Peeking Around the Corner

Soooo…hey! Hi.

It’s been a minute.

You know how you mean to do something and then you don’t and then so much time passes that you think you shouldn’t because at this point it is just ridiculous and absurd. But then you start to feel sad because you really wanted to do the thing and you miss it. But then other things come up and a whole bunch more time passes. Right? You know how that goes.

We are all good. Mostly. Alfie the kitty isn’t well. He got sick around Thanksgiving. He started tilting to one side and walking in circles. He got pretty bad, pretty fast. His vet thought it was an ear infection and treated him with antibiotics and steroids. He got a lot better. For weeks. But as soon as he went off the steroids, all the symptoms returned and he started having seizures. Randy, Joey and I made the decision to let him go. I left that morning to go to work in tears. Randy and Joey were both home with their own tears.

You know how the universe plays super funny jokes sometimes?

I got in my car that morning in December and heard half a song on the eighties station I had it tuned to when the disc jockey came on. Wait, are they disc jockeys still? There aren’t any discs. 

Anyway, the guy is on the radio and starts telling a story about his daughter’s cat named Harry Potter. And I’m there with my cheeks still wet thinking, fucking really? A cat story? He proceeds to say that sadly, Harry Potter got sick and died.

OMFG are you kidding? 

Then he says that when they were burying Harry Potter, he had music playing. He said “I am not kidding you. This song started playing while we were  burying my daughter’s cat.”

Then he played Pet Cemetary by The Ramones.

We named our kid after Joey Ramone. The whole thing was so on the nose. I did laugh a bit, because that was well played.

Anyway, Randy gave Alfie a steroid that morning. And around lunch he called and said Alfie was almost back to normal.

When I called the vet, my only conversation was going to be to make arrangements for Alfie, but when I told her how the steroids seems to cause a rebound, she suggested upping his dose and seeing what happened. She said that cats tolerate steroids very well and he could be on them for a very long time without worry.

Well, that did the trick. It’s been months and while he isn’t exactly the same, he was almost his normal asshole self.

Until about a week ago. We’re seeing his head tilt. Just a little. So, whatever this is, the steroids are starting to become less effective. He’s still fine right now. His tail is up, he’s eating and grooming and doesn’t seem to be in distress at all. But we are seeing the head tilt. Not every day. But it’s happening more often. It could be a brain tumor. It’s definitely neurological.

We’re just glad we’re getting the days we’re getting. But I suspect that fucking shitty decision will have to be made again sooner rather than later.

The rest of us are fine. Normal life bullshit, but good.

I guess I just wanted to stop in and say hi. See how you all are.

The First Step Is Admitting You Have a Problem

I have a problem, y’all.

I can’t stop buying bras from the internet. I can’t. I think I may have even written about this before, but I don’t remember for sure and I am way too lazy to check.

They all suck. Out of the 17 trillion bras I bought from the internet, I like one of them. I’m wearing it now. It’s actually awesome. There is no tag. I don’t remember where I got it. The details of 17 trillion online bra orders tend to get a little fuzzy so it isn’t like I’m ever going to find it again. I had to go through so many to get this one. But you know the old saying “You have to buy a lot of shitty bras before you kiss a toad and it turns into the perfect bra.” or something like that.

It’s not like I don’t understand about reviews. I do! I actually have a solid grasp on the concept that before you purchase anything on the internet, you can avail yourself of customer reviews. But when I’m faced with an ad for best bra ever, I cease to have an understanding of how one operates in 2023. I become focused. I have blinders. I can only see that one thing.

I just want the Holy Grail of bras. That’s all.

I don’t know if you all have seen the ads on social media for the bra created by a 70 year old grandmother or not, but let me help you out.

Don’t buy the fucking bra. Granny didn’t know what the fuck she was doing. It is a terrible bra. Abysmal. And sadly, I have bought at least two other versions of this same fucking bra, just under different names.

Because I have a problem.

The bra material is wispy and almost not there. In other versions of the granny bra, there were no closures or anything, you just pulled it over your head. In the grandma version, there are three “buttons” in the front. The cups have a pad, like a round maxi pad, shoved in a little pocket thingy. The pads aren’t lined up or anything. So your boobs end up looking in different directions. There is no support. Nothing. It’s like having an ineffective ace bandage around your chest with feminine hygiene products over the nipples. With straps.

The granny version, with the front “buttons”? Yeah, they are not buttons. They are snaps. They have the strength of something held together with Elmer’s glue. Maybe. I might have just denigrated Elmer’s glue.

I wouldn’t give these away. I guess I could use them as gag gifts or something? Oh, and I did say “them”. Because when I bought the granny bra, as I was checking out, I was offered a second one! At half price! So of course I got the second one. I couldn’t afford not to.

Because I have a problem.

I believed this time, too. I did. A 70 year old grandmother? Invented this? A 70 year old grandmother would never lie to me.

I mean, I’m a 60 year old grandmother and sometimes I lie. But I’m not 70 yet, so who knows? Maybe that will change. Who wants to live in world where 70 year old grandmothers walk around lying all the time? Especially about something as important as inventing the unicorn of bras.

That wouldn’t work though, would it? You can’t be a grandmother and not lie. You are always going to say, “Yes, sweetheart, I do want to hear you sing the latest Disney song for the 12th time.”

If you don’t lie, then you’d be saying things like “For all that is holy, no. I do not. I do not want to hear you screech sing about undersea life or ice or circles of life.”

To anyone reading who is the parent of our grandchildren. Of course I am not talking about your kids. This is just a joke.

I guess there was that one time when Let It Go was sung many times, but it wasn’t close to 12 times. And there wasn’t any shrieking. Also, to be fair, I encouraged it. 

But no, granny lied.

I am Charlie Brown and internet bra scammers are Lucy Van Pelt. I have missed that football so many times.

But this is it. I mean it this time. I will never buy another internet bra. Even if Dolly Parton hand sews it herself. I have no idea why Dolly Parton would be hand sewing bras. She seems to have a very successful career doing other things. I’m just saying, if she did, I would not buy it.

You know, I am beginning to suspect there was no 70 year old grandmother at all.

Also, who am I kidding? I would totally buy a bra hand sewn by Dolly Parton.


High Functioning

High functioning aren’t words I would use to describe myself.

However, recently, Randy stumbled upon an article. He sent the article to me with a note. “This is you.”

The article is about people with high functioning OCD.  I followed a trail and found an article about OCD and hyper responsibility.

While I would not describe myself as high functioning, I have no problem applying the word “hyper” to me. 

Reading these articles with all the subsequent articles I could find (Hahaha, why no, I’m not obsessive) made for a weird and somewhat squirmy afternoon.

Ultimately, I found comfort reading words that describe what goes on in my head. Kind of. I mean, I don’t think I could accurately describe what goes on in my head and I am the world’s leading expert on my head.

I used to joke about being responsible for everyone in the entire world and what a thankless job it is. I honestly had no idea that was a mental health issue.

Boiled down, I have obsessive thoughts, but have compulsions designed to relieve the pain from the constant obsessive thoughts aren’t super intrusive. I can live a normal life, function at my job, and at home. The people around me might mention I play Boggle on my phone obsessively. Or watch and re-watch and re-watch specific TV series.

Speaking of which, I’ve been reading there might be a season 16 of Supernatural. A girl can dream. 

Oh, and the hyper responsibility thing? That is just fucking exhausting.

Last year, my sister gave me a desk calendar for Christmas. Today’s entry, on December 8th, 2023 reads “The path of inner peace begins with four words: ” not my fucking problem.”

You all, I could barely stand to look at the words.

calendar page

Not my fucking problem? Really? Everything is my fucking problem.

I had to obscure the calendar so I could work.

I guess I could have removed it, but then it would have said December 9 and is today, right now December 9? No. No it is not. So, of course, I couldn’t remove the page.

high functioning calendar page don’t know what this revelation means for me, if anything. I do have the option for a few free psychologist visits through my insurance. I guess I could avail myself of that option.

Because I would love to be able to say “not my fucking problem”. I’d also like to stop worrying in a weird ass loop every day.

Anyway, here’s to new discoveries! I guess.