Strung Out on Chamomile

Most people wake and caffeinate. I wake and sedate. My to go mug carries chamomile, not coffee. People find this odd and ask me why I am not half asleep. I look at them with scorn and say things like "Um, have you met me???" At this point, ingesting horse tranquilizers would be a drop in this bucket of stress and anxiety I have going on. So, no, my morning tea choice does not make me sleepy.

In addition to stress and anxiety, I am also feeling a bit stabby today. I mulled over the reasons as to why this is during my commute. I came up with the following possibilities:

1. My day literally started at 12am with Hubby cussing at me about my snoring. (Screw you, dude, you snore, too.) I went to the couch where I spent the next 5 hours listening to my dog smacking his lips. WTF? What was he doing and why did it never end??? Maddening!

2. PMS?

3. I am channeling my inner Dick Cheney (because, seriously, be you Democrat or Republican you have to admit that Dick Cheney is the embodiment of evil).

4. Chamomile tea is neither wine nor horse tranquilizers.

I'm sure my current stabbiness is a mix of all of the above. It's really in everyone's best interest that I start my day chamomile tea, so stop acting all weird about me drinking it at 6:30am.

My dear son chose today of all days to wake up on the wrong side of the bed. I love him and I'm 99% sure that I will not run away to Mexico and "forget" to pick him up from school today but he was getting on my last nerve... He woke up whining about not getting picked to have breakfast with the principal (which just sounds like punishment to me) and there isn't even a breakfast with the principal scheduled today! That's like me whining about not winning the Wine Princess Contest when such a contest doesn't even exist!!

Side note: I would totally win a Wine Princess Contest.

Dear son could have at least chosen to whine about something that exists. Like the fact that I am never going to let him have his friend over for a play date because I am too lazy to clean the house. He really needs to think this shit through. He went on to mope for the entire ride to school (which is less than 10 minutes but felt like a millennium this morning). Woe is him and all he has are bad days. It was really hard to keep the words that I wanted to say in my head. Some examples are:

"Poor you. School must be so much harder than my soul-sucking career."

"Poor you. You get $22 MineCraft stuffed animals while Mommy is wearing clothes from 2003."

"Poor you. Is your shirt clean? It is. You want to know why? Because I do the same 6 loads of laundry every weekend and this wonderful chore will NEVER END."

"Poor you. Do you like using your tablet? I hope so because I pay the electric bill that charges that damn thing. And Xcel Energy is a real asshole company that triples my rates 4 months out of the year to 'encourage us to conserve energy during the hottest months of the year'. AND I'm still paying off said tablet but, no, you are the one who has it so rough."

Side note: Xcel Energy is right up there with Dick Cheney as the root of all evil but I won't get started on that now. That rant is a whole other Oprah.

Being the adult in this situation, I did keep all those words (and many more) in my head. Small victories? And now I'm off for another cup of chamomile. I fear for humans near me if I don't...

This isn't really a post...

But rather an ode to the one year anniversary of my last chemo treatment. This time last year I knew I would never have to sit in that chair and get hooked up to a bunch of poison again in two weeks. All 8 treatments were done! I had survived my worst nightmare. A lot has happened in that last year and every day keeps getting better and better. I pause often to be thankful for the place I am in now compared to the place I was last year. This picture was taken after I got home from my last treatment. I celebrated with champagne. This year I will celebrate by feeling well enough to take my son to Trunk or Treat (and also wine because, come on, like I even have to explain why).

A Day in the Life of a Technical Writer (aka - Tree Killer for No Reason)

I just spent four hours wrestling with a Table of Contents that is supposed to generate automatically. I consider that a huge technology fail on the part of the software I use (coughFrameMakercough) and I am now silently seething with rage. I want to go to my local library and rip every table of contents out of every book and then set the pages on fire and roast marshmallows and drink wine while I watch them burn. That's a perfectly normal reaction, right?

Side note: I realized my last blog post didn't mention wine once. WTF??? I must have been having an off day! I will try and use the word wine as many times as possible in this post so that the drinking game my friend suggested is super awesome for ya'll. For those of you who don't read my comments (shame on you, btw), the drinking game is taking a shot every time the word wine is used in a post. I won't let you down with this post, I promise.

So, back to all my technical writing woes. In addition to asshole TOCs, I would like to bitch about hyphens. I work with a Hyphen Nazi. The redlines I get back from peer review are ridiculous. I'm super close to hyphenating everything. The-only-thing-good-about-hyphens-is-that-my-boss-hates-them-and-it-drives-him-crazy-that-The-Chicago-Manual-of-Style-states-that-we-must-use-them-as-often-as-the-Hyphen-Nazi-says-to-because-that-is-the-gramatically-correct-way. Folks, never ever argue with The Chicago Manual of Style.

Side note: They gave me a copy of the Chicago Manual of style here at work. I have had it for four years and never opened it. I should probably be disbarred. Wait, I think that's a term for another profession... I should probably take a look at that dictionary they gave me, too... Nah, that sounds like too much work. I shall now stop digressing.

Let's see... What else drives me crazy about technical writing aside from the mind-numbing boredom that comes from writing one manual for two years straight? My documents always end up becoming "critical path" for every project I work on. And by "critical path" I mean that everyone ignores me and forgets I exist until they need their documents RIGHT EFFING NOW so they can release their product to market before we all get fired. But, no pressure. And somebody got turned into HR for saying "Poor planning on your part doesn't constitute an emergency on mine" so I was told to take my sign down. I plan to secretly tattoo that saying on my body and go look at it every time I smile and tell someone "no problem, I will get that right to you" and then start daydreaming about shanking them. It's a verb: to shank. (See, my blog teaches you stuff. You're welcome, readers.)

Side note: Are you starting to see why I love my wine so much?

And, finally (well, I could keep complaining all day but I have some commas to move around, so I have to wrap this up), no one reads what I write! This revelation came straight from a person who works in a hospital. Documents go directly from the box to the garbage can. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Technically, I kill trees for no reason for a living. I should get new business cards....

Side note: Wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wint wine wine wine wine wine wine wine wine. Have fun getting wasted everyone!!!

It's Time You Learn the Truth

I loved personality quizzes way before Buzzfeed made them so cool. For any young'uns reading this blog, my love of quizzes started with magazines. Yes, things actually in print! I'm a damn dinosaur... But Cosmo only came out once a month so I resorted to any sort of personality test I could find, even the "legitimate" psychology ones. For the record I am an ENFJ. Yahoo that if you don't know what I am talking about.

With the invention of the Interwebs, we now have personality quizzes out the wazoo. And this is a good thing because without Buzzfeed or Playbuzz or Quizony I would have NO idea what kind of person I am. I would be wandering around in the dark, clueless. I would have no answers to questions such as "What Female Movie Stereotype Are You?" (the Mean Girl which I sort of take offense to). How could you live with yourself not knowing the answers to such deep and meaningful insights into your own soul?

Because I CARE about knowing myself, I take every quiz out there. I can tell you that I should actually be living in Georgia, my wild animal soul mate is a dolphin (and stupid me thought it was a tiger, so I'm thankful for being set straight), I'm a Democrat (nice to have validation that my voter registration card has been correct all this time), and I will be wise as an old person. I was super relieved to solve the mystery of which Kardashian family member I am (Kim, ew, but now I know at least).

How did humanity evolve without these quizzes? Screw Freud. HE never asked the important questions like "What Time of the Day Are You?" (late night for me which is bullshit because I haven't seen 10:30 in at least three years but whatevs because NOW I KNOW THE TRUTH and will adjust my entire life accordingly). And what the Hell was Carl Jung up to? That moron was wasting our time with all of his theories. Where was his published paper on "Which Hit Country Song Are You" (The Devil Went Down to Georgia).

Side note: That is a badass song and I am quite proud of myself and this might also be the reason why I should actually be living in Georgia. See how these quizzes are helping me connect the true dots and get my shit together?? I'm going to start house hunting as soon as this blog is posted.

But back to Freud and Jung and all those other amateurs. Rorschac can eat a dick. You know where those stupid pictures can be shoved. In fact, the whole field of psychology should just bow down to the Interwebs and admit that they have nothing on the profundity of "What Should You Buy in September" (car accessories, wtf?). So, cancel your therapy sessions and throw out all those self help books. Stop pretending that you know who you are and start taking the quizzes that bring the truth about you to light. This is mandatory to becoming the best you that Quizony says you should be. I'll let you know when I've secured housing in Georgia.

Another side note: I am not living anywhere near that ridiculous escalator in Atlanta. That shit is crazy steep and long. It's as bad as these freaky mountains I live near. My crippling fear of heights says no way!

Should I Be Concerned?

On a daily, weekly, monthly basis I get more texts from pizza places than I do from friends... I'm not sure if this is a good thing (because I freaking love pizza) or a bad thing (does this say something about my lack of friends??). Also, are these pernicious texts from pizza the real thing that is keeping me from losing that weight I want to shed? It's almost like the pizza places that throw me so much loving KNOW when I am trying to "just say no" to pizza.

Me: Time to swing my Whole Foods and grab a salad for lunch.
Phone: Bzzzzzzzz. Pizza text!
Me: Screw you, salad. I'm going to make sweet love to slice of pepperoni instead.

It's evil and I sometimes feel like all the pizza chains in the area are having me followed. But I also want to be "in the know" when there are pizza sales. I mean, who doesn't need that knowledge in their life? Pizza sale because the Broncos are playing? That's MUST HAVE info, ya'll. Plus, Peyton Manning owns a ton of Papa John's locations and it's downright disrespectful to our heroic quarterback to diss his side business.

As I type, I'm starting to realize that I need more food texting me. I already have a great relationship on Twitter with Cabot Cheese. We converse regularly about cheese. I also got a $25 gift card from Olive Garden due to my Twitter interaction with their fine establishment. Come to think of it, Applebee's has also Tweeted me... Maybe I don't need more food texts. It's disconcerting to sit here and list all the food that I talk to. But, damn, it would be awesome if Italian subs or burgers or fettuccini alfredo or Cheetos or Fritos or, well, you get the drift, started texting me.

I think I finally get it. Food is my only friend. I can't wait for my next pizza text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wait. I take that back.  Wine is my only friend. But why isn't wine texting me???? Wine, get off your ass and say hello to your best friend. If you didn't taste so good, I would consider you a real asshole. But, since I can't quit you, I will suffer quietly over your lack of communication. I love you, wine. I will wait patiently for you to be in touch. XO

PS - Pizza, I do love you, too, so keep up the texting!

My Version of Attachment Parenting

I only have one child. A gorgeous, wonderful, loving son. But I had always imagined myself with two. One time a psychic told me I would have three (lying charlatan bitch). But, nope, I have ended up with a lonely only. I mostly blame Hubby for this. He didn't want another child. He insists that it's more important to do right by one. From the financial aspect, I do agree with him on that point. Child care costs for TWO kids? How would I afford my wine? (I already had to turn to box wine to afford soccer. The things we do for our children!) Let alone sports, activities, cars, college, etc... Hell, the Friday Folder the school sends home weekly should be called the Write Arapahoe Ridge a Check Folder. So, the smart part of my brain knows that one child is the smarter decision. In addition to money, the whole breast cancer at 34 thing was a dream killer about having #2. So, while I may secretly hate my neighbor with four children, I have devised a plan to make the most out of the perfect child that I DO have. Attachment parenting, Brook-style.

I have given this a lot of thought. First off, I do everything for my son. He's seven and I still dress him. Yep, you heard that right. Sure, he knows how to dress himself and does so sometimes when he wants to hurry up and go play outside. (Side note: this also means there is never any arguing about what he will wear so I save a ton of time in the mornings.) I deliver all his meals to him. Get him snacks as asked. I still wash his hair (that's partly just because he does a crappy job on his own). I tell him almost daily that he never, ever has to move out. I tell him that college is a must but that he can live at home while attending.

Am I crippling my child for the real world? Maybe... Go ahead and judge. But crippling him for the real world is THE POINT of my style of attachment parenting. I only get to have one and, dammit, I am going to keep him. FOREVER. That little man isn't going anywhere! Does anyone recall Will Ferrell's character in Wedding Crashers? If you don't know what I am talking about, let me remind you. His character lived with his mom at the age of about 40 and sat on the couch yelling "Mom, where's the damn meatloaf?" And that's what I want for my future. My dear son still living at home, telling me that his hands are empty and I better get a sandwich in them ASAP. Bliss!

Now, should he fall in love and want to get married, I will allow him and his spouse to buy a house next door. I will pay for it if I have to. And if I can't get my current neighbor to sell me their abode then I will allow my son to go as far as a few houses down. Basically, he has to live within walking distance until I am dead. That's totally reasonable, right??????

So, there you go. Attachment parenting at its best. This is what happens when you literally put all your eggs in one basket. I'm a damn genius.

Where to start?

This blogging thing is an attempt to find my way out of the weeds, post-cancer. It's also because I am too lazy to try and write a book. Everyone thinks that you should be joyous after finishing cancer treatment. Believe me, I am very thankful BUT people neglected to tell me how lost you feel when you are no longer driven by survivor mode and you suddenly have to move on to this new normal. People wonder why you aren't what's-her-name in The Sound of Music, joyously twirling and singing on some mountain. Screw that noise. It's nothing close to reality. Plus, I am terrified of heights so you won't be seeing my ass on a mountain any time soon (unless there is a bar involved and then I will take a Xanax and close my eyes till we reach our booze-filled destination). But I digress. Back to that new normal stuff. For over a year, I got to be out of it. I had days off, napped all the time, blurred things with all the meds they gave me, just focused on powering through it. Don't get me wrong, I worked through chemo and didn't change much of my routine for the most part. But I was only half present. Now I have to be 100% present again and find some semblance of happy. I'm not saying I'm unhappy. I have many amazing moments where I stop and think "Just think of where you were at this time last year" and I smile because things are 1,000 times better. But I'm also not the me that I once was and I am striving to get as close to the old me as possible. As I mentioned before, I am lazy and a homebody so it was decided that blogging would be my new hobby. I can do it while I sit on my ass drinking wine and watching TV. Everyone wins. The wine makes me even wittier. Or at least that's what I tell myself. I will leave it up to you to form your own opinion on that matter. Sadly, I'm at work and stone cold sober so this post is just sort of an introduction and not very funny. Stick with me if you find me! More to come!

PS - When I found out I had cancer I kept saying "I have cancer, give me a puppy." Not one damn person produced a pooch. I still find that incredibly heartless...

PPS - I played Poker with Tarot cards once. 5 people died and Satan forgot the Doritos.

PPPS - You can follow me on Twitter @blacklakegirl