tiny little reveries

Not So Wordless Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 05:29:00 +0000

Yes, that's a squirt bottle.

Yes, it's hanging on my headboard. Of my bed.

And now, for a multiple choice quiz.

Q: Why is a squirt bottle hanging on the headboard of my bed?

A. I don't work very hard during sex so I sneak a couple sprays during the throes of passion to make me look hot, sweaty and sexy.

B. Hubby works too hard during sex and gets hot and sweaty (and a little asthmatic) so I spray him down.

C. I read that aliens don't like water so I keep it handy in case I'm abducted. Again.

D. Our neurotic dogs erupt in a symphony of barks in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason at all and a couple squirts simmers the little mofos down for a hot second..

E. All of the above.

Did you guess correctly? Congratulations. You've won some dogs.

This is a Wordless Wednesday blog hop sponsored by Stacey Uncorked. I was too sleep deprived to figure out how to add the linky widget thingie, so visit Stacey's blog and take a look at the other entries and link up!

Intervention

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 02:24:00 +0000

It's not always how they show it on T.V.

T.V. shows have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Usually, a happy end. In life...real-life addiction...there's a beginning, but you can't see it. You have no idea where the beginning started for the addict you love. I look at pictures of her when she was young and try to see a sign of it, but I don't see it.

I look at her pictures often. Baby pictures, elementary school pictures, junior high pictures - was there something there I didn't see? She looks happy in most of them. But that sad smile in that one 6th grade school picture - did that mean something or was it just a bad day? I drive myself crazy trying to figure it out. Trying to find the beginning.

Her father and I divorced when she was 7. That was hard on her - it was hard on all three of my kids. Is that where it started?

There were things that happened in her early teens that were tell tale signs that she didn't like herself. We put her in counseling. She would be counseled for 3 years. Almost every week for 3 years. Sometimes there was progress, sometimes not.

I tried to keep this from happening. This. This addiction and this lifestyle. But it turns out my efforts were just hurdles for her on the path she was determined to take.

In June she turned 18. She started hanging around the kinds of people I tried for 3 years to keep her from. By Christmas she had lost weight, quit two jobs, dropped out of her community college class, and was living with a guy who looked as bad as she did.

We knew something was wrong. We knew she had to be addicted to something. She wouldn't admit to using anything besides pot. It's a helpless feeling to see your child, who is not a child, spiraling down. It's a helpless, guilt-ridden, sad and lonely feeling.

I thought a person has to want help before they can change. They have to "hit bottom". But the interventionists say no, you can't wait until a person hits bottom to get them help. An intervention raises the bottom. You gather all the people that love and care for them and together you all show the person that they are at bottom. You show them how their addiction is hurting the people they love, and themselves.

On T.V., you get to read them a letter. Paragraph 1: You tell them all the things you love about them. Paragraph 2: You tell them how their addiction has changed them. Paragraph 3: You tell them how you can't watch them do that to themselves anymore, and you ask them to go to treatment today. You must end with, "Will you go to treatment today?" Today. It's urgent. You can't watch them kill themselves anymore. It has to end today.

We didn't get to read our letters. Maybe had she seen all 13 of us in that room, and heard our letters, maybe she would have gone to treatment. I like to think that. But part of me still believes she has to want to change. She has to be tired of the life she's living and want something more. She has to at least admit she's using.

We tried to trick her into coming over. We told her I was sick and needed help. I had a recent trip to the emergency room, so it was plausible. She wouldn't come. So, the men in the group got in the car and went to her. Her boyfriend owns a gun which he carries around with him, and we weren't sure how he would take to the idea of her family taking her to an intervention she didn't want to go to. So the men went to get her and the women stayed behind. It sounds very cave-man like, but that's how it happened.

The atmosphere at our house, while we waited for the men to come back with her, reminded me of how it is at a funeral. Not the funeral, really, but after the funeral, when everyone gathers at someone's house and they eat, and talk, and reminisce, and cry, and laugh together. It's very bittersweet.

It was like that, only minus the death. (for now at least. And only in the literal sense, for I believe some intangible parts of my daughter have died.)

It was a bit odd for me to sit chatting with my ex-husband's girlfriend of 11 years, and my former mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and one of his cousins. But there were no hard feelings or resentments that day. Just shared pain for a lost child and shared hope that she'll come back to us. I've had inklings over the years that my ex-husband's girlfriend and I could have been friends had circumstances been different. I actually think we really could now. On my side, I had my sister, my sister-in-law, my cousin, and my other daughter there. Other than my daughter, my family had never really spent time with my ex-husband's family, not even when we were married. But that day, we were all there to support one another.

Despite the efforts of the interventionist, my ex-husband, my ex-father-in-law, my brother, and my son - my daughter would not come back to the house to talk to us. As a matter of fact, she drove away and would only speak to the interventionist and her father over the phone. Had he had the opportunity, I know her dad would have picked her up and put her in the car and drove her to us. But he didn't have the chance.

What could we do? She didn't want help. The men came back to the house and all that was left to do was hug, cry, and say goodbye.

She didn't want help. She still doesn't want help. The intervention, or wanna-be intervention, happened a week ago and I haven't heard from her since. This is the longest time she's gone without talking to me. It's painful and it's difficult.

When we were planning this, the interventionist told us our daughter would go through 4 stages at the intervention. 1. Anger. 2. Denial. 3. Deflection 4. Bargaining.

It occurred to me that parents of addicts go through these same stages, although we go through them over a much longer period of time. Years, actually.

When my daughter was almost 15, and showing signs of a problem, I was angry at her for the choices she was making. I taught her better than that. The anger stage was on and off for 3 years.

After the anger started, then denial kicked in. She experimented with pot, and various pills, and cocaine, but we had her in counseling, and we were drug testing her and she was passing, so she must be fine. She must have kicked it.

Then deflection. This is the worst one. When addicts deflect, they point out the shortcomings of those around them to take the pressure off themselves and their using. Sister smokes pot. Mom drinks.

When parents deflect, it's the opposite. We turn the finger on ourselves. What did I do wrong? Why is there a hole inside my child's soul that only a fatal substance can fill? What kind of parent am I? The questions leave you awake and wide-eyed in the middle of the night and bring you sobbing to your knees when you're alone in the shower.

Then bargaining. We offer to pay for treatment if they will just go. We offer to help them get their own place after treatment, if they stay clean. We tell them we'll pay for school if they stay clean. We'll get them a car if they stay clean. We'll help them with anything they need. Just don't use.

These 4 stages drag out over years, and overlap. And right now, for me, they are my life.

On T.V. the addict agrees to get help. But it doesn't always happen like it does on T.V.

Post It Note Tuesday

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 04:41:00 +0000

Slap a Stickie on it Tuesday!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 04:51:00 +0000

Well, I'm not sure if Post-It Note Tuesday still exists or not. But it sure is an easy way to write a post, so I'm going for it.

**Seriously, that last part, about tweeting to someone, then realizing they are, like, a genius - That happened to me on my work twitter account. I have to tweet computer programming and iphone game developer stuff, and sound smart. It's really hard. Hence, the wine. But only at the end of the day - it's not like I have a flask at my desk or something. Well, not since they caught me.

Nah, just kiddin. But really, sounding smart is hard.

In Which a Trip to the Emergency Room results in Hubby Losing HisCheeseburger

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 04:32:00 +0000

I'm attempting to post this from my phone so if a sentence suddenly makes no sense at all, it's because auto-correct kicked in. Or the pain meds.

Why am I on pain meds, you ask? (and more importantly, will I share? No.)

If you missed the riveting twitter feed Thursday, I'll fill you in. I was in the emergency room for 9 hours.

It started with a doctor visit on Tuesday for back and abdominal pain that started two weeks ago and was just getting worse.

Doc took blood and scheduled some tests. Rather, started the red tape process with insurance company to get the approval to schedule the tests.

2 days later, pain worsening, hubby increasingly more worried, sister telling me I'm being like our aunt who ignored her symptoms and died suddenly from pancreatic cancer, and no word from doctor, hubby tells me we're going to emergency room.

Hubby leaves work early and stops at doctor's office on way home to see if they had results of blood tests. You see, hubby had his appendix burst at 20 years old, never having had a pain in his appendix at all, and after being told by two emergency rooms that he had the flu. So he may be a tad paranoid when it comes to pains in the midsection.

So paranoid hubby asks doc if white blood cell count is high and if it is, he's taking me to emergency room. Doc has to call lab for results, gets them, and tells hubby to take me to emergency room.

And here is where the story goes awry. If you were hubby, wouldn't you ask, what exactly, in the blood results, would be the reason for our trip to the emergency room? Just so, oh, I don't know, we might be able to tell the ER the reason we are there?

Hubby doesn't ask. Doc doesn't say. Hubby, bless his non-questioning heart, comes home and tells me he's whisking me off to the ER.

Meanwhile, I'm searching for clean undies and clean pants with an elastic waistband that isn't pajamas. Because if I was going to be sitting in a hard chair for hours and hours in an ER, I was damn well going to do it in an elastic waistband.

And for some reason I'm compelled to shave my legs. Dry shave my legs. I don't know why and I would regret it all night.

So, emergency rooms. Lovely places. This one happened to be especially busy.

So as not to make this post painfully long, I'll just highlight a few things I learned that may help someone else on their next trip to the ER (knock on wood that there are no ER trips in your future):

1. Wear a bra. I thought I would be put in a hospital gown and whisked off for an appendectomy so decided a bra was unnecessary.

But what's the very first test they do? An EKG! You know, the one where you lift your shirt up and they put a bunch of sticky things on your chest, attached to wires? Yeah, it's a bit awkward with no freakin bra.

2. Don't use the sticky tape things from the EKG to cover your nipples. It's frowned upon.

3. Expect that if you're over 45, they'll do an EKG, because, well, you're old.

4. When in the Multi-gender bathroom, with instructions to pee in a cup, make sure you understand the complexities of the door lock before sitting on the toilet. Sick people apparently don't knock. And you are likely not a pretty sight with legs splayed open, holding the pee cup against your Netherlands with one hand and the little wipie packet thing in the other, trying to tear it open with your teeth. Although for some, this could be a turn on. (You know who you are)

5. While in the waiting room, listen to the things the kids say because they provide much comedy relief. Like the little girl who looked about 6 and should have had her own show. She kept telling this other kid he "had a booger." she finally got tired of the subtle approach and just told him, "Look, you got a booger on your face and boy, you need to do something about it!" I envied her directness.

6. Be aware that some people with nothing better to do will hang around hospital emergency rooms and scam others into giving them food. For added effect, they'll even sit in a wheelchair.

I know this now, because after the 3rd hour of waiting, hubby decided to hit a McDonalds for food for him and the boy (my 21 year old son). He also went home to get me a bra, in case there were anymore tests that might involve me taking my shirt off.

So on my way to the bathroom to put on my bra, wheelchair boy asks if he can have some food. I'm a charitable soul and a bit of a sucker, so I go back to where hubby's sitting and tell him he has to share his food.

Now, normally hubby is kind and generous but something about wheelchair boy struck him as a scammer. He argued a bit about giving up his cheeseburger, but begrudgingly handed it to me.

I return to wheelchair boy, hand him the cheeseburger, and ask if he needs anything else. His answer? "Yeah, the fries."

From that moment on, he was known to us as "The Hamburgler".

For the remaining 6 hours of our ER stay, we would watch Hamburgler ask people who were there with their own sick loved ones to push him here or there, or outside, in his wheelchair. He asked families who were feeding their kids for food or candy, and got some every time. Once, he got out of his wheelchair, walked outside then back in, and sat right back down in it!

I'm still hearing from hubby about how I gave away his cheeseburger to The Hamburgler, and probably will for quite some time.

7. The last thing I learned from this little adventure is if I want information from my doctor, I shouldn't depend on hubby to get it because men just don't ask enough friggin questions! Hospital blood tests were fine, except I possibly have gallstones, and CT of abdomen was fine, which I was grateful for because I was sure I had to be full of tumors since the pain was everywhere. (hypochondriac, much?) X-rays did show some disc degeneration though.
The big mystery is why the hell did my doctor tell my hubby to take me to the ER??

This is still a mystery because doctor-man never called us back on Friday.

Hopefully I'll know the answer to that tomorrow after I hound his office with calls. Update to follow.

And that, dear reader, is why I'm blogging from my phone and taking pain meds. Thanks for reading this long tale. I hope I didn't bore you. And watch out for Hamburglers.

P.S. While I'm incapacitated, hubby is helping out with household chores. While I'm in the recliner, finishing my blog post, I (helpfully) text him that the laundry load is done. Here's what he texts back:

"Fixing sprinklers, then last 3 strands of xmas lights. Get to laundry shortly. Watch cartoons or something. Don't make me send you back upstairs."

Think he's still mad about the cheeseburger.

Slap a Stickie On It Tuesday!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 16:52:00 +0000

Just A Second

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 03:56:00 +0000

I never really thought about how long a second is. It's just a snippet of time. One snippet, too short in which to accomplish anything of value. If you put several together then you had something to work with - 15 of them, or 30 of them. But just one - what can you do with just one? It's like a drop of water. What do you do with one drop of water?

Then I got this newsletter at work from an ink cartridge company (I know it sounds totally boring, but they always have good links in it) and they had a link to a video comprised of 60 1-second videos. Montblanc, a company that makes watches, is sponsoring a contest of 1 second videos and they compiled 60 of the entries into one video.

I watched it and was struck by how much can be conveyed in 1 second. Beauty, hope, joy, pain - it just takes one second of looking to see it.

I was just thinking that maybe I skip the seconds in life and only look at the moments. I think I miss a lot by doing that. This year I resolve to see the seconds of life. Click here to take a look at the video.

Here's to Seconds.

Foiled!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 03:32:00 +0000

Our house, Sunday, January 1, 2012.

Yup, those New Year's diet resolutions are off to a rolicking start!

Just Start

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 01:24:00 +0000

So, I text my boss on the day of our office Christmas party and ask if I can go home a little early so that I can "gussy-up" for the party. Only, auto-correct changes it to "hussy-up". Fortunately, I caught it before I sent it, or I would have had some 'splainin' to do.

Yeah, I haven't posted in almost a year, and yeah, I'm just diving right on back into it. No explanations or apologies because, well, that's how I ~~would really like to~~ roll.

Thanks to Stir Fry Awesomeness chick for her post that made me realize I'm not the only blogger who goes MIA sometimes.

Happy New Year!

My Dogs Hate My Diet

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 03:08:00 +0000

I'm excited to report that I've lost 5 pounds since my last Fat to Fit post. Yay me!

Of course, it's the long haul that is always the challenge, but I'm happy for this little victory nonetheless. I feel motivated and committed and haven't been tempted to cheat at all.

Wait...there was last Friday when I had chicken fingers and fries, so ok, I cheated a little. But I got serious last weekend when I started using the "My Fitness Pal" app for the Iphone. Somehow, being accountable for what I eat and recording it and having a calorie goal each day keeps me on track I feel like I might just make my weight goal before the Summer and that feels good.

Gracie-Lou

My dogs, however, are not happy. They're used to getting tidbits off my plate, but now that I'm on rations, I ain't sharing. They give me their most sorrowful looks but, dammit, if I'm sacrificing than they have to too!

They still get to lap the last of the milk in my cereal bowl, but since I'm only using half a cup of milk, well, there isn't much left for 3 dogs to lap. They wait patiently and stare at me as I'm eating and the whining starts just when the cereal runs out and the last drops of milk are left. Not from me, mind you, from the dogs. Well...sometimes I whine too, if I'm still hungry.

They are smart little dickens. I bought some GNC protein powder and 2 or 3 mornings out of the week, I'll have a shake in the morning instead of my usual cereal. Guess they don't like protein drinks because if they hear the blender in the morning, they don't even bother coming downstairs.

Casey

What is it about dogs that they know when you are really getting food in the kitchen, or when you are just rattling a chip bag to get them to come downstairs so you can throw them outside to go potty? My hubby gets up in the middle of the night to make peanut butter toast, and my chihuahua, Lucy, stays snuggled under the covers until the toast pops up, and then she shoots out of the covers, off the bed, and down the stairs and is already on the coach waiting by the time Hubby gets there with his toast all peanut buttered.

So, back to dieting. Here's my little fitness take-away from this post:

1. Keeping track of what I eat and having a calorie limit helps me eat less
2. I can still have a glass of wine after dinner, if I plan out my calories accordingly (Because that's my 5th food group)
3. A belly full of vitamins in the morning after breakfast helps fill me up. (although the burps that ensue are none too pleasant)
4. For me, eating dinner later, like 6:30 or 7, helps me to not snack later in the evening because I'm still full from dinner. (I know this one might be a no-no to some, but it works for me)

I hope to keep this up! Can't wait to read everyone else's diet adventures. Happy Friday!

What my dog, Lucy, thinks of this whole dieting business

Why, Why, Why?

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 03:56:00 +0000

Things I don't understand:

Why does the weekend go by so fast and why is my laundry never folded come Sunday night? I'm gong to spend the next 3 mornings digging through laundry baskets for socks and underwear. (Yes, I realize I could be folding it right now instead of blogging but that's beside the point.)

Why does my new iphone think I'm a homophobic pot smoker having an affair? I went to text my son back, "Ok hon," and the supposedly intuitive auto correction feature changed it to "Ok homo." Then whenever I type "hey," it changes it to "hash," and when I type "hon" to my husband, it comes out "Jon."

Why can't I think of witty things to tweet about? There were only three times this week that I thought of something funny to say in reply to someone's tweet and all three times it was Cheeseboy's tweets.

I think he thinks I'm hitting on him because the last tweet from me was, "Maybe it means you want to be spanked," in reply to his, (and I'm paraphrasing because I can't remember it exactly) "What does that say about me that all the tweets Twitter recommends I follow are from mommy bloggers and adult comics?"

Why are these silly, petty questions the best I can come up with to blog about tonight?

I should go fold my laundry.

Or play Sally's Spa on my iphone.

Hope y'all have a Happy Valentine's Day!

P.S. Why did I hit "Publish Post" on this???

Slap a Stickie on it Tuesday!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 04:52:00 +0000

It's Post-It note Tuesday! My favorite post of the week. Take your rant and slap it on a stickie for all the world to see. Make your own post-its here then link up here and post away!

Idol Chatter

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 02:29:00 +0000

If you've read my blog since last year, you'll know I'm an American Idol fan. We watch it from the auditions all the way to the season finale. Last year I wrote a recap of most of the episodes, when it got down to the final 20, but I'm not doing that this year.

Frankly, it's just too much pressure, plus, I've realized something.

I've realized that the best part of American Idol are the conversations between all of us at-home-on-the couch judges that are wayyy more entertaining then the show. So I thought I'd share a little of that with you.

You all can be like flies on the wall of my family room, listening in to all the unedited comments, both snarky and poignant. Ok, mostly snarky. But hey, if the contestants agreed to be on T.V., then they agreed to be victims of snark attacks. It just goes with the territory. Having your 30 seconds of fame comes at a price.

What follows are real conversations as we watched the AI contestants. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Most of the cast is self-explanatory, except "The Girl," that's my 17 (and 8 months) year old daughter.

The Girl - "He looks like a squash."
My brother - "No, he looks like a pumpkin."
Me - "Well, a pumpkin is a squash."
Hubby - "And her new boyfriend looks like an asparagus. Maybe she was raised on a farm."

Hubby - "You can tell they're going to suck just from their shirt."

The Girl - "That one looks like he's poopin.
(She yells at the T.V. screen) Open your eyes, tomatoe head!"

I don't know what's up with the vegetable theme.

Me - "Steven Tyler said she had a tight squeeky WHAT?"

The Girl - "She sounds like a bumble bee."

The Girl - "Wow, they've had 700 foster kids? That's alot of lives to change."

Hubby - "Her butt is like her voice. Not horrible, but somewhat off-putting."

Hubby - "He's a cross between Seth Rogen and Sasquatch. He's Sethsquatch!"

See what I mean?

Fat to Fit and Little Bits

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 03:40:00 +0000

IT'S FAT TO FIT TIME! WRITE A POST ABOUT HEALTH, FITNESS, DIETING, OR LACK OF, AND LINK UP! - THANKS TO LOVELY LUCY.

Yah me! I'm happy for small victories. I came home on my lunch hour, and actually used my elliptical for 10 minutes this week. Goal #2 from last week - check.

And I've been limiting my cocktails to only a few days a week and ~~suffering~~ drinking Crystal Light more instead. Goal #1 from last week - check.

I know - I'm out of order, but I'm in a hurry - American Idol is on tonight.

I just signed up for Spark People, a free online health and fitness website that has an app for my phone so I can track calories and goals. Boobies, Babies, and a Blog turned me on to it - thank you girl! I haven't had time to do to much with it yet, but it's a start. Goal # 3 from last week - check.

So I feel pretty ok since I started some Skinny habits. The challenge is keeping them up.

Now I suppose I should weigh myself. I've been putting it off because I'm scared. I know I gained since last Summer and I could just beat myself up because if I had stuck to my goals, I'd be thinner now.

Ok, hold on, I'm going to go do it...

I'm back. Dammit. 177. So much for goal #1 - I need me some wine.

No, no, no, no, no. I won't. It's the little bits of self-control that add up to losses so I need to pull up my big girl panties and watch American Idol with some Crystal Light. And drink to self-control.

Cheers!

Slap a stickie on it Tuesday!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 05:07:00 +0000

Sloppy to Skinny in Three Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 03:04:00 +0000

IT'S FAT TO FIT BLOG HOP TIME COURTESY OF THE LOVELY LUCY!

My step-dad told me something once and it's never gone out of my head. It's like a bad jingle that I can't forget and it always plays at my weakest, most self-loathing, moments.

"High Ideals, But Sloppy Habits"

He analyzed my handwriting once when I was a teenager and said my handwriting revealed that I had high ideals, but sloppy habits. He apparently acquired his graphology skills while planted on his barstool at the Horseshoe Casino because that was what my mom referred to as his "office." Guess he had lots of experience reading names and phone numbers off cocktail napkins and just naturally picked up the skill.

Regardless of the validity of his pronouncement, it stayed with me.

The worst thing is...that sometimes...it's true. Not all the time, and not with all things...but when it comes to dieting - it's very, very, true.

Case in point, I was all fired up to lose weight last Summer. I blogged about it here and here and here. But when I began to just post comics about dieting, like I did here, well, you can tell I kind of lost my steam.

It really does come down to sloppy habits. Sloppy habits, like not stopping to think first about what it is I really need in that moment when I'm reaching for the bag of Doritos.

Sloppy habits, like having seconds of my brother's killer mashed potatoes and peas without even waiting a few minutes to see if I was really still hungry.

Sloppy habits, like bagging out of getting on the eliptical for even a few minutes.

I can't reach my ideal weight, or my ideals, if I don't break the sloppy habits.

So, that's what I'm going to work on. Breaking sloppy habits and making skinny ones. They say it takes 3 weeks to develop a habit. So for the next 3 weeks, these are my goals:

1. Drink less booze. It's a diet killer, I know. I just love my evening ~~cocktails~~ cocktail. I'm going to wait until 8PM to have one, and only two nights of the work week and then on the weekend. Does that make me a lush? Nevermind, don't answer that.

2. I'm going to get on my eliptical on my lunch hour. I live close enough to work that I can go home for lunch, so there's no reason I can't hop on the eliptical for 10 minutes. I did it today, in fact, and it felt pretty darn good.

3. I'm getting a food logging chart or calorie counter app for my phone so I can keep track of what I stuff in my mug. I have a Blackberry and haven't had a chance to search for a weight loss app, but I will do that this week. They say keeping a food journal helps, so I'm going to try that. With technology now, counting calories isn't the chore it used to be.

Well, that's it for now. My three skinny habits to replace some sloppy ones.

Oh, and you know what I found out today is? National Chocolate Cake day. If that isn't an excuse to cheat on a diet, I don't know what is. Fortunately, we have no chocolate cake. I already ate it.

Slap a Stickie on it Tuesday!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 03:52:00 +0000

Can I just tell you? I LOVE Post-It-Note Tuesday

I Don't Know Jack

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 21:10:00 +0000


"What's going on in that red-head?"

My hubby does his best to protect me from the world. He tries. But I've always been a trusting soul. I should really spell that "sole" because there have been a time or two when I've felt like a heel as a result.

(See what I did there? sole. heel. Sorry, it's the cocktail.)

Yesterday I get a call from a detective in Florida. Correction (this is for the benefit of my hubby), a person who claims to be a detective. He says my identity has been stolen and he has a list of names and personal information and he was calling the victims to let them know. He then tells me the information he has, like my address, my birthday, a credit card number, a security question and answer, a user id and password, etc.

He said they had a guy in custody who had this list of information on him but they didn't know what website had been hacked for this info and the other victims on the list didn't know offhand either as the information appeared to be about a year old.

So, of course, I freak out a little. I felt a little like somebody had just rifled through my underwear drawer. I could just picture some freak looking at my name and credit card number, then closing his beady little eyes (because all criminals have beady little eyes) and inhaling the paper with his nasty nose breath, whispering, "Hello Clarissssssse."

Now, this detective who called me gave me a full name and 2 return phone numbers. I was out running an errand for my boss when I got the call, so I couldn't verify anything at the time; but I must admit, I didn't immediately think "SCAM!" After all, he wasn't asking me for information, he was telling me what he already knew.

He also said his list of victims all had one thing in common - they had all been in the mortgage business, like me. He said if I can remember the website where I would have used the user id and password that were associated with my name, that would be helpful.

So, me, wanting to be the good citizen and cyber-crime solver, immediately started thinking about which website I used that would have matched all that info they had on me.

However, I wasn't without some reservations. When I got back to work, I did look up the Miami Beach police department phone number online (it matched the one he gave me), and called it, and asked if they had a detective there by the name of the one the caller gave me. They did.

I instant message my husband and fill him in. I'm very proud of the fact that I verified that there was, in fact, an officer at the Miami Beach Police Department that matches the name I was given. This was legit.

He types back to me: JUST STOP! DO NOT VERIFY. DO NOTHING ELSE UNTIL WE GET HOME.

I type: Huh? I verified. This is a cop.

He types back: OFFICER MEHOFF. REMEMBER OFFICER MEHOFF.

Awww jeez. THAT. When was he gonna let me live that down for crying out loud?

Since I haven't written of this before, let me fill you in. About 9 years ago, before we were married, I got a call in the middle of the night from the "Nevada State Police" claiming that they found a dead body with no I.D. which had my phone number in the pocket.

Now, you would think that my first clue that something "just ain't right", would have been the fact that the call came in collect. Well, with all the foreclosures and budget cuts here, I guess the poor old Nevada State Police can't afford to pay for their phone calls. Makes perfect sense right?

So the caller asks my name and I give it. I know. I'm an idiot.

He says they're going to investigate further into the identity of the body and will call me back if they need anything else.

A few minutes later he calls back. He says they ran my name through a database to check my record and it came back that there is a warrant for my arrest because I've written bad checks.

Do you know what I said next? Because giving my name wasn't enough? I said, "How can that be? I don't write bad checks! I work for a bank."

Yup, I told him where I worked. A bank, no less. I just know on the other end of the line, the beady-eyed hoodlum was going, "CHA-CHING! WE GOT US A LIVE ONE! AND SHE AIN'T TOO SMART NEITHER!"

The caller then says that since there is a warrant out for my arrest, they have no choice but to send out an officer to arrest me. If I had kids, I should arrange for a babysitter. Did I happen to be there alone?

And what do you think I said? Yup. I admitted I was home alone. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

So the caller hangs up and I think I'm going to be arrested for writing non-existent bad checks. Meanwhile, I'm still wondering who the poor sap is who is dead and has my phone number in his pocket. Now might be a good time to point out that I didn't just go around, all willy-nilly handing out my phone number to every poor sap I met. Really. I didn't.

I call my boyfriend (my now, hubby). I rattle off the events, clearly upset, and he says, "Lock the door, don't answer the phone, don't answer the door. I'm coming over."

The phone rings again, and I answer. (Yeah, that not listening to hubby thing continues to this day)

The caller says that if I would be so kind as to give him my bank account information in order for them to be able to verify that the bad checks were not actually mine, then we can get this whole messy matter cleaned up in a few minutes.

I might have been born in the dark, but it weren't yesterday. I DID know enough not to give out my bank account information for crying out loud. I was one sharp cookie and they weren't gonna pull a fast one on me, no sirreee.

I asked for the officer's name. He said Mehoff. I said, "Officer Mehoff?" He said yes. Do you know what I said next? What any sharp, not born in the dark, street-wise person would have said:

"What's your first name?"

To which he replied, "Jack."

I dutifully wrote it down. Last name, Meehoff. First name, Jack. Got it.

I informed the gentleman that I would have to call him back after I verified the information.

My now-husband-then-boyfriend arrives. I breathlessly relate the events, quite proud of myself that I got the name of the officer and showed him the piece of paper where I carefully wrote it down.

My husband still tells me to this day, that it was at that moment that he knew he must marry me. He felt it his obligation at that point to marry me and protect me from the world.

He said, "Honey, read the name, first name, then last name."

Me: "Jack Mehoff."

Then boyfriend-now-hubby: "Honey?"

Me: "Ohhhhh. Jack. Me. Off."

Me: "Oh. Dammit."

So fast forward back to present, and you understand why my dear hubby reminded me of this unfortunate incident at this particular time.

I instant message him back that I won't do anything else about the incident until he gets home.

Curses. I know he's right. I should be less trusting and more cynical. But still....what if I can figure out which website was hacked? Maybe I can save future victims. Maybe I can redeem myself from the Officer Mehoff debacle.

Hubby continues to instant message me warnings in all caps: DON'T DO ANYTHING ELSE UNTIL I GET HOME! He gives all the reasons why this could be a scam and how anything I did, even calling back, or giving any minor piece of information could put us at more risk.

Yup, this is how I pictured me.

Poor hubby. He tries hard to protect me but I was too busy daydreaming about being bestowed with an honorary detective badge to listen. When I got home from work, I went straight to my computer, determined to figure out which website was hacked.

In the course of the mortgage business, I had used many lender, appraisal, credit, and employment verification websites, all of which were paid with a credit card. But the detective had said they had one piece of information that I knew wasn't required at any of those sites and that's what helped me figure it out.

...Or maybe this.

I looked through my receipts and found the one for the website I suspected. I keyed in the user id and password the detective gave me, and it worked. And the security question and answer were also correct for this website.

I had figured it out! I wanted to call the detective right then and shout, "I CRACKED THE CASE!!"

But there was the pesky little matter of my hubby who told me not to do anything else until he got home. Dammit. While I waited for him, I did a little googling of the detective's name. He seemed legit. I was wriggling in my seat with excitement, waiting for hubby to get home so I could brag about my detective skills.

Finally hubby arrives. He takes one look at me grinning at the top of the stairs and says, "What did you do?"

I launch into my story, starting with how it appears the detective is legit and ending with how I figured out which website it was. I'm a terrible liar, so I had to admit to him that I had already logged into the website to verify it was the one.

Poor hubby. He was still skeptical and shaking his head at my non-compliance, but I could tell he was just a little bit impressed with my persistence. I pointed out that the website could still be compromised and there could be other beady-eyed criminals out there accessing the information of innocent people that use it and it was my duty to tell the detective what I knew. He reluctantly agreed, but warned me to just give the website and no other personal information about myself. He is ever the skeptic.

I called the detective (at the verified office number of the police department) but had to leave a message, which was a bit anti-climatic. I really wanted accolades for my brilliant work. I figure if he calls back, then they haven't figured out the website yet and my information can help and if he doesn't call back then they already figured it out without me. I'll write an update and let you know what happens, in case you're waiting with baited breath.

So what did I learn from all this?

1. I still need to be suspicious of phone calls saying they are from cops. This one looks like it was a real cop, but as hubby pointed out, it could have been a guy that just had the cop's card and was pretending to be him.

2. The officer Mehoff incident will continue to be fodder for hubby to use against me.

3. I'm going to use a preloaded visa card whenever I make purchases online, not my bank credit/debit card. I was just lucky that the card number they had for me had been closed a while back.

4. My new nickname, given to me by my brother, is "Booby Drew". I thought it was quite clever, the way he combined Nancy Drew and Sooby Doo, both notable detectives.

Officer Mehoff

Footnote: In case you're wondering, the Officer Mehoff incident turned out to be a scam that came out of a Kentucky prison. Somewhere there is a beady-eyed inmate named Bubba just waiting to get out so he can come visit me because I was nice enough to give him my name and address. "Hello, Clarissssssssse."

Slap a Stickie on it Tuesday!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 05:51:00 +0000

~~P.S. I was really tempted to end this post with, "now excuse me, I have to crap." But that would have been utterly tasteless and vulgar and I just don't roll that way.~~

Just...compelled.

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 03:07:00 +0000

Once again, months have gone by since I've written. One of my new year's resolutions is to blog regularly now that I'm just working one job and getting more settled with the whole "8 to 5" work schedule thing. More about that later.

Right now, I'm compelled to write just a short post to ask for your thoughts and prayers to be with a fellow blogger who is in pain. She has lots of support from her friends and family near her, and lots more support from the blogosphere, but I needed to just write a word or two of support too, because...well, there's no such thing as too much love and support, is there? Unless you're a bunny.

When I started blogging a year ago, Lori's blog was one of the first ones I started following. I liked her simple, funny, down-to-earth style and felt an immediate rapport with her. Part of the draw was that we shared the same name (narcissistic, much?) but mostly it was her genuineness and wit.

Her posts were always the first ones I'd read in my reader and I always felt like my posts weren't actually "out there" in blog world, until she left a comment on them. She's a small person who leaves a very big impression.

The more posts I read, the more I liked and admired her. Her funny posts made me laugh out loud and her poignant ones made me cry. She's very brave and writes about personal, painful things that most people would be afraid to put out there to the world. And she writes them beautifully and without pretense, and there's usually a bit of trepidation in her words, but she bravely presses on and that's what's just so real about her. And strong.

I've been a bit behind in my blog reading, but snuck over to her blog one morning last week while I was at work just to check in and see what she's been up to, and my heart just sank. Her husband died suddenly very recently.

She has two very small children, and she's a stay at home mom, and he was a great guy that she loved very much. And he's gone, and her world has changed forever. Heartfelt writer that she is, her words are painful now to read, but how painful they must be for her to write them. My heart just goes out to her.

So if you're a praying person, please say a little prayer for her or leave a note of support on her blog. She's going to need much love and support in the coming days, weeks, and months.

If you're able to help her family monetarily, you can go to one of her good friend's, Sarah's, blog and donate using the widget that's there.

I'll write something lighter soon, and more often - please don't give up on me! I just had to write this today.

Aussie Lori, you have all our love and support. We're here when you need us.

Dressing Rooms, No Spanx, and Size 12s...Oh My!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 05:16:00 +0000

I did something super scary this past Halloween.

Yes, I realize Halloween was two weeks ago. I think we've already established that I'm a little behind in my blog posts, ok? So can we just move on please?

Right. So, anyhoo...Halloween...something scary...me in my underwear in a dressing room.

Yup. I went there. Clothes shopping, to be exact.

I haven't lost those damn 20 pounds and yet...I. went. clothes shopping.

What the hell was I thinking??

Well, I'll tell you what I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking my usual, "I don't deserve to have cute clothes because I'm not the size I used to be."

And I wasn't thinking, "I'm not going to look good no matter what I wear until I've lost 20 pounds because looking good is directly related to what size I am."

Ok, that last one I was thinking a little bit. It's hard not to when you look in the mirror and see stomach flab that resembles a kangaroo pouch. But that's what spanx are for, right?

Of course, I wasn't wearing spanx when I went clothes shopping on Halloween. And that's actually lesson number one I learned that day.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. I wanted to start this post by saying it's ok to look good and feel good while we are trying to lose weight. We don't have to put off looking and feeling fabulous until we reach our goal weight. Because life is short. And why does a size get to dictate our mental frame of mind? It shouldn't. On that Halloween day, for me, it didn't.

I bought size 12s and it was ok.

I had a little help though. My cousin, my decorating and fashion consultant who I love dearly and whose life's motto is, "If it's worth doing, it's worth over-doing," fun, fashionista cousin, went with me.

We have different fashion senses, her and I. I stand on the shoreline of fashion's ocean and dip my toe in to test the waters while she wades courageously in, arms outstretched, ready to confidently embrace her fashion choices. She knows who she is on the inside and isn't afraid to portray it on the outside, size be damned.

Case in point - she tried on a pair of black velour sweats with the words "Fabulous" scrawled down one leg (size Large, thank you very much), and upon seeing the price tag of $5.99, said, "I can have "Fabulous" for $5.99? I'll take it!" And you know what? Her ass looked fabulous in those sweats. It was larger than she would have liked, but it was fabulous, and she knew it.

Of course, while she was trying on fabulous, I was stuck in a size 10 pencil straight black skirt. Literally stuck. When I couldn't fit it over my hips, I shimmied out of it and actually tried putting it on over my head. Big mistake. It got stuck over my boobs and I couldn't lift it up or down and thought I was gonna have to shoplift it and cut it off of me later.

Fortunately, my fabulous cousin was able to yank it off of me. So much for "it looks like it runs big." Don't fall for that, by the way. Try on the size you are, then trade down from there if you are lucky enough to need a smaller size. Going the other way is just depressing.

After the skirt incident, we went to the Mexican place down the street and had margaritas, chips, and salsa. We were invigorated for round two of our Halloween shopping adventure.

Perhaps it was the margarita, but round two was definitely more fun than round one. I didn't mess around and went straight for the size 12's. And you know what? They fit great. I found two pairs of pants and a skirt for work - at Target, of all places.

So here's what I learned from my scary shopping trip:

1. Wear your spanx when you are going to try on clothes.
2. You absolutely must shop with someone who says things like, "We're gonna rock that skirt with some lace tights."
3. Have a margarita before you try anything on.
4. Stand tall and throw your shoulders back in the mirror - you'd be surprised what a difference it makes. You look taller, thinner, and more confident.
5. Layer things. A super cute sleeveless top that may not be appropriate alone for work can look awesome as a vest over a long sleeved top. It can always double duty as nighttime or summer wear.
6. Cuff your pants. I never would have thought of this, but try rolling up your pants to about mid calf and wear them with tall boots. Experiment with a wide or narrow cuff, depending on the pant style. According to my cousin, cuffing is in. Of course, knowing my cousin, she may have been talking about the bedroom...
7. Brown and grey look good together.
8. Add some color to a neutral outfit with a scarf. Hang it loose around your neck, or tie it, or wrap it, but it really adds pizzaz to an outfit.
9. You can be sexy and stylish while you're at the size you don't want to be, while you're trying to become the size you really want to be, because it's who you are right now. And you should always, always, love who you are.

Backgrounds and Birthdays and Rednecks

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Thu, 21 Oct 2010 04:30:00 +0000

Hi ya'll!

It's only been 2 weeks since I posted. I think I'm improving.

I changed my blog template a wee bit.

Am I a lush because my last two posts have centered around booze and the template background I picked is a wine glass? Maybe you better not answer that. It's just so pretty and warm and rustic looking. It reminds me of Tuscany. Not that I've ever been to Tuscany but I imagine a glass of wine in front of a wall in a house in Tuscany would look like my blog background.

I debated between this one and one with falling leaves. Now, if there had been a background with falling wine glasses, it would have been a no-brainer. Ah, well...this is my template and I'm sticking with it...for awhile anyway.

So last night was my brother's 51st birthday. We had to buy him something totally cool because he's such a great guy and he cooks for us. So we bought him a deep fryer and he was completely stoked. Guess what we had for dinner tonight? Homemade chili fries. Guess what were having tomorrow night? Chicken fingers, fried zucchini, and onion rings.

Our diet now consists of nothing but barfood. I've created a monster. A monster who wears a sparkly apron featuring parrots in a margarita glass saying, "What happens in the kitchen, stays in the kitchen."

Yes, he really wears that - our mom bought it for him.

Speaking of bars, we all went to a little neighborhood bar and grill for his birthday, which really tickled him because he never did much for his birthday before. I gave him the second gift we bought him - a tee shirt that was so HIM it screamed his name from the catalog. It was black and emblazoned in white letters it said, "In dog beers I've only had 2."

Now I have to tell you the truth about me and my family. My trailer park roots every once in a while come clawing to the surface. Ok, more than once in a while. My brother liked the tee shirt so much that he changed into it at the restaurant.

At the table.

Yup, you might be a redneck if you change into your dog beers tee shirt that you got for your birthday in the middle of the Sack 'O Suds.

And now you know the ugly truth about us. That's who we are.

I'll be catching up on blog reading over the next couple evenings, so I'll be visiting everyone soon, I promise!

Where the hell have I been??

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 00:21:00 +0000

Well it's about freaking time!

Where have you all been??

Oh wait...it's me that's been gone.

So where the hell have I been you ask? Or maybe you don't. Maybe it's just me wondering where the hell I've been. I do that alot.

Either way, I'm here to tell you.

Working. Working is where I've been. Working at my 8 to 5, Monday through Friday, not particularly exciting regular job. And I must say that I actually like it.

I DO miss being home, and making my own schedule, and doing what I want with my time during the day, like blogging, or ~~making comics on toondo~~ housework. But I like having a regular paycheck and I like the variety of my tasks at work - everything from bookkeeping to writing newsletter and website content - and it's a nice switch to actually accessorize every day.

I think I'm actually burning more calories too. Not that I'm particularly active at work, but let's face it - getting dressed and out the door just naturally expends more energy than sitting in front of my computer in my pajamas.

The down side is that I'm just tired when I get home. I spend all day in front of the computer at work and by the time I get home I just want to chat with my brother or my kids, or play with my doggies, or watch T.V. with hubby.

But I do miss blogging and reading everyone's posts. I'm trying to find some sort of balance with it all, but it's hard. Does anyone else think it's hard? Or is it just me?

I'm going to shoot for two posts a week. One regular post and if Post-It Note Tuesday is still around, that's my second. This counts as one, by the way.

Other than getting used to my job, nothing really has changed in my life since my last post. So, really, you didn't miss much in the month or so I've been away. Didn't miss much at all. And just in case you were fretting about what you might have missed, here's a little summary of the things that haven't changed:

I still drink cheap wine. I'm going to have a tee-shirt made that says "I DRINK WINE THAT'S $2.99." It has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Even rhymes. Matter of fact, I was in the Wal-Mart superstore yesterday buying a 2 3 4 bottles of it and I happened to get a checker that was under 21. So she says to me, "Ummm, can you put all your wine at the end of your order because I have to have someone 21 ring it up." ALL your wine. She couldn't just say "your wine", she had to point out the excessive quantity by saying "ALL your wine." She may as well have announced, "CAN SOMEONE RING UP THE LUSH IN THE I DRINK WINE THAT'S $2.99 TEE-SHIRT, PLEASE!"
My brother still cooks delicious dinners every night, which is even more appreciated now that I'm working. I know. Go ahead, you can say it. You know you want to. Here, I'll do it for you........BEE-ATCH! Yup, I'm a spoiled bee-atch with a personal chef, I admit it.
I still need to lose 20 pounds. Reference #2 above.
I still wake up hubby in the middle of night, spouting ridiculous riddles like, "Do you see the turquoise clipboards?!" (I kid you not, this happened a few nights ago), or insisting that he search the bed for spiders. Surprisingly, we're still married.

So see? You really didn't miss much. I however, am a bit depressed that my life is so predictable, but whatever. I'm stocked up on wine. For the night. (Kidding...really.)

I have missed reading your posts and I might not be able to read every day, but I'll try to read a couple times a week at least. Please don't hate me.

Oh, and I'm thinking I should change my blog background. It's time to switch it up a bit.

Till next time, y'all - Cheers!

Post Its and Wine...Awesome!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 14:00:00 +0000

I'm a Working Girl!

noreply@blogger.com (lori) — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 01:49:00 +0000

I'm sorry for my absentness, folks, but I'm an official 8 to 5 gal, now. It's been awhile since I've had a set work schedule - 8 years to be exact. It's actually not as hard an adjustment as I thought it would be. I need to come up with some sort of blogging schedule lest I'm forgotten for lack of posting (and commenting), but I'll just have to work on that.

Right now I'm just extremely grateful to have a regular paycheck and I only had to sweat through one interview. I feel really, really fortunate in that regard. I was so freaking nervous in my interview. I'm just not the confident kind. I know I'm a hard worker, but I don't know if I'm perceived as one.

Despite my stumbling over a couple questions, they seemed to like me. I was their first interview and they were only interviewing four other people. I found out later that after they met with me, they cancelled all but one of the other interviews. I interviewed on a Thursday and on Monday they called me in to offer me the job. I started the next day.

It's a small family owned computer software and hardware company. I do administrative assistant stuff, like phones, quickbooks, correspondence, and whatever other support their programmers might need. I'll also get to write some website content which is very cool.

It's an all guy office, except for me and one other girl, but she works off site. They're all very techy, of course, because that's their job - and I felt a little inept at their phone system at first, but I'm starting to settle in now. I like what I do, I get along with everyone fine, and I hope I make them happy they hired me.

I've already had a "maybe I just shouldn't speak" moment. As part of the hiring process, the project manager had sent out a questionnaire and proofreading challenge to all of the candidates. After he hired me, he showed me how I scored compared to the rest of the candidates. He told me I had scored the highest, but as I was looking at his little chart of scorings and rankings, trying to see for myself how smart I was, I couldn't read it for the life of me. I couldn't tell if I was the first vertical row or the first horizontal column or what all the numbers meant, because they weren't labeled.

At times like these, it's best to just nod and smile. It's not a good idea when someone is trying to show you how smart you are, to ask a question, because the odds are it's going to be a really dumb question and give them reason to reconsider their opinion. I asked what one of the scores was and as it turns out, I was reading the darn thing all wrong and he gave me an odd look as he explained I was looking at the wrong row. Now I have to redeem myself and do something smart. I hate when that happens!

The other thing that is a bit challenging is figuring out what these guys think is funny. I make coments in my emails that are meant to be humorous and I get nothing. Crickets. You know what I mean? Like it's so quiet you just hear crickets chirping? It's a bit off-putting, but then again, maybe I'm off-putting to them.

Despite a few jitters, I'm really glad I'm there. I think I'm a good fit for this little company and I hope I can make a contribution to their success. Thanks for everyone's kind comments and support. I'll be around visiting your blogs soon, I promise!