Ding dong, DOMA is dead!

Yesterday, I woke up to rain. Sunny rain.  I groaned. Walking Kevin in the rain is always a bit complicated as anyone living in an apartment with a pup knows. One arm for leash.  One arm for umbrella. Do you compromise leash holding or umbrella holding for poo pick up? So many complications. So little time (I like to sleep in til the last minute.)

So, girded with a huge golf umbrella, my poo bag purse with Kevin's polka dot leash in hand, we headed out into the sun shower. As we turned the corner of our apartment building, I looked up and saw the most beautiful rainbow I had ever seen, full bow in view. Kevin and I stopped to stare at it in wonder (well, I stopped in wonder.  He was peeing on a lamppost.)

Kevin did his business, I cleaned up without having to compromise either umbrella or leash as the rain had ceased by the time he boom boomed, and we headed to the house to complete our usual morning ritual.  I watched him eat his breakfast, cause he won't eat if I don't watch.  I stepped into the bathroom to shower while Kevin hopped in and laid down in the shower in protest. You know.  Normal dog/human stuff.

I got to work and hopped online. I changed my profile picture to show my support of LGBT rights.

15 minutes later, a news story popped onto my feed saying that DOMA had been declared unconstitutional. I cried. At my desk. And rejoiced in the fact that the people I love can love whoever they want in whatever capacity they want without federal intervention. A decision had been made.  A decision that made me believe in my country again. A decision that made me think to myself, "Someday, someone is going to ask you where you were when you heard the news. And you'll have to say you were at work and facebooking when you should have been working."

I am not a lesbian, as much as my mom tells me it's ok if I am. I don't even know if I ever want to get married.  But the fact of the matter is that no one should be able to tell me who I can and can't love.  Who I can and can't tie myself to.  Who I can and can't have at my death bed. Who can and can't benefit from my life insurance/health insurance/tax bracket.  I'm not angry at the people who wanted to restrict the rights of my friends and family.  I'm just sad that it was ever a question.

I didn't realize how symbolic that rainbow would be when I saw it through bleary eyes on a Wednesday morning. The full arc reaching across the sky will come to mind any time I think about the day that DOMA was overturned. And if any of my gay or straight friends need a wedding planner/singer/officiant, you know how to get a hold of me.

Failure

I'm laying on the pull out couch in my grandmother's home. Crying. Not sure why. Maybe it's the 4 days of driving. Maybe it's the stress of a wedding. The stress of family. Hormones. Going into my grandfather's shed and being reminded that he's not here.  Wondering what he would think about me. I don't know. But it's been a weird day, and I'm not sure what to do.

I keep hearing negativity. About how fat people are. About how eating is bad. About what's wrong with this person, with that person. With me. And today, I had to walk away. The noise was too much. And I kept seeing this person, who is alone and reminded of it in subtle ways. A person who is overweight, and is reminded in subtle ways. A person who isn't enough, and is reminded in subtle ways. And this boiling anger just sat there, in my stomach, until it lashed out. I always feel like I'm the one to blame. That if I was less this and more that, then all would be well.

"I just want to go home." I texted that to my business partner and friend.  But where is that?   What's there for me? My dog. My apartment. My stuff. My friends. A job I like sometimes. But what am I doing other than being fat and emotional and annoying? Who am I effecting? I'm constantly reminded of this person that I used to be. Am I ever gonna be that person again? Am I ever going to evolve? Am I ever going to be enough, for anyone? Am I ever going to stop crying?

Part of me wants to go out to my grandpa's shed and just sit.  That may be the second shot of tequila talking.

I suck a lot.

Today was a rather slow day at work.  I've been on this kick of reading inspirational articles and trying to learn to love myself a little more, and today was full of this kind of study, as no one was in and no one was calling. After lunch, I decided to water the plants in our front lobby.  While I was filling up the jug in the bathroom, I really looked at myself in the ugly gold plated mirror above the sink. Really looked, not just the usual perfunctory glance. I didn't avoid the hair I neglected to blow dry as it was pouring down rain and what's the point.  I didn't avoid the rushed make-up job based on being flooded in my apartment all morning, only to be called in to my job at a GOLF COURSE IN A TROPICAL STORM. I turned to the side, looking at the way my dress hugs my stomach which has always and will always be the bane of my existence.

I stared at myself and let out a huge sigh. That sigh released the tension that is perpetually in my midriff area, as I am constantly sucking in.  It doesn't matter what I'm wearing or where I am. In my pjs. In a dress for work. I'm perpetually trying to make myself look like something I'm not. When I let out that sigh, I let out the somewhat plus sized but not girl that just wants to be on the other side of skinny. I let out the need to be perfect, to be slim, to be something that I'm not. I let out the girl who would gag on a bite of food because she needed control of anything in her life at that moment, and food consumption was all she had.  I let out the girl who would pretend on the outside that she had it all together, but that on the inside was being crippled with fear.

I know these blogs lately have been kind of depressing. Life up til now has been kind of depressing.  But I'm finding more and more ways to be happy, and I can't help but share that with the world. I read an article yesterday that stated that women need to stop fat shaming themselves, and I finally get it. I look at pictures of myself from a recent dinner with distant relatives, and I realize that even though the woman in the pictures is bigger than her body is supposed to be according to science, she still has perfect blood pressure. She's O negative.  She's a universal donor who can save the life of anyone who needs blood or platelets through her donations.  She's got pretty eyes. She smiles a lot. She ignores injuries so she can get a bear hug from a 4 year old and wears Batman shirts whenever she sees him cause it makes him smile. She loves books. She loves dogs.  She loves her family.  And none of that is dependent on what the scale says. 

Super happy fun times.

So, I've been depressed a bit in my life. I talk about it a lot here, cause it's something that has effected me since I was 12 years old and lost my grandfather to cancer.  I can't currently afford therapy, so this blog serves as therapy for me. Lucky you!  There have been times in my life that were so low that I felt like the only thing to do would be to just not be anymore.  2 years ago, I went through a very, very rough patch. There was a break-up. A nasty break-up.  I was anorexic at the time, and the lack of caloric intake into my system exacerbated my depression to the point where I would get home from work, lay on the floor of my apartment and just NOT GET UP until the next day when I would start the whole thing over again. Coffee for breakfast. Small Salad for lunch. Apathy and lethargy for dinner. Rinse. Repeat.  The turnaround happened when I called a Suicide Hotline and my ATT service said the call could not be connected. And I laughed...

Technology hates me. It took me 20 minutes to get this photo on here from Instagram.

I've come a long way since then. The change started with a therapist.  It has transitioned to bombarding myself with positivity. Treating my body better.  Indulging when I need to and starting to realize that life is too freaking short to spend it on the floor of your apartment. I still cry sometimes. I still have nights where I lay on the couch and stare at the TV until I drift off, but it's a choice and not giving up.

I'm writing this to tell you about the decision I made recently to just be happy. The toughest decision I ever made. I still have anger issues, and they're next on the docket to be addressed, but they're not self anger issues anymore. I've forgiven myself.   I've started taking multivitamins. Drinking water. Eating healthier but not kicking myself when I break down and go to Chipotle/eat ice cream out of the container/eat a stick of butter just to see what it's like. I bought a LivingSocial Deal for B12 shots, and after the first week I can say that it makes a difference. I have energy. My mind is clearer, even with the painkillers that I'm taking for my jacked up shoulder.  I ate Brussel Sprouts last night.  I had a nectarine for a snack today.  I'm taking longer walks with my dog, who honestly has been the biggest happiness boost in my life. How can I be depressed and laying on the floor when he NEEDS TO PLAY RIGHT NOW?!?  How can I be worried about everything that is wrong with my life when he's eating grass and making me worry about his gut and butt?  How can I ever, ever hate myself when he loves me without judgment? He does love EVERYONE immediately, but there's a special bond that occurs when you are the one feeding him special dog treat turkey bacon.

I'm planning for a future. My future. The one that I wouldn't have had if that Suicide Hotline hadn't hung up on me. The one that may or may not include a man in it, but that will someday have a home. I've found a cute little place that I want to make mine. It'll be tough, but it'll be mine. My mom recently told me I should have a baby through a sperm donor, and imagining that life didn't upset me. It made me hopeful.  My destiny is mine, not my brain chemistry's. I can shape it and make it better than the existence I had two years ago. It doesn't depend on others. It doesn't depend on what if's.  It just depends on what now.

See?  Everyone gets dumped. 


EDITORS NOTE: MY MOM WOULD LIKE ME TO CLARIFY THAT SHE ACTUALLY SAID,"YOU DON'T NEED A MAN ANYMORE TO HAVE A BABY. AND IF YOU HAVE A HOUSE WITH A SPARE ROOM, THEN YOU CAN HAVE A BABY." SO. THERE'S THAT. 

I'm bored.

So I'm going to tell you a story.  About Habersham, cause Erin's a jerk. :) I googled Habersham, cause I was pretty sure she'd just typed a bunch of letters together, and found listings of a county in Georgia. They have a winery and a farmer's market. So. Habersham Farmers' Market it is.  As a sidenote...don't google killing roosters when you're eating a chicken wrap. Just. Don't.

Nice Melons

The rooster crowed. A piercing reminder that it was time to get up and start the day.  The little asshole seemed to be waking earlier and earlier.  I had half a mind to wring it's little neck and enjoy a nice meal of fried rooster that night at the dinner table. There was little time to contemplate it's demise though, as I had to pack up crates of fruits and vegetables and haul ass to the swanky shopping center where I peddle my wares on a weekly basis. A single man running a farm does more work than a one armed paper hanger.  Though why a one armed man would go into paper hanging is beyond me.  But from 8 am to 1pm every Saturday, I sit and watch hipster douchebags and collagen filled harlots handle the literal fruits of my labor and try to talk me down from $3 a pound for strawberries while carrying purses that cost more than my pickup.

"Are these certified organic?"  If I hear that question one more time, I might scream.

I get to the market and go to my assigned booth. I glance briefly at the paper sign indicating the name of my neighbor.  I groaned as I read, "The Tea Lady." She is the absolute worst for business.  She wears flowing scarves and calls everyone darling while trying to get them to sip her swill from paper cups she crams on a plate in order to shove them in the faces of passersby. People avoid her like the plague, and their avoidance trajectory typically takes them far past the booths on either side of her. Looking around to see if I would get caught, I grabbed the sign off her table and switched it with the sign of the booth on her other side.

More vendors started to arrive as I attempted to make spaghetti squash look appealing. I don't understand why human beings need their produce stacked and symmetrical, but if it makes 'em buy, I'm doing it.  I was so engrossed in the placement of plums to notice that my new neighbor had started unloading. Their fruit.  And their vegetables. I realized my mistake too late to do anything about it. Hoping that the quality of their product would cause more traffic to head my way, I peered over the side of my table to get a view of their goods and noticed a figure hunched down over a crate.  I saw a ponytail of brown hair with the gold highlights associated with working outdoors, not chemical treatments, pulled through a tattered baseball hat. A long tanned neck stuck out of a ratty flannel that had certainly seen it's share of days drying in the sun. I continued to stare, taking her in as she stood.

"Good God, " she said, hand flying up to her chest. "You scared me!"

"Sorry 'bout that," I answered, suddenly embarrassed and bashful now that the full force of her cornflower blue eyes hit me like a sickle bar mower knocking down an alfalfa crop. "I was just looking at your melons."

Her eyes narrowed, her hand reaching up to the buttons on her shirt as I realized how that sounded. "NO! I mean...no. I meant your melons.  Your MELONS.  I can never get mine to grow that big. " I pointed at a stack of watermelons the size of toddlers laying on the table. Her eyes moved towards the large fruit as her eyes crinkled, a smile turning into laughter as she realized what a ridiculous scene we had just made.

I laughed with her then introduced myself. "I'm Will."

"I'm Stephanie, " she said, reaching her hand towards me in a gesture of friendship and goodwill. Her handshake was firm and her hands calloused.

"Stephanie,"  I repeated, liking the way it felt on my tongue.  "It's a pleasure.  Tell me something...do you like fried chicken?"

  

Hypochondria and A*&holes

I'll admit it.  I can be dramatic at times when it comes to my health. I overreact and rely on WebMD to try to figure out if what's happening is going to a)kill me b)lame me or c) lame me then kill me.  Recently, I've been dealing with this shoulder debacle. And by dealing, I mean doing everything I can to heal faster, know more, be stronger and it's not working.

Yesterday, I went to my orthopedist and he reacted strangely to my MRI.  My supraspinatus was solid white with inflammation, and the surrounding muscles were the normal dark grey that usually shows up on the MRI. There was a also a tiny tear in my rotator cuff.  'OK, Lauren.  You're just being sensitive.  That low whistle and shuffling of papers didn't mean anything,' I said to myself.  Then the dude told me that I might have a degenerative muscular thingy, spouted off a name so quickly I can barely remember anything about it but that it might have started with M,  then told me he wanted to try steroid therapy to get the swelling down. Great. Let's do that.  They called a script in. As I was checking out, I heard the doctor in the hallway chatting with another doc about me.   Comforting.

I started the Prednisone this morning and followed instructions to a T. I had no plans after work, so settled in to some time on the couch and catching up with Doctor Who. As I was laying there, my hands started to tingle. Then turned numb. They're still numb as I type.  I didn't freak out. My roommate suggested it was the way I was laying, so I adjusted that.  Still tingling. Worse, actually. So, I looked up side effects to Prednisone.

"Contact your doctor immediately if you experience these side effects: Shortness of breath.  Pain in calf. Tingling or numbness in hands and arms."

I asked the roomie what she thought I should do and decided to call the ER where I originally went for my injury. A nurse got on the "help" line and I told her what was going on after she got out the obligatory, "What's your information so we can bombard you with mailings and emails and prove we're helping people" deal.

Here's the rant part of this blog.

"Did you lay on your arms or hands while you were resting?"

Excuse me? I'm sorry, but I believe I have been speaking pretty intelligently with you up until this extremely asinine question.  NO, I wasn't freaking laying on my hands or arms. They've been numb for over an hour, jerk face. AND NO, I wasn't putting pressure on my elbows or wrists either.  Thank you for absolutely nothing.  Now, instead of just numb hands, I am also irate.  And thank you, very much, for the comforting "You should call your pharmacist cause I have absolutely no idea.  Do you want to receive mailings from us?"

The pharmacist was equally irksome. "Were you laying on your hands or arms?"  NO, you FUCKING ASSHOLE. I understand you get calls from morons all the time. I get it.  You're jaded. But I can't feel my hands and you're making me want to numbly punch a hole in something.  Her final answer: "You should call your doctor in the morning."

Thank you. I will certainly do that.  If I can feel my hands enough to dial the fucking phone.

Rant over.

Mother's Day

My mom is awesome. Period. I love her and am glad to be slowly turning into her. With some additional neuroses.

She may be confusing at times.
Mom: "No, I don't want any presents, but there's a necklace at this store for this price and this is what it looks like, so...."

She may come up with interesting nicknames for me.
Mom: "Hopeless! Get down here!"
Me: "Mom, did you give me the middle name Hope so you could call me that? Or is it a side benefit?"

Mom, about to hang up with me cause she's tired of talking:"Ok, boo boo. Talk to you later."

She may have crazy advice sometimes.
Mom: "I read an article about a guy who only owns what can fit on his back and he just sublets apartments in New York while pursuing his acting career.  YOU SHOULD DO THAT!"

She may be a little too protective.
Mom: "Hey, you want me to go to your doctors appointment with you?"
 
She has the neatest sayings.
Me: "I have a problem....complain, complain, complain."
Mom: "It is what it is, Lauren. It is what it is."

Me:  "This person is driving me crazy!"
Mom: "You can't change people.  Only how you deal with them. But, yeah.  That person's a jerk."

She comes up with the greatest schemes.
Mom: "Ok, your 31st birthday is the 15th and we want to go to Ohio.  Let's drive to Savannah on your birthday, stay over and explore the city then drive to Grandma's house. Sound like a plan?"

Mom: "Ok, we're going on a trip to Scotland next year.  Figure it out."

She's my mom, and I love her.