Adventures with: Cray Cray

I try to avoid using the phrase "cray cray" very often, because I do not want to lessen it in any way, shape, or form. In fact, I put it up the Crazy Scale above "bat shit". So when I tell you that I have been adventuring with the "cray cray" lately, please understand that this bitch has been totally nuts.

Yes, I have been just rolling around in the insanity for the past month. First, I had that concussion. I don't care who you are or what you say, having a head injury is going to affect what you have going on in your life. I understood that there was something "not quite right" going on upstairs (I was having massive headaches and things like that get your attention), so I didn't make any major, life-changing decisions. I was even nice to the Gingerman despite him going a month without attempting to see me, forgetting about me on Christmas, and just being an all-around male. I knew that I shouldn't deal with stressful things while my wiring was a little faulty. Well... Except fight with my mom. I can do that year-round. It is to be expected. (And it was the holidays.)

I have been losing an insane amount of weight. I do not care how you diet, but when the pounds start falling off, it's going to affect you. The first three weeks are the hardest for me. I love losing the weight and seeing it melt off, but damnit, when you're hungry, it makes you think things. And do things. And want to do things. When you do NOT do those things, it makes you pissy. Or at least it does for me. I have lost 25 pounds in the past six weeks since my wreck. Yes, you read that correctly. I look like a deflated tire, but I am down to the same weight that I was my senior year of high school. (Please disregard the fact that I was fat my senior year of high school. I just like the way that sounds, okay?) So, I want you to combine the weight loss mindset with the recovering head injury. Are you starting to see what I mean yet?

This is the kicker here. This will completely and utterly explain where the "cray cray" comes in. If you are a guy or not a fan of the TMI, please skip down to the next paragraph. I'm serious. I'm about to say it. *stares* Alright then, you're asking for it. I don't ovulate. I haven't had a constant period since I was probably fifteen, and it's been MAYBE twice a year since then. Well, not really since then because after I had Bug, I got an IUD. That meant no hormone bursts for me, and a relatively normal life. Until, I had my IUD removed after it's five year expiration a few weeks ago. OH MY GAWD!!! I thought I was going to be fine until I let my body normalize a little. Nuh uh, didn't happen. It normalized all right. It normalized right to the hormone levels that I was dealing with as a teenager. Can you imagine suddenly finding yourself feeling as if the world was out to get you, although you knew full well that you're an insignificant speck on the wall of time? Or, that your friends all hate you because no one talks to you? No, it's not because they know that you hate talking on the phone or are the worst person alive about returning texts. That would make sense. Making sense is silly. Estrogen bursts do not believe in sense. It's all hormone-based emotions thrown on a person who hasn't had any more lady chemicals present in her body than those necessary to keep her from growing a penis. I'm guessing you're all females at this point, so imagine having an honest-to-Bob period after more than six years without that pleasure. And after hellacious PMS that has not been around here in more than a freakin' decade. Yes, it has been bad.

Did I mention that I have panic attacks, too? I haven't been taking my medicine since my wreck because I didn't want anything like that while my head recovers. So, let's throw together a concussion, a diet, estrogen, and a panic attack. I swear to you, it feels like a teenager has hijacked my body. Half of my brain is trying to talk to me and reason me through this, but the rest of me has thrown the bat shit out the window. I have gone full-fledged cray cray.

But did you see where I've lost 25 pounds?

Adventures with: Hooray!

I may have mentioned this in passing to a few people, but I haven't advertised it heavily as I have in past adventures. I don't like the pressure. Anywho, I've been kinda dieting. I mean, it's nothing hardcore - Bob forbid I should exercise. *shudders* I've been eating smaller portion sizes and mostly raw fruits and vegetables. And *sigh* no cake. That being said -

I've lost 15 pounds since December!

Yes, I know that is not ideal for a month's work (I'm 5'1" with a small frame under the pudge), but half of that time was spent puking from a concussion. I'm in it to win it now. I lost weight a year and a half ago when I was doing my crazy diet, but most of it came back. That being said, if I lose another 15 pounds, I'll be down to the biggest that I was before I had Eden. If I lose 30 pounds, I'll be high school weight (later teen years, mind you). So I'm going to see this through.

Will losing weight change my life? Not really, I don't hate my body now. However, if I want to lose it, I should do it soon. I'll be 25 (shut up) next month, and I've heard it gets harder to lose weight after passing that future decade marker. I just figure that I may as well do it now.

Also, you're all invited to enjoy my birthday with me next month. Unfortunately, there will be no cake.

Adventures with: Ketchup

I suppose I cornered myself into writing this blog post since I was unintentionally vague about my being engaged on Twitter. (That sentence is intentionally vague.) No, I am not engaged. I was, however, engaged for about two and a half weeks back in the early 2000s – and I won't say which year out of respect to my former fiance*. Not that he reads my blog, but you know how these things are. For all intents and purposes of the story, his name henceforth will be Freckles. Yes, he was a ginger. Did you have any doubt?

Once upon a time, long, long ago, I was a young and beautiful college student. (Hey, it's my story!) I had fallen in love with one of my very dear friends after a very traumatic event in my life. Freckles was not someone I would have agreed to date under normal circumstances (he was neither gut-wrenchingly handsome or in his thirties), but I have never regretted falling in love with him. (Well, except after our messy breakup, but don't we all at first?) And I digress. Back to the story. Freckles and I were holed up in a nasty hotel room and we had just gotten lunch from a local Greek restaurant. Yes, we were holed up in a nasty, cheap motel because we were secret lovers. Ours was not necessarily a forbidden romance, but I was definitely keeping it under wraps. Why? I don't know. I guess I'm just a natural hoarder of things – just not on an A&E scale. My friends did not know, my family did not know, the mailman did not know. Get the picture? Jeez, I'm off track. New paragraph?

Greek food! Yes, we were eating gyros and seasoned wedges from a local drive-thru Greek place. It was mediocre (at best), and was in need of condiments. I dug around in the food bad and managed to find some ketchup packets. I figured it was a long shot because Freckles hated all things tomatoes. I laid the packages on the table, and pushed some over to my love. I am not exaggerated when I say he went absolutely apeshit.

Does ketchup make you angry? Do you ever find yourself spewing filth at the sight of it? This boy did. You would have thought that ketchup was made from the blood of newborn kittens by the way he was behaving. Needless to say, I was confused. Bewildered. Startled. Intrigued.

I did not interrupt him. It was too much fun to watch. His wrath was not aimed at me – it was one hundred percent at the ketchup. He picked up every single packet, took them outside, and stomped on them. Oh yeah, there was some anger going on. People were turning around to look at this angry ginger. I just continued to watch through the window. Who am I to stop him?

After Freckles decided that he was finished demolishing all things ketchup in his general vicinity, he returned to the table and began to eat like absolutely nothing had happened. I watched him for a minute with raised eyebrows (to gauge the safety of the impending interrogation), and I decide to dive into this one.

"So... Are we not ketchup people?"

If looks were capable of physical harm, I would have been just as flat and beaten down as those poor, massacred ketchup packets.

I eventually cajoled Freckles into explaining to me his intense hatred of ketchup. (I knew he disliked tomatoes, but I don't like liver, and you won't see me going schizo at the grocery store at the sight of it.) Apparently, it was a family thing. His grandfather owns a bunch of ketchup factories that manufacture for that brand (and others) or something along those lines. They weren't exactly on good terms (i. e. Freckles was a spoiled shit and this explained it), but he was the only heir. He was expected to do things that he did not want to business-wise, so he did nothing at all. It took a minute for me to digest that. I asked him how much he stood to inherit.

"Millions."

No, I did not marry this man. He was one of those real life embodiments of Peter Pan. He also had some anger issues (big shock, right?). And I can never look at ketchup the same way again.


*I also changed some details to protect his identity, but believe me, it was NOT the good parts.

Adventures with: Breaking Up With Facebook

I have quite a few friends who are wondering why I left Facebook. I toyed with the idea for several months, and even announced my intention to leave at one point. Due to an overwhelming response of friends and acquaintances who wanted me to stay, I did so.  Then came October. I recognized that I had a problem, and I needed to get away from it. I had become dependent on the social networking service as a social outlet for myself. 

What was the catalyst, you wonder? I know that I am nowhere near old enough for such a thing, but I missed my high school reunion. I do not regret it in the slightest because I did something for someone that I care about greatly instead. What bothers me is how easy it was for me to decide that it was not a big deal if I did not go. I told myself - "I talk to these people on Facebook every day."

Think about that for a minute. These are the people that I grew up with and experienced the turmoil, heartbreak, joy, and elation of all things high school. Some of these individuals I have not seen since we graduated all those years ago.

Facebook.

I was fine with blowing off my childhood friends because they were instantly available on the internet. That was not okay. I had a problem. I was giving up real time with real people. It had to stop. Instead of me announcing what I would do, I quietly went to my page and deactivated it. No fuss, no fanfare, it was just done. I let people find out on their own.

Gingerman* was one of the first. Bless his heart, but he had to have thought that I had deleted him. I think that is what everyone thought. I have had a few people come over to Twitter to ask me what the Hell was going on, and I just told them that I was taking a break. People have come into my workplace asking where my Facebook page is, and I cannot go anywhere in the vicinity of my hometown without people drilling me about Facebook. I was getting more questions about my Facebook page than I was about my life, daughter, family, etc. It is mind-blowing.

I am not taking a break.

My Facebook is gone. I value the non-electronic relationships that I have with people. If someone needs to talk to me, I'll be glad to meet him/her for lunch, coffee, beer, whatever. It is so important to me to have a life that is not advertised on my timeline or page. Sure there are snippets on Twitter and blog, but I am not as tempted to post every aspect of my existence. I want to see people and talk to people. Even texts and phone calls are preferable to lurking on someone's page without talking to them. It is so easy to think you know someone from reading their Facebook life story, and not bother to connect to that person further than that.

I crave interaction.

So there it is. That is why my Facebook is gone. Sure, I am working on my novel, my other writings, and my painting, but my art is not main reason. It has benefited from its demise, though.

*I cannot stalk the Gingerman now (not that I ever did). I am not his girlfriend, so I do not need to know everything he is doing or who he is talking to. He does not have a Twitter. We have privacy. Unless you count me staring into his window. Yeah.