracle-makers and wish-granters out there (and any editors, magazine-runners, and other writing-involved people), who may happen upon this, check TheGirlFromTheGhetto out…she is simply fabulous and truly deserves a miracle!

*To be fair, about 3 weeks after I bought found my one true love (my Nikon D-40) my dad did send me a check to cover the purchase price.

I think I may have picked the wrong career path.  I walk around my building, and half the time I have no freakin’ clue what the hell anyone is talking about!  My writing vocabulary is slightly larger than my verbal vocabulary, but words like parameters, metrics, instrumentation, etc aren’t in either.  Seriously.  Who walks around having conversations that involve these words?  Yeah, my fellow engineery types, that’s who.  Most of the time I just nod my head and smile as I watch the terms go sailing well over my head. 

My Junior year of high-school, I had a giant crush on a Senior.  His name was Jon (yeah, probably still is, but you get the point).  So Jon was tall, all muscle-y (swim jock…can you say Speedo?), and super-crazy smart.  There used to be a state-funded program that took the two smartest Seniors from each graduating class, state-wide (like two from the state, not two from each school) which gave them a full ride to any of the three state colleges, plus a one-year internship in Europe.  Yeah, he was one of the two.  Jon was (again, probably still is) of Chinese descent and, as was normal for the Chinese in my old community, was only allowed to date other Chinese.  Unfortunately for Jon, he wasn’t attracted to Chinese girls.  Or any Asian girls for that matter.  He preferred the more prominent-for-our-area Hispanic girls.  Lucky for me, I am a Chinese-mix who looks more on the Latin side.  I was so excited for our first date (and our last).  All went as normal first dates do.  He picked me up with gentlemanly politeness.  We drove in mostly awkward silence to the restaurant.  Lots of nervous laughter and smiles to start.  But then, as we got more comfortable with each other, the conversations started, and my crush ended.  He was one of those guys who sounds smart.  He used those words that, although I know their meaning and can quite effectively write with, I never use in everyday casual conversation.  Despite knowing I was on an equal playing field with him intelligence wise, he made me feel dumb, through no fault of his own.  I didn’t like it, and there ended our could-have-been…

I am surrounded by super-smart people every day.  I work in a building, in an environment full of engineers, scientists, mathematicians, and literal rocket scientists.  I do enjoy the company of the intelligent.  Most of my friends are quite intelligent, but the ones that I deal with most are the “normals” of the ”smarts.”  Intelligence doesn’t take the form of fancy vocabularies and lofty ideas.  It’s not quoting books or other scholarly folks.  It is the ability to think, to deduce, to problem-solve, to have an opinion and express it, and to be open to new thoughts and ideas.  I think we are so wrapped up in the percieved definition of “smarts” that we overlook the truly intelligent all around us. 

Of course, I’m the “cute” girl who was also recently described as “normal” in comparison to a co-worker’s female Computer Science classmates, so I may be a little biased in all this.  But truly, I don’t feel that big words make the brain.  Big ideas with the ability to back them up do.  But in my work-world of “super-smarts,” I’m left as just another “normal” being passed over and underestimated.  Yeah, maybe I should find a new career path…