Wednesday, September 30, 2015

You can’t get no action if you're standin’ still.


I had a lovely holiday in Kentucky. And after seeing what Bossman and Bosslady did to the office in my absence, I would very much like to get back into my car, drive back to Kentucky, and stay there.

We took 2 days each way to drive down to Paducah. At the welcome center in West Virginia, we took our photos with the ridiculous motorbike thing:



(It's a family tradition; so far only Lil Bro#2 still needs his photo with this.)

We drove through the Daniel Boone State Forest. The Red River Gorge is beautiful. 



At the motel in Paducah, we discovered a number of kitties. So naturally we fed the kitties our leftovers every evening, and sat outside with them until we went to bed.


Cookie, Lady, and Paddy
Paddy was the general favourite. He started out pretty wild, but we had him purring on our laps by the last night there. 

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday was the Barbecue on the River, so we spent a good deal of time rambling about the town and eating quite a lot. 


Paducah river front
We decided on where to eat based upon the number of trophies outside each barbecue booth.



We also discovered my new favourite pumpkin spice beer.



We spent two days wandering around the Land Between the Lakes, which is beautiful.



And on Sunday, we got to spend the day with Tempest, which was quite lovely, and I wish she lived closer.

And then this morning I returned to work, to this:


is it the weekend yet

Friday, September 18, 2015

It's high tech fat! Good to 40 below.



I've overheard this particular sentiment like five times this week (usually from men) so I feel the need to complain about it: being bothered by women's bra straps showing.

I was unaware that this is offensive.

Why are you afraid of my bra strap? It's just a bra. Do you not like knowing that I have boobs? They're kind of hard to miss, which is why I need the bra.

It's been consistently 90 degrees F and above the last 2 months. NINETY F**KING DEGREES.

But apparently my bra straps are not allowed to be seen. So I guess I'll have to wear something that is not a tank top to cover them. So I can sweat to death and get even worse swamp boob than I already have.

Someone please tell me I'm not the only one that thinks that is totally frigging stupid.



I don't really have anything else to talk about. Guess I just figured I'd do one last post before I disappear for a while, lest anyone feel concerned about said disappearing....

In a recent cleanout of some stuffs in the garage, I found Zoot!

[don't ask]
He lives in the car now, along with Wimpy and Spooky.

Spooky has been my co-pilot since I first learned to drive.
 Yes, my friends, I am in fact an adult.

Such an adult that I shall be turning 31 this coming Monday. To celebrate our birthdays (C's was last week), she and I are heading to Kentucky next Tuesday, for a week of barn dances and overeating.


This weekend, Dad and Stepmom are taking the RV out for one last camping adventure before the nice weather goes away. I was not originally going to go with them, but then Lil Bro#1 called me and was like yeah they were kind of planning this to be a birthday thing so you should probably come with us. I must stock up on beer.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

I would never lie. I willfully participated in a campaign of misinformation.

This is sort of a a re-run from a few years ago, but since my stupidity repeats itself over and over again, I suppose so can a blog post.

I do not smoke certain substances because the side effects outweigh any pleasantness that might be gained from smoking them. Normally I don't go in for conspiracy theories and all of that nonsense, BUT get me stoned, and it's a whole different story.






I have blocked up windows. I have searched entire houses for listening devices and cameras. 


This one time, years ago, I came home stoned and panicked when I found Lil Sis video-chatting on the computer. She left the webcam turned on even when she wasn't using the computer, and I disagreed with this because the government is watching us through our idle web cam, and listening to everything we say.

So naturally I yanked the web cam out of the computer and ran off with it. Lil Sis says I "hid it" somewhere so the government couldn't see anything. We never found it.

But this paranoia pales in comparison to my paranoia of aliens. 


Because I am an intelligent person who learns from past experiences, yesterday I decided to say yes when a friend offered me a puff of a smokey treat

and then

we proceeded to watch Dark Skies,






which is about really terrifying aliens. 

Guess who alternated between nightmares and laying awake absolutely petrified last night?

MICH DID.  

-____-


FUNNY STORY:

This one time in college when we decided to hot-box the bunk beds in my friend's dorm room--we had run out of our own stuff, so Friend called his roommate and asked if we could have some of his. Sure, Roommate said, it's in the top drawer.

Roommate calls back 10 minutes later and says OH MY GOD, please tell me you took some of the stuff in the bag on the LEFT side of the drawer...

We had already smoked out of the bag on the right.

The last thing I remember is getting incredibly distraught over the fact that Friend had three televisions in his living room, so he could watch tv, watch a dvd, and play video games all at the same time.



Friend said that he went to the bathroom and when he came back, I was gone. My roommate said she found me passed out in the closet of our bedroom with my blankets and pillows in there with me.

This, my friends, is why no one should do angel dust. Ever.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

this isn't a real post just

WOVENHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND!!!!!!!!!!

:D :D :D



Didn't get any good photos, as I was trying to force myself to actually sit and enjoy the music rather than spending the entire show glued to my camera. I already have more photos of him than anyone could possibly need. 


A real post soon. Maybe. 

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Try not to make a noise in the bathroom, dear.

Lil Sis and I went to Kohl's on Saturday. She wanted to get some working out clothes in an attempt to motivate herself to actually workout. I tagged along as Kohl's is extremely cheap, and at this point nearly all of my clothes have holes in them or are just completely falling apart.*

So I grabbed some autumn/winter shirts to try on, and some sweaters and tank tops because you can never have too many sweaters or tank tops, especially if you can find tank tops without the stupid built-in "bra." As I would be wearing most of those shirts with my black jeans once the weather stops sucking, I also grabbed a pair of black jeans in the juniors section so I could see how the shirts would look with black jeans.

Trying on clothes in a shop should not be a big deal. But when you have suffered an eating disorder, trying on clothes in a shop is a big f**king deal. It can be about as traumatic an experience as an ex-soldier who suffers from PTSD suddenly hearing gunshots outside his house.

Approximately 15 seconds after entering the changing room, I tried to put on the black jeans. Mudd jeans, size 3.

They were too small.

THEY

WERE

TOO

EFFING

SMALL.



I almost had a total meltdown in the dressing room at Kohl's.

It was downhill from there. Nothing fit. I looked like a frigging beluga in every shirt I tried on.


 Nothing can unravel your sanity quite like trying on new clothes, because it is a surefire way to discover precisely how fat you have gotten.

Lil Sis tried to console me by telling me over and over again that I can't really judge myself based on the number on a pair of skinny jeans made for teenage girls. I understand the sense in this, but it doesn't help. I'm too fat for size 3 jeans. This is catastrophic. This is one of the worst things that could ever happen. I should be taken out back and shot like a rabid dog.

I realize that I am being ridiculous, I really do. But knowing that and dealing with it are two different things.

On a day-to-day basis, I wear long skirts, or sweatpants that are a few sizes too big. The skirts do not have a size. This past winter, I started wearing jeans again, and even that was a major accomplishment because the four pairs of jeans that I own are Express size 2, which would have sent me over the edge a few years ago and been categorized as "fat pants," but are now "safe."

3 in juniors/teens sizes is pushing it. 5 = death.

The response I get from voicing this is fairly unanimous across the board: "Shut the f**k up, at least you can still squeeze yourself into a 3; I can't even fit in [insert ##], etc etc etc"

so I do my best to swallow the despair and keep quiet, because the last thing I want to do is make someone else feel badly about their body. Lil Sis hovers between sizes 4 and 6 (or 5 and 7 in juniors), but I don't look at her and think she's fat. She has an amazing figure. She looks like she paid ten figures for her boobs. (In our family Lil Sis definitely wins at boobs). Lil Sis looks amazing.

Why the helllllllllllllll can't I look at myself the same way I look at other people??

I spent the rest of the weekend in a state of intense agitation. As a result of this stress, my digestive system is now in open rebellion. And because the ED monster was awoken in the Kohl's dressing room, instead of taking the medication that would settle my stomach issues, I'm just letting the IBS run rampant because I know it's making me lose weight. It's not the kind of weight loss that will stay off, but it makes me feel better.

Feeling happy and comforted in a state of digestive agony and extreme dehydration should not happen. It goes against all of the laws of nature.

But sure just eat something, your eating disorder isn't really an Illness now is it.


IN OTHER NEWS I am getting pretty good at playing the Rains of Castamere on the upright bass with the bow. A video of this may be forthcoming.













*I can't sew very well, but I can embroider, and embroidering techniques will make repairs to clothes last much longer.