Bandaid helps the hurt stop hurting

I want a bandaid.  Not one of the "I am stuck on bandaid cause bandaid is stuck on me" kind, but rather an emotional, psyche healing bandaid.  I want to stop hurting literally and figuratively.  
I know, I know...I'm whining.  Too flipping bad, it's my blog and I'll whine if I want to.  There is soooo much happening in my oyster right now ~ the constant threat of being laid off; trying to get finances back on track; an ever increasing mental funk that won't  go away; and a new chronic illness to adapt to.  Cripes I wish I could pull a Rip Van Winkle about now.  I think I need a 20 year nap.  
I have lived my whole life on a seemingly endless supply of faith.  I am not a worrier.  Life goes the way life is supposed to.  I have never asked the common "why me?" because the better question is always "why NOT me?"  It all has to start somewhere, and God (or whatever higher being you might believe in) obviously believes me to be very strong and capable since He keeps piling all this stuff on my shoulders.  Thank you for the vote of confidence.  [eyeroll]
Today I would like to scream at the rafters....ENOUGH!  I can't take anymore.  I have hit the fucking wall, please back off.  I'm tired of being tired.  I'm sick of feeling picked on, picked over and taken advantage of.  I'm tired of hearing I can't take a joke...frankly if you have to explain it was a joke or that you're kidding MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE IT WASN'T FUCKING FUNNY ~ IT WAS MEAN.  Learn to know the damn difference.  Listen to yourself, your tone of voice, your choice of words.  Condescending and belittling statements are insulting and hurtful.  If the people who are your audience are put off by your remarks maybe it's YOU and not some sort of defect in them.  
Monday our "mayor" told the local media that he wouldn't stand by as the residents of this city eat Puss n' Boots Cat food and the employees eat filet mignon.  Fucker. My 19 year old daughter didn't know what filet mignon was.  As a result of that comment, city residents have come in to the Utility Billing Office where I work and verbally assaulted us about being over paid and lazy.  City employees on the front line trying to do inspections, or direct traffic are being verbally assaulted by residents.  How long before a disgruntled citizen pulls a knife on one of us?  How long before one of them gets our home addresses from the City Clerk (where I live is public record) and vandalizes our house or car or worse?  What then?  Do I call the mayor to thank him personally?  
Of course when your job is threatened it seems your finances go to hell.  I earn a nice salary compared to many other people, but I bring home very little net pay.  In fact I being home about $10 an hour.  Feed a house full, pay insurance, rent, prescriptions, gas, food, etc. on $10 an hour and it becomes a little strained.  I'm not complaining, I'm just tired and it hurts.
And when money is tight it strains relationships.  Add to that the "your kid my kid" battle and you know that Laurie and I are co-existing and that is all.  There is no cure for this apparently.  We are both right and we are both very wrong.  For the first time in 9-10 years I feel like Laurie is choosing sides, and it isn't mine.  I'll assume she feels the same way, but since we aren't speaking I don't know.  Like I said, I want a bandaid.  We usually have an exceptional relationship, very much on the same page ~ but not lately.  Laurie is the "friend" mom, and I'm not.  I'm the one that hears complaints and some defiance, but Laurie makes them laugh, and laughs with them.  
Last but not least is this new diabetes thing.  I'm not adjusting fast, or well.  I'm irritated by this.  I don't have time for it, and yet I have no choice.  I'm sticking my fingers 8 to 10 times a day and they're sore.  I'm tired and not sleeping.  I'm nauseous, and irritable.  And I feel like I'm alone in this.  My best friend is caught up in life, and my spouse is caught up in anger.  I don't like this.  I want my best friend back.  My best friend wasn't living the same drama as me, and she would sympathize and offer support.  She would ask how I was and offer suggestions.  I miss that.  
So I'm yelling at God....I'VE HAD ENOUGH.  I QUIT.  I CANNOT TAKE ANYMORE.  I want to go curl up with the blankets over my head and cry and feel sorry for myself, and hate everything.  I want someone to tell me they're sorry this is happening, and tell me things will be ok.  I want someone to treat me the way I always treat others when they're at this point.  I want someone to feel bad for me.  
I want a fucking bandaid.
[/rant]

I'm so sweet

It's true!  Well it's true, but maybe that statement is a little misleading.  The fact is that my body apparently missed the 40 year tune-up, and now, at a little over 47 years it's kicking my ass.  :o)  There are a lot of jokes and cliches out there regarding aging, getting older, approaching death, being over the hill, etc.  I lived a good 40 years before I believed that our bodies do, eventually, begin to fail us.  Up until 40, things were pretty good.  I had the RSD thing with my hand, but that seemed to be under control; depression runs in the family and had finally run into me, but that too was under control.  Once I was a few years past 40 though, I hit the wall.  Oy!  Hypothyroidism, high cholesterol, insomnia, hot flashes, pre-menopause.  It seemed as though parts were beginning to wear out and flat out rebel.  I ignored what I could and treated what I had to.  That's cool....selective medical treatment by a former RN. (We are the worst patients.)  Now, it seems I have acquired Diabetes Type 2.  Are you flipping kidding me?  Yep.  What was insulin resistance a few years ago is now full blown Diabetes, basically a huge fuck you from my home grown insulin.  It's there, and it may even be enough quantity wise, it's just slightly dysfunctional.  Bahahaha, what a surprise.  Thankfully, that RN thing I used to do helped me come to the diabetic conclusion before it became life-threatening.  I won't go into the numbers and stuff, let me just say that after a very life-like dream I checked my own fasting blood sugar, found it dangerously high, and called my doctor.  After 2 more blood tests he concluded I am diabetic, gave me the pills, the rules, the warnings, and another appointment.  I do feel better with the medication on board, but I have a lot of learning to do.  A sad fact of life is that RNs can be very good at observing, treating, caring and teaching, but we have to learn the same way everyone else does.  I'm finding that I now must snack between meals, and I absolutely  must eat 3 meals a day.  This alone is tough for me, as I am the champ of "drink coffee all day, eat only at dinner", and then only if I remember.  Diabetes can't be controlled like that.  Consistency is key.  It's okay though, I'll learn, and I'll manage.  This really ain't nothin' but a thing.  I'm good at managing things, or so I've been told.  For now, I have a new tech toy ~ a glucometer, a lot of new log books, some new dietary habits, and I need to get new bling.  I will have to wear some kind of diabetic medical alert jewelry.  (Wow, some girls will do anything for new jewelry!)  Look at it this way, all those jewelry giving occasions...no more wondering what to get Pearl, if it says "DIABETIC ON BOARD" it's a good fit.  :o)
Happy Sugar Free Valentine's Day everyone!  

I'm a Devi-Aunt

It's a headline article on NBC News this week; "Study: Tattoos linked to deviant behavior".  Go ahead, check out the story.  Finished?  Good.  So, now that you've been enlightened let me just tell you that I have 9 tattoos.  (Damn, I'm unbalanced...I need another one.)  According to the study I must be creating, cooking, selling, growing, using all kinds of illegal drugs, binge drinking, and sleeping with bees, birds, boys, and babes.  Whew, I'm a wild thing.  (I do sleep with a cow-bunny, but again, that's another blog.)  Hahahahahaha!  The reality is that I'm old, slightly more conservative than I'd like, and increasingly boring.  But I still have 9 tattoos.  Oh...and piercings.  I have 2 sets of "traditional" ear piercings, my belly button is pierced, and my conch.  (Go ahead, look that up www.dictionary.com )  I'm considering another ear piercing, but I haven't decided yet.  I binge drink coffee.  I smoke Pall Malls.  I'm in a long-term, monogamous relationship.  (I'm sure there are a lot of people who might think the whole lesbian thing is deviant but that's another blog.)  Our kids have curfews, and we know their friends.  I think I'm the only person on the entire flipping planet who doesn't watch porn.  (I'm almost positive that last one IS deviant behavior!) 

The study might have had more meaning to me if the researchers had included adults 

instead of just college students.  I've been to college, that environment encourages, and almost requires "deviant behavior" just to survive.  This can be proven through the years by recalling many of the on-campus trends through the years; swallowing goldfish, bed races, panty raids, Greek Week, pub crawls, fraternity parties, and on and on.  You learn in college to conform, resist, or ignore and that choice will most likely impact your entire future.  So, college kids are probably not a good group to study when looking to qualify deviant behavior.  Maybe they should have used college kids to study levels of deviance. 

Some time ago Laurie did a paper about tattoos and how they tell the story of the person wearing them.  The final thought was what will your tattoos say about you?  It's a good thought.  Unlike a lot of people I took a great deal of time and invested a lot of thought in choosing each of my tats, and where to put them.  Each of them tells a little about who I was, and where I was at the time I had it done.  They start out a bit small and placed in areas that are conservative, private, easily covered.  As I live and age and learn they've become a bit bolder and perhaps a bit more complicated.  They've also become more meaningful.  My most recent one is a celtic knot rendered into a ring and applied to the fourth finger of my left hand.  This is a tattoo that has been talked about, planned and drawn and changed and drawn again.  This seemed like the perfect time for this tat.  It's beautiful, meaningful and so important.  It honors that part of my life that is most private and most public, the woman who makes my heart pound and my blood hot, and at the same time offers me the great gift of stability in an unstable world.  This is a public symbol of a private commitment.  This is the symbol of my most reprehensible of many deviant 

Qualities, it represents love.  Plain, deep, endless, blessed, patient, awe inspiring love. 

And for the record....using a feather is erotic, using the whole chicken is kinky.

Was that window open?

Belated Happy Thanksgiving everyone!  We are just past Turkey Day and a mere 3 and a half weeks away from Christmas.  My, how time flies.  We had a nice Thanksgiving here. Again, a very low key day.  No dressing up, no good china, just enough food.  The turkey was picture perfect, very tasty, and just the right size.  Minimal leftovers for the first time ever, woohoo!  I think we were all so excited to get to Friday that Thursday was just another day.  Yep, we're weird like that.
Friday arrived, crisp and cool.  Very cool.  Remember, this is Florida, so a 40 degree temp is only cold when it was 75 or 80 earlier the same day.  At 40 degrees I need a jacket, preferably with a hood.  Gloves would be smart, since my hands do not do well in cold temps, but unfortunately I don't have any.  So anyway, we load up for the 150 mile drive to Ft. Meade and the impending Ghost Hunt.  No, we are not professional ghost hunters.  No, we are not auditioning for Paranormal State.  No, we aren't off our rockers.  We are functionally dysfunctional people who scare ourselves silly, ghost hunting is right up our alley.
Laurie's BFF Stacy managed to make arrangements with a Ft. Meade business owner who says his property is haunted, and was more than willing to give us a key, and a tour, so we could ghost hunt after dark.  He had 2 parting comments for us: 1 - if you show up here after dark you're more of a woman than I am a man, and 2-if I hear an ambulance heading out here I'm leaving town, and you're trespassing.  Great, I feel MUCH better now.  The business is an old munitions plant, and a manufacturing site.  It was severely damaged in Hurricane Charley.  Some of the buildings date back to the 1800s and some are just dilapidated offices.  The place was used in commercials a few years back to promote Universal's Halloween Horror Nights.  Ugh!  There is also an old Mercedes tucked away in one of the bays that the previous owner used to commit suicide in, method unknown. His family couldn't part with the car so they stored it out there. Well, we all arrive after dark and it's creepy as hell.  Our family has never been ghost hunting so we had to learn the ground rules.  Make lots of noise, if you're Jordan - fall through the floor almost to the floor below, shriek and laugh and act like a dork.  Check, I've got that.  (BTW, only Jordan's pride was injured in his fall).

The hole we pulled Jordan from.

Well we tromp through, take lots of pictures in total darkness, and then approach the car.  The car is coated in really thick dust, it's fairly certain no one has touched it in a long time, so of course several of us wipe the dust off and try to peek in the windows.  RIP after we gawk sir.

Load up and move along...first stop an old bridge in the middle of nowhere darkness.  What the hell do we do here?  Oh, get out of the vehicle, walk to the bridge, take lots of random pictures in total darkness, load back up and head to another bridge.  Jordan & Phoenix & "friend".

Repeat this action at two additional bridge stops, and then head to a very, very old cemetery.  The church buildings here are in very good shape, but apparently no longer used as a church.  The cemetery itself dates back to the 1700s.  The older grave sites are behind a wall of some sort and we did not venture in.  We really didn't venture in to the cemetery at all.  A few of us entered in only one or two rows, and then headed back toward the car.

Stacy's son decided to videotape the windows of one of the buildings the entire time we were there.  He was waiting to see if something would happen.  The skeptics among you would scoff at what we have on video, but we were there, and we know.  Phoenix not only captured the image of someone walking through the building, past the window, but we all saw the windows when we got there, and they were closed.  As we were all rapidly heading back to the car after the figure walked past, someone asked, "hey, was that window open?" No was the resounding reply, and then I shined the maglite across the window, and I'll be damned if it wasn't open.  OPEN.  OPEN.  Yep, jump in the cars, race toward home, laughing and wondering and freezing.  Repeatedly asking if that window was open.  Repeatedly asking "did you see that guy walk by?"  Disbelieving, skeptical and convinced.  We have pictures, and video.  We know what we saw and heard.  We know who took what photos and from where.  We know and we believe.  And we're still shaking our heads, asking the questions, and totally amazed at what we saw.  Ghost hunting was a blast!  I can't wait to do it again...but no more suicide cars for me.  Nope, not doing that again.  Here's some photos.  I'll explain if you have questions.
Happy Merry In=between.



This is what Kathryn & I look like if you could see in the dark.  :o)

                                                                 Who you gonna call?  Ghost Hunters!

Stacy showing us all how it's done.

What's in a name?

I can picture it so clearly....the clue reads "Teeth or tentacles.  On this detour teams have a choice of "Teeth", where they have to assemble a scale model of the Eiffel Tower using only their teeth and 10,000 toothpicks; or, Tentacles, where teams will be submerged in salt water, to their chins, with 10,000 octopi.  The second task will probably be quicker, but teams will likely suffer from nightmares of sea creature suckers for the rest of their lives"
Cut to the living room....I say, "yep we'd lose, right here.  Damn, made it to the final three teams only to be beaten by a damn octopus."  LOL.  This is just a sample of the Sunday evening conversations you'd hear in our wacky household.  We are HUGE fans of "The Amazing Race."  It's probably the only TV show I routinely ask to have taped, DVRd or recounted, moment by moment.  I've been a fan since the first episode, and I'm happy to say this show has been a family viewing event quite often.  We enjoy the brief geography / history lessons, watching how teams relate to each other, and loudly proclaiming when, and why, Laurie & I would lose.  
Our kids would love for us to apply.  We've kicked the idea around half-seriously before, but then there's always "that" challenge.  Eat something still moving; jump off a perfectly good bridge; ride the train in Bhopal and get your ass grabbed; somewhere during the race, that challenge ALWAYS shows itself.  That challenge is the deal breaker for Laurie, me, or both of us.  
In addition to the deal breaker, there are also the tough decisions that would have to be made.  Some decisions are obvious, Laurie would be the driver, I'd read maps.    I'd try to speak whatever language presents itself, and carry all money and passports.  Laurie would be the cheerleader.  We both suck at things like swimming, and paddling.  Heights are an issue, but we might be able to get by some of that.  Laurie hates flying.  That could be a big problem in a race around the world.  I'm completely arachniphobic, and that could present problems along the way too.  But the really tough decisions....what would we use for a team name, and what would our "signature" color be?  See?  These are the questions that keep us from applying.  No, really, that's all it is.  Having a camera person follow us and tape our every complaint, compliment, argument, flaw and foible...and broadcast that all over the country?  Nah, no big deal.  It's definitely the team name.  
I wish they'd do an all gay Amazing Race.  Just picture it....16 teams, more queens than in all of Europe combined.  The arguments would be fierce; the fashion undeniably awesome.  The bitchiness and sneaky game play would be top notch!  Yep, that's a competition we'd enter...and probably win.  Okay, maybe not, but at least we'd fail with style, and be complimented for it!
Laurie & Pearl, I'm sorry to tell you, you are the last team to arrive.  But you looked FABULOUS doing it!

I am stuck on bandaids....

Holy Monday Batman! I wish I was a superhero. You know, the golden Wonder Woman bangles that could deflect bullets and bullshit. Or maybe a femme fatale like Poison Ivy....kiss me and die you fool. Ha, I could be a Power Puff Girl with baby dyke snarkiness worn like a shield. Bite me big boy. :::sigh::: Nah, I'm just Mom. Not Wonder Mom or Bat Mom, not even Super Mom. Just mom. Although most of you know this, in case a stranger wanders in unawares, I have 1 biological daughter, and 2 sons-by-acquisition. 3 kids. Once upon a time, when I was 18 and still relatively naive, I wanted 5 kids. Bahahahahahaha, Thank God for unanswered prayers. Part of being just mom, is doling out bandaids and Magic Mommy Kisses. Now bandaids are the stuff of magic, putting one on can instantly cure even a compound fracture for a 4 or 5 year old. They are truly magical, and they stay on even in hurricane conditions! Sometimes, the bandaid design is a measure not only of the severity of the injury, but the potency of super healing power contained within it's magic wrapper. Add to this the magic mommy kisses and healing is almost instantaneous! Woohoo!

Every Christmas, Santa Claus is wise enough to include a package of bandaids in every stocking hung with care here. He's brought camoflauge designs for when AJ & Jordan were still small enough to venture outside on wheels of some sort to play; neon colors to clash or accessorize the myriad of bumps, bruises and blisters that Kathryn might suffer. Hello Kitty bandaids have appeared for those fashionable and flirty booboos. Plain old beige bandaids appear when times are tough, but they have the same magic mommy medicine within their adhesive and gauze. The really cool thing about bandaids is that we never outgrow them, not really. We may not have direct access to the mommy kisses as we grow, but we know, in our hearts that mommy kisses are included in every bandaid we ever apply.

I think Fridays and Saturdays are the workweek bandaids. Mondays are like the small papercut or torn cuticle we might suffer, you know, not really life threatening but annoying as hell and oh that sting! So we get our paper cut on Monday and we work through the week until we get our magic bandaid on Friday and Saturday; apply mommy kiss magic on Sunday and start all over Monday. Not a bad way to cycle through a 40 hour work week.

Some people I know use Budweiser, Patron, or Wild Turkey as their bandaid design. Others use herbal themes, like cannabis. Others still, Nap Time Themes; sun, surf and sand themes; big honking trucks; Call of Duty, World of Warcraft, Wii, xBox, PSP, name your video console. Add a bandaid, mommy magic kisses and voila, you are healed.

What is your bandaid of choice? Do you have a design you prefer? Does mommy magic come into play? Inquiring minds want to know!

I am stuck on bandaid, cuz bandaid's stuck on me. :o)

My body is 47 years 5 months and a few days old, as of today. I suppose that isn't really all that old. Having said that, the joints in my fingers are a bit stiff and painful most mornings now, my feet ache, and they cramp a lot, my knees have their own library of ringtones, and every sprain, twist, and fracture is letting me know where it is so that I can remember how it got there. Aging gracefully is not really a challenge, it's sort of a learned skill. I'm trying to learn.

I had a serious injury to my right wrist and hand almost 12 years ago that led to developing a rather bothersome nerve disorder called RSD or CRPS. While trying to recover use of my right hand, following surgery, I was treated with a long list of drugs including short stints on lithium, elavil, and a long time association with very high doses of something called Neurontin. This last drug turned out to be a Godsend. I was on it for almost 5 years, and then lack of money made continuing the regimen impossible. By that time, thank God, I had developed close to 50% function in my right hand. The surgeon initially told me I would be lucky to get 10 - 20% function back. Anyway, this RSD is a fickle and painful mistress. My family had to live with the ups and downs of my chronic, sometimes debilitating pain, and they did so with great patience and love. I've had several years of something resembling remission and count each of those days as a miracle. Recently, as my 47 year old body begins to settle and give in to gravity, RSD has reared its ugly head, or hand. Things that have been bearable for years are once again becoming difficult. This is creating a HUGE psychological dilemma for me. I'm not very good at focusing on me. I have a spouse who is wrapped to the knee in a fiberglass cast. She's on crutches from now til who knows when. I have a child / young adult in college, working hard at making the transition from high school to college under sometimes difficult family circumstances. I have a teenage son who struggles daily in the academic world. Things that come so easy to so many are sometimes a monumental task for him, and yet he perseveres. My 22 yr old son has just paid off his vehicle and, after losing a very good job, has relocated to McDonald's and made it look easy. My children make me very proud, and sometimes very frustrated. They have so many needs and wants, and I don't have time to slow down and deal with any kind of chronic pain. Their success should be my focus, and yet this pain thing seems to want to get in the way. I don't have time for this. I've fought this fight before, and I was able to get past round 1. This round needs to not even start.

As for the rest of things, well aging and gravity have a way of making my body look its age (I hope no older), and with that comes hard work at minimizing the impact. I don't think I'm terribly vain, but I do try to at least look nice most days. Apparently as time passes I am becoming less feminine. I'm not sure exactly what is meant by that but I've been giving it a great deal of thought. I still wear makeup, hopefully it doesn't settle in my facial lines and crevices making me look like Maxine or something. I've altered the way I wear eye makeup, and I think I've made age appropriate adjustments. I'm no longer wearing short skirts and high heels, (thank goodness!). I do wear some dressier clothes to work, with sensible, professional pumps, but no fuck me pumps for these feet anymore. I've sold most of my gold jewelry so I'm left with a few pieces of silver that are fairly simple in design. I hope I don't look like Maxine. I hope I don't look like Grandma Moses either. I hope I look 47 years 5 months and a few days. I can handle that. In the next few weeks I'll be returning to the South Beach Regimen to reset my insulin metabolism, and hopefully shed the 6 pounds I've reacquired in the past year. I don't want to be a toothpick, I just want to lose those few pounds and lose the snack cravings that seem to have returned.

Days like these past few make me miss my Mom. I miss my biggest cheerleader. I could have come out of my room with black raccoon eyes, holes in my pants, hair standing on end and my mom would have had a big smile for me, and she would have said oh you look so pretty. She would have seen the inside Pearl. The soul, although it's an old one, would have felt like a kid again. She would have known without asking, that my RSD was back. She might not have said anything, but she would have given me great reassurance, and soothed my increasing anxiety about it. Don't misunderstand me, Laurie is aware, she has seen the signs and the anxiety, she has been there to offer comfort and support. She's working hard to calm my fear. She's been here before, and she understands all too well what this flare means. I'm very lucky for that. My ex- wasn't as understanding the first time, I'd bet he'd be oblivious to this flare now, and resent me for its return when he found out. That explains a lot of the ex- part there.

So this is my maudlin blog for the week. The holidays are approaching, my daughter is growing up and needs me less and less, and I miss my mom. Life happens. This is mine. I wouldn't trade any of it for any reason.