Alternative Sweating

I need to say this: It is ugly when two women have night sweats at the same time.

There. It's out there. I feel better.

Same-sex relationships can lead to various challenges of which "not-same-sex relationships" do not face. Case in point: two women having peri-menopause night sweats in the same bed at the same time does not happen to most "non-same-sex couples." Talk about a free water bed. Worse, the night sweats might happen on the same night but usually not at the exact same time. It kind of goes like this:

Me: [feeling the hate of hormones starting to burn within my body and radiating to the surface] "Oh my god, I'm on fire!"

The Wife: "You're radiating heat. GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Me: "I know--I can't stand it! I'm miserable." (Takes off all covers)

The Wife: [with much agitation] "STOP IT! You're uncovering me. I'm freezing!"

Several minutes pass. The flames subside, followed by a sudden chill, probably from the sweat freezing in the low temperature in our house. I get up, change my clothes (yes, it's that disgusting) and thankfully fall asleep.

A few hours pass. I wake up with a start. It's the wife. Her turn. She exclaims, "I can't stand it! I'm dripping with sweat!" followed by "mutter, mumble, mumble, mutter." Off fly the bed sheets, only this time on the other side of the bed.

If we're lucky, both of us burst into flames on any given night. If one of us is going to be miserable, we might as well both be at the same time.


I'm actually glad to be having night sweats because that signals hope that the end of this nonsense might be crawling my way. I like to think all the sweating as a free detox--all those toxins screaming out of the body like lava blowing out a volcano.
******************************
We've just about completed Week One of the hostage situation. I daresay it is going--unfortunately--just as  anticipated. I keep hoping to be wrong but the bus just keeps speeding toward the cliff. Despite this, I keep the faith. I believe every day brings clarity to those misguided fools who weren't willing to listen--those who were unable to digest/recognize/challenge the ridiculousness being set before them. Oh, I'm not talking about the White Supremacy folks--their hate-filled rhetoric and supportive ridiculousness isn't a surprise. I'm talking about the more uneducated-than-not, racist-despite-denying-it, poorer-than-not people who drank the kool-aid... you know, the ones who thought getting rid of ObamaCare was great because they'd still have the Affordable Care Act.

WTH? How did they miss the memo that THOSE TWO THINGS ARE EXACTLY THE SAME??????

Now, they are panicking. With that panic, I feel hope. Every panicking person has the capacity to come to their senses. The warm glow of last week's women's march burns inside my heart, which makes it even sweeter as the tides seemingly, slowly swing. It's painful slow and certainly sad that it had to come to ignorance leading the way but it is turning.

Or, maybe that burning in my heart is just a hot flash in the making. it's kinda hard to tell the difference these days.

I've been keeping track of the buzzwords from the week: Gas-lighting. 1984. Alternative facts. Conversion Therapy. (Dang, I thought we were past that era. Thanks, Pency-poo-poo-platter and Company.) Both fake news and real news are full of the buzz.

I really like the alternative facts thing. It gives all of us so much license, so much leeway, don't you think? We can be as asshole-ly and full of as much shit as we care to be. It's the new American way. You can lie, cheat, misinform, blame and avoid the truth by employing this new tenet. It makes for great Twitter fodder. It's sickeningly
obvious that the people who are in charge of our country are CRAZY...and, yet people of the great nation continue to ride the crazy train.

Seriously. Alternative Facts? Alternative facts are LIES, dumbf*cks!  Call it what your like. That is lying.

Watching the leader of our country drown in obsessive narcissism--consumed with that of which detracts from the work that needs to be done--borders on terrifying and certainly screams of being unfit to hold office. Who the hell cares how many people were in the inaugural audience? Does it matter about losing the popular vote if you won the electoral vote? Who answers a question and then denies answering the question, even when presented with film of the event?

Side note: Now, don't get your undies in a bundle because I used the word CRAZY. I mean no disrespect to those with mental illness. Those who know me know I am fully dedicated to working with the mentally ill. I mean it in the literal sense: THEY ARE CRAZY--deranged, of unsound mind, living in a world that makes absolute sense. It would be an insult to the mentally ill to put these nimrods in the same category. The mentally ill are not purposefully lying, are not gas-lighting, are not singling out populations, not consumed by the madness which leads to the phrase alternative facts. Yes, the mentally ill can be delusional. They can be psychotic. They can be diagnosed with personality disorders. But, this purposeful lying--this purposeful attempt at deceit? That's not mental illness.

That's disgusting.

Yes, strong words from a lowly blogger. I bet you wish I had stuck with writing about the night sweats. Perhaps this tirade is fueled by hormones. All kidding aside, I believe these strong words are fueled by reality, by being awake, by actually caring about the world instead of myself.

I won't stand around and not do anything. There are too many people sitting around just watching.

I have hormones, hear me roar.


***********************************************************************************************************************

Bigly, Terrific, Yuuuuge Marches

Marches. Marches everywhere. Democracy in action. No matter your stance, you have to admit that the show of democracy on January 21, 2017 was impressive.

I was at one of the smaller "March on Washington" satellite marches--only 75,000 persons in Madison. I think that calling a 75,000 persons march says something--the events across the nation were huge. Jaw-droppingly huge.  Yuuuuge! This photo does no justice to the scene that stood before me. The crowd filled the street, store-front to store-front, as far as I could see in front of me and behind me. No pushing. No shoving. Nothing but calm. I loved that so many men were there. I appreciated the diversity. I honor those stood up for what is right.

In other words, "The marches were terrific. Beautiful, terrific marches. No one has bigger marches. We're making marches great again. Non-Marchers? Sad." 

It was very empowering to take part in such a positive, powerful, peaceful show of democracy. I'm sure those busy making America Great Again found the marches hateful, full of looting, fighting, burning, misguided and stupid. Nothing I saw suggested one iota of this.  There was lots of love, support, kindred spirits. Not one thing transpired that could be construed as anything buy peaceful demonstration.

I look forward to hearing stories from friends who attended other marches. We know people who were in Washington D.C., Colorado, Chicago and Vegas. I'm sure we know people who were in Boston and L.A. too, but I can't substantiate that claim yet. (And, I don't make things up, like other parties of which are now in houses of white.)

I suppose it's scary for the bullies to know that so many people can organize so quickly. I know PLENTY of people are making fun of the marches. Not only are they spreading lies (or, as the new administration says, "alternate facts"), they continue the now-sanctioned bullying: "Poor snowflakes, go home and be sore losers somewhere else. Get over it. You lost. We didn't act this way when your [insert horrible word of choice here] candidate won."  

Perhaps I'll start responding to those sad people with this meme. Perhaps that will help refresh their memories.

Who am I kidding? The alternative facts assure all of us that this didn't happen. I'm sure these signs and these protests were only the far left's effort to make the right look bad or racist or hateful.



"Alternative Fact Tweets" are sure to say, "Small marches. Embarrassing for the misguided" or something like that. Hope Mr. Orange doesn't use the word "honor" in his tweets, as he keeps misspelling it, using "honer" in at least ten tweets. So much for that yuuuuge I.Q. It must not include spelling.

I must remain positive. I must remember that our diversity is bigger than their hate. I won't apologize for the comments above but I'll do my best to go high while the others go low.

The weather was kind of sucky but that didn't dampen the spirits. Chicago had sunshine--we had fog, hazy drizzle and low-hanging clouds. It was the kind of weather that those of us who wear glasses hate--spitty rain plays havoc with glasses. I think it was 42 degrees, which really isn't bad, considering it's January. The only time I was even remotely cold was when were standing in mud. Thank god I had my hiking boots on. Those in gym shoes did not survive as well. This photo doesn't do justice to the magnitude of the mud, but you get the idea.

Some marches never got to the mud because there was no way they could even get close to the mud--they were "stuck" in the streets. I felt a wee bit bad for those in the way back, because technically they were supposed to be the "front" of the march. Everything got befuckled and thus the parade started from what was supposed to be the back. Since we were in the middle, it worked out for us, although I think we could have done without the mud.

There were some pretty funny signs at our march, some of which I would never share here--I have one or two scruples left. There were numerous women dressed as "lady parts," which certainly caught attention. I only saw one lady without her top on (which was mighty impressive, considering the weather in Madison during the march). Many signs focused on love, inclusion, diversity, women's rights. Of course, there were some not-so-flattering signs dedicated to our nation's "leader." I won't share those, either. But, I will chuckle when thinking of them.

To sum it up, I say to the believers of Alternative Facts: Bitches get shit done. You have been warned.

Orange March

Oh my goodness, I almost forget about you! I've been busy designing power points for my new very-part time gig as....

...a professor!

Yes, you can now me Professor Addi WP. I've dreamed of this day and now it is here. I'm super-excited about my debut next week. Please pray to the Gods of Higher Education that all goes well as I try out this new adventure.

Today, a rainy-icy-yucky Monday, I asked a co-work how he was doing. Usually, you'd expect a, "I'm fine" kind of answer. Well, not today. He looked at me, brows furled, and said, "I'm dreading Friday."

This gave me pause. Friday? I'm working on Monday and he's already at the end of the week. I inquired what was going on Friday that had him distracted.

"The Inauguration!" he exclaimed.

I felt pretty embarrassed, not realizing that. Perhaps that sums up how I feel about the event. I've made it a non-event in the Addiverse. I won't be watching TV. I won't be perusing social media. I'll be busy doing happy things like scrubbing the dead skin off my heels.

After apologizing for not realizing the inauguration was on Friday, I told him I wouldn't be watching that debacle. We had a little chit chat about what is going on in our corner of the world and then went on our merry ways. (This is the poor guy who put a sign on his door the day after the election that indicated not to disturb him as he was experiencing "post election trauma disorder." He was understandably a hot mess as he is a very political guy and not exactly a supportive of the great orange one.) 

Besides my dead-skinned heels, I've been distracted by efforts to see the World Series trophy in person. I can scratch that off my bucket list, as I was able to do that last weekend. Yes, I had to stand outside in single digit weather for three hours and yes, I had to stand about two hours in a line inside before I was able to weasel my way to the trophy, but I made it. Got my eight seconds with the trophy. Got my picture with the trophy. Bam! Bucklet list success.

In addition, I've been distracted by professional football. I am almost mortified when typing that, as real life should probably trump (pun intended) football. Tell the wife that. She lives for the green and gold. Yesterday's game was very traumatic. I wasn't sure she was going to live--pacing, yelling, bending over, fretting.... thank goodness a last minute kick saved the day and the game. I think football is an awesome distraction. I'm not going to let some cheeto ruin my enjoyment.

Although Friday is "dead to me," I am looking forward to this weekend as I'm taking part in one of the "Women's March on Washington" satellite sites in a town nearer than D.C. It should be a pretty big gathering, so that will be inspiring and reassuring. I'm going with some wonderful young ladies, which will make the event all the more better. I'm super-excited for Three Hawk and Argo, as they are heading east and actually going to the march in Washington D.C. I can't wait to hear about their adventures.

The good thing about marching is that it is a way to take action. It's a much bigger call to action than my FB feed efforts to ensure only happy, positive, supportive, rallying posts now show up. I blocked all the haters. I have no time for the haters. Guess I got tired of being called a snowflake, a sore loser, a purveyor of participation awards. I'm sorry those people won't get to see my March photos. I'm sad they won't get a chance to write stupid things.

Oh wait--I'm not sad at all.

if they were still my friends, I would tell them I march for my cousin of Mexican descent. I march for my friends who are other than white. I march for all women, here and around the world. I march for equality, solidarity and love. I march to support reproductive rights and access to healthcare. I march because I have white priviledge and if I don't march, who will?


Well, I do love a good gathering of wild women. That's a great reason to march. It's been a decade or more since I did something of this nature. Bring on the wild women!

You probably won't hear from me before the Friday event of which I won't be watching, so if you are planning to watch it, god love ya and good luck. Life is short. Friday will bring me ice cream, free time with the wife, talk of the Packers, thoughs of all positive. And yes, I will scrub my heels. I wouldn't kid about something serious like that. I think my Friday is going to be just fine, thank you very much.

I've got a few chin hairs that need attention. I think that's a perfect distraction for Friday and a great way to prepare for the march. I gotta look good. What if I'm the nightly national news?

For the record, I will not be wearing the color Orange. Just saying.

As for the wife, she'll be at home. She's not marching nor will she be wearing orange. She'll be busy praying to the football gods. In her honor, I say, Go Pack, Go. A Packer win will cure anything that ails her, even a Friday inauguration. I know she will be with me in spirit but her actual being will be on the Internet, reviewing stats and watching soundbites.

Good luck Argo and Three Hawk. May your D.C. march be amazing.

Of Mice and Tweets

Exciting news from the staycation. I'm sitting at the local Honda dealer, waiting for them to replace my "puffer," as I call it. You probably know it as an air bag. Now, if sitting at a car dealer isn't fun, I don't know what is. Even better--they are remodeling the dealership and thus I can't even hear my typing. I'm sure the showroom will look amazing but at this point it looks like smoke and sawdust. It's just like being on a tropic beach. Only not.

I'm sitting here with an s elderly gentleman who is being sold services by the service department. I want to scream "DON'T DO IT!" but bite my tongue. Forget the transmission nonsense! Don't let them do those "will eventually need" services. I agree (in my head, of course--besides, he couldn't hear me over the ruckus of the remodeling), he has to get a new air filter because a mouse ate through the current one. At least I can see that (you haven't lived until you've seen an air filter chewed by a mouse) and it is obvious what the problem is. Interestingly enough (to me, probably not you), the guy had brought his car in because of a smell. Turns out it was a rotting mouse. This makes my stay in the waiting room much more entertaining. At least I only need a puffer. He's got a dead mouse rotting somewhere in his car.

Early last summer, I received a recall warning from the car company. Not only did the notice tell me to not have people ride in the passenger side until it was replaced, it noted that I would get another notice when it was time to go get the new, safer puffer. Next thing I know it's December and they haven't alerted me of anything. I've given up on keeping people from riding in the passenger seat (I live on the edge) and I come to the conclusion they are not going to contact me. I call them at the end of the year to inquire of this issue. Result? Here I am, sitting in the waiting room, hoping the installation of a new puffer doesn't take longer than an hour.

I was going to charge my phone using the complimentary phone charging station, but every time I plug it in, the TV goes off. No kidding. I tried a few of the various ports, but every time--bam! Charging on, TV off. Since mouse man is sitting in the same area, I give up and give him the opportunity to watch the news.

Fox News. Perhaps I should plug my phone back in. I'm not exactly sure I can take an hour or more of Fox News.

Usually, my staycations are pretty impressive, quite relaxing and very enjoyable. This one has been a workout of avoiding work. The world of technology has ruined staycations. Actually, I think technology has been the scruge of many a vacation. Unless you are on a remote island with no cell phone reception and no internet access, you are available. I use my personal cell as my work phone--don't ask, it is what it is. Well, my phone has been blowing up, both with calls and texts. It is not like I am a high-ranking official in the company, but you'd think I was the CEO with all the calls and texts. I've checked my emails several times--mainly because I don't want to answer my calls and texts and know that there are going to be emails explaining why people are calling me. This, of course, means I am reading work emails when not at work, which means I am techincally working when I am supposed to be taking time off of work.

This is mine to own. No one said I had to read my emails. But, it appears I have information of which no one else has and thus people are looking for me. I mean, the director HR and the director of services have contacted me, so it's not like people are just asking me stupid questions. I have decided that when we go on vacation this summer, I will not be reading ANY emails and I will figure out a way to block work calls. I'd turn off my phone but need to be able to get calls and texts from family and friends. It's not a vacation if you're working during vacation. All it's done is irritate me, which is the exact opposite of what should happen during a vacation from work.

Back to the car dealership. Since the showroom is full of dust and dirt--no cars to be seen--I can't escape and go car window shopping. Since it is 5 below zero outside (and that's without the wind chill), I am certainly not going to go outside and look at cars. OH.MY.GOD. Fox News is babbling about Hillary and her emails, followed by Eddie Munster babbling as the Head House Guy. I'm going to plug in my phone and I'm gonna tell that guy Fox News is eating my brain, like the mouse was eating his air filter. Now, one of those "animals in torture" ASPCA commercials is on and I can't change the channel, as he's holding the remote. Now I am listening to how using Twitter by the President Elect is wonderful. It works. They see it as "a transparent effort" that the President is able to communicate directly communicate with his people. "It's effective."

Oh, it's effective. It gets attention. It's as effective as inserting a mouse into my brain.

As long-time readers know, my car "screams" when started. I can't wait for them to fire up "Terry" (for Pterodactyl) and thus try to sell me all sorts of things to stop the scream. Little do they know, I like the scream. I am aware of the scream. I've had the scream looked at by my personal mechanic. My car runs just fine despite the scream.

Maybe I should look surprised when they mention it and claim that has NEVER happened before, bellowing loudly, "What have you done to my car?"

No. You know what I'm going to say? I'm gonna open my eyes big as saucers. I'm then going to exclaim, "Oh my god! That guy's mouse must've gotten into my engine! Get that guy's mouse out of my car!!!!"

I will then throw myself on the floor and roll in the sawdust. I can tweet about it when I get off the floor. Can't you imagine the hashtags?
#CarMiceLoveCheetos
#PufferPaws
#FoxMiceScreams
#DeadMiceTellNoTales



Yes. I'm blaming the mouse. This mouse has redeemed my staycation, Thank you, dead mouse. Thank you.
Fox News, read my tweets.
All mice, fear my car.
Co-workers, figure it out.
Pterodactyl, keep on screaming.
Puffer, no puffing without clear puffing need.
Sawdust, be my sand.
#StaycationBlogging, be my friend.

In car dealerships we trust. 

Plates to Passport

Since we're heading into a new era, I thought It'd be a fine time to renew my passport. One never knows when a passport will be needed. Besides, what if the wife had purchased surprise-to-me tickets for an all-inclusive vacation in some other country and I couldn't go because my passport was expired? I'd be morose and she'd be going with some other lucky grrrrrrl.

These days, you can take your own passport photo and include it with the application, which saves you about $15.00. That's good enough for me. So, I read all the rule (there are a LOT of rules about a passport photo, including how you do NOT wear glasses in your passport photo) and started the serious mission of taking a selfie without my glasses on. Seeing (pun intended) as I am basically blind without glasses, this turned into quite an entertaining endeavor. I took photos of the wall, half of me, my neck, me looking cross-eyed trying to figure out where to look. Not exactly a raging success. The wife tried to help me when she got home but the shadows were problematic--which was in itself problematic because passport photos cannot include shadows. Suffice it to say, I ended up going to the local pharmacy which features passport-photo services for $12.99.

It was worth every penny.

As for the photo, well.... it's weird to see myself without glasses. Oh, I've worn contacts before so that's not what I'm talking about. It's that I haven't seen myself without glasses since the 1990's. I looked a lot different in the 90's. Like A LOT YOUNGER. When younger, I looked...well, younger. With my glasses, wrinkles, bags, sags and nose size are given the opportunity to hide or be camouflaged. Let's face it: I look a hell of a lot better when sporting spectacles. I'll have to remember that when contemplating a return to contacts or having eye surgery. My brain best tell itself: KEEP THE GLASSES.

BIG NEWS! The birds are now flocking to the heated water bowl, albeit not exactly to the actual water bowl. Thanks to Argo, a new system has been devised: the terra cotta plate (the one the birds LOVE) has been placed on top of the heated water bowl... ever since, the birds have been flocking (another pun intended) to the dish, slurping up water like they've been parched in the desert for years. Even the squirrels are back taking slugs of water. The water on the plate has yet to freeze, so the system is working handsomely.

It's kinda hard to see what's going on but here's what the successful system looks like. There was a bird taking a drink when I set off to take the photo but my arrival scared it away. Sigh.

The best part? I put the rock the wife gave me right next to the bowl. The birds land on the rock, hop onto the dish and take a slurp. It's delightful! The wife is still not pleased with how obsessed I am about the bird bath-for-the-winter but I know she is secretly enjoying the opportunity to see the birds up close and that she is smitten I'm using the rock she provided. She can pretend to be irritated but I know she's okay with the set-up. I saw her smile.

As for the final moments of my Christmas shopping (it's never over until it's over), I decided to use the money my parents gave me for something that will give all year long.
...Something that will go with me when I venture out into the world.
...Something I can share with those around me, strangers and friends alike.
...Something that others will enjoy just as much as I will.
...Something unique and individualized yet a part of the whole.
...something that will give for years and years to come.

What is this fantastic gift, you ask?

Why, it's personalized Chicago Cubs license plates!!!!! Genius, if you ask me. I know they will take a few months to get here, so it's an even better gift--a Christmas gift in February! I'm super-excited about this. It truly is the gift that will keep on giving. Thanks, Taco Juan and Wild mama!

I know I already wished you a Happy New Year, but you can never hear that enough, so I'll wish you a Happy New Year again. This year sure has been one weird ride but at least there was never a dull moment. I know 2017 will be quite the adventure. I'm glad we'll be on the adventure together. Goodness knows where we'll end up. I'll have my passport, so I'll be ready to go when opportunity calls. Just know I'll have my glasses on so I can see what's happening in 2017.

To all of us: may we stay classy, sassy and a bit bad assy. Happy New Year, indeed.

Lesson Learned

As we close the holiday season, I thought I'd consider the lessons I learned over the past year. Before I do so, I am pleased to say I did not swear, yell, growl, kick, bite, punch, slap or run over anyone with my car during the Christmas Eve gathering. There was a moment in which I had to hold my tongue (to the point I gave myself a headache) but otherwise, we escaped relatively unscathed and without having to endure one word of political stupidity spewing from anyone's anus. I have promised the wife I am moving on, so I shall speak no more of that day or of the holidays in general.

I can't say 2016 was my favorite year on the planet but who can complain when the sun still rises, the world keeps spinning and the chocolate keeps flowing? I learned much during the past 365 days (well, technically the past 360 days--there are five days until the new year).

Lesson #1: Sugar actually does affect on my body. I hate to admit this one but I can't avoid the obvious. As you dedicated readers know, I gave up all sugar for two weeks in December. I honestly didn't notice much of anything besides that habits are hard to break. Now that I am back to shoveling sugar into my body, I've noticed.....

....sugar makes me not poop. 

That just pisses me off. How I didn't notice the "easy pooping on a daily basis" when not eating sugar, I do not know. But, it's hard to ignore "Day Four of the Hostage Poop Situation." The more sugar I eat, the less I poop. Lesson learned.

Lesson #2: It's okay to use a rubber band to close your pants when said pants will not button. I was surprised to learn I wasn't as creative as I thought I was, closing my new pants with a rubber band. Many a pregnant women already knew this. Since I've never been pregnant, I wouldn't have considered this. I was alerted by other women that there is a "device" (I have no better word for it) that is actually designed to expand your buttoning abilities. This is great news, considering how much I love my new pants but am unable to wear them due to the pooching of the pooch.

Lesson #3: Birds do NOT like "deep" water dishes. This is one I don't think I've written about. In the fall, I decided to get a heated bird bath/water dish for the birds. That way, they'd have water all winter and I'd be able to watch them as they perched on the porch. They love the little terra cotta plate I have on the deck, but the water quickly freezes. So, being the frugal minded woman that I am, I read a bazillion Amazon reviews and decided to go with a heated water dish (you know, the kind usually used for outside dogs). It got rave reviews, only uses 25 watts and keeps things warm at least down to zero degrees. Good news--the thing has kept the water liquid through the duration. Bad news--not one bird has taken a drink out of it. They still go to the little terra cotta plate, even when it's frozen solid. I've been upset by this whole ordeal, wondering why on earth the birds aren't using the heated bowl. The wife, sensing my disdain, went to a bird store and inquired about this. The bird lady suggested that the birds don't like it because it's too deep and they can't see the bottom. Makes sense to me. So the wife got me a rock and placed it in the water dish, just like the lady suggested.

Guess how many birds have taken a drink from my "rock in a bowl" unfrozen water system? 

ZERO.

Even the squirrels aren't taking advantage of my generosity. Earl, Pearl and Murl Squirrels are on my shit list.

This water dish failure has me obsessed. The wife, realizing the intensity of my obsession, even went out and got me a rock for the bowl. She purchased a rock! I'm being considerate to the birds and I am giving them something they need. Thinking maybe they don't like electricity, I unplugged the bowl and put it next to the terra cotta plate. Damn birds all chose the terra cotta plate. Maybe they don't like the color green. Maybe they are thinking, "we're birds, not dogs." Maybe they like terra cotta better than cold plastic. Suffice it to say, if you need an electric water bowl for your dog, give me a holler.

Lesson #4: You CAN do all your Christmas shopping without ever leaving the couch. I've decided that I am in love with Amazon Prime. Not only can I do all my shopping from the couch, it will be at my door in two days. It's not that I'm a Scrooge. It's that when it comes to shopping I'm lazy, I'm a creature of convenience and I like the opportunity to read reviews before making actual purchases.

Lesson #5: Do NOT order Christmas presents from international sellers unless you realize you are purchasing said gift(s) from international sellers. I'm still waiting for the arrival of a phone case for my niece. Why am I waiting? BECAUSE I ORDERED IT FROM TURKEY. As you can imagine, getting something from Turkey is going to take time, not only because of the proximity, but also because there are more important things going on in that region that quick mailing of a phone case. I'm usually very, very good about this. I'm always bitching at the wife to only buy things from the U.S., to check the country of origin, read the details, blah blah blah. I've skipped many a purchase due to its location. Well, in my moment of benevolence, I decided that buying some presents via Etsy would be a nice way to support artists. Once ordered and paid for, I realized....this thing is in Turkey. The country, not the bird.

It has yet to arrive. The wife is convinced it is never going to arrive but I have faith. Until it arrives, I will honor my mantra: Amazon Prime. Amazon Prime. Amazon Prime.

Lesson #6: The unexpected, unexplainable, unfathomable can happen. Two words: Donald Trump. 'Nuf said.

Lesson #6.5: The unexpected, unexplainable, unfathomable can happen more than once in a year. At 54 years old, I still get my period EVERY.SINGLE.MONTH. That's cold. It could at least skip a month or two here or there. This may be too much information to you, but I want you to feel my pain, so too bad. I've got the pooch. I've got the gravity-strained skin. I've got the cheesy wiblets. The least my ovaries could do is honor those changes. I hear that I will stop this madness when I am 55 years old. It better not be when I'm 55 years, 11 months old.

Lesson # 7: Hell does not have to freeze over when the Cubs win the World Series. That's the best lesson of them all because it means the Cubs had to win the World Series in order to learn this lesson.

I think that's enough lessons for now. I have so many more lessons learned but I've got to get preparing for 2017, so I stop here. I predict an amazing year in 2017. Better yet: I'm going to create a better year. I'm starting with the March on Madison and working my nasty way from there. And, I predict that a phone case from Turkey will arrive sometime before Christmas 2017. If that's not enough to make a great year, I know not what else to say.


Happy New Year, dearest people. Happy New year!

Chirp Chirp

The president-elect tweets all hours of the day and night and people seem to be smitten with that mode of communication. I'm not a Tweeter, but maybe it's time to start. Of course, I won't be tweeting at 3 AM--I will be asleep, like most "normal" human beings who have day time jobs.
I also won't be tweeting about nuclear arms, but that's just me.

I have an idea. If the media would stop re-posting and reporting on his tweets, no one would give a shit and the madness might stop. Just stop fueling the fire. Look where it's gotten us. The more you report, the more you fuel the nuclear, bigoted, warped fire. If nothing else, not posting the posts would give me the chance to not hear about it.
I'm
Western Civilization is crumbling, 140 characters at a time. 

I've done a good job of not watching/reading/digesting/googling the news, but info like this sneaks in while I'm awaiting the weather report. Dang it! I miss the days where I'd look out the window to see what the weather was doing.

Well, boys and girls, moms and dads: the time has come. In exactly twenty four hours, I either get in the car or don't get in the car. Christmas Eve has swooped down upon us and with that I must decide if I can muster the strength to face that of which I will have to face if I do indeed travel to the north. The thought of attending "Thanksgiving, Part II" makes me nauseous. I was praying for a blizzard but that does not appear to be in the weather cards. Since the gathering is three hours north, I can't exactly walk home from there. So, if I get in that car and head to the Cheddarlands, I'll have to suck it up and deal with whatever is dealt.

Maybe I can tweet about it.

I can and will suck it up as best possible, but there will come a point where there is no turning back. Santa, I ask: How long can I behave if things get stupid? How long can I keep my mouth shut if the hateful rhetoric starts pouring out? How much will my tongue have to bleed before I start spewing facts in their face--vomiting all over their ridiculous, Fox-fueled, uneducated, bigoted untruths?
  
Baby Jesus, swaddled and cooing, how long can I keep from throwing the racist teapot at someone's teapot-warped head? 

Rudolph, you know I've always been very respectful. I've been respectful even in the face of hate. I've been so, so respectful. I hope you took note of this over the years when you and your red nose flew into town. I've smiled and nodded and remained silent. (Okay, so my face gives me away. But, my mouth is shut. That has to count for something. At least for a few reindeer poops instead of coal.)

Baby Jesus: please don't abandon me if I am faced with that of which I dare not focus. Please help me hold my composure if any of the following statements/words are spewed:

"Killary." Anyone who uses this word will be promptly challenged, face-to-face. I fear a Christmas stocking might come flying off the mantle during the retort....

"Crooked Hillary." See above.

"You're not going to lose anything" (in regards to being gay). I will hold up a photo of Mike Pence and read about his history of hateful attacks on the gays. Nope, I can't let this one go. I let it go at Thanksgiving, but not this time. They'll be cowering behind the Christmas tree if they say anything like this. Baby Jesus, give me strength on this one. Back me up when I start yelling about the people you hung out with, served, helped, embraced. I'm sure are a champion of the queers along with the poor, the disenfranchised, the ill, the pained.

"There is no white priviledge (part I)." Santa, I may have to go in the bathroom and scream retorts while flushing the toilet so they can't fully hear me. I was respecful when they voiced hateful dribble about that Black, Muslim, Non-American president. I think the well has run dry. I have to remember that I am going to be where the baby Jesus is 100% white and is certainly not from anywhere near where all those murder-consumed Muslims are from. (Isn't Jesus from New Jersey? I can't remember.) This view of the Baby Jesus will test the little bit of sanity I left. Jesus, Mary and Joseph--leave that stable and help me be stable, instead!

"There is no white priviledge (part II)." In this holiday dinner crowd, money is a plus and certainly revered.... so, I'll have to focus on the white male part of the bazillionaires instead of the bazillionaires. Santa, drain that swamp! Fill my stocking with white rich people! If anyone brings up Ben Carson, I will call out to the baby Jesus and the cattle will start lowing from deep in my thoat. I will seek divine intervention so I don't slap them. This might require three Wise Men as well as that guy in red and that baby in a manger.

Wow! I feel better already. This blogging business sure is cathartic! Seriously. I feel so much better. I might be able to make it though the gathering without a scar, a fight or an arrest.

I'll take photos. I may take videos. I'll tweet. I'll post. I'll focus on what can be instead of what I don't want.

I can do this. 

YES.I.CAN!

I can, I can, I can!

Merry Christmas, persons of the Addiverse. Merry Christmas. May your have 140 characters of only positive thoughts this holiday.

HoHoHo CoCoCo

So, this no-sugar thing. Hear that screaming? That's the button holding my pants shut.

I am glad I am only hours from the finish line. All this substitute-eating and too much shopping on line is problematic. I can eat and shop without ever leaving the couch. While this is perfect for the chilly, snowy weather we are enjoying, it is not perfect for maintaining a girlish figure.

This morning, I thought it best to weigh myself. After all, it's good to know your enemy. I went to the scale.... and, it was gone. How does a scale disappear?

I gave a call out to the wife: "Where's the scale?"

She replied, "I hid it."

No wonder I love her.

I took this as a sign from the Universe that weighing myself was a bad idea. I abandoned this effort and went back to on line shopping....with a snack in hand.

This year, I did zero shopping other than on line. Genius, convenient, wonderful. No crowds. No parking lot incidents. No having to change out of pajamas (although, that's not always a necessity when shopping), no digging through piles to find the right size. The wife rightly recognizes that soon she won't be able to ever get me to go shopping. What is the point?

Come to think of it, I did go to one store for a gift.... but, the gift was for me. Does that count as shopping?

I did experience a potential tragedy today when I locked myself out of my bank account. This is not the time of year to do such a thing. Thankfully, the bank man was very helpful and got me back on track in no time. How did I do this? I changed all my money-related passwords last week.  You know, credit cards, banks, money market stuff. Well, I didn't exactly remember the password correctly and after so many times, they say NO MORE.

My passwords are relatively complicated. I would venture I have 100 different ones, all stored in my little brain. I'd write them down but then they aren't very safe, are they? I think the bank guy got it right when he noted my passwords were so secure that even I couldn't crack them.

It's time to finish my shopping, so I'm off to the couch. At least the wife needs to do some shopping, too. Today is free shipping Friday, so there is no time to waste....

Just a few more hours. A few more hours until shopping is done and sugar is back on.  I've done well but I have had enough. So much chocolate, all waiting for my return. Be patient, my little molecules of chocolate. I'm on my way.


Ho ho ho. Co-co-co. I'm starting with vat of cocoa and a bag of Dove, please.

Seven Day Sugar Shuffle

Day Seven. I've made it to Day Seven, unscathed. (If you don't know what I'm counting, read the previous blog first and then come back to this entry.)

I'm surprised and disappointed to say I don't feel any differently not eating sugar than when I am eating sugar. I was hoping for something--anything in the "how I feel" department. Perhaps an epiphany. Perhaps feeling so much better, with my face glowing and my soul soaring. Sorry to say, I'm no more or less energetic. I'm no better or worse in relation to clear thinking. I'm not pooping more or less. I have no more or less sinus headaches. My moods don't seem to fluctuate any less. It's all the same.....

....well, besides the blood-curdling craving I experience upon waking and right after dinner, but that is brain-washed habit-related, not a physical need. I still haven't gotten past the daily pattern. That takes time. It is suggested it takes 21 days to change a habit. Since I'm only aiming for 14 days, we may never know. I suppose I could carry this through the extra week, but I'm taking this one day at a time, so you'll just have to wait and see.

Here's a hint: Christmas falls in that third week, days 15-21. I'm NOT avoiding sugar on the holidays. I may be dumb but I'm not stupid.

I see why people gain weight when trying to quit smoking. I am destined to gain weight during these two weeks, as I find myself substituting the morning chocolate with other food products. My substitutions might be considered healthier options but the majority of choices have more calories than those small blobs of chocolate I soothe my soul with in the morning. More calories = more weight. What kind of madness is this? Am I the only person on the planet who can give up gluten and give up sugar and still gain weight? Sigh.

I did have one mishap during the first week. Honesty is the best policy, so here is my confession. Day Five found me at a local, most favorite fast food establishment. I thought it might be hard to go there as they have my favorite shakes and delicious gluten-free brownies. Since I was going with four other people, I figured my support team would keep me distracted. They kept me so distracted that I didn't notice until much later than I had eaten the little Andes mint the worker put on everyone's tray.

I am eating my meal, chatting and laughing all the way. I was doing fine without my shake and brownie. I'm enjoying the company. As I'm eating, I look down and see....

....AN EMPTY ANDES MINT WRAPPER!!!!!!

I cannot tell you when I ate it. It was so automatic--I ate it and didn't even notice. (Note to self: If you are going to fall off the wagon, pay attention and at least enjoy it.) I was mortified. MORTIFIED!

At first, I thought someone was playing a joke on me. But, everyone else still had their untouched mint on their trays. I was truly upset. As I lamented, my support team was of no help. One of them actually said,

"Here, take my mint. Might as well eat more since you already ate one." 

He's lucky I didn't bite him.  And, no--I DID NOT eat the mint he offered.


I was almost inconsolable--distraught as can be. How I ate something without knowing most clearly demonstrates that I am not present when eating, to the point I am not aware of what I'm eating. I consoled myself by the learning opportunity to pay attention when eating. Savor every bite. Taste the food. For Pete's sake, at least LOOK at what I'm shoving into this pie hole of mine. (Truth be told... I'm not sure if I was more upset because I ate a morsel of sugar of if I missed the potential deliciousness of the act.) Thankfully, the minor mishap didn't lead to cravings. It didn't lead to any change in my being. It was easy enough to move on and crawl toward Day 14.

The wife isn't much better. Last night when I mentioned how much I would enjoy a piece of chocolate, she told me--in a most serious manner--to eat one. Her rationale was that it didn't really "matter." What kind of hateful nonsense is that? I barked at her, scowling at her most blatant enabling, un-supportive dribble. She's lucky I didn't bite her, either.

Day Seven started the same way every day of the no-sugar experience has started: with a desire for chocolate. Not a need--a desire, definitely out of habit. A strong desire, yes. I'm sure Day Seven will end the same way, too: wanting chocolate or ice cream or sugar-filled cereal after dinner is a habit. If I had to vote, I think evenings are worse. In the morning, I'm distracted by lots of things and so can keep my mind busy. It's easy enough to change my morning routine, which helps. After dinner is low key, nothing pressing, no routine to change.

I haven't heard from my client, the 14-day liquid diet grrrl, since Day Five. I'll talk to her tomorrow, to see how she survived the weekend. I know she was miserable beyond compare on Day Five. I'm guessing Days Six and Seven aren't much better. I've got it much, much, much easier than her. I couldn't go 14 days without solid food. Besides, my 14 day effort is elective. Her liquid diet is not elective. That's pressure.

Maybe would should both take up smoking. I'm all for replacing one habit with another. Smoking's gotta be healthier than sugar.... right?

Heh heh. Bring it, Day 8-14. Promise me you'll save me some of those Christmas Cookies for when I come back to my senses.
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Sugar Sugar

Day Four of Fourteen. Ten more days to go. Ten long, ugly, blood-curdling days to go.....

One of my clients is preparing for surgery, which includes a mandatory two week liquid diet. I thought that sounded absolutely horrible, almost impossible, certainly miserable. (I did not say this aloud. I'm an unempathetic counselor, not a cruel one.) As she spoke, I thought about how we could best support her. She has come so far--I figured there must be something we can "do" to show her we are behind her effort.

While sitting with her, I pondered aloud my musings. Suddenly, in a moment of weakness? Glory? Stupidity? Psychosis? I blurted out, "You know what? In solidarity, I'll give up sugar during your liquid diet!"

Those of you who know me grasp the severity of my sugar addiction, so for me to say something as incredible as that means something. It is the ultimate sacrifice in the Addiverse. You're talking about a person who puts a piece of dark chocolate in her mouth immediately upon waking, someone who runs on sugar. This would be the ultimate show of support. 

Thankfully, the client knows of my pathetic sugar addiction. Her eyes got wide. "You'd do that?" she asked, most definitely incredulous.

"Yup." I replied, sounding much more confident than my insides actually felt.

I didn't tell the wife of my plan; in fact, I didn't really tell anyone except the client and her case manager. I figured life would go on, I'd live through the fourteen days and no one would be the wiser. I figured this was between me and her. Fourteen days without solid food sounded a hell of a lot worse than sacrificing some sugary products.

Oh dear, dear, dear. It is only Day Four and I'm ready to chew the arms off every chocolate Santa on the planet, pour powdered sugar over my head and  swim in a sea of candy canes. I don't even like candy canes.

For the record, it is a really stupid time of year to be a sugar-free, gluten-free vegetarian. At least I still have caffeine at my disposal.

Had I just said "chocolate," that would at least have been easier. I would have been miserable but at least you can see chocolate. Sugar--damned substance that it is, is in everything. EVERYTHING. It's a real pain in the ass.

It is impossible to avoid sugar, so I had to go with the rule "No obvious sugar." This means no products such as candy canes, peppermints, candy bars, caramels, ice cream, cookies, pies, muffins and sugary cereal (you know, like Chocolate Chex). Protein bars also made the no-go list, as the ones I eat have more sugar in them than actual candy bars. (Hey, they are gluten free and vegan and full of protein--a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.) No adding sugar to products.

Day One was okay. The biggest problem I had was remembering what I was trying not to eat. I had to put a lot of thought into my food intake. My intake of chocolate is automatic. Get out of bed; eat a chocolate. Enter my office; eat a chocolate. Leave my office; eat a chocolate. Get home from work; eat a chocolate. After dinner, eat ice cream and a chocolate. It's like smoking--chocolate is a habit. Midday, I realized I didn't have any snacks without sugar. Being a snacker, I knew this would equate to failure, so I ran to the store and grabbed some mixed nuts, blue tortilla chips and a bag of gluten free pretzels (which I'm sure just turns to sugar once in the body, but I can't go that far in this sacrifice). The day time was relatively easy. it was the evening that brought me grief. I never realized what a habit sugar is--after dinner was definitely ugly. I was uncomfortable, but it was the thought, not a physical craving, that was problematic.

Day Two was about the same as Day One, only longer. I became even more aware of my addiction. I also became increasingly aware of how sugar really is in everything.

Day Three was ugly. I remember little of it beyond being miserable. I didn't have a head ache. I didn't have the shakes. I didn't really 'feel' anything in a physical sense; my anguish was mental. I didn't feel sad or angry or evil. I felt more like a caged animal. I felt like if I didn't get some sugar, I was going to claw my eyes out.  Let's face it: I was mired in misery.

Day Four brought hallucinations of ice cream. My car tried to veer through a drive-through to go get an ice cream cone. I had to fight back with all my strength, white knuckling the steering wheel. I ordered an iced tea at lunch but didn't drink it because they only had a certain canned tea product with more sugar than tea. I purchased what I thought was a peanut butter low sugar bar. Imagine how happy I was when I opened it to find a chocolate-covered, chemical-laden sugar bar (I purchased the wrong bar, obviously).

Bet you can't wait until Day Five.

I hate having to think so much. If I'm too succeed, I have to utilize my brain cells, which are not firing too well. They are very sad without their sugar boost. They want to help me but they are little grey balls of doom and gloom. I'm really struggling with breaking the habits of my sugar consumption. I've found myself pacing today. I dread the evening. Maybe I should go to bed at 6 PM.

The client texted me today. She kept it simple: "Conclusion--Day Four is the worst." I can't imagine. At least I get to chew solid food things. I texted her back some positive affirmations. I'm sure she's thinking things other than thank you.

Ten more days. That's a lot of fodder for blogging. Thank goodness this effort ends on December 19th. I'm not sure I could hold up my end of the bargain had it been during Christmas Eve and Christmas. I'll do a lot for my clients but there is only so far I'm willing to go. I'll see in person on Day Eight (if my calculations are correct). We should both be a hot mess by then.

Ten more Days. I admit I am powerless. My sugar is unmanageable. My advent calendar is the work of the devil.

One sugar-free day at a time, Sweet Jesus.  Ten more-one-day-more sugar free day at a time.
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