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Valentine’s Day, Shmallon Times Day!

I am really not one of those people who really thinks about the holidays. They come and they go. Well,  I think about them,  but I don’t really DO anything on them.

Once upon a time, I thought every holiday was special and that everyone should always get little “happys” on each of the holidays.

Valentines, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Christmas etc.

NO,  it was not the overabundance of marketing geared toward gullible shmucks like myself.

It started when I was a kid and lived with my grandparents. Between my mom and my grandparents they made holidays special. It might have been decorations, or cookies, or a little gift of candy or even a gift basket filled with toys,  it could have been anything, big or small.

When I was super young, I knew enough to associate hearts and red with Valentine’s day, green and leprechauns with St. Pats and a bunny, eggs and a basket with Easter. Christmas was Santa and the manger set my grandparents put up every year with a paper star my grandpa made for the tree.

As I grew older I began to understand the meaning of the holidays. Christmas, of course being about Christ’s birth, not the baby doll I wanted. Hey… I was a kid and I was all about some presents. Sad…but true.

As I grew into adulthood I still thought these days were supposed to be special. BUT, I no longer lived with gram and gramps (they are now no longer living), my mom moved to another state, and I was all on my lonesome.

So, it became the boyfriends (pick a boyfriend any boyfriend) job. And NO,  I didn’t tell him,  HE SHOULD JUST KNOW! Surprisingly, said boyfriends where not as aware of these holiday traditions as I had hoped. So I had many a spoiled brat occasions (even if just in my head) thinking he was wrong and OBVIOUSLY didn’t like me or think about me because he didn’t know my lifelong need to be acknowledged on the holidays.

It also became apparent that I couldn’t actually afford to give every friend I had a gift bag on Valentines or an Easter basket every Easter. You see, even though I had my own delusions of needing to be recognized in some way on these various holiday’s, I thought everyone else should be too!

Let’s skip ahead to being married and ultimately divorced. Throughout a marriage a person hopefully learns a great deal, about themselves and life in general. Many don’t, but I think I was one of the lucky ones. I learned that just because I didn’t get roses, it didn’t mean he didn’t love me (sometimes bills come first).  I learned that an anniversary card made of macaroni is as priceless as a diamond. Well… I learned a lot of things, and frankly I am embarrassed by my behavior during some of the times these learning opportunities took place.

My whole point, is that the holidays aren’t about the stuff anymore. They mean something different to each of us. For me they are often just another day. Not because I am single and don’t have someone to share them with, but because those days are not the only days that are worth something.  

I don’t need Valentine’s day to know I am special or let someone else I care about know that they are.

SAID LIKE A TRUE SINGLE WOMEN WITH NO MAN!!! HA!

Happy Valentine’s day everybody!

My trip to the Gyneologist

Or is that Gynographer?

Oh yes, I got it right. The man was either mining for diamonds or digging to China. As it were, I think he only succeeded in making me feel like he was removing my uterus through my belly button or there abouts.

***Shudder***

Ya see, I have had some lady part issues and decided it was time to go see the doc. Now normally,  I see a female doctor who is the size of a peanut. You may ask what difference her size makes, and I will emphatically tell you “a great deal!”

SIZE MATTERS!!!

Going to the “lady parts” doctor is uncomfortable at best and as previously noted, “uterus through belly button” agonizingly painful at worst. It is embarrassing, and frankly, just downright unpleasant.

If you don’t know or have never been, there is a portion of your visit where the doctor does a physical exam with their hands to “feel” and make sure your lady parts are where they should be. More often than not, I have found during this time, that they are actually trying reach my sternum through my nether regions. All of the docs I have seen, insist they do no such thing, but I beg to differ.

Okay, so you can probably deduce why size is a factor. The bigger the doc, the bigger the hands. Men, as rule, have bigger hands. In the boudoir,  fingers the size of sausages might result in a pleasant transaction between two consenting adults. When those fingers are used as tools, or rather in my case, instruments of doom, then…well….hopefully you can see the reasoning I have for preferring a female doc.

Not to mention, a female doc would NEVER tell another female that “your just gonna feel a little cramping and a pinch” because she KNOWS that the biopsy she is about to perform hurts only second in pain to a limb amputation without anesthesia. She KNOWS.

On the other hand (no pun intended), a male doctor asks if you have a low pain threshold. SAY WHAT?

How is it that HE is trying to DIG a miniature replica of the Panama Canal inside my lady parts and I have a LOW pain threshold? Me thinks not!

In any case, let’s hope for the best!

side note: my doc was actually very nice with an excellent bedside manner, but I would be remiss if I did not say I  wanted to rips his face off during my biopsy.

I am at work right now and just about getting ready to leave for the day. A minute ago I got up and put some paper in the printer and then stepped over to the window to look outside.

I am on the second floor of my building and my windows look out over the branches of tree and across the street to an open space with construction materials and buildings.

That open space used to be the hospital I was born in. They imploded several years ago, but I still remember it’s presence. There actually used to be a walkway over the street from the hospital to my office building.

Anyway, that isn’t why I started this.

I looked out the window and I noticed a man walking down the sidewalk. He was tall, thin and barely clothed. It is freezing outside. He was wearing jeans a shirt and a light tan jacket with a ball cap on his head, carrying an umbrella that look like it had seen better days. He himself appeared unkempt. He had a pronounced limp. Not the kind of limp you would associate with an accident, but more the kind of limp that would make you think of a handicap person. I don’t know what that means really. I guess he looked as if he had special needs? Is that the politically correct way to say it?

Again, not my point.

My point is that watching him made heart hurt. He made me want to cry. For all I know he  had been working at the construction site across the street and forgot his heavy coat. He was probably walking to his car that was parked in the parking garage to the left of my building. But I don’t think so. I am warm, I have a coat, a car, a home, and he was limping down the street in barely a thing to go where? To eat what? To get warm how?

UGGGHHHH……and life has me down?

Operation Big Butt has turned into Shutyerjigger.

Yeah yeah …you heard me! I am working on it...I AM!!!

Where we work, we are offered a gym membership up the street at the University for FREE. That is correct…No charge, zero mula, FREE FREE FREE!!!

You know how many times I have gone recently? That would be NADA!

You know how much beer I have had, with the tasty salty goodness of cheese, chips, more cheese and then maybe a Gyro and a truck load full of Dolma?

Let’s just say I eat so much Dolma the Korean lady at the Kwik Check by my house (A Korean and Mediterranean eatery/7-11) has asked me twice now, if I am Greek or Mediterranean.

Well, Dolma being made of grape leaves and such isn’t the worst thing.

I hear tell, that it is actually the beer.

No I am not kidding. You thought it was a myth too? I am here to tell you first hand my friends, THAT is not the case.

Apparently, now this is all hearsay, lack of exercise contributes to it all. I KID YOU NOT!!! 

WOMEN can get a beer gut! No lie! And it ain’t sexy. NOPE, UH HUH, NO WAY, NO HOW.

SOOOOOO what started out as Operation Big Butt (because let’s face it, I do have a good sized boohonkus) will now be upgraded to Operation Ginormo!

That means *shudder*** no beer, no chips, (oh I am keeping the cheese), and more of the whole waking up at night with my legs stove up, my back feeling like I carried around a herd of spider monkeys all day and the rest of my body being extremely put out with the whole “now she’s 38, getting old, and NOW she decides to get in shape) Uh huh…..” thing I am about to put it through.

I do not like fruits. I do not like vegetables or beans, or legumes, or too many kinds of fish, or stew, or goulash or soup, or grilled things, or organic things, or really anything that is truly deemed good for you. Well, I like orange juice.

Anyway my point is, that I am one unhealthy ticking time bomb. That is so not bringin’ the hotness!! I may bring the hot sauce, but that is exactly my point!!

I don't know where I got this or how long I have had it, but I kept it, because every time I watch it, it makes me smile. Kids make me happy and I find that being around them seems to really recharge my emotional battery.

I am 38 now and single and while there is still a chance that I may have a child, my window of opportunity is not quite as open as it used to be. I am not lamenting merely stating fact. While it is no secret this year has not gone as pleasantly as I would like, I don’t want to add anymore coulda, woulda, shoulda’s to the mix.

In any case, I hope this video comes through. Turn your volume on! I hope it makes you smile like it does me!

Merry Happy Holiday!

I tried to send you all something sexy for Christmas this year but the mailman told me to get the stamp off  my ass and get the hell out of the mailbox!

Sorry maybe next year!

Have a great holiday!

I so wish I could just say it...........

I feel like writing some stuff. I reckon I can, but I would have to delete a big honkin amount of it.

Some people have told me to just write. Write what I feel, write what I am thinking.

It is just so happens for me, that one, some of the things I want to say are really not for other people’s ears, eyes, knowledge….and two, I write a blog already so I don’t much wanna write something twice or in two different formats. One for me and one for you (all nine of you).

I am not dating, but if I were, I couldn’t write about it here so I don’t hurt my ex (in case he or an ex in-law read it). He may not care, and it shouldn’t matter , but it does (to me).  I don’t wanna know what he is doing I can guarantee you that! Of course, I am dateless, but if I wasn’t, well… I wouldn’t.

I can’t write about my family, because I don’t want to get a “beat down” by inadvertently saying something about a family member that wasn’t my business to say. OR…OR hurt their feelings OR say what bugs me about them and then be forever an outcast. I don’t really think any of that would happen, but frankly, I don’t want my business told to the world by them. I tell everyone myself anyway. AND I for SURE would not relish knowing what bugs them about me. So again, no info to be had here.

I can’t write about my friends because I think I have pretty good ones and the people I would write about aren’t really my “friends” anyway and anything I would say would be pointless, unheard, and irrelevant to anyone other than me.

I certainly can’t write about politics because I don’t have a clue about them.

I don’t plan on writing about religion because I am not in the mood and there is no telling what kinda crazed “I’m going to hell” kinda back lash I would get for having a different view. You scoff, but some folks are CUCKOO!!

So then what do I write? I have lamented over my weight, hurts inflicted purposely and unknowingly by others. My own internal struggles, my mom’s illness, and my dad’s death. I have written about sorrow, confusion, loss, grief, gumption, awareness, loneliness and hope.

"Hey April why don't you write about being happy?" Happiness? Happiness you say? UHMMM that is why I read fiction.

Truth be told I am happyish, I do smile and have been told I jest on occasion.

I want to tell “so and so” they hurt my feelings
or that “other person” that they kinda weird me out.

I want to say shuh uhh that is SOOOO not what happened.
Or tell my friend I really don’t want to do that this year.

I want to talk about what I think, why I think it, and why I am right (okay that maybe pushing it)!! J

I feel crammed to capacity with thoughts and feelings and unlearned lessons.

Today, I will leave things as is.

Okay so Operation Big Butt got underway yesterday.

Today I can barely walk. Goodgoobleygoo what was I thinking. You know me. I am super outta shape. What in the samhilltarnation made me decide I could walk 17 flights of stairs. Holybejeezus!!!

Well I am a shape, it just happens to be round!! But, what I mean, is that I tend NOT to be the one who is always ordering steamed vegetables…unless that is the name of a new beer.

Anyway, yesterday my office mate and I decided at 10 and 2 every day we are going to put on our tennis shoes, get up and take a walk up the stairs, around the building, down the hall….ya know the word I am looking for…..ehhh….uhhh…oh yeah….EXCERSIZE!! ugh!!

So we did. I pipe up and say “hey, let’s take the stairs!” SAY WHAT?

Last night when I got home I felt fine. I took a shower, settled in, watched the tube, then went to bed. Nothing wrong with that. Then BAM…BAM…BAMM BAAAMMMMM my legs stove up. Yeah you know what that means. It means my legs muscles constricted and my calves felt like  they had been replaced with blocks of cement.

Only 868 days to go! Woooohoooo!!!

Okay,  I hope it doesn’t take that long but I am gonna do whatever it takes. OH YES I AM !!!

It is the damndest thing...

Grief, and loss and sorrow touch people in different ways and for me when it has come to death in the past, and even with my dad now, I have felt  “outside” of it. He is in a better place. Gram and Gramps are in a better place. I can talk to them all anytime I want.

I know all this, but today, for some reason, my dad’s lack of physical presence in this world is making my heart truly feel leaden and has my throat constricting almost to the point of panic.

I know I said I am okay. I AM okay…but today…for some reason….the sorrow I feel is almost palpable. I mean I feel consumed by it. Almost enraged. I feel trapped. I feel like I am being held down and refused freedom, all because I can’t pick up the phone and hear my dad’s voice. It’s suffocating, almost debilitating and it's useless.

Dad would sooooo not want that, but damn if I can seem to help it. I mean really….holy crap…it is a physical pain.

A blow to my midsection,  a scraping of my heart in my chest. A breath hard earned. Dramatic much?

I swear I never expected this…..

I know it gets better, not whining or asking for condolences or even any acknowledgement. I am just trying to verbalize what my sadness feels like today so maybe I can get the hell over it....

Gosh I wish I could change things for a time.

Cliff and I are no longer married,

My dad just passed away,

And now Neo, the cat Cliff got me for our first Anniversary, has cancer.

Crazy as it sounds, we had three cats together and they were our babies. Both of us are animal people. He took Neo with him when he moved to Florida in June of 09. I miss him and I miss Neo.

Cliff just found out Neo has cancer and I hate…HATE the fact that Cliff is about to lose him.

Yeah, I just lost my dad and I am sure people wonder how I can care about a cat and my ex, but I do.

I have two cats left. Freckle and Raisin Squirrel. I offered for Cliff to have Raisin and his dad is coming next week to pick him up. It feels like abandoning a child in some way. In my head I know he is a cat. Again, crazy or not, it hurts.

Raisin isn’t Neo, but at least Cliff will be able to care for and love Raisin and maybe his hurt will be lessened to some degree. I hope so.

I reckon it is time I write some more. Not sure what about it. This may just be a rambling hodgepodge of nonsense. I sometimes do that.

Lately, I have been trying to “be okay.” Actually, I am not really trying. I AM OK. I think folks are waiting for me to crack and go back in to my previous depression. I am not really sure what they think. Anytime someone dies, it always feels like there is a lot of love and caring and a lot of awkwardness. What do you say? How should I act? Do I acknowledge it?

Dunno…I think it is different every time with every person. For me…today…I am OK. I miss my dad like crazy. He and I were super close, I talked to him damn near everyday and everything funny, irreverent, or downright silly  I do, I can promise you I learned from him.

He gave me my sense of direction.

He taught me how to change the breaks on a car or pull out a radiator on an old 70 something Triumph  (although looking back… I think I was really just free labor)!

He drove me up to Jackson TN and taught me the words to the Casey Jones Ballad so we could sing for our desert (he also held me up when my knees wanted to give way from being nervous). He said we are never gonna see these people again so why not do it and have fun?

He sang old songs to me…all the time. Not just when I was a kid.

He told me funny jokes and jokes he thought were funny.

He called me Princess since I was small. Before all the princess stuff started selling in all the stores.

He took me to see the Snork’s on Ice.

He listened to me cry.

He hugged me every time I saw him.

He fixed my pilot light when his thumb was hurt and needed me to help, but I was too chicken and hid around the corner in case it blew up!

He danced with me.

My dad chose me.

He did or said or taught me so many things there will never be a day that I will be without him. How cool is that?