tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70713960549902273802024-02-07T00:18:52.670-05:00Everything but the Kitchen SinkA blog about everything.....but the kitchen sink!Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-19078479220610578132013-07-06T23:24:00.000-04:002013-07-06T23:24:14.659-04:00Looking for Me?<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Head on over to </span><a href="http://www.debbyperkins.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">my new blog.</span></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I think you'll like it.</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-66610554632724733452013-04-28T19:29:00.000-04:002013-04-28T19:29:08.810-04:00Will she or won't she? Not even she knows for sure.<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My niece Amy asked when there was going to be another blog post. Here's the answer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My engine's been running on a low-grade depression for a while now. By "low-grade", I mean a 4 on the 1 to 10 scale. As comparison, my depression was a 19 on that scale when it was really bad, and that was only when I could focus enough to figure out how bad it was. So 4 isn't </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">bad. I can function; however, it's hard for me to write creatively at this level. I don't need to go into what's causing it. I know it's either going to get better soon or I'll call my therapist for help.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I've also been working a lot of hours. The fibro and the mystery disease already sap my energy and now, with working so much, I'm just too tired to think about writing or actually do it. I think that will also get better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Another thing is that I'm not much motivated to do this because there's not that many people who read the blog and I only have 9 followers (my own fault for not doing better promotion). It's discouraging, to be truthful. There's not much to get me excited about doing this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I'm not sure I'm going to keep blogging. That's what I'm taking time to decide now. When I started the blog, it was to help me be accountable for losing weight and for writing. Then, it turned into being a comedy routine, occasionally punctuated with a thoughtful essay or two. I lost focus on what it was supposed to be, but the original intent then turned out not to be what I wanted anyway. So I need to decide (1) if I want to blog, (2) what the focus will be (if there actually is one), (3) do I want to set up my own website instead of staying on Blogger, and (4) am I willing to do the work to promote the blog?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I'll let you know once I figure it all out. Thanks for reading.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">(I don't mean to be rude, but I'm cutting off comments for this post because I really need to figure this out for myself.)</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-86600904555426994942013-01-08T23:08:00.001-05:002013-01-08T23:14:19.673-05:00525 thousand 6 hundred minutes: How will you measure this year in your life?<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For decades, I had 2 dreams over and over, almost every night. In the first dream, I was a passenger in a silver car that slid out of control across 4 lanes of northbound I-71 and into the oncoming cars of the southbound lanes. My spirit floated above the highway looking down on my dead, broken, and bloodied body. I avoided riding in silver cars for years. The second dream found me dying. Whether my death was caused by some malady or was an accident really didn't matter. It wasn't important. But the message was always the same: <em>I would die in my 50s</em>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My 40s were not exactly what I would call the best years of my life. Even so, I was not looking forward to leaving them for my 50th birthday. As each subsequent year arrived, I would wonder, will it be this year? Will it hurt? Dear God, please don't let me die alone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">If I make it until July 19th, I will turn 60 years old. I have no reason now to believe that I won't get there. I have some health issues, but nothing fatal. I stopped having the 2 dreams about 4 years ago. When I hit my 60th year, I will be 3 years older than my sister when she died. Judy was quite a complicated woman. She had a terrible temper that would ignite without warning, yet she oozed kindness from every pore, and I loved her dearly. I miss her every minute, every day. When she was sick (she had hepatitis C and myelodysplastic syndrome), she would never let her family tell us when it was really bad and she was in the hospital. She could be near death and we usually wouldn't know. She said that we had our hands full taking care of our mom (who had Alzheimer's and kidney failure) and she didn't want us worrying about her, too. We worried anyway. At the time her army of doctors told her that she could die, she told them that she would leave this life when she was good and ready and not a moment before. She lived several more years after that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My sister wanted to live. Life was meaningful to her. She lived every day as if it were her last. Not because she actually <strong>was</strong> dying, but because she wanted to do and see everything, to be a part of the lives of her family and friends. I've said many times that she taught me how to die but, most of all, she taught me how to live. That's a lesson I didn't realize I had learned until the last few days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I've spent most of my life being seriously depressed, doing what others wanted me to do, going through the motions. I've breathed the same stale air over and over, done the same things again and again and still expected different results. Life doesn't work that way. You either give it all you've got or you go on as you always have and stay stuck in the same darkness that you've always been in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The video at the beginning of this post is from the movie "Rent" which was a very successful Broadway musical before being made into a film. The lyrics and music were written by Jonathan Larson. The night before the first preview of "Rent", he died. He was only 35 years old. But in those 35 years, he lived--LIVED--enough for all of us. He didn't get to see what a great success that "Rent" came to be, but he died knowing that he had created something lasting and something wonderful. He died having followed his dream and not sitting on his hands with a blank look on his face. He knew that he shouldn't and wouldn't waste a single one of his 525 thousand 6 hundred minutes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I've wasted a lot of mine and I haven't had a year in my life worth measuring. That changes here, that changes now. My sister gave me a wonderful gift in showing me how to live. It took me a while to get it, but "get it" I do. This birthday year--and forevermore--will be a year to measure. I'm going to be silly more. Play the piano more often. Write like I've got a million dollar book contract. Dance every day. Sing like I don't care who hears. Say "yes" more. Say "no" more. Lose 40 more pounds and start dressing like the bohemian that I am. I might write a play. Learn the dulcimer Ginger gave me. Study my Bible more. Trust religion less. Pray without ceasing. Eat cake "just because." Write my own fabulous funeral. Hug more often. Tell family and friends how much I love them. This and more is how I will measure my 525 thousand 6 hundred minutes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">How will you measure yours?</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-74312461140987288112013-01-01T00:37:00.001-05:002013-01-01T00:37:37.844-05:00Goodbye to the Old and Hello to the....New??<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I would be remiss if I let this year leave without wishing everyone a Happy New Year. Of course, by the time I post this, it will already be the new year and my greeting will be late. I've enjoyed (?) this time I've taken off for the holidays. I had the flu and an attack of diverticulitis (I swear I will never eat popcorn again as long as I live!!). As for the rest of the year, there was that little bump in the road at work. My oldest brother hasn't spoken to me in 6 months and has pretty much disowned me. We are no closer to figuring out the mystery disease and the bond popped out of my front tooth again. I should have called my doctor today to set up the follow-up appointment for the diverticulitis and I forgot. Ginger beat me at Scrabble tonight. My Dad died this year. The fifth anniversary of my sister's death was 2 months ago. I haven't been very good at keeping up with friends, and sometimes the depression just weighs me down badly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm ready for this year to be over. So, Happy New Year!! I don't know if that "Happy" is a hope or a plea, but I hope it works out, whichever one it is. And despite what you just read in the last paragraph, 2012 wasn't all bad. That little thing at work turned out to be a good thing because it got me more focused and we found a solution to the problem. My brother will either come to his senses or not. It's out of my hands. I gave it over to God. The mystery disease does not keep me down. I keep getting back up every day. I got the bond in my tooth replaced and it only cost me $27.00. (Thank you, dental insurance!) I can call my doctor on Wednesday. Ginger may have won tonight, but I won the last two games before this one. Dad and Judy have no more pain and suffering, and they're in Heaven with Mom. I'm reconnecting with friends. And I recognize when a depressive period is trying to get me 99% of the time and I can head it off before it gets bad. (Thank you to my therapist!) I've also lost 41 pounds since May 15th.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">2013 is looking good, so far. I have a couple of trips lined up this year. Ginger and I are going to Paris to celebrate her 75th birthday and my 60th. I'm going to Las Vegas with my sister Lisa and her family to visit our late sister's family and to celebrate Lisa's 50th birthday, my 60th (again!), and Lisa's youngest son's 21st. I'll also be spending several days at my favorite place (General Butler State Park) around my birthday to contemplate turning 60 and to write. I have outlined about half of the book I want to write and I have a lot of notes, so it's time to stop messing around and actually start writing. I wouldn't mind losing another 40 pounds, so I'll be working hard on that. I started out at 213.2 pounds and I weigh 171.4 now. I would be happy to get to 150 pounds, but getting to about 135 or so would do good stuff for my health.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">So yes, Happy New Year! I hope this is a better year for everyone. I wish us all love, happiness, good health, peace, and serenity in this new year. May we all have the strength, patience, and perseverance to make it happen.</span><br />
Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-7278494382340767832012-11-21T00:22:00.000-05:002012-11-21T00:22:54.909-05:00Signs of the Apocalypse<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1) Justin Bieber named Artist of the Year at the American Music Awards (as Ozzy Osbourne says, "What is a Beiber?").</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2) The Petraeus news just keeps going and going and .......</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">3) Walmart is starting "Black Friday" on "Family Thanksgiving Dinner Thursday."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">4) The Cincinnati Bengals beat the New York Giants.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">5) Rosie O'Donnell wants to buy Honey Boo Boo a house.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">6) Honey Boo Boo</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">7) No more Twinkies??!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">8) Octomom still has custody of all those kids (and so do the Duggars -- have they never heard of birth control?)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">9) Israel and the Hamas are going at it (Book of Revelation, anyone?).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">10) I just lost 4.5 pounds in only one week. Hell has officially frozen over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We're all gonna die. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-39656016933319877242012-11-13T22:11:00.001-05:002012-11-13T22:11:16.425-05:00'Tis the Season!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span>When I was a kid, the holiday season didn't begin officially until the week of Thanksgiving. But now the Christmas decorations start going up in the stores around Labor Day. That means we're shopping for Halloween costumes over Fourth of July. It seems pretty crazy to me, but when in Rome..... So let me welcome you to this year's season of family fun! Or, as I like to call it, "The Day When Everyone in the Family Who's Still Speaking to Each Other Get Together."<br />
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Don't you just love the holidays this time of year? Your kids are changing their minds about what they want from Santa every 5 minutes right up until 11:59 PM on Christmas Eve -- because Santa <em>knows</em> and he can do anything, Mom! Ever try finding the toy-of-the-year on Christmas Eve? You can't even find it a month earlier! Back in the day, my Mom and I would go to Zayre's (remember that department store?) on the evening of Christmas Eve. On the way there, we would stop somewhere and get Diet Cokes. (Hey, it was going to be a long night!) Then we'd go inside, find us a bench to sit on, and watch the last minute shoppers go nuts trying to find everything on their lists! We'd make bets on who was going to collapse in tears first or which two people going after the same item would get into a fight. It was a madhouse, and Mom and I would sit there and laugh and poke each other in the ribs. It was better than mud wrestling!</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I work for a company that is just right up the street from a shopping mall. Oh yeah, you bet I love that. I don't do malls except when I get the silly urge to go mall walking, and that happens about once every 5 years. You would not believe the traffic during the winter holidays. All I want to do is drive 2-1/2 blocks to Jersey Mike's for lunch (shut up! it's too cold to walk!) and traffic is moving about 3 feet an hour. People are giving out the one-finger salute like it's free candy, horns are blowing, and my stomach is about to jump out of my throat and continue the trip without me. I just want to scramble out of my car and scream at everyone that "It's the Holy Season and all ya'll ought to be loving your neighbor!" Of course, that will have to wait until I finish my own one-finger salute!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanksgiving. Isn't it great? I'm especially loving it this year now that I'm in Weight Watchers. For the past month, our Weight Watcher leader is telling us to plan ahead, figure out how we can make those side dishes healthier and with fewer calories, and have a plan for what we're going to eat, and for pete's sake don't forget to count every little crumb that goes in your mouth. I'm thinking about e-mailing her a picture of me with 2 fat turkey legs in one hand, a fistful of stuffing in the other hand, and mashed potatoes and gravy running down my chin. Count your calories?? I don't think so! I've spent the last 6 months being fairly good about this, but on Thanksgiving I want FOOD!! I'm not all that crazy about turkey. What I really like is to put stuffing in a cereal bowl, top that with mashed potatoes, and then top both of those with about a </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">quart of gravy. Now them's good eatin'!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But then there's always the dishes. Boo. My sister Judy (may she rest in peace) and I always did the dishes after Thanksgiving dinner. Let me rephrase that. I always did the dishes after Thanksgiving dinner. Judy would tell me, "I have to go to the bathroom. Put away the leftovers and I'll be right back." Yeah, right. I could stow the leftovers, clear the table, wash, dry, and put away the dishes, and she would still be upstairs hiding behind the bathroom door. Nowadays, I just say "I'm over 50 and I don't have to do anything I don't want to do anymore!" It helps that dishwashers are more mechanical now than human, ha-ha.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, the holidays are officially here. My niece Meredith will grab both turkey legs next week and wave them in my sister Lisa's face. (Long story.) At least one kid will be too tired and cry. I'll sit on my lazy butt and let the rest of the family do the clean-up. Mom, Dad, and Judy will be looking down and smiling on us all. Santa will be taking names. Maybe I should let that one-finger salute rest until after Christmas!</span><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-54844639831105016992012-11-07T21:14:00.001-05:002012-11-07T21:14:59.957-05:00Some Things I Know for Sure<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Donald Trump is an idiot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So is Ted Nugent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A fact revisited.....After you turn 50, you get no warning when you're about to fart. At work, the aisle at the grocery store, every time you turn over in your sleep. Pffttt! Pffttt! Pffttt! But that's only the quiet ones. It gets worse! Trust me on this. Once you're 55, you not only get no warning, you will be talking to someone when you hear a "RRIIIIIIIIPPP!!" like the sound of an elephant trumpeting, and you won't care that it's coming from you. You won't even pause long enough to say "Pardon me! I'm sorry!" because you've done it so often, your brain doesn't register it anymore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When you're buying a magazine or book, or you're just perusing one while you're stuck in the checkout line, never ever EVER pick up the first one in the stack. You don't know who has touched it, what kid has licked it (maybe I licked it, you never know!), if someone wiped their booger covered hands on it, or what. Get the picture? Always go for the one that's a couple from the back. Then you can be pretty sure that it's relatively unscathed and safe to touch. If there's only one copy, BACK AWAY NOW.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">While we're on the subject, the same goes for waiting rooms. Never ever EVER read a magazine or pamphlet in a waiting room. It doesn't matter if it's the last one in the stack, it's been groped by God knows who or what. You go to the doctor for a pulled muscle, touch a magazine, and you'll walk out of there with scabies. Just don't do it. Take your own reading material or do without.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">If there is dog poop or bubblegum on the ground, I will step it. It's just a sad fact of my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Once you're 50, you don't have to do anything you don't want to anymore, except maybe work, die, and pay taxes. And when you say "No, I don't want to", you don't have to say why. You're no longer obligated to give a reason. If the neighbor next door asks you to watch her bratty kids, all you have to say is "No." I, however, like giving reasons for the things I don't do. So I would be saying, "No, not if you paid me a million bucks, because your kids are the spawn of Satan, and I would rather chew live scorpions than be anywhere near those hellions."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">If you have dogs or cats, you can get out of bringing a dish to a potluck simply by saying, "I'd love to bring a dish. Oh my, I just hope I don't get the dog's fleas or cat hair in it." You will still be invited to future meals, but you will never have to bring a dish again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I use a public restroom, I will sit down on a very warm seat 9 times out of 10. Yuck, someone else's naked butt heat. Just another sad fact of my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Kardashians/Jenners have got to be the most useless pieces of you-know-what-that-starts-with-"sh" on this planet. (Oh, wait a minute. This just in: Octomom and the entire cast of "Jersey Shore" are looking to claim the title.) I must say that Bruce Jenner has got to be the most kitty-whipped man in all creation. His wife tells him that she may still have the hots for an old flame and she met him to find out if there was anything to it--and she tells him on national television--and he barely raises a fake eyebrow! I would have thrown that skank out of my house and changed the locks! No, I don't watch the show. I got this from the 50 bazillion commercials that were shown about it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But hey, commercials featuring the Kartrashians are way better than the recent election ads, don't ya think? I'd be stuck sitting through 5 ads in a row and every person in them was talking out the side of his mouth. Talk about lying! They all need a big old bar of Lifebuoy to suck on. I'm so glad this election is over. I've never seen a campaign season so filled with people saying mean and vicious things! Now if the voices in my head would just stop talking to each other......</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm the Kitchen Sink and I approve this message!</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-35568126111639569062012-10-30T22:54:00.001-04:002012-10-30T22:54:56.421-04:00Yes, I Would Love Some Cheese with my Whine!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trying to think of something to blog every day is the pits, so I think that little experiment has come to an end. But coming up with something at least once a week is doable because there are so many idiots in the world to make fun of (including yours truly).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A woman at the office went into a stall in the ladies' restroom today with an e-reader in one hand and a munchie and drink in the other. I kid you not. And this is one of the women who I know for a fact doesn't wash her hands when she's finished. So she leaves the restroom with potty giblets on her hands, her e-reader, and her coffee cup. Even worse, she touches doorknobs and doors and who knows what else with those turdy hands. I'm not a germ-a-phobe, although another woman in the restroom told me that I wash my hands more thoroughly than anyone else she has ever seen. It's just that I have two autoimmune disorders which means that my immunity is compromised to some degree. Dr. Dracula and Dr. OhMyAchyBody always remind me about washing my hands well and often. So I tend to get a little perturbed when people use the facilities and leave without washing up. Besides, it's just nasty to do that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Have you seen the photos of folks out on the beaches in North Carolina and New Jersey? No, I promise, I'm not making fun of Superstorm Sandy and the unfortunate people who are having to live through it. I'm ridiculing the stupid idiots who go stand on the beach just to see the waves and feel the wind. Like it's a balmy day with 3 foot waves and a 10 MPH wind!! How dumb can people be? And don't even get me started on the weather reporters who get out in the mess and are blown off their feet and their coats are ripped from their bodies and microphone are flying everywhere. I know you're supposed to do what your boss tells you, but I'm pretty sure that risking my life is not in my job contract.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Of course, the anti-gay crazies have crawled out of the woodwork. Remember when Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson blamed gays for the terrorist attack on 9/11/2001? They also blamed the ACLU, feminists, abortionists, and People for the American Way. Not that we all actually took part in the terrorist acts. It was that our immoral behaviors invited the attack to happen. Let's also not forget the Rev. Fred Phelps and the congregation at the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas. They're the jerks who picket military funerals with signs such as "God Hates Fags", "God Loves Breast Cancer", "Pray for More Dead Cops", and my personal favorite, "You Will Eat Your Babies". WTF?! So now </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">we have Rev. John McTernan blaming President Obama and the gays for Hurricane Sandy. He also blames God for both the heat wave and drought this year plus the hurricane. I tell ya, Rev, I'd be really careful about pointing the finger at God.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Can I get some more cheese, please? And maybe another glass of whine?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Let's see now, who's left? Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan. Oh, dear God, no. People get mighty testy if you say something bad about their candidate. I don't want a bunch of angry folks putting mean comments on my blog, so I'm not going to say that Mitt Romney flops more than a fish on the beach and Paul Ryan needs to be slapped upside the head for his views on women's rights. I'm not going to say that if those two are elected, women can kiss their birth control benefits goodbye and their right to decide what happens with their bodies will go right out the window. And I'm not going to say that if it were Republican men having the babies, abortion and birth control would be sacraments. And I'm not going to say that if they win the election and coverage for birth control is wiped out, you can bet your butt that Viagra will still be subsidized. Nope, not me, no way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Well, will you look at that? The whine's all gone!</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-12848974282613385932012-10-26T23:09:00.000-04:002012-10-26T23:09:39.295-04:00Fasten Your Seatbelts, It's Going to be a Bumpy Ride<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now we get down to business.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The hardest part of writing is that the truth must be told. You have to write your truth and you can't worry about whom it hurts or who gets angry at you. If you don't, it can drive you crazy. Suppressing what you really need to say and share is worse than lying to yourself. It makes you stomach hurt and it feels like your brain is going to burst from trying to hold it all in. There are things I've never told my family about because I didn't want to make them sad or make them worry. It's not easy being a writer, especially one who writes about life in all its amazing and bloody glory. Want to hear a haunting song about how Superman really felt about his life? The first time I heard this song and read the lyrics, I was shaken at how much it felt like me, and God knows I'm no superhero.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like Superman, I'm only trying to find the better part of me. Like Superman, I spent a good chunk of my life being someone I wasn't and trying to please everyone but me. And what I got from that was 16 years in cognitive therapy for PTSD, depression, and self-mutilation. I'm well enough now that between the daily medication and the tools I learned for recognizing when the depression is hitting me and being able to contain it, I only see my therapist for the occasional tune-up or when something major happens that I need help understanding. At some point--in 5 days or 5 years--I will need to write about this. I will need to write my truth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I've been painfully aware of my mortality ever since my sister died 5 years ago. Parents are supposed to die before their children. That's the natural order of things. But Judy died first. Mom died 10 months later. Dad followed 6 months ago. I'm the oldest in my immediate family now and I figure that I'll be the next to go. I'll be 60 next year. Every day I read obituaries in the newspaper of people who have died in their 50s and 60s. I know that the end could come at anytime. I'm not obsessing about it, but I would like to have enough time left to do something, however little, that will make this world (or my small portion of it) better than it was before I left. Even if I could write a book or a poem or an essay--or a blog post-- that would only make life a bit simpler or easier for just one person, I would die at peace.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">So I'll be writing my truth here. I'll try not to step on other folks' truths. I'll do my best not to hurt anyone, but I can't promise not to make you sad. Sometimes we'll laugh, sometimes we'll cry, but at all times we'll have our seatbelts fastened and make it through just fine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It's my life. Welcome to it.</span><br />
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Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-46849588199785780082012-10-25T23:23:00.000-04:002012-10-25T23:45:18.050-04:00Let's Just Keep Laughing<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh my, I do have some very serious topics, but I think I'd rather keep laughing. So whom shall we pick on today? Well, that question is just too easy!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey, Donald Trump, is that a wig on your head or did some squirrel crawl up there and die? What an idiot! He blathers on and on all week about this<span style="color: #660000;"> </span></span><a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/donald-trump-fails-drop-bombshell-offers-cash-obama/story?id=17553670"><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>big deal announcement of his</strong></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and how it's going to change the election and all this other nonsense. And what did it end up being? A $5 million dollar bribe for Obama to offer up his college records and passport. God help me, first The Donald went after Obama's birth certificate and now this. What's next? Dental records? Fingerprints? Give it a rest, Donnie, and go home. I hope Rosie O'Donnell falls madly in love with you and stalks you until the day you die. Whenever I see/hear a man as self-centered, self-promoting, loud, and belligerent as he is, I always figure it's to compensate for the abnormally small size of his manhood. Proportions, you know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Speaking of the election, this one has just about been the death of me. I had to unfriend someone on Facebook because she was so obnoxious about the whole thing. She posted a list about the Top 10 differences between conservatives and liberals that was just downright mean. Of course, she's so right-wing that she's completely off the planet. I'm about middle-of-the-road but I lean more toward the liberal side. Her list was very unkind to liberals and the blatant lies on there didn't go over well with me either. So I asked her if that's what she thought of me and got no answer. Not one word. That told me all I needed to know and off my Friends list she went. I must say that I'm much calmer these days now that her vicious crap isn't showing up all over my FB wall.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And someone stole our Obama campaign sign right out of our front lawn!! What has gotten into people? I've thought about praying for all of us to become nicer to each other, but don't you think God has way more important things to do than to yell at the kids? We're lucky we all don't get a cosmic slap up side of the head.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before my blood pressure goes up any higher.....I took the day off work today to enjoy the 80 degree, sunny weather. What a gorgeous day. Made it over to Sharon Woods for a little bit and had a few strides by the lake and the ducks. People were out boating and fishing. Before that, Ginger and I went to see the movie "Argo." I have one word for this movie: GO!!! See this movie! It's amazingly well done. Great acting, great directing, it's based on true U.S. history, and it's just a darn good movie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, I need to be getting off here to get to sleep because we're getting up early tomorrow morning and going out for breakfast. And that means BACON!!! Yeah, baby! Bacon, bacon, BACON!!! I love me some BACON!!! Did I mention that I really like bacon? Since we have two cats that I adore more than life itself, I've tried to be vegetarian because how can I love these kitties so much and still eat their relatives? But I couldn't do it. I just love meat, especially pork, and especially BACON!!! So it's "night-ers" for me. Sweet dreams everyone. Come back tomorrow and I'll try to do better. Love ya! Mean it!</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-67151656394506639412012-10-24T21:28:00.001-04:002012-10-24T21:28:42.189-04:00A Girl Can Dream, Can't She?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, based on the badness of the thoughts I'm having, Jesus has surely been drinking gin out of the cat dish all day long. Mercy! Can these Republican candidates be any more stupid than they already are? First, we had Todd Akin and his insipid "legitimate rape" theory. Now senate candidate Richard Mourdock gives us this gem: "I think, even when life begins in that horrible situation of rape, that is something God intended to happen." I could tell these two idiots a thing or two about rape and what it does to a woman, and the biggest one is that God never, ever, EVER would intend that to happen to anyone. All day I've been wanting God to send down Archangel Michael to handle the situation with Mourdock. Can you imagine?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Archangel: "Okay, Mr. Mourdock, you can hand over your balls now."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mourdock: "What??!! Who in the &%#!!! are you?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Archangel spreads his wings and pulls a personal size flamethrower from his pocket.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Archangel: "Look. We can do this peacefully or I can torch 'em."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mourdock: "But...but...but...I need my balls! I'm running for the Senate!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Archangel: "Not anymore."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then the smell of barbecue fills the air.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And that is why Jesus is not only drinking gin from the cat dish, but is also filling out forms in triplicate on why God should revoke my card-carrying-Christian license.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm not so heartless and unforgiving that I want to see Mourdock and Akin dead. I just want them to suffer a little. You know what I mean. Penis scurvy, a bodacious case of herpes, genital warts, erectile dysfunction, and just for the fun of it, let them be turned into women. Not just any women. DEMOCRAT women!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>(<strong>Full Disclosure:</strong> The idea of Jesus and the cat dish comes from the wonderful, wildly talented writer, <strong>Anne Lamott</strong>, who wrote: "I thought such awful thoughts that I cannot even say them out loud because they would </em></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish." She also wrote: "You can safely assume you've </em></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do." In my next life, I'm </em></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>going to be Anne Lamott!)</em></span></span><br />
Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-21577043146243121582012-10-23T22:43:00.000-04:002012-10-23T22:43:02.403-04:00New York, New York!<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We haven't done a count in a while, so let's get to it. We are now up to 104 tubes of blood that have been sucked out of my body. We still don't know what the disease is, only that it's an autoimmune disorder. I've had x-rays on both hands and feet. I thought I was getting rid of Dr. Dracula, but I was wrong. I think that covers it!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Got some serious, heavy stuff on my mind today, but screw that. I'm not writing too somber posts in a row. So let's talk about my trip to New York with Ginger in June last year! As you may recall, I had promised to post about that but then went off to Neverland and disappeared from the blog world for about 15 months.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So the first thing you need to know before </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">we start is that I have IBS. Irritable Bowel Syndrome. My bowel is far beyond irritable. It is truly pissed off and then some. But anyway, for those of you who don't have IBS, let me sum it up in just a few sentences. You never know if it's going to be diarrhea or constipation. An attack can last an hour, a day, what feels like years, and it always attacks at the most inconvenient time. For me, it's often during vacation. When we went to Italy, we went from Florence to Venice by train. I spent 99% of the ride in one of the two train car bathrooms. I emptied the first one of toilet paper and came close to using it all up in the second one, too. Not to mention that I'm short. I had to jump up onto the toilet seat and then had to do my business with my feet dangling, not touching the ground. In the meantime, the train is bumping along the track, I'm bumping all over the place, and....well, you get the picture. But that's another story. On to New York.......</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We arrived in beautiful New York City in early afternoon on a Tuesday. We rode a shuttle in from the airport that dropped us off at the Port Authority which was near our hotel. I was in heaven. I saw the CUNY School of Journalism, The New York Times building, just all of these great institutions of writing. We crossed over to 40th Street (where our hotel was located) and I asked Ginger what the address number was. She said "236". It sounded good to me. I remembered those numbers being in the address. We were sure. We were confident. We were going to bed down at.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">......the porn shop and massage parlor!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You can just imagine our surprise. I briefly - very briefly - considered shopping for a few girl toys and lingerie. NOT! I was tired. Ginger was tired. We did the smart thing and checked our papers. The hotel was at 326, not 236. So off we trudged in the other direction, and then it was even better. Our hotel was right next door to the Parole Office! I had to laugh. Between the porn shop, the peep show, the massage parlor, and the parole office, I was about to bust a gut.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Just when I thought I had seen it all, we learned why parking isn't a problem in New York City. They just stack the cars!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So we go up to our lovely room (really, it was a very nice room with a fabulous view including the Empire State Building) and get settled in. I'm feeling fine. We have a scrumptious dinner at the hotel dining room and then go out for a walk. I'm still feeling fine. We come back to the room, put our jammies on, and dig in for an evening's rest, some reading, a little TV. And then it starts. The first trip to the bathroom. After about 20 minutes, I come out and inform Ginger that I've dropped an alien, a few of his closest friends, and all of their mixed cocktails into the toilet bowl, now known as "the cesspool". I barely get sat back down and I'm off to the john again. After another 15 minutes, I come out and announce that I've now shot out the mother ship and the aliens have all drowned. It goes on like this for a couple of hours and a little longer. By the time I'm finished, the aliens, their cousins by marriage, and half of their planet have been deposited into the depths of the New York City sewer district. We're supposed to hit up the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island the next day, and I'm wondering how I'm going to stay out of the bathroom long enough to get there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">But miracle of miracles, I get up the next morning and I feel like I can make it. We have breakfast at the hotel. I'm very careful and eat just a plain bagel with cream cheese. We head across town for the ferry and I'm still hanging in there. We take the ferry to Liberty Island and I'm STILL holding on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Then she comes into my view. Seeing the Statue of Liberty for the first time was an awesome, moving experience for me, made even more so by the trip to Ellis Island. To see what people had to suffer and endure getting to this country and after they arrived put a hurt on my heart and a lump in my throat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Lady Liberty........</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My fluffy self in front of the Ellis Island museum (just picture me being 32 pounds lighter now).....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The lobby at the Ellis Island museum.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The great hall at the Ellis Island museum.....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Back in the day, this hall would be overflowing with people arriving at our country. There are more rooms and exhibits showing the processes and examinations they had to go through. At the other end of this hall is a huge staircase divided into sections by handrails. Which section you were in as you headed down the stairs was important. People in one section were admitted to our country. People in another section were denied admittance and sent back to wherever they came from. Families were split up. Friends were separated. I can't imagine the heartache that flowed down those stairs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We spent the biggest portion of the day at Liberty Island and Ellis Island. Then we had dinner and back to our hotel to rest. The rest was mostly for me. I don't have a lot of energy, so we schedule things for the morning and early afternoon when my energy level is highest. Then I take the evening to rest and recuperate. That evening, I'm happy to say, was uneventful as far as the bathroom was concerned, as was the rest of our trip! :-)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Ginger and I are art museum junkies, so the next two days were spent at the Guggenheim Museum, the Museum of Modern Art, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The Guggenheim Museum building is a fabulous work of architecture. It was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and it's a spiral! No kidding!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Inside, the floor winds up and around, and there are doorways to rooms full of art along the way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The dome inside at the top of the building is pretty cool, too. This is an off-center shot that also shows the spirals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's too bad that I'm old and can't remember which pieces of art we saw in which museum, but we did see some great things, including this fabulous painting ("Cat and Bird") by Paul Klee.....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">and this one by Jackson Pollock (Ginger is standing by it to show how large it is - imagine her 20 pounds lighter now).....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">and one of my very best favorites, "The Starry Night" by Vincent Van Gogh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There was great outdoor sculpture, too, and then the touristy spots that everyone who goes to New York City simply must see.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Time Square.....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The ball that drops every New Year's Eve.....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">and Radio City Music Hall.....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But what I liked most were the musical instruments that we saw in one of the museums. There was Ringo Starr's gold snare drum that he received from the Ludwig Drum Company. (All of us band geeks know about Ludwig!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I really liked the clarinets and bassoons.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But my favorite was this magnificent organ.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a great trip and a good time was had by all. Four whirlwind days later, we were on our way back home. We caught a small plane back home to Cincinnati. Our seats were way in the back of the plane by the bathroom.....and the toilet just happened to be all stopped up, and the stench filled the plane, especially our row. And I didn't do it! :-)</span></div>
Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-22568112278955648032012-10-22T22:19:00.000-04:002012-10-22T22:19:00.099-04:00An Apology to Lisa, Steve, Terri, and Greg (and other assorted items)<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, it's been a while, huh? I could go into why I haven't posted in so long, but there's something way more important to write here tonight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yesterday Ginger and I saw the play "Brighton Beach Memoirs" at the Cincinnati Playhouse in the Park. This play was written by Neil Simon around 30 years ago and was made into a movie starring Jonathan Silverman. I won't go into what it's all about but at one point in the play, the two middle-aged sisters are arguing and dragging up all of the slights and insults they've given to and received from each other their whole lives. Repressed anger and thoughts are evil things. One sister is the pretty one, the one everyone takes care of. In the play, her husband has died at age 36 and she and her two daughters must live with her sister and family. It turns out that she resents always needing a handout and, on the other end of the spectrum, people just assuming that she even needs or wants a handout. The other sister isn't ugly, but she's not pretty either and has always been the beast of burden in the family, continually taking care of everyone, starting with her sister and including her own family of her husband and two sons. She resents always being the worker bee, the wind beneath everyone else's wings. Resentment has built up on both sides and it comes out swinging hard and often during the sisters' argument.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As I watched, I had what Oprah calls an "AHA!" moment. Lisa, Steve, Terri, and Greg are my much younger sisters and brothers. There are 6 of us siblings total but Judy, the oldest, wasn't with the younger four during their growing up years. She married and was far away from Kentucky when Lisa was 7 and Greg was only 6 months old. I am the second oldest in the family (now the oldest since Judy passed away in 2007, how I miss her!) and Lisa is number 3. She was born when I was 10-1/2 years old. Greg is the youngest and was born when I was 17-1/2 and away at college. As of this moment, I am 59, Lisa is 48, Steve is 47, Terri is 44 (soon to be 45 on Halloween), and Greg is 41.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When Judy and I were growing up, our parents didn't have a lot. But we always had a roof over our heads, food in our stomachs, and clothes on our backs. There wasn't much money for extras. We didn't get the high school jackets, or go to movies and restaurants with our friends on the weekends, or the latest fashions. We wore hand-me-downs. We got a new outfit, new underwear, and new shoes at the beginning of the school year, and another new outfit for Easter. In other words, we lived like most everyone our parents knew was living at the time. Our family was considered poor, but Judy and I didn't truly know it then. We lived in our own house, we had food, we had clothes, we had parents who loved us. I got to go to band camp every summer, on band trips, and Mom and Dad made sure that I had the best clarinets for marching and concert bands. Judy was supported the same in her interests. I should have wondered back then how my parents could afford it. Now I'm older and I often recall how Dad worked 2 and 3 jobs until the day he retired and Mom didn't get new clothes and things for the house very often. Dad never had a new car. What I didn't realize then, I surely realized after I grew up and was on my own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I did grow up and knew grown-up things, I vowed to myself that my younger sisters and brothers would have it better. I made sure they went to movies and they had their high school jackets and extra spending money for band trips and academic competitions and whatever else they were doing. I made sure that they got to wherever they needed to be and that Mom and I would be at their football games and band contests and school plays (Dad worked nights, usually 7 nights a week). Each generation wants more and better for the next. Mom and Dad wanted me and Judy to have more and better than they had. I (and Judy, too) wanted Lisa, Steve, Terri, and Greg to have more and better than we had. But I think I may have taken it a little too far, and this is where the apology comes in. So here goes.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lisa, Steve, Terri, and Greg -- I'm not exactly sure when I started believing that the weight of the world was on my shoulders and it was up to me to take care of everyone and fix everything. My hunch is that it began when Judy got the rheumatic fever in the 4th grade and was bedfast for over a year. I was so scared for her and I was going to do anything I could to take care of her, Mom, and Dad. I've been that way ever since and a lot of times, I know that I've been overbearing with it, not just to you four, but to my friends and other family, too. But this is just for you all......If, at any time, I ever made you feel like you had to be taken care of, that you couldn't take care of yourselves, I'm sorry. If I was bossy, arrogant, non-feeling, steering you toward what I thought was best instead of what you really wanted to do, I'm sorry. I know I come across as judge, jury, and executioner (can I get an "amen", Steve?) and I'm absolutely positive that I've given each one of you the "Debby knows best" attitude at one time or another. I'm sorry. If I ever made you feel that you don't know what's best for yourself, I'm sorry. In my defense, I can only say that I've always been the caretaker. That's been my role. When Mom was sick off and on so many years to one degree or another, I had to be "Mom" and take up the slack until she got back in the saddle again. I had to look out for you all and now I've spent decades just taking care of people. I realize now that I've done it whether or not the person needed or wanted it, and that's not right. I'm sorry. So let me just say that I'm so proud of each one of you. You grew up smart and strong. You married people who are true partners. You've raised and are raising wonderful children whom I'm very proud to call my nieces and nephews. You're all in good careers. You have your own homes in great neighborhoods. Your children have gone or are going to college and have succeeded in so many ways. And some of your children are still in elementary school, but have already risen to be the cream of the crop. If I were any prouder of you four and if I loved you any more, I would split into a million pieces because my body just couldn't hold it all. It has taken me a long time to learn this, but you are all grown adults and you can take good care of yourselves. You don't need me to worry and hover over you anymore. It may have been needed when you were younger, but I have learned at last that you are all fine, wonderful adults with good heads on your shoulders. I can stop the caretaking now. You don't need it and you haven't for a long, long time. So.....I quit. I'm now just your sister who loves you and who will offer advice IF YOU ASK. You all are doing just fine without me the caretaker. Now we can enjoy each other as the fabulous adults and siblings that we all are. :-)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now here is where "the other assorted items" come in......I need to work on my writing. There are poems to be written that are calling my name and a book that is festering somewhere down in the nether regions of my heart. I've been in a frame of mind that says I've written the one really magnificent piece in my life and I'll never write anything near as good again. That's suicide for a writer. It gives writer's block the fertilizer it needs to grow into mammoth proportions and causes paralysis in the creative mind. The only way to fix it is to write. That's hard to do when you're killing yourself unwritten word by unwritten word. But I'm going to do it anyway. I will write a blog post every day. It may only be a paragraph of 3 sentences, but I will write it even if it's only instructions for how to mop a floor. It may be funny, it may be sad, it may be more boring than my diet, but I will write.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">See you all here tomorrow, same time, same place. Thanks for waiting for me.</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-35583636286610914412011-07-18T19:58:00.000-04:002011-07-18T19:58:56.317-04:00Just some thoughts before my birthday<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I have a blog in process about our trip to New York, but I don't feel like working on that tonight. Tomorrow, July 19, is my birthday. I'll be 58 years old - a year older than my sister was when she died in 2007. It's a strange feeling to be the oldest now. I feel like an imposter. Like a little girl wearing her mother's big shoes. Oldest. The title doesn't fit me. It really still belongs to her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I've been thinking about Judy and Mom a lot lately. Ginger and I saw the movie "Beginners" today. A man's father has died, so the son now has the father's dog. At one point, the son looks at the dog and says, "You miss him, don't you? So do I." It was all I could do not to bust out crying. I miss them both so much. I have a scar on my heart just like Harry Potter has a scar on his forehead. There are times when it hurts and nothing can ease the pain. I just have to feel it and acknowledge it, and let it work its way through.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I thought by now that I would know my place in this world. I thought I would have written a few best sellers, composed a world-renowned symphony. I thought I would be making the planet a better place to live or just give someone a better foothold in life. I'm sitting here now thinking that I haven't done crap. Of course, I know that's not true, but some days I feel the thought hanging over me like the moss on the trees in old New Orleans. It's like a burial shroud that I can't quite figure out how to take off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">This blog is over a year old now. I set out for it to be a place where I could hold myself accountable to lose weight and to write a book, neither of which has happened. I've been thinking about shutting the blog down. But if Judy were here, she would smack me e up the side of my head and tell me to snap out of it. She'd say that despite the depression and the biopsies and the constant medical tests, my life is pretty darn good. And she would be right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">So.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">REAL SIMPLE magazine is having an essay competition, the "Fourth Annual Life Lessons Essay Contest". I hold no hope of winning it, but I'm "saying" out loud in public here on this blog that I'm entering the contest. The essay is supposed to answer the question, "When did you first understand the meaning of love?" The word limit is 1500 words. I think I can do at least a 1000. Submissions have to be in by September 15.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Happy Birthday to me. If I don't start becoming the person I want to be now, then when can I? I learned with Judy and Mom that you never know when it's over, even when you've been fighting for years to stay alive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">If not now, when?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Wish me luck. I'll get that blog about our trip on here by the end of this week.</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-26126587073322082702011-05-24T20:30:00.000-04:002011-05-24T20:30:51.421-04:00The heads are back!!!<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I'm so excited not only to just see the heads, but there's also a new one! Thanks, Sara! I still can't see the heads on my laptop, but when I checked from my desktop from work, they were right there! So something screwy must be going on with my computer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Here's the first blog that I wrote for tonight:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em><strong>Well, it's the same old story. A bunch of tests, a bunch of negatives. No diagnosis, no nothin'. If it weren't for the fact that the tests have also been ruling out a whole lot of bad stuff, I'd be so depressed that I'd gouge my eyes out with a fork. Yes, folks, it's THAT disappointing.</strong></em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em><strong>They compared last week's MRI and MRA of my brain with ones done in 2008. The left middle cerebral artery is slightly irregular. That can indicate anything from a major stroke to tiny TIAs. Having a few tiny TIAs and not realizing it would be no surprise. However, the emphasis is on the word "slightly". So slight that it's not going to be a even a blip on my worry list.</strong></em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em><strong>There were also some white matter changes. This can indicate things like Multiple Sclerosis, Huntington's disease, ALS, Parkinson's' disease, and my personal favorite, Alzheimer's disease. But 9.999999999999999 times out of 10 in someone my age, they're just age related changes. They're not on the worry list either.</strong></em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em><strong>The bone scan was good. At least that's in my favor. I am living proof that taking Vitamin D and Calcium supplements really help because I get very little Calcium in my diet. I don't drink milk. I don't like yogurt and cottage cheese and things of that nature. So take those supplements, ladies!</strong></em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em><strong>Anywho, Dr. OhMyAchyBody is going to confer with Dr. YesIAmTheClevelandClinic to decide whether I should now have my parotid glands biopsied. I also start on the Topamax tonight to see if it will help the pain without messing me up some other way. There's also the TB test this afternoon, which I have no doubt will also come back negative.</strong></em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em><strong>In the meantime, I will be holed up in my room tonight, rocking back and forth, feeling sorry for myself, and singing "Gloom, Despair, and Agony on Me" under my breath between slugs of Diet Pepsi and massive mouthfuls of chocolate. Then tomorrow, I'll get up, put my big girl pants on and start the battle again because there's one thing I know for sure. It could be a lot worse.</strong></em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The second blog I wrote was really doom and gloom, so I decided to go with the first one. But I must say that I'm not as down about it all as I thought I'd be. Ginger and I had a fabulous dinner at Through the Garden in Blue Ash. She listened and just let me talk and get a lot off my chest. Then she said all the right things, bless her. So as I sit here now, I'm doing pretty well, just feeling a little disappointment. And like I said, I know it could be a whole lot worse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So, I got the TB test at 4:30 this afternoon. Within 2 minutes of the test, I got the tingles and the itchies from head to toe. I think I had a tiny allergic reaction to the serum or maybe that's what normally happens. Either way, it was over quickly. I go back Thursday at 4:30 again for the results. When this test comes back negative, I'll celebrate it. I'll be very happy not to have TB! The test was interesting. The last time I was checked for TB, the nurse used a thing that resembled a gun and shot the stuff into my arm. That was many years ago. This time, it's just a normal syringe and she inserted about an inch of the needle just under the skin. Didn't hurt at all, which I really appreciated. I haven't developed a fear of needles yet and I don't want to now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I actually felt like doing my laundry tonight, so I must leave now and move the loads along. Have a great evening! Always remember and never forget. . . . .oh, never mind. I forgot what I was going to say. :-)</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-8501119589268281572011-05-23T21:02:00.000-04:002011-05-23T21:02:52.080-04:00Well, that just sucks eggs!<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Do you know what happens when you go 3 months without blogging? All of your Followers' little heads disappear! That blows! My blogger dashboard still says that I have my fabulous 4 followers, but all their heads are gone. Bummer. Take a little break while your body falls apart and the next thing you know, the Followers list is blank. But maybe now that I'm posting something again, they'll miraculously reappear. I tell you, you just can't trust technology. If it can't feed me or bathe me in chocolate, I don't trust it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I see we're all still here after the Rapture didn't happen on Saturday. I was just starting to feel a little bit smug about that this morning when I heard about the tornado damage and lives lost in Joplin, Missouri on Sunday. Took the bite right out of me. Then, I got all paranoid wondering if maybe the date was wrong by just one day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So we're up to 69 tubes of blood now and I've filled the little cup two more times. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm getting a TB test, and sometime tomorrow I'll get the results of last week's tests. I spent the day at Christ Hospital last Tuesday getting lit up with nuclear medicine, then having a full body bone scan, and finally having an MRI and then an MRA of my brain. It was a busy day, you know? I just stayed at the hospital all day since I had to report there at 11:00, 2:00, and 5:30. I had lunch there and took a book to read. I also had a half hour nap.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Nope, I don't know what all they're looking for. Evidently, no brain tumors or anything cancerous looking showed up, or they would have notified me long before now. So that's something to be mighty thankful for. But I do hope something shows up that gives us a diagnosis. I've been at this for 13 months now and all I get is more pain and more tired. I'm ready to get off this train.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On the Happy Front, though, the better half and I are headed to New York City next week for a few days of fun and no doctors. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I've been trying to come up with something funny to say, but my humorous bone doesn't seem to be working. :-) I haven't been posting much because I'm just too tired, so it may be another 3 months before I'm back again. (Except I will get on here tomorrow night and post the test results.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Thank you all for hanging in there with me!</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-15659284780322862922011-02-22T22:35:00.002-05:002011-02-22T22:40:36.833-05:00Shameless promotion for the PastaQueen<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">One of my favorite bloggers is the PastaQueen, otherwise known as Jennette Fulda. If you haven't read the PastaQueen blog (<a href="http://www.pastaqueen.com/"><span style="color: #660000;"><strong>www.pastaqueen.com</strong></span></a>), I order you to do so right away. Funny writer, great posts, and she designs web sites, too. If I ever get more than 3 people to admit that they follow my blog, I'm going to hire her to design a site for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Jennette's second book came out today, but let me start with her first book titled <em><strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Half-Assed-Weight-Loss-Memoir-Jennette-Fulda/dp/B003R4ZBRS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1298432195&sr=8-1"><span style="color: #660000;">Half-Assed: A Weight Loss Memoir</span></a></strong></em>. The woman lost close to 200 pounds, half her weight. Her memoir about accomplishing this feat is heartwarming, laugh-out-loud funny, and sometimes just sadly real. She can truly weave a story and her story is nothing short of amazing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Her second book is <strong><em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Chocolate-Vicodin-Relief-Headache-Wouldnt/dp/1439182027/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1298432351&sr=1-1"><span style="color: #660000;">Chocolate & Vicodin: My Quest for Relief from the Headache that Wouldn't Go Away</span></a></em></strong>. My copy is on its way from Amazon.com, so I can't really tell you how good it is (although I know it's going to be good because her first book was so good). But if you look at </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1439182027?ie=UTF8&tag=pq-cv-ad-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1439182027"><strong><span style="color: #660000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>Amazon's product description</em></span></strong></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> for this book on their website, it says:</span><br />
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">"Jennette Fulda went to bed on February 17, 2008, with a headache, and more than three years later, it still hasn’t gone away. Yes, she’s tried everything: intravenous drugs, chiropractic adjustments, acupuncture, subliminal messaging, marijuana (for medical purposes only), heavy drinking (which just made it hurt more), and lots and lots of chocolate. A pint of ice cream makes her feel better, but her insurance doesn’t cover mint chocolate chip.</span></strong></em><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>In this painfully honest, smart, and funny memoir, the popular PastaQueen.com blogger who chronicled her nearly two hundred pound weight loss in Half-Assed shares her incredible journey to find relief from a chronic headache. As she visits countless doctors, indulges all manner of unsolicited advice from the Internet, and investigates every possible cause, from a brain tumor to a dead twin living in her brain, Jennette considers what it means to suffer, how to live with pain, and why the best treatment might be the simplest: laughter."</em> </span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Like I said, I ordered my copy from Amazon. The price was terrific, even with paying the shipping cost. But wherever you prefer to shop, do yourself a favor and treat yourself to both of Jennette's books. You won't be disappointed. And if you want to thank me after reading them, chocolate and vicodin sounds good to me!</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-79346377143401634882011-02-22T21:56:00.000-05:002011-02-22T21:56:36.180-05:00Ramblings and random thoughts.....<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This is how I looked when I saw the light layer of snow on the roof of our house this morning.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My friends say, "It's just snowflakes!" My brother Steve says, "It's February. Snow is not out of the question." Fortunately, since he's family, I can slap the snot out of him the next time I see him. I can't help it. I have finally reached that age where I can't deal with the snow, cold, and ice anymore. I want the sun to shine every day and temps in the low 70's. If friends and family haven't reached this point yet, it's not my fault that they're behind in their development. :-)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I do my best thinking in the bathroom. I never eat in the bathroom. I once worked with a woman who would take fruit and a book with her into the stall in the ladies' room. That just creeped me out. The book is fine. If you know you're going to be a while and need something to do besides making dolls out of the toilet paper, a book is a good thing to have. But food? You've got to draw the line somewhere. That just ain't right. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. I do my best thinking in the bathroom. Whether taking a shower or parked on the throne, I have some of my deepest and clearest thoughts in the john.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">So last Thursday, I was settled all comfy-cozy in the stall in the ladies' restroom at work. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, bouncing on the seat, immersed in thought----now wait a minute. Don't go telling me you all have never done the seat bounce. I know better. And I can tell you from experience that if you have IBS, you're for sure bouncing a lot more than you're admitting. Sooooo, someone comes in, takes a perch, does her business, and heads over to the sink counter to wash her hands. I'm already giving her 5 points for flushing (you'd be surprised how many women don't remember to flush) and about to award her with 10 more points for washing her germy hands.....when she did it. Instead of getting those fingerlets soaped up and clean right away, she grabs the paper towel container handle first and unloads a long sheet of paper towel. I don't care how much paper towel she uses. My brain is screaming because she slimed her potty germies all over the paper towel machine handle BEFORE she washed her hands. YUCK! I immediately bounced a few more times out of frustration and then took away every point I had given her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">As I said, I do my best thinking in the bathroom. And what I realized last Thursday, just after I pictured myself disinfecting the paper towel machine with a flamethrower, is that I just don't care. All right, I do care about getting a diagnosis sometime during my lifetime. But using the BiPAP machine, losing weight, exercising, eating right----I don't give a flying rat's whiskers. "BT" ("Before Therapy"), I would have not cared because I believed that I wasn't worth the caring about. That was before "BT". I know better these days. But now, after "MHH" ("My Heart Hurts"), I truly don't care. I watched as my sister died and then my mom died just 10 months later, and now I think, what's the point? It doesn't matter, all this stuff. Lose the weight, exercise, eat right, get your sleep, take your vitamins, eat those Omega-3's------it just doesn't matter. We're still going to die. I know. Someone is thinking, don't you have anything to live for? Don't you want to be at your little nieces' and nephew's college graduations? If I can do that, it would be great. But if I die before it happens, I won't know anyway. I'll be dead. I won't know what I'm missing. I know it sounds silly and I'm not expressing it well. I have more thinking to do. But for right now, I really don't care. Folks will probably get on my case about it all. I have only one thing to say about that. DON'T. Some things you just have to work through on your own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I don't know why I don't weigh less than I do. I really don't eat gobs and gobs of food. I don't exercise much, I know, but between the butt bouncing, leg jiggling, teeth grinding, lip chewing (that takes more muscles than you realize), keeping time with the music, and all the body tics I've got going all day long, you'd think I'd be a lot thinner. Which brings me to Dr. Evil. I see her on Thursday morning, at which time she will note that I have obviously not lost any weight like she told me to start doing six months ago. In the meantime, she has been dieting and I'm betting that she is down to my size now and probably less. I'm pretty sure that I'm going to need 3 hash browns and a cinnamon melt from McDonald's after my appointment to comfort me after she gets through with me. Of course, I'll wash all that down with a Diet Coke!</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-38377033071924953452011-02-01T20:36:00.000-05:002011-02-01T20:36:09.703-05:00So I got my test results......<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">…..and they are Negative and Negative. I don’t have Celiac Disease. There are no tumors on my parotid glands. I’m a mix of being grateful that nothing bad was found and being upset because we still don’t have a diagnosis after almost 10 months of testing. The afternoon I got the results, I took the rest of the day to be verklempt and grumpy and feel sorry for myself. The next morning, I sucked it up and started being strong again. But I must admit, this is really wearing on me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As long as I’m admitting things, I haven’t used my Bi-PAP mask and machine for at least 2 months, maybe longer. I just can’t stand the thought of having that thing on my face. It’s too confining and I’m a little too claustrophobic. Not that I need to explain it. The picture says it all.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I’m just not dealing well with it. Unfortunately, I need to because sleep apnea can kill you. So, once again, I’m going to have to suck it up and be strong.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I’m tired of being strong. And now I'm whiney, too! I think I need to just get over my fine self and put a big smile on my face right now!</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4C5_9tnnseRsAFOOeZy3J6zqV7rKFxhZD58qUPT_xA4Mq6FLSoRn80GR9kfcF25aiESg4L1KlZdhRaSomcnGkqdrYvInkAjXaOL3akMDgvWuB8so3q9Vt0BDV-oKm4_eXYwSKWSSUgFU/s1600/smiley2.BMP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4C5_9tnnseRsAFOOeZy3J6zqV7rKFxhZD58qUPT_xA4Mq6FLSoRn80GR9kfcF25aiESg4L1KlZdhRaSomcnGkqdrYvInkAjXaOL3akMDgvWuB8so3q9Vt0BDV-oKm4_eXYwSKWSSUgFU/s1600/smiley2.BMP" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">There, that's better!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Is anyone else hearing tree limbs cracking off and dropping onto their roofs? It's happened 3 times here in the past 15 minutes. We had the lovely ice coating everything except our driveway this morning, so I had to show up at work. I'm grateful to have a job, really. It just would have been nice to work from home in my jammies today. But I've been going outside to check the roof and our driveway is now coated with a shiny sheet of ice. And tomorrow I <strong>want</strong> to go to work because it's Skyline day. I can't miss lunch at Skyline!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Well, obviously, I have nothing interesting to write about, so I'll just sign off like the guys on my favorite show "Wipeout" and hope that the next blog will be much more entertaining.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Good night.....and big balls!</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-12413555658850089992011-01-17T20:10:00.000-05:002011-01-17T20:10:27.961-05:00Listen to the whining and then you can see the skating foot.....<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It must still be Christmas because I’m still eating anything that doesn’t move. On the other hand, Christmas must be over because we finally put away the Christmas decorations last Friday…..Friday, January 14th. I’m starting off the new year a little late, it would seem.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope everyone had a fabulous Christmas, being with family, eating the holiday cheese ball, and stepping on the Chex mix. Yep, stepping on it. I always manage to drop a square or two of cereal when I’m making the mix, and I swear that I crunch it under my shoes for 3 months. Where does it hide when everyone else is tromping through the kitchen? It’s only out on the floor when I’m walking on it. I’m starting to get paranoid about it. It’s a conspiracy, I’m sure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Anyway, I haven’t been blogging because I was working a lot, being poked/prodded/tested a lot, and trying to get ready for the holidays. So what shall we catch up on first? The poking, prodding, and testing? Okay, let ‘er rip!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since we were last here, I have seen Dr. OhMyAchyBody. We are now up to 44 tubes of blood. The SED rate is still up there among the clouds. And this time we drained some blood for a Celiac Sprue Panel, testing to see whether I have celiac disease. I also had 2 MRI’s, one without contrast dye and then one with contrast dye. I am just claustrophobic enough to be bothered by lying in an MRI machine like a dead body stuffed into a way-too-small coffin. Not only was it very confining (my nose almost touched the ceiling of it), they had my head in this vise thing and strapped every way but loose. I was not amused. The MRI’s were to get the goods on my parotid glands—to see if there was inflammation or a tumor or whatever. Now, I had the blood drawn at Dr. OhMyAchyBody’s office. I said to the nurse, “I’m a little concerned about this particular round of tests. Please have someone call me with the results.” A week or so later, one of the nurses at the office called me about something else, and I asked her, “Please have someone call me about these test results.” At which time she informs me, “We don’t call with results if they don’t show anything.” I told her that I knew that, but these tests were very different from what I had been having and I wanted to be notified about the results. The MRI was on December 14th and I had the blood labs done on December 10th. Have I heard from anyone? NO! OF COURSE NOT! Not that I’m bitter or anything. :-) But how do I know that my test results haven’t just fallen through the cracks or something? So tomorrow, I’m calling them again and using my charm to get the stinkin’ results. I’m fairly certain that I don’t have celiac disease or tumors in my spit glands, but doggonit, I want to know FOR SURE.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I see my ophthalmologist later this month. Then it’s back to the dentist, Dr. Dracula, and Dr. OhMyAchyBody next month. I also saw a dermatologist earlier this month (Dr. SheKeepsMePretty) and got a good report from her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was transferring information from my 2010 planner to my 2011 planner, and I now have 12 doctors—TWELVE—that I see on a regular basis. Isn’t that just a little excessive? Wouldn’t you think that one of them could figure out what’s going wrong with my body? God love ‘em, I shouldn’t say that because they’re all very good and trying very hard. I’m just getting a little tired of all this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No more whining! Let’s talk about something fun! You all need to see our little Christmas tree. I don’t much like decorating a Christmas tree and I like un-decorating one even less. Also, by the time I do Dad’s tree and decorations, I just don’t want to do another one. But I help put up a small one at home and I always end up being glad when I do. This year, there was something a little different under our tree. Check it out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do you see something that doesn't belong there?</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpo8aCWAI-F0aKJMkQhAqO_QDXcCO44WdDdQ1Q8e56FVWoOY0moqsdJJUA1kdF36li6r6ftc_dYnGSsLgAvb0EkISI2Df5twZKgZF20dfsuygnmMAEvjsPN6tdJYmqfwxIEqM8xDI9oBjX/s1600/DSCF0759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpo8aCWAI-F0aKJMkQhAqO_QDXcCO44WdDdQ1Q8e56FVWoOY0moqsdJJUA1kdF36li6r6ftc_dYnGSsLgAvb0EkISI2Df5twZKgZF20dfsuygnmMAEvjsPN6tdJYmqfwxIEqM8xDI9oBjX/s400/DSCF0759.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here's a better view. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNW49FshajU5X-4CO9XLUgbWNe28whvzwJjo7XVRdCbg68Y6O0c3syxprm7-Ds8kXJJcSlE6nShIUq3pVhzYDDSexwmWq-QB7Sb1qFEjiNLEJaLKfHjaZG61yET2wsR2aDPOpO68Kq9L3/s1600/DSCF0761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNW49FshajU5X-4CO9XLUgbWNe28whvzwJjo7XVRdCbg68Y6O0c3syxprm7-Ds8kXJJcSlE6nShIUq3pVhzYDDSexwmWq-QB7Sb1qFEjiNLEJaLKfHjaZG61yET2wsR2aDPOpO68Kq9L3/s400/DSCF0761.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yeah, nothing says "It's Christmas!" like a cat butt under the tree! "Butt" to be fair, I should probably let you see the other, more pleasing end of Louise the Wonder Kitty.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZat5JyvKI7wpmGMvwLM-w9kF2ppvmQHPqygWWEF2nbQf6HYRFPmwssU9hb_rCr0eEUTaqPVHtGTXzV2asGugqIxTWtC5Nk-BCMNClqNt7Ibg8PEwx1NmIi7VmMQb7-nDmRkpnZy_qR7-5/s1600/DSCF0748.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZat5JyvKI7wpmGMvwLM-w9kF2ppvmQHPqygWWEF2nbQf6HYRFPmwssU9hb_rCr0eEUTaqPVHtGTXzV2asGugqIxTWtC5Nk-BCMNClqNt7Ibg8PEwx1NmIi7VmMQb7-nDmRkpnZy_qR7-5/s400/DSCF0748.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She's a pretty girl. Of course, now her sister Thelma wants her picture here, too.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikh5i2tp5BQH6v1ajCG7IApfiNcOvyK5Rm_bTRnLl8kEdouO5ndFjr4ReJ2QDnolXDgqL99AmxPL2fAOkxUfhkqg69wqdTescvELxj_6D_Cf10v9Vv_bjFV5A0L3d_-AYeP-oDlapJMUH/s1600/DSCF0751.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikh5i2tp5BQH6v1ajCG7IApfiNcOvyK5Rm_bTRnLl8kEdouO5ndFjr4ReJ2QDnolXDgqL99AmxPL2fAOkxUfhkqg69wqdTescvELxj_6D_Cf10v9Vv_bjFV5A0L3d_-AYeP-oDlapJMUH/s400/DSCF0751.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Now that I've bored you with pictures, I'm going to bore you with more pictures. But these are worth it. Every year at my Dad's house (and formerly Mom's house, too, rest her soul), we set out the skating rink by the Christmas tree.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMrO-p72hU-_Tf6JOjWBTJEpDVt2L_JrIPOaTSvL0-BP22NOvBfnbQQ8Df3KxTZWxpppKRoCt-_u2BjtVDxbLMqu59NpVrKZeagAVTWB-uclghzxSREKVm3QqKXGGVXdos1lhIXRb-yKOv/s1600/DSCF0767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMrO-p72hU-_Tf6JOjWBTJEpDVt2L_JrIPOaTSvL0-BP22NOvBfnbQQ8Df3KxTZWxpppKRoCt-_u2BjtVDxbLMqu59NpVrKZeagAVTWB-uclghzxSREKVm3QqKXGGVXdos1lhIXRb-yKOv/s400/DSCF0767.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's just a cheap thing that I picked up many years ago to amuse the younger sisters and brothers. Now THEIR kids love playing with it every Christmas. The skaters "skate" because there are magnets on the bottom of their bases that follow a set path that is inserted beneath the pond. I know what you're thinking. "Hmmm, I see two sets of skaters, but what's that lump?" That, my friends, is the skating foot!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-K92xyuQoqFARul12Er1p9VkDH9QNEB4bSdgRIiv8VtHqTmoL_Sx4LKuMw5mmuNrXe4jip5DEpjlaUWOc808xUhAm5C7-RVe1Y43T3sXi2mxy8IuemVRnSKSqQ4IgE_yG7RFekKg2hnv/s1600/DSCF0763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-K92xyuQoqFARul12Er1p9VkDH9QNEB4bSdgRIiv8VtHqTmoL_Sx4LKuMw5mmuNrXe4jip5DEpjlaUWOc808xUhAm5C7-RVe1Y43T3sXi2mxy8IuemVRnSKSqQ4IgE_yG7RFekKg2hnv/s400/DSCF0763.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sometime, somehow, the beautiful figure skater doing the figure-8's was separated from her foot, unable to be fixed, buried in the trash can. And now the foot skates all alone, searching and longing for the body it once had.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-34427369364302767522010-11-30T20:54:00.003-05:002010-11-30T21:17:05.580-05:00'Tis the Season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_02OAlxM6qndEgoMrJ0HLWi1379wYNsM4EX19sbP_uLtAzpmDPwXKJIpqeoLzpqQkTkJQfyfj6pBjvDZgMT-evCbQfX4W9Hg5xIPSncQQtuCa_Qv4rjrD_zVXg7l0GmOSRPSIGmImOGSc/s1600/tree.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_02OAlxM6qndEgoMrJ0HLWi1379wYNsM4EX19sbP_uLtAzpmDPwXKJIpqeoLzpqQkTkJQfyfj6pBjvDZgMT-evCbQfX4W9Hg5xIPSncQQtuCa_Qv4rjrD_zVXg7l0GmOSRPSIGmImOGSc/s1600/tree.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I mailed my Christmas cards today. I finished my Christmas shopping over a week ago and even did some of Dad's shopping. Now all that's left to do is to wrap the stuff. Make the Chex mix (about 12 gallons worth....seriously). Help put up our Christmas tree. Put up Dad's tree and decorations. And.....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I hate the holidays.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">No, not really. But I just wore myself out thinking about all that's still left to do. So okay, our tree will go up this week and I'll do Dad's this Saturday. I'll start wrapping a few things every night and be finished with it in no time. The Chex mix takes about two days. Not so bad, after all! I feel better already!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So I trust that everyone had a fabulous Thanksgiving. Ginger had a nice, quiet day at home with herself, the cats, and close to a 2-pound lobster that I named Leroy. I gathered with most of my family at my sister's. You would not believe this turkey she cooked. Perfection in every way. I don't even like Thanksgiving turkey and I smacked my lips all over a big ol' chunk of it. I'm more of a Thanksgiving side dish person myself. Give me a bowl and I'm all happy. Some dressing/stuffing in one side, mashed potatoes in the other, and globs of gravy over the whole thing. Now that's what I'm grateful for! No pumpkin pie for me. I'd rather have a vat full of carbs any day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Yes, I know it's been quite a while since I last posted. I've been working, gracing the doctors with my presence....you know....the usual stuff. I saw Dr. Dracula last Monday and I see Dr. OhMyAchyBody this Thursday. I'm now up to 41 tubes of blood and half a dozen finger pricks. Do we know what's wrong yet? Of course not! Wouldn't that just be too simple? My parotid glands have been so swollen off and on the past few days that I'm starting to look like some chipmunk's fat-faced aunt. The sleep machine and I are not being very cordial to each other these days, but I'm trying. Oh yeah, I had my yearly mammogram! Woohoo! The technician flopped my big left one up on the shelf, pushed the button to start the big squeeze, and said "Tell me when you think you can't stand a bit more pressure." I yelled, "Boy-howdy, this is it!" (or the polite equivalent), and she added a couple of more big squeezes. She had the shelf moving so much that I was standing on my tip toes, hanging on by a niblet, bless her heart. But she got good pictures and everything was clear. I was mightily relieved. But next year, I think I'll just lie down topless on our driveway and have Ginger back her car back and forth over the girls a few times so that I'll be better prepared. :-)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And now it's Christmas. Like I said, I mailed my Christmas cards this morning. I've already received one from a couple of my cousins. I love Christmas cards, but those yearly Christmas newsletters are another thing. Most of them are okay, but then you get the ones where you hear about every move the children make plus how many times the dog piddled during the year. Not so good. I keep thinking that I should put a holiday newsletter in my cards, but my life is so boring that no one would want to read it. However, it has occurred to me that I could lie! Then I would have a fabulous, interesting newsletter that would read something like this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>Merry Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, Solstice, Harvest, Eid, you-pick-your-holiday, to you! I pray that God, Moses, Abraham, Glinda the Good Witch, Buddha, Mother Nature, you-choose-your-higher-power, has blessed you generously this year. This has been an exciting year for me, but please don't believe everything you hear on the news or read in the newspaper. I would explain most of it, but it's really none of your freaking business. Sorry. I get a little high strung when I think about it. So anyway, I finally found a job, praise the Lord, Mohammed, and Charlie Brown! It's only part time, but I'm hoping it leads to bigger and better things. Now that I have learned the 25 ways to clean a public bathroom, I've been promised that I will move up to scrubbing the toilets at our local prison. This is a good thing because now I can visit our little Bobby more often. I told him over and over again that smashing the front window is no way to break into a store, and that he should either pick the lock or hide inside until everyone has left. But would he listen to his mother? No way! At least now he has 3 good meals a day and a place to lay his head every night. Our youngest, Bedelia, just had her sixth child. We're not sure who the daddy is this time, but we just love this little cross-eyed angel. Bedelia is working on getting her GED and will be able to study more hours once she gets rid of that awful itch of hers. The doctor said he's never seen anyone get that many different varieties of this kind of rot, but he's sure he can clear it up within the next year or so. In the meantime, we made these cute cards out of construction paper and ribbon to send to everyone that she's been extra friendly to in the last several months. As for Big Ed, that good-for-nothing-useless-piece-of-crap has done walked off and left me. Praise God and Yoko Ono! With any luck, I can get the locks changed before he thinks of coming back! And me....what can I say. The surgery went well, but I'm still wearing my Reynolds Wrap hat just in case the aliens try to take over my brain again. But since it's Christmas, I've put a pretty red bow on top of it. Bing Crosby! And Happy New Year!</em></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Well, that's the news in my little world. I hope things are well in yours.</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-57512476953304315622010-10-24T23:32:00.000-04:002010-10-24T23:32:47.964-04:00And how about that cleavage?<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I was reading a news article online a few minutes ago that had the phrase "the cleavage to survive" in it. Wow, I thought, how does one acquire the cleavage to survive? Life is hard. Just getting through the day is no picnic. Do I have the cleavage to survive? Look at my picture. My boobs really do point to my arms. There's no cleavage there! Oh my gosh, how can I go on without the cleavage to survive?!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Keep in mind that I was wearing my reading glasses. That my face was only about 14 inches from the screen. That sometimes I'm just a big, ol' idiot. It was "courage." The "courage to survive." How the heck did I get "cleavage" out of "courage"?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I've been doing that a lot lately (or, at least, it seems like a lot). I don't know if I'm actually seeing the wrong word or if my mind is giving me the wrong word. I'll go to say "it's in the fridge" and it comes out "it's in the stove." I head to the bathroom to move clothes from the washer to the dryer. The washer and dryer, however, are in the laundry room, not the bathroom. Completely opposite ends of the house. I'm in the middle of a sentence and can't remember what else I was going to say. I'm in the middle of a sentence and can't come up with the word I want. I walk through the parking lot at work, up one aisle and down the other, because I don't recall where I parked my car.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I would love to come up with a raunchy cleavage joke right now, but I don't know any. I can tell you that I stopped wearing a bra the day after I graduated from high school. I wore one again for about the first 6 months after I got the job I have now 22 years ago. I don't like bras. The band hits right on my hiatal hernia and that's not comfortable at all, believe me. So I wear nice thick sweatshirts in the winter and big loose t-shirts in the warm months. If I ever lose this gut I have, the "girls" are going to hit the ground and get sidewalk burns. Right now, they're safe "on the shelf", so to speak. I just don't know how women can stand to be all trussed up like that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I don't understand a lot of things. How about pole dancing? Who was the person who thought, "Hmm, I'm tired of dancing on the floor, why don't I wrap myself around a pole?" Who thinks of stuff like that? I can just see me pole dancing. I'd need a step-ladder to haul my fat ass up the pole, and God knows I better vaseline my thighs or I'd be stuck up there for days. Can you imagine the thigh burns? How would I explain that to my doctor? "Well, doc, you know that metal allergy I have? Uh, yeah, uh, I was dancing on this pole, see, and...." Oh, I can just see that now. Which reminds me of the time my friend got poison ivy in a place that will make you cringe. She had gone camping at a very primitive camping area. The forest was the bathroom, know what I mean? She went out into the woods in the middle of the night for a number 1 AND a number 2, and then used a handful of leaves for toilet paper. Yep. A very bad case of poison ivy down on the farm. That poor girl was miserable for a month, which is why we should all camp at Holiday Inn. :-)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Getting older is so much fun. Can't see crap and half the time you're constipated. Vegetables give you diarrhea and you get no warning anymore when you're about to fart. I used to be so embarrassed about that. I'd be heading down an aisle at Kroger and toot one, and my face would turn 50 shades of red. Now I just let 'em blow as loud as they want. I figure if I'm going to do it, I may as well announce it. I've started saying, "When I was your age...." and I call anyone up to 35 years old "kid." My hair is turning gray. My chin keeps growing 2 dark hairs on it. I yank 'em, they grow back. I yank 'em, they grow back. I swear that after I die and am buried in the ground, those blasted hairs will still be growing. The 3-year-old granddaughter looked at me the other night and said, "I don't like that face." It's okay, sweetie, I'm not too fond of it myself. :-)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">So.....the Annual Jamie Lee Curtis Halloween Film Festival has begun. I only got to watch one movie this weekend because the 3-year-old was here and then I went on a date with Dad and his lady friend today. Nothing like double-dating with your father, I always say. Anywho, I began with the Turner Broadcasting version of Stephen King's "Salem's Lot". One of the big 3 companies did "Salem's Lot" many years ago with David Soul in it. It wasn't a whole lot like the book. TBS did it and it was much better and scarier. I'll also be watching Jamie Lee Curtis (the official Queen of Scream) in "Halloween" and "Halloween H2O." Then there will be Adrienne Barbeau in the original "The Fog" followed by the remake of "The Thing" with Kurt Russell. That movie scares the pants off of me. I haven't decided what else I'll be watching, but you get the idea. Scary movies in my pajamas under a blanket where the monsters can't see me, lots of Diet Pepsi and snacks.....it doesn't get much better than that!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Have I mentioned that both of our cars are being recalled by Toyota? Now THAT's scary!</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-22568424501317808722010-10-12T23:32:00.000-04:002010-10-12T23:32:21.000-04:00The only word that fits here now is the big "F" word, but I really think I shouldn't use that one!<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I just spent the last hour blogging about what's been going on and why I haven't posted lately, and then my laptop ate my post. So rather than try to recreate all that, let me just say that I've had a bad bout of fibromyalgia and depression for the last couple of weeks and couldn't do much of anything. But the physical pain is starting to ease, and I've worked through the depression and am feeling better in my head, so I'm back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Stay tuned for the next post in which you will learn about my annual "Jamie Lee Curtis Halloween Film Festival" and whatever else comes spilling out of my brain. It may be 2 days (or so) before I post again, but that's because I'm getting new bedroom furniture and I'm going to be busy getting the old stuff out, the new stuff in, and setting up the room. It's going to look "mahvelous"! :-)</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-85060723167564633942010-09-16T00:12:00.000-04:002010-09-16T00:12:30.469-04:00Meanderings and Musings from the Other Twenty-Eight<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The ride to work this morning was exciting. The woman in the car in front of me was looking in the rearview mirror and applying her mascara. The woman in the car in front of her was texting as she drove. We were all moving at 45 MPH. It's at times like these that I feel closest to the Lord. "Dear God," I prayed, "if I'm killed this morning because of these two women, please let me live long enough to beat the holy crap out of both of them. Amen. Oh yeah. Please help me be a nicer person. Amen."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This was one of the few mornings that I didn't do things "my way." My way would have been to pass both of them, give them the happy one-finger salute, call them a few names that I shouldn't think much less say, and then leave them with a wide grin on my face. Instead, I did a "half-way" and made snarky faces at them in my rearview mirror as I blew past them. I let 'em off easy. Wonder what's wrong with me!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Let's see.....that was the Starland Vocal Band who did the song "Rear View Mirror" (written by Bill Danoff and Jon Carroll). "There's got to be a Heaven somewhere...I hope I know it when I get there...I can see my life in a rear view mirror (but I don't see Heaven)...and I don't see Heaven getting any nearer". Or something like that. I couldn't find the lyrics online. Anyhoo, this group was truly a vocal band. They played their voices like instruments and their sound was amazing. Not many groups have that kind of harmony and fabulous vocal arrangements. The group "Ollabelle" comes close. For pete's sake, you haven't heard of Ollabelle? Get your tush down to Barnes & Noble and give them a listen. (Have I mentioned that I started off as a music major in college? Well, now you know. I'm a geek!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Sometimes I just want to moon somebody! Whew, I feel better now! Confession really is good for the soul. Who knew? I wasn't planning on getting into that tonight. The whole mooning thing is my little secret. I find myself wanting to drop my drawers and flash the cheeks in the oddest situations and places. A couple of weeks ago, someone at work whom I don't care for (no one that I work directly with, in case someone I do work directly with is reading this) made the snidest remark to me in the elevator. I had the strongest urge to lose my pants, bend over, and give her the universal sign for "kiss my <strike>ass</strike> butt, you piece of <strike>shit</strike> fecal matter, yes, you." Of course, I didn’t do that because I’m a grownup (sigh) and a professional (I'm grateful to have a job). Of course again, being a grownup and a professional doesn't keep me from declaring a "bitch alert" every time I see her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My brother Steve wants to know how DVDs know what screen size your TV is. ("This film is formatted to fit <em>your</em> screen.")</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I see Dr. Dracula again next Monday. This time, I'm thinking that I'll just keep all my blood for myself. That'll fix him. :-)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And somebody please explain this "Jersey Shore" to me. A judge called this Snooki person a "Lindsay Lohan wannabe" or something like that. When I see her, the word "skank" comes to me and that goes for "The Situation", too. I would love to be in charge of the world for just one day. I'd be tossing lightning bolts at people like them all day long. Paris Hilton, too. Some people are just a waste of space on the planet and I'm getting tired of them breathing my air. I'd fry up those two idiot ministers in Florida and Kansas and use them for pig slop. Then I'd send just about the entire Congress to live on another planet and start our government over with people who have some sense and sanity. And I'd do all of that just in the first hour.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So I'm thinking about writing my own funeral. That's not as weird as it sounds. Think about it. You're lying there dead and people are talking about you and telling other people how you were and who you were. Uh-uh, not at my funeral. There will be things that I'd rather tell and say myself. And I want to choreograph it. No, not dancing. The order of things and what's done. There are certain songs that I want to be played at particular times and certain people whom I want to read my words. Yep, I'm thinking that I need to put it all together myself, so that it's really me and it's done how I want it. I know who I am and I know what I am, and I should be the one to tell the story. So when I die, you may not want to miss my funeral. It should be very interesting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It's late here now. Blogger will say that this was posted at 10:01 PM, but it's actually just after midnight. I have to get up early to go to work and I have to do the morning exercise walk before that. And between now and then, I've got to get in a few hours with this danged sleep mask that I don't like so much, but I love how much better it makes me feel. I hope this post tonight has satisfied everyone who's been after me to update the blog. If it hasn't, I have some pants I can drop..... :-)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Almost forgot....I guess you're wondering who the "Other Twenty-Eight" are. Well, one night I looked at Ginger and teasingly said in my best please-don't-hate-me-because-I'm-beautiful-voice, "Give us a little kiss." To which she replied, "Just how many of you are in there?" My answer, of course, was "29!" And now you know the other 28.</span>Debbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05370877594078803250noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7071396054990227380.post-942338766191999442010-09-05T21:04:00.001-04:002010-09-05T21:06:08.485-04:00Welcome to Stupidity 101. I’m your teacher, Ms. My-Butt-Wouldn’t-Be-So-Big-If-I’d-Just-Shut-My-Mouth.<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I have gained two pounds. It started this past Thursday when I went to Frisch’s for lunch. I ate a Big Boy for which I had requested extra tartar sauce. Then I added even more after the server gave it to me. I also dipped each and every french fry—yes, I said FRENCH FRY—in miniature tubs of tartar sauce. I had enough of Frisch’s famous yummy tartar sauce to fill my entire right leg AND the "big one" flopped on my belly just above it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It gets worse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Saturday morning I headed back to Frisch’s for their lovely breakfast buffet , and boy-howdy did I belly up to the trough. I filled my plate with a pancake, strawberry jam, a sausage patty, and approximately 15 to 18 slices of bacon. No, unfortunately, I am not exaggerating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It gets even worse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I bellied up to the bar one more time. Another pancake, more jam, more sausage, and approximately 20 slices of bacon. Again, I am not exaggerating. Halfway through this demonstration of gluttony, I started feeling sick. I was pretty sure that I was about to gag up the second plate’s food eaten so far. Did I have the sense to stop? Does a bear go potty in the woods? No, I sat there and stuffed every bite left down my throat and looked for more. I was nauseous the rest of the day. My hiatal hernia threatened to sue me for domestic abuse and my colon wouldn’t even look at me, much less speak to me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Why do I do idiot things like this to myself?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I took a shower earlier this afternoon. As I stood in the bathroom naked as the day as I was born (no, don’t try to picture that, you’ll go blind!), I looked down towards my feet. I don’t say "at my feet" because I couldn’t see my feet. I could barely see the ends of my stubby, little Barney Rubble toes. When I look down, I see my boobs. I see the "shelf." I see the triplets that I’m evidently carrying. That’s it. No hoo-ha, no knees, no ankles, no feet. My legs could fall off and I wouldn’t know it if the only way I could tell was by looking down and seeing them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Something has to be done. I’m thinking liposuction (<span style="font-size: x-small;">eat less!</span>), gastric bypass surgery (<span style="font-size: x-small;">exercise more!</span>), wiring my jaw shut (EAT LESS!), and paying Julia Roberts to pretend she’s me (EXERCISE MORE!). These are all good solutions, but I would have to ask my boss for a humongous raise to pay for them, and I just don’t see that happening.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I’ve got it! I’ll eat less and exercise more!</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Well, guess what. I've already started doing that. This big binge episode I just went through was me falling off the wagon. Two weeks ago, I started walking through our neighborhood with Ginger every morning before I go to work. I've also stopped visiting the McDonald's drive-thru each morning on my way to work for a bag of hash browns or a cinnamon melt. I'm eating more vegetables and fruit. I’m also getting much more fiber in my diet. My irritable bowels haven’t been this calm and mellow in a long time.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">After the breakfast debacle yesterday morning, I spent the day with my dad. When I returned home last night, I was so disgusted and pissed off with myself that I couldn’t stand it. I finally told Ginger what I had done. She gave me a pep talk and told me not to beat up on myself about it. Of course, after she went to bed, I flailed away at myself to the point that I decided that I couldn’t succeed in anything. Not with losing weight, not with wearing the sleep mask, not with writing a book, nothing. I wasn’t going to take my medications anymore. I’m tired of them anyway. I was just going to sit on my fat ass, eat whatever I want, and die whenever Death wanted to fetch me. We all have to die of something, right?</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And then I started thinking, slowly but surely, how dumb that would be. Going on a binge was stupid, but sabotaging myself and my health and the work I had done so far would be beyond stupid. It would be fatal to my dignity and my self-esteem, not just my life.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So here I am tonight blogging about every ignorant thing I’ve done this week with food and everything that goes with it. Good for me. I’m not proud of the binge, but I’m happy with myself for all of the things I did correctly before it happened. As I told Ginger, I fell off the bike, but I’m back up on it and starting the ride again.</span> <br />
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