Daily spewage of a bitter mind.

Woman: Hey, how are you doing?
Me: Tired.
Woman: You look tired!
Me: You look OLD!
Woman: Listen, I already dealt with one bitch this morning…

Touché, but it’s probably wrong to call your 2 year old daughter a bitch.

It finally arrived, my woot bag ‘o crap from the last round of woot offs. See my glorious bounty below…

Crap includes: shake to charge flashlight, sansa mp3 player, texas hold’em cards and chips, flower pail (?), collapsible picnic basket.

Not the greatest bag of crap I’ve received, but not horrible either.

Last night after dinner we turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. I coerced Malcolm into turning on Intervention. Seeing other people’s lives in shambles makes me happier about my own. We often joke about how I need to come up with some heavy addictions to get on the show. I think it’s more of a ploy to get me a free vacation at a beach spa and for him to have the place to himself. The episode sucked… there was no intervention at all; it was more of a story on several families’ losses due to huffing toxins.

The next show, Hoarders, came on and I was pretty much already into my relaxed stupor on my lay-z-boy eating the last of the sugar free gummy bears. It is television shows like this that we sit and judge other people and tell the TV how dumb they are. The kid was crying because his house was so overloaded with crap and he was on numerous allergy medications already. The mom, being very passive and matter-of-fact about most everything, knew there was a household issue but was complacent in changing anything. She came from a family of hoarders and watched as her house went down the same path.

It was about the time she was trying to pull a pink blouse out from under a giant stack of clothing that pretty much hit the ceiling that both Malcolm and I looked around the basement living room.

Our eyes widened.

Malcolm: “OMG we’re hoarders.”
Daniel: “I was just thinking that.”
Malcolm: “I can’t sit here, I need to clean!”

I was already jumping out of my chair, “Already on it!”

Several garbage bags were filled with the random crap that had been collecting around the room.

Malcolm: “Ummm…. Daniel, when was the last time you had cookies?”
Me: “I haven’t had… “

Malcolm was holding up an old plastic contain that once held mini chocolate chip cookies.

Me: “Ohhhhh.”

I wasn’t to convulse on the floor in disgust.  That had probably been had been hiding in the corner for a year or so. Shameful shameful shameful.

My sewing/craft table is still piled up from random art supplies that had spread around the room but for the most part the room was clean. I flopped back down into my chair with a cold drink and sweaty brow. Malcolm finished up with some vacuuming. A little more time this weekend and the room would be back to its former glory.

It was nice to actually have a place to put my drink down. Of course I felt guilty when I did, so I hopped back up and ran it up to the recycle bin. It’s amazing how focusing on work, working out, cooking, and every else that we’ve been trying to make a priority and fills the day takes a toll on the house. At the end of the day I just want to relax and chill for a while before bedtime and the last thing I worry about is the condition of my surroundings. I had spent the previous night cleaning my room and doing laundry, so life is feeling back in order.

Go home, people. Go home and put a hardcore half hour of work into your home. Maybe you’re not a slob like I’ve somehow become, but there is always room for improvement. Take it from me and ‘follow your dream. You can reach your goals. I’m living proof. Beefcake. BEEFCAKE!’

My friend, Bobbie, was telling me about her emotions about her hair.  See, her ponytail is too tight today and she’d rather take Excedrin to relieve her headache than loosen or undo her ponytail.

Me: “You know that makes no sense, right?”
Bobbie: “But it does to meee!”

She’ll probably kill me for posting about this later but it got me to thinking about the last time I was emotional over something that was probably really insignificant.  I told her about the cheesecake.   I hadn’t remembered till just now.  I must’ve blocked out the whole traumatic experience.

After my checkup with the Doc in my last post I did the post-modem on the fridge and threw away the things from pre-doctor-lecturing that would get me in trouble.

There it sat,  my queen, my goddess, my venus, my princess and the love of my life: the eggnog cheesecake.

I ripped it out of the fridge, grabbed a fork and marched into the living room where Ian sat watching T.V.  ”Eat this!  Eat it all and don’t stop until it’s gone.”  I walked back into the kitchen where Malcolm had witnessed the whole thing.

Malcolm: “That was really hard for you, wasn’t it?  I’m so proud of you.”
Me: “I think I’m going to cry.”

I excused myself out the back door and onto the porch were I fought back the tears and waited until the verklempt-ness dissipated.  The magnificent piece of tasty creation was now gone…. or at least was being devoured and it’s fate was out of my hands.

It’s amazing how the things that hurt you the most are the things you cling to the hardest.

Everyday things are getting better as I make changes.  I almost down 10 pounds from cutting out all that crap I was eating and excercising most days.  And my blood glucose levels are almost normal again… they’re lingering around 110-120 mg/dl.

However, all that being said, life without eggnog cheesecake sure does suck.

they sit

they taunt

they want to be eatten

did i mention i hate being good?

Why is it when I become ill, it happens on Friday night?  It is seriously not fair.

Friday, I had taken the day off to get a million of appointments out of the way.  I met with a wealth advisor and reviewed my finances for a while.  The advisor was cute, young, intelligent…. Married.  Damnit!

I hopped over to a Lens Crafters and talked them into letting me do a walk in.  So I got my eyes dilated and walked out with some contacts.  It had been years since I worn contacts so I have to go back next weekend and have them check my eyes again.

I ran to my doctor and had my prescriptions updated.  He yelled at me for not coming in more often.  I guess insurance companies don’t like it when it’s been over a year and you want to keep your prescriptions active.  I had been freaking out about my blood pressure being high the last few appointments I’ve had with other doctors, but they all use those electronic doo-dads that measure for them… I swear they don’t work.  Doc checked and my pressure is perfect, like always.

Before I left the doc’s office he made sure to send in the little Asian lady with the cart full of vials and she stabbed away at me with needles.  Remember back in those combat movies when someone would get captured and they’d send in the demented guy to torture them with all his crazy knives and pliers?  That’s what I imagine when I see her.  I never had a problem giving blood, but part of me still wants to scream out “Tell me what you want to know!  I’ll tell you ev’ry-ting!”   It would be like Miss Swan trying to get information out of someone.

Afterwards, I drove home.  It was only about 3pm by then so I decided to take a nap.  And then BAM!  I woke up sick.  I knew something was coming; I had a rough cough the past few days.  But it never fails… one tiny nap and it is a full-blown sickness.

I spent the whole weekend in my lay-z-boy with a roll of TP and a garbage bag.  It was pretty sad.  Why can’t I get sick on a Monday?  Monday’s suck already… but nooooo, I only get sick on Friday so it can screw my whole weekend.

Yay.

the first 8 people who reply to this (on my blog) will either get a magnet from the kitten suicide series, or a $5 starbucks card.

make sure to use a valid email so i can ask where to send them.

… told ya it was super crappy

bonus points to anyone who gives an entertaining idea for the next pic of the kitten suicides.

It was a nice try, but the ice cream called to me that much more. Besides, other people’s ice cream is so much better and ice cream you’re not allowed to have is the best.

<rant>

How many times am I expected to hear “hey, big guy,” and not be expected to punch someone?

Why do people think it’s okay to call someone something based on appearance?  You don’t hear me walking up to you and say “oh hey, skinny guy!” or “hi, moderately chunky man!”

This isn’t gym class, we’re not picking teams, so you don’t have to describe me to separate me out from a crowd.  I know who you’re talking too when you look straight at me or when I’m the only one around,

‘Hi’, ‘Hello’ or ‘Hey’ is more than sufficient.  Or better yet, why not pick something to call someone that could be a compliment?  For instance, “Well HELLOOooo, Mr. Perfect Nose!”, “Howdy, tall guy”, or even “How ya’doin, muscley legs?”

Regardless, ‘big guy’ isn’t going to cut it, so knock it off.  I will cut you.

</rant>

I started going to a chiropractor a week or so ago after having messed up my back in a freak ‘reaching-for-the-remote-control accident.’  I had no idea what a chiropractor did, I just know things hurt back there and they needed to be dealt with… on my back, not my butt.

He put me on a mechanical table that made me feel like a dolphin fleeing the fisherman’s net.  He twisted and cracked me like something out of a Saw movie.  Last, he tackled me and pinned me up against a wall like a bear hug gone wrong.

Then my appointments switched to first thing in the morning and I started realizing how much I liked getting a big hug in the morning.  Not a ‘have a good day’ hug but a ‘i-can-make-you-hurt-so-much-more-if-i-wanted-to’ type of hug.  The fact that doc is literally 1/3 of my size and picks me up and snaps my back makes it that much more impressive.

Until today.  I laid on the table and swam around my imaginary ocean.  He pressed on my back a bit and then sent me on my way.  I left the office scratching my head.

I didn’t get my hug.

Now my day feels somewhat incomplete.  I pay for hugs damnit, not swimming lessons!

If I don’t get a hug on Wednesday, I may have to rethink this whole chiropractor thing.