It's Been So Long

First the good news: I'm back to (mostly) sleeping again and eating regularly. Also, Zumba's about to pick up to 3 times a week and then I'll have a hot bod just in time for winter.

Now the bad news: I don't get to go back to Minnesota till after Christmas. BUT when I do go, CJ is coming with me. So I'm happy about that. She can't wait to build a snowman and make snowangels and catch snowflakes and most of all, SEE LUKE.

Let's see... what else is going on? Ed and I are doing great. We're excited to get remarried, but not in a hurry. We've learned a little patience over the last few years.

CJ starts school in a week. Yeesh, where'd the time go? She's all ready for it though. Her school supplies have been bought and I got her some new clothes today. She had her Kindergarten screening earlier this week and did "outstanding," so at least I'm not worried about her starting out behind.

I'm feeling... eh. Okay, I guess. I don't have a lot of energy and I still struggle with my issues, but things aren't worse. I guess I should take that and be happy.

Stay tuned. I hope to have lots of updates in the coming weeks from CJ starting school and life in general.

XOXO

Trazadone: I love you so hard right now!

Y'all. Trazadone is the bomb diggity. It keeps me asleep! Combine it with a Benadryl and some Valerian Root and I just wake up when the alarm goes off. Hope springs eternal. Let's see if we can get it to keep doing its job! :)

Solving life's mysteries one anxiety ridden night at a time...

Y'all. I'm pissed. PIIISSSSSED. It's 4am here in (I can't even say sunny because it's still before the buttcrack of dawn) Florida and I've been up for two, count em, TWO mother-f'in hours.

WHISKEY.

TANGO.

FOXTROT?

This week alone I've taken Valium. I've taken Klonopin. I've taken Vistaril. I've taken Dramamine. 

NOTHING. KEEPS ME. ASLEEP. 

I'm on the verge of breaking Conrad Murray outta jail and asking for the Michael Jackson special (Not the death part. Good Lord, y'all. I heart myself too much!) I just want the sleepy juice. Propophol: Come to Mama!

On the plus side of things, my house is nice and clean. After I abandoned all hope of going back to sleep, I got up and swiffered the floors, dusted, picked up my closet, wiped down the kitchen counters, loaded the dishwasher and coordinated my jewelry. 

I also discovered the answers to a few of life's great mysteries. If you'd prefer to suffer and solve these on your own, I won't be offended if you stop reading now. If you'd like to make me feel like my anxiety is actually somewhat productive, by all means, please forge ahead.  

Mystery #1: "How does one have enough time and energy to do herself up like a Kardashian at the NBA Draft?"

Answer: (***SPOILER ALERT***) One doesn't frickin sleep. I might feel like poo, but my hair's gone be did, my juuury gone be coordinated, my DSW Steve Maddens gone be spiffed up, my makeup's gone be perfect... BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO DO.

Mystery #2: "What do you do when there aren't enough hours in the day to do it all?"

Answer: (***SPOILER ALERT***) You don't frickin sleep. House? Clean. Laundry? Done. Checkbook? Balanced. Car? Detailed. (<--- don't ask) 

I'd keep going, but I think you get the drift. The answer to getting it all done is OCD induced insomnia. 

You're welcome. 

Abilify: Because sometimes Prozac AND Buspar just ain't enough

First of all, a vacation recap:

It was pretty awesome. Not as awesome as August, but really, what can top partying with the Vikings? (Answer: NOTHING) It was great to get away for a week and it was REALLY great to see my BFF and sleep in The Cave and enjoy the nice cool weather and no humidity. My sinuses cussed me GOOD when I got back to the South. 

Of course, the day after I get back from Minnesota I have a doctor's appointment. Dr. Morse added Abilify to my already potent mixture of Prozac and Buspar. I've only been on the Abilify for a couple of days, but he's very hopeful that it will help me "separate" from the eating disorder. 

One thing I've noticed is that my body is now responding to hunger. Not with an "Ooh! I'm hungry." But with the shaky, clumsy, low blood sugar symptoms. (In other words, I fall. A lot. It's embarrassing. And painful. And that's all I have to say about that.) That's good though. At least now I have a reason to eat vs. being able to talk myself out of it. 

This is definitely an on-going thing. I have a calorie tracker and I have to watch myself because once I hit 1,200 calories, I just wanna stop eating. But I know that's not the point of the exercise; I'm supposed to EXCEED 1,200 calories and get closer to 15-1,800. 

I'm also flat worn out. Just dog-A tired from all of the internal battle combined with lack of sleep. They ain't lyin, y'all- stress kills. 

Anyways, for the most part I'm keepin it between the ditches (as we say down here). All of the positive thoughts are most appreciated. 

XOXO 

The Prozac Diaries: Chapter 4- Why HELLOOOOO there! Nice of you to join us!

So for the first time in... I honestly don't know how long, I had a short period of time yesterday with NO. ANXIETY.

I know, right? *fist bump*

Surprisingly my food diary is helping me. I am seeing that I can eat and not gain weight (thanks to a more stable metabolism and regular Zumba, I've actually lost a couple pounds. At least that's *my* version- and I'm stickin' to it) I also looked at my tummy yesterday when I was getting dressed and caught myself thinking "You know... my tummy is pretty!"

I had a hard time going to sleep last night, but I purposely didn't take anything. I was so proud of myself for making it through the afternoon and evening that I wanted to keep trying. Of course this morning I was shaking like a leaf, but I put a little bit in my tummy and that helped.

Today I'm going to get mah hair did with Ed's sister- and hopefully CJ will let Chels cut her hair, too! Tomorrow I have to go back to the doc for a checkup and Friday I see my counselor. Then FINALLY it's SATURDAY. The day I fly north for a week of cool weather and relaxation.

With any luck the Prozac will have made itself RIGHT at home by the time I get back to civilization. :)

PS: Thank you SO MUCH for all of your love and support. I can't tell you how much it means to me. (Well, I can, but it's all so sugary sweet that you wouldn't believe me. So... thanks. Just... thanks.)

The Prozac Diaries: Chapter 3- It's all fun and games till they diagnose you as OCD

So I went and saw my new shrink on Friday. I don't know why I was so surprised when she held up her hand and said "Um... I don't think you have an eating disorder per say. You're Obsessive Compulsive. It manifests itself as an eating disorder and with these other feelings you're having, because it's an anxiety disorder. But yeah... you're OCD."


Well, huh. Butter my butt and call me a biscuit. 

Apparently folks with OCD have these common personality traits: High attention to detail, avoidance of risk, careful planning, exaggerated sense of responsibility and tendency to take time in making decisions. 

I never had a chance y'all. Dr. Rogers ACTUALLY face palmed when I told her I majored in Risk Management. (Hey! 'Snot my fault I had a natural aptitude for it!)


I was then given strict instructions to stay away from a scale and keep a food diary- not for fear of overeating- but to ensure that I got at least 1,200 calories a day. She said she'd prefer me to take in at least 1,400, but she'd settle for 1,200. She saw my eyes go all big and PROMISED me at 12-1,400 cals/day I would NOT gain weight. That's the caloric restriction they place on peeps at the Bariatric Clinic (You know, the places where you see the 700lb peoples?) and that Weight Watchers routinely uses that range as well. I musta started hyperventaliting because then she explained to me how people with anorexia have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness, not so much because of malnutrition, but because their organs shut down. They shut down cause they start to DIGEST THEMSELVES (Ew?) then their brain goes all fuzzy cause it can't work proper and before you know it you've gone straight to hell in a handbasket. 


1,200 calories a day, you say? Okie dokie then, I'll give it a shot. 


Saturday was day one. Thanks to Drill Sgt Daddy I got up to 1410. I thought I was gonna DIE. After every little thing I ate I wanted to puke my guts up. 


It. Was. AWFUL. 


Yesterday (Sunday) wasn't much better, but thanks to a Little Debbie cake and some cheese grits I hit 1600 calories. Again, wanting to puke all the live long day. 


Today, at 2:48pm Eastern time, I'm up to 940 calories. I figure 260 more at some point before bed and I can call it a day, but durn. This is hard y'all. When your brain has no hunger reflex, nothing sounds appetizing or stimulates your appetite... I imagine it's the same feeling you'd get if you had a stomach virus but were forcing yourself to eat oatmeal and apples and peanut butter. It's not like I'm pouring a vat of molten Crisco into my belly, but lawduh mercy that's what it feels like. Awful cramps and I LITERALLY have to force myself to stay seated and not try to puke it up. 


It's now clear to me that on a "regular" day, I probably wasn't clearing 1000 calories. *sigh* Besides the obvious reasons for needing to eat, she was worried about ol' Gerty. I need to maintain a SOMEWHAT stable metabolism cause woe be unto me if Gerty gets pissed and I drop 10lbs. I'll be a hot mess. And since we have no idea when that might happen... Yeah. Let's just try and keep me fed. 


Then, of course, there's the triggers. I have to try to avoid stressors so I don't get all anxious and compulsive. I have to admit that it's SLIGHTLY easier now that I know what I'm dealing with. And I'm trying to just STOP doing certain things when I think about it, but there's certain things I just can't give up. (The way I lay out CJ's clothes the night before, for example. Not the fact of laying them out, but that I have to lay them out, in a certain way, in a certain order, in the same spot. Same goes for her lunch. It must be packed the night before and in the mornings it must be placed the "correct" way in the car or I can't pull out of the driveway.)


UUUUGGGHHH.


Then there's my Zumba... and the overwhelming urge I have to run and run and run because Zumba's just not enough. To wit: A dear friend is coming into town tomorrow. Not just any dear friend- one of Ed's oldest friends and the MAID OF HONOR in our wedding. She and her family live in Japan now, so I literally cannot remember the last time I saw her. A bunch of us girls from "back in the day" are getting together tomorrow and there's a little part of my brain that is throwing a Veruca Salt-esque tantrum screaming "But I wanna go to ZUMBA! I have CALORIES to burn!!!!!" And I'm twitching. 


I'm going to be twitching the whole time I'm NOT at Zumba. 


And if plans fall through, I'm going to be secretly happy because I get to go to Zumba. 


Seriously... I don't know if Ima make it to mid-May, y'all. At this rate, Bat Shit Crazy is JUST around the corner. 

The Prozac Diaries, Chapter 2: Jack it to Jesus

As much as I tried to ignore it, by late this weekend it was painfully obvious that 20mg of Prozac a day just wasn't cuttin' it. I was feeling more and more miserable and poor Ed was at his wits end. Yesterday I called the doctor to let him know that while I wasn't ready to jump off a tall building, I did feel extreme guilt every time something as mundane as a GRAPE crossed my mouth and if I COULD throw up, I would. (But considering I can barely throw up when I have a legitimate stomach flu, crammin' my fingers down my throat is a lost cause) Misty, his awesome nurse, called me at 8:15 this morning and said that he DEFINITELY wanted to see me because I should be feeling SOME kind of relief now. As luck would have it, Ed was waiting on parts for his service truck and was able to go with me. Not that he thought I was making anything up, but bless him, he wasn't quite sure what to make of it all.

I have to stop and say this: I absolutely ADORE my doctor. He cares SO. MUCH. about his patients' well being. He sat there for an HOUR answering all of our questions- especially Ed's.

And that's when I got the news: "A couple of weeks ago I wasn't so sure, but now the picture is MUCH clearer and there's no doubt in my mind- this is a full blown eating disorder."

Huh. I mean, I "knew" that... but there was something so final about seeing it in black and white. Sure enough, it says so right there on my lil checkout papers "Eating Disorder- Not Otherwise Classified"

Awesome.

I told him about my Zumba. (God love him, Ed was asking if I should join Weight Watchers of the gym to make myself feel better. And God love him, the doctor sat right there patiently explaining the concept of PERCEPTION and how all the working out in the world wasn't going to make me feel better- it was mental) I was pretty devastated that my weight hadn't dropped any... I was even more devastated when the doc cautioned me with my Zumba. He said that it could become a form of purging. I admitted if it was offered more than twice a week I'd be there with bells on... and that the first thing I did after I got home from class was Google how many calories an hour Zumba burned. I may or may not have gotten the stank eye after that comment.

So now, my body refuses to eat my ass AND my exercise is limited by doctor's orders. (Cause if I find myself trying to do more exercise than just this twice a week I won't be allowed to do ANY until this gets under control)

Awesome...er.

So the final verdict was to increase the Prozac to the "go to" dose for eating disorders which is 60mg/day (that's triple what I'm on now for you math majors) and he's doing it muy rapido. I start taking 40mg/day tomorrow and on Saturday I start taking 60mg/day. I've also left a message for my counselor (who I haven't seen in a year, but whatevs) to at least get pointed in the right direction for the cognitive therapy I need.

Jack it to Jesus, doc! Jack it to Jesus.

The Prozac Diaries, Chapter 1: Prozac? Are you there? It's me, Mandy.

You know how when you have a RAGING sinus infection (or strep throat, or some other awful ailment) and you've put off going to the doctor for as long as you can and then you FINALLY go and get the coveted "Z-pack" and you know that this... THIS will finally bring the relief you seek!

Imagine the Z-pack takes WEEKS to kick in.

And in the meantime your infection gets worse. And worse. And WORSE.

That's me right now. Today makes a week I've been on my Prozac (and phasing out the Wellbutrin) and quite frankly I feel like crap on a stick. I had to take yesterday off because, as I put it to Kelly, "I need to get this 'curl up in a ball' BS outta my system."

I am proud to say I went to my Zumba class last night, but alas, the endorphin boost was short lived. Ed ended up getting sent back this way for work, too. But alas, even with a Breathe Right strip he snored, so I ended up in the spare room.

*sigh*

Guess I can't have it all.

But, dear Prozac, if you could find it in my neurotransmitters to fix me up a little quicker than THREE WEEKS, I would most appreciate it.

Love,
Mandy

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

I never thought that I would be “the one” sitting here, writing about mental disorders. I’ve dealt with depression since I was in my early 20s, but it wasn’t awful. More like a mild annoyance. The last 6 months or so, however, something has changed. I can’t tell you when, exactly. All I know is that it’s gotten completely out of control. There’s a name for my condition- Body Dysmorphic Disorder. I haven’t talked much about it except with close friends and family. Mostly for the reasons that have been documented in studies: embarrassment and fear that I’ll be seen as vain when actually the opposite is true- I think I’m disgusting. BUT… the time has come to talk about it. I’m hoping that it will be therapeutic for me and maybe, just maybe help someone else out, too.

So what is BDD? Well, in a nutshell, it’s truly a mental disorder (that can go hand in hand with an eating disorder if you aren’t careful) in which the person fixates on a part (or parts) of their body. They can actually become delusional, seeing things that aren’t even there. A small patch of dry skin becomes the object of their obsession. They constantly pick and scrub at it because “Ugh! I know this is all people are staring at when they see me!!! How disgusting! I’m a mess!” When in reality… no one even notices. The smallest imperfections become the deepest pits. A little bit of cellulite… a gray hair… a zit. It goes beyond a simple “Ew. Zit. Go away!” mentality and truly becomes a source of anxiety and sometimes, downright panic.

For me, it’s my hips and thighs. All I see when I look in the mirror is a whale covered in cottage cheese. Huge, dimpled up, nasty-A thighs. I struggle with other things, too. (That dry patch of skin, mentioned above being among them) Personally, the most annoying part in all of this is dealing with the compulsions (I bolded the ones I deal with):

Common compulsive behaviors associated with BDD include:

§ Compulsive mirror checking, glancing in reflective doors, windows and other reflective surfaces.

§ Alternatively, an inability to look at one's own reflection or photographs of oneself; also, the removal of mirrors from the home.

§ Attempting to camouflage the imagined defect: for example, using cosmetic camouflage, wearing baggy clothing, maintaining specific body posture or wearing hats.

§ Use of distraction techniques: an attempt to divert attention away from the person's perceived defect, e.g. wearing extravagant clothing or excessive jewelry.

§ Excessive grooming behaviors: skin-picking, combing hair, plucking eyebrows, shaving, etc.

§ Compulsive skin-touching, especially to measure or feel the perceived defect.

§ Becoming hostile toward people for no known reason, especially those of the opposite sex, or same sex if homosexual.

§ Seeking reassurance from loved ones.

§ Excessive dieting or exercising, working on outside appearance.

§ Self-harm

§ Comparing appearance/body parts with that/those of others, or obsessive viewing of favorite celebrities or models whom the person suffering from BDD wishes to resemble.

§ Compulsive information-seeking: reading books, newspaper articles and websites that relate to the person's perceived defect, e.g. hair loss or being overweight.

§ Obsession with plastic surgery or dermatological procedures, often with little satisfactory results (in the perception of the patient).

§ In extreme cases, patients have attempted to perform plastic surgery on themselves, including liposuction and various implants with disastrous results.

§ Excessive enema use (if obesity is the concern).

Y’all… I can’t drive to work in the morning without having the rearview mirror facing me and checking at literally EVERY. RED LIGHT. to make sure that my makeup is in its right spot and there aren’t any streaks or lines…. to make sure that that patch of dry skin is under control. I take pictures every morning to make sure that I look presentable enough to be in public. The mirror isn’t enough- I need to SEE what other people see. When I walk up the hill to work every morning, I pass a wall of reflective windows. I can’t NOT look. I have to make sure that there’s no muffin top sticking out of my pants… that there’s no part out of place.

And if I try to stop? I twitch. I literally twitch. And then I panic because “Ohmygod! I HAVE to make sure I’m ok. I HAAAAAVE to!”

This is the part where you secretly think “Bitch, please. You’re what? A size 4? And you’re complaining about the way you look? You need to get over yourself.” Easier said than done, my loves. I am the QUEEN of “Just get over it” and it makes me hate myself even more that I’m not strong enough to fight this off.

For whatever reason, I’ve been blessed with juuust enough logic to realize that if I starve myself and became a bag of bones, I still wouldn’t be happy. I want to though, but that one I can fight off. (Thank God for small favors) If I had the money, I know I would try to get gastric bypass surgery or liposuction. I want nothing more than to reduce my appetite and see the numbers on the scale drop. The only problem is, much like with my clothing size, when that happens, it tends to go further. Most people would reach their “goal weight” and jump up and down with joy. Not me. I’d be all “Oh, wow! I’m 126! I could go down to 124!” then “I could go down to 122!... Gosh! Imagine if I was only 120!!!” Same with clothes “Hey… my size 4s are a little loose. If I’m real careful, maybe I could get into a size 2!”

I’ve done the exercise thing, too. But since the reflection in the mirror never changed, I stopped. It doesn’t matter what I do, or how I look, all I see is the whale that I was 12 years ago… and I don’t understand how anyone else can see beauty. It’s to the point where I don’t want to be uncovered AT ALL. I’m afraid that people will stare. Apparently they do… but my friends say it’s guys checking me out. I always think they’re turning up their noses and wondering what I think I’m doing trying to look nice.

I’m miserable. Plain and simple MISERABLE. I don’t even wanna be intimate with Ed because I don’t want him to see my fat ass and jumbo thighs. The man that saw me poop on the table when I squirted out our kid and all I wanna do is curl into a ball and stay covered.

That’s messed up, y’all.

I have what I guess would technically be considered delusions too- beyond the making a mountain out of a molehill when it comes to the smallest imperfection- I feel like my clothes are so, so tight (despite what people tell me) and I will look at food, get nauseated and then get panicky cause all eating is going to do is make my clothes tighter and the number on the scale go up.

Did I mention it’s messed up?

My body and my mind are constantly warring with each other. My mind doesn’t care what my body feels, it just wants relief. Relief comes in the form of doing whatever I can to be skinny. My poor body will have a pounding headache, a stomach that’s about to eat itself, woozy, and my brain flips my body the bird and won’t budge. The end result? I have to force myself to eat. And apparently when I do eat, it’s still not much.

The good news is, I’ve seen the doctor. Apparently I have all the symptoms of an eating disorder without the starvation and binging/purging. (And as I’ve said, the only reason I won’t go that far is because I know it won’t do any good and I can just barely overrule the urge to starve myself) He’s put me on some new medication that should help. It’s the “go to” med for eating disorders, so we’ll see.

If you’re a praying person, I’d appreciate that. If you’re not, I’d appreciate any warm thoughts you can send my way. More than anything, if you know someone who is struggling with something like this, get them help. I know that without my good friends pointing out how bad things had gotten and that little logic I am able to hold onto, I would probably be half dead right now.

I just wanna look in the mirror and see what everyone else sees.

I just wanna look in the mirror and be happy.

I blame the allergies

I'm a blog stalker. It's okay, I can admit it. There's no shame in my game, but I do stalk blogs of people that might know OF me, but don't KNOW me.

Here's the thing about blogs: They say whatever the writer wants em to say (WOW. That little revelation just blew your socks off, didn't it?) What I mean is, though, that if someone wanted their life to seem all cotton candy and sunflowers, they could easily make it out to be like that. So when I read the blogs of those I don't know too well, eh... it can sting sometimes. Why? Cause nothing makes me feel worse than one of those "OMG you are my sweet precious baby" blogs. (No offense to any of my friends that write them, I think it's awesome. I'm honestly jealous that I just don't have it in me to say that kind of stuff.)

"Dear.... you are such a PRECIOUS addition to our family... We are so BLESSED to have you... I just can't IMAGINE my life without you..."

*gag*

If I were to write about CJ, it'd go something like this:

So...:

Thanks for not being a hellion or a pain in the ass.

Thanks for using good manners.

Thank GOD you're smart and can write your full name already. God knows you got enough going against you already without adding "stupid" to the list.

I'm glad your glasses make you cuter and aren't setting you up to be called "Four eyes" one day.

You can get over the fact that I won't give you candy and other crap. I don't have any cavities and I refuse to let you have cavities either. I also refuse to let you get fat. Eat healthy and deal with it.

I'm really glad you don't want any siblings... cause you ain't gettin' none. After the hell you put me through when I was pregnant, I figured it was a sign I should stop at one. Plus, I refuse to spend all that money on another kid. Besides, you deserve to have my full attention and resources. I can't do that if you have a sibling. YOU'RE WELCOME. (I would like to note, however, for the record, that I nursed you for 2 years. You never got a DROP of formula. Again, YOU'RE WELCOME.)

So... yeah. I think I'll keep you.

Love, Mama

For real, y'all. I can't DEAL with all that sugar. Some of the stuff I read would give Paula Deen's diabetes, diabetes! The thing is, the people that I know personally who write it are sincere... I guess I'm just not wired to think that way.

Same with those husband posts. Same sweetness, rebagged and relabeled for the hubster. "You know me so well... you were made for me... I can't imagine life without you... you are my heart..."

* double gag*

I find it VERY hard to believe that anything with a tallywacker is THAT perfect. They leave their dirty clothes on the floor, the pee on the toilet seat (and ONLY on the toilet seat, if you're lucky) they don't know how to clean right... They wanna spend money on stupid stuff like motorcycles. Whatever y'all are smokin' that makes your man seem infallible, please, pass the blunt to the Cracker on the left.

If I were to write one to Ed, it'd go a little like this:

Dear Ed:

I'm glad you aren't as much of a douchecanoe as you used to be. A little douchiness is healthy, but you took it to a whole other level for awhile there.

I'm glad you're good at math and mechanics. Between my reading/writing skills and your math skills our kid has a fighting chance.

Speaking of mechanics, thanks for being one. You know, since I can't even change a tire and all.

I'll be glad when we can get the pool cleaned out. It's naaaasty. And it's already so hot outside, that water needs to warm up and be swimmable soon.

We've been together for 12 years in some way, shape or form. We've been through a lot. We haven't killed each other. I think we deserve a t-shirt or something. Yay, us!

Love, Mandy

Do I suck for being so... I don't know what I am. I can't say "real" cause, like I said, I know most of the people that write the sugar blogs aren't being FAKE. I guess it'd just be fake if *I* wrote that stuff.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I just wish I could "conform" to all the sweetness without everyone calling me out. (Y'all know you would. The second I wrote "My dearest daughter..." someone would be callin "Shenanigans" on my behind!)

It doesn't help I feel miserable. Sugar when I don't feel good never helps. When I feel like crap, treat me as you would a wounded animal: carefully approach me in a non-threatening posture, put a mirror under my nose to make sure I'm breathing, toss some food and water at me- maybe a pain killer or two- and then back away slowly.

I am SUCH a mess.

I need, like, Candy-Land Boot Camp or something.

Bringin' the cray-cray to the yay-yays (<-- Yankees)

It never ceases to amaze me at what the prospect of flying north for a week will do for me. Kelly isn't going to be able to make it down here for awhile- and I hadn't planned on going until August- so, we decided to switch. Ima visit in the spring and she'll come in the fall (which is really just "still dead ass summer" here)

The nice thing about Ed being in Lake City is I now have an easier ride to the airport in Jacksonville. THAT's nice because I would need to be independently wealthy to afford a ticket outta Tallanasty these days. But with Skymiles, I can fly (non-stop! holla!) in and out of Jacksonville at decent times for the bargain price of $185. Now DAT's what I'm talkin bout!

And not that the yay-yays need any help (and not that I drink) but I'll be arriving on Cinco de Mayo. Coincidence? I think not.

The Vikings won't be around (curses!) but we ARE going to see the Twins play the Angels. I even got our awesome seats again. That guarantees us a day in the Cities and at the Mall of America. (I'm terribly afraid that I'm going to run into the DSW store and start murmuring "Precious" while I pet the shoes. Kelly SHOULD keep me from such things. But if she doesn't, rest assured, she'll get pictures and post em for the whole dang free world to see.)

T'would appear as though it's time to get my tan on!

Random Crap

I'm tired y'all. I really don't know why. I haven't really had any stress... I've been sleeping, eh, decent, at night. Got more daylight now with the time change. What gives?

I'm also homesick. I miss Minnesota. Bad. I guess more accurately, I miss Kelly. Bad. This morning I saw a picture of the landscape up there and almost went to tears. Turns out she's been feeling the same way I am. It's clear- we are HOT messes without each other. Needless to say, as soon as I get the "ok" from Ed's parents that they can keep her for me, I'm bookin' that ticket. Now that Ed is going to be in Lake City, I can fly outta Jacksonville (for cheaper AND non-stop! *happy dance*) and have a ride there and back with no problem.

Oh! Ed got his transfer date! He'll be leaving warm and sunny Central Florida for warm and sunny North Florida! He has to report to Jacksonville on April 9th, but since he's in a service truck, he'll really be working all over. We aren't sure when the shop in Lake City is gonna open. Another bonus, he's gonna set up a little place out by my parents' house. We talked to them about it this weekend. Daddy seems real happy that Ed's going to be there. I know I am. It'll be so nice to not have to coordinate weekends. If he's not here, we'll be there. Another happy thought was Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is THE holiday for my family. Ed hasn't been there the past 2 Thanksgivings and it's been hard on me. Now, when I go over there, he'll be waiting on me. Same with Christmas.

Let's see. I've been reading a lot lately. If y'all need book recommendations, hit me up. That seems to be the way I pass my time. It's so peaceful, all curled up with my Kindle, completely engrossed in a book in my little house. Huh- maybe I'm too zen and THAT'S why I'm so tired?

No news on the Twatwaffle front- and that's a good thing. Apparently he and Princess Kit-Kat are still going strong. Snaps to them. Well, to her, for putting up with his antics. Maybe they're molded from the same material. I know I can think of a LOT of ex's of Ed's that can't believe he settled down with someone.

So CJ starts Kindergarten on August 20th. I can't decide whether to be thrilled or cry. I've known this day was coming since I had her, but it just came too fast! I am encouraged, though, that she'll do really well. Her VPK teacher said the only concern she had was that CJ needed to get outta VPK and go on to Kindergarten cause she's so smart. (Teacher's words- not mine. I swear.) We know she can hear and see, she can write her name (Colleen- not CJ- though she can write that too, of course) she can count, understand directions when you read em to her... all I can think is "Durn. I KNOW I didn't know this much when I was her age!"

I guess that's all for now. I hate that I'm not full of snark and sarcasm today, but I am just too dang tired! I'm gonna meander around the office and see if that helps.

Peace and Love.

American By Birth, Southern By the Grace of God

This weekend I went back home and partook in the festivities of the annual Olustee Battle Festival & Reenactment. As in a Civil War Reenactment. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of a Civil War reenactment, go watch Sweet Home Alabama then come back and finish reading.

SO.

On Saturday my family and I went to the festival downtown. We clogged our arteries with Pulled Pork Sandwiches and Funnel Cakes, we watched the soldiers march down the parade route and we even went out to the battlefield to watch one of the reenactments. *

A little background on the Battle of Olustee: It was the largest Civil War battle fought on Florida soil and resulted in a major Confederate victory. This battle ended the Union invasion of Eastern Florida.

Y'all. I am a bonafied Daughter of the Confederacy. My grandfather's grandfather was a Confederate Captain. I'm a Daughter of the Confederacy and I'm damn proud of it.

What I am not, however, is a racist.

Apparently, the fact that I was at a reenactment of a battle that resulted in a Confederate victory and I was PROUD that it resulted in a Confederate victory makes me a racist.

I guess all of the black, Confederate reenactors are racist, too. I sure hope someone got them the memo.

So many people hear "Civil War" and think "Slavery". To fly the Confederate Battle Flag means you might as well be a member of the KKK.

REALLY?

Really?

Y'all, the Civil War was about states' rights. Slavery was but a small part of that equation. I have been to the north and lemme tell ya somethin- I have witnessed more racism and bigotry in the north than I EVER have down here. Sadly, racism is everywhere. And ironically, it's colorblind. It involves black people and white people and hispanic people and middle eastern people and all other kinds of peoples.

Yankees on their high horses go on and on about how awful us southerners are for being proud of our heritage, they say that we're MAD we lost the war and want slavery back. Most of our ancestors didn't own slaves.

Let me repeat that:

MOST OF OUR ANCESTORS DIDN'T OWN SLAVES.

I know my great-great granddaddy didn't. Prolly most of em didn't agree with slavery, either. They dang sure believed in the states' rights though. And that's why they fought.

Y'all ever heard of "Carpetbaggers"? No? Let me enlighten you: Carpetbaggers were Yankees who came down south during reconstruction and treated the southerners like trash.

Nothin' pisses me off more than hoity-toity Yankees (or anyone else for that matter) thinkin they're all that and a bag of Skittles because clearly WE (the southerners) are insensitive, racist bastards and they were just perfect lil angels. No, no, Yankees. Y'all were meany-heads too.

Y'all remember that little thing called the Revolutionary War? We got pissed at England and fought back. We won. We became a great nation. Do the British hate us? For the most part, no. They're among our strongest allies. Do we label Brits anti-American because of what their ancestors did? No. British soldiers fought for what they believed in just like American soldiers fought for what they believed in. The Civil War is no different. I bet the Brits are GLAD they lost- especially since it was their former territory that helped save their rear ends during WWII.

So I say all of THAT to say THIS: Just because I rooted on my boys in grey on Saturday don't mean I'm racist and I'm pissed off that we lost the war anymore than it means a Northerner who is proud they won the war is a Carpetbagger.

I am proud to be a southerner. I am proud of my heritage. I refuse to be ashamed of it. I am 110% against slavery, racism and anything else that resembles slavery and racism. We all have skeletons in our closet. The Yankees have the Carpetbaggers and we have Slavery. I know I joke about the "Yankee Varmints," but, I'm GLAD that the events happened in such a way as to unite our great country. I'm GLAD that I can hop a plane to Minnesota to see my BFF and my Twin and play in the snow (when they have it). And I know my BFF is happy to hop a plane to Florida and play in the warm water and bake at the beach.

Don't hate, y'all. Just... don't. Be proud to be American. Embrace ALL our history- even the ugly parts- because it helped make our country into the awesome piece of land it is today.

Et tu, Subconscious?

So two nights in a row I've had these long, vivid dreams. I don't know about y'all, but my dreams are always chopped up or don't follow along any sort of plot line. These dreams though, theeese were different. I can even remember thinking "Wow. This is a really long dream... and it makes sense. Freaky."

Saturday night I had a dream that certain people from a certain state that I frequent came to Florida to visit. A certain someone from that certain group of people from that certain state that I frequent was also here. That certain someone was dating their own certain someone. This whole dream sequence ends with me getting a kiss on the cheek, a smile and "I could get used to this." Then a REAL kiss that screamed "I love you. I've always loved you. I'm not going anywhere." *

* In my defense, I was reading City of Glass this weekend (It's part of The Mortal Instruments series, by Cassandra Clare. Read it. Better n' Twilight. Promise.) Anywho, in this particular part of the book, Clary and Jace were tortured because they loved each other and couldn't be together. I'd like to think that was a major contributing factor to the dream. I'd like to THINK that, but it's probably not true.

So I woke up yesterday morning feeling rested, peaceful and happy (since my dream had been so peaceful and happy). Then I realized it was a dream. Then I was sad. Then I did the whole pissed n' bitter thing again and cussed the bejezus outta my subconcious.

Then I went to church. Cause cussin' is wrong. Even if it's your own subconcious.

This brings me to last night: I watched the Super Bowl.*

*Madonna SERIOUSLY looked like She-Ra when she first came on stage, y'all. SHE-RA.

I ironed. I finished my book and started another one. I texted my BFF.

And then I found out that the certain someone from my dream the previous night wanted to bring his new girlfriend and her little girl to an upcoming birthday party. Ugh. Can I NOT escape all of this? (At least my BFF has my back. She's in charge of the shindig and assured me I would be rep-rah-zent-ed. *fist bump*)

I mulled all this over while I read and showered and did my end of the night stuff. I took my sleeping meds, but they didn't work. The only time THAT happens is when Gerty's acting up. So, a special shout out to Gerty for NOT HELPING MY ISSUES AT ALL, you hag!

I didn't fall asleep until past midnight.

Then my subconscious sucker punched me AGAIN.

It graced me with another long and vivid dream. Wait. Did I say dream? I meant nightmare. And yes, I'm going to bore you with it. Because I hate symbolism and I'm sick of this BS so I want someone else's opinion on WTF my subconscious has against me.

In this dream I was going out to help some scientists research this fault line in the ocean. The water was just pouring into it. It looked really cool actually. So we do our research and go back to the beach house.

I feel it important to note that there was no one in this dream that I knew. Just me and a bunch of faceless scientists.

So we're at the house and I look out the back window (which, incidentally is the back wall. The entire wall is glass) and I see this tsunami coming at us. I distinctly remember thinking "Well, you're researching a fault line just offshore, of course there's going to be a tsunami. Wow. That thing's gotta be 100ft high!") The guy that owns the house tells us not to panic, we're high enough that the water will miss us and the pillars of the house are embedded into the bedrock, so just hold on- the house was tsunami-proof. Sure enough, I feel the impact of the wave and see things underneath us wash out, but we're okay.

WHEW, right?

No.

No sooner did that wave pass then I look out and see another one coming for us. And another impact. And another impact. (Interestingly enough, all of the waves were the EXACT same height and looked EXACTLY the same. I even remember that the water was dark blue as it was coming at us) After about 3 or 4 waves the guy says "Ok, well the house wasn't built to withstand THIS much action, so we need to evacuate onto the boat"*

*Apparently, while my subconscious had no problems torturing me, it couldn't seem to come up with a plausible explanation as to WHY the boat was still there after 4 tsunamis. Whatevs, Subconscious. Whatevs.

So now we're on the boat. And the waves keep a comin'... and the boat keeps a rockin'. Cause we can't go anywhere. We're stuck. Something's wrong with the motor. So even though we aren't in the house anymore, we're still sitting ducks.

I was never really terrified. Just... TIRED. Instead of thinking "OMG! I'm gonna DIE!" I was thinking "Son of a... can't SOMEONE drop a nuke in that fault line and stop these gotdang tsunamis? I'm TIRED!"

The last wave was the worst, though, it actually completely rolled the boat. I DO remember thinking "Ok. Wow. Well, this one is gonna finish us off."

And then my alarm went off.

So I turned off the alarm AND WENT RIGHT BACK INTO THE DREAM WHERE I LEFT OFF.

That never happens. Once you wake up from a dream, you're up.*

*Or so I thought

Apparently Subconscious wasn't quite done torturing me.

So I go back into the dream*

*and remember thinking IN THE DREAM "Wow... this is a long snooze button. Shouldn't it be going off soon?"

and SOMEHOW that wave DIDN'T kill me. I was given an option: Stick around and figure out the cause of all the waves, or evacuate. I distinctly remember thinking "Nuh-uh. I know what caused all this to happen. I wanna go HOME!"

Then CJ, bless her, came in and woke me up. The reason I heard no snooze button, apparently, was I turned the dang alarm OFF. Thank the Maker I had only slept an extra 7 minutes past when I HAD to be up.

I felt like DEATH, y'all. Felt like I had LITERALLY stood on the shores and battled tsunami, after tsunami, after tsunami.

So I did what any reasonable person would do. I got to work and Googled the shiznit outta "Tsunami Dreams." Here's the jist of what I came up with:

Water in dreams symbolizes emotions. Tsunamis represent repressed emotions which can no longer be held back, or an emotional situation which is about to burst into the waking world. The fact that I kept facing the tsunami over and over again indicates a way of dealing with whatever emotions it represents. (So either the emotions keep coming back or Ima stand there like the stubborn witch I am till they go away. Prolly both.) Apparently the height of the wave symbolizes the size of the problems or emotions (lil’ wave=lil problem etc). I guess a 100ft wave is nothing to sneeze at, but it’s not like it’s 2012 or The Day After Tomorrow sized, ya know? So it’s a problem that needs to be handled, but isn’t catastrophic.

*My* guess is being upset about that certain someone yesterday and last night contributed. The anger and irritation keep coming up over and over again, so I keep facing it over and over again (like the wave). I’m not sure if the wave means that I’ve been dealing with it for a long time or I’m GOING to be dealing with it for a long time. Either way. Clearly, it’s bugging me.

Another hypothesis (offered up by a dear friend) was that the height of the waves indicated the height of my emotional investment. I know I'm strong, so I face them. But I also know that by doing so, I'm going to get banged up pretty bad. I know I have to go through it though, so I stand alone and face it (which explains why I was the only one I knew in the dream).

I'd like to think that means I'm kinda bad ass. Messed up in the head, sure. But kinda bad ass. I didn't run from it, at least. I faced it down. Over and over and over again.

I welcome anyone's thoughts on this. I'm tired of mine. I've tried being logical, reasonable, negotiable... but my subconscious just won't let go. And I don't know how to make it.

Bitter? Table for One?

Sometimes I hate being an only child.

Wait. Scratch that.

Sometimes I hate being spoiled.

Well... No. Scratch that too.

I really freakin' hate that even though I know I don't REALLY want something, I don't want anyone else to have it either.

There. That's better. I can admit it. That's the first step, right?

It's just that it's so dang frustrating when I can identify the problem, I know that it's not REALLY a problem- that I'm just being bitter and *thunk* I really shouldn't be bitter in the first place, so WTF, Mandy?!?

I don't like being bitter. It's not very becoming.

I ESPECIALLY don't like being bitter when I have absolutely no reason to be. And when my "reason" is irrational, oh OH how pissed I get.

So now I'm bitter and pissed. And I'm pissed that I'm bitter. Awesome. It's like the damn Circle of (F'd up) Life.

What am I bitter about, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. (Picture me with my head hung low in shame and embarrassment while I admit this, k? Thanks.)

I'm bitter because Twatwaffle is "in a relationship".

Yep. *smack* I know. I coulda had a V-8.

Nevermind the fact that I, too am in a relationship. A committed one. That I have no desire to get out of. With a man I've loved for many years, gone to hell and back with and had a child with. NEVERMIND the fact that Twatwaffle's record for longest running "relationship" is about, oh, a month? (<-- it ain't bitterness if it's true, y'all) NEVERMIND the fact that I DON'T EVEN FREAKING WANT TO BE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH TWATWAFFLE.

I just don't want anyone else to be in one with him either. *pout*

Seriously. WTF? In what UNIVERSE does that make sense?

I feel like Emeril Lagasse on a bad trip: one part logic, one part common sense, mix in some faith and *BAM* irrational emotions! Say wha..? No, Emeril, that recipe doesn't sound right. A little less heroin and a little more garlic next time, ok buddy?

I've done everything I know to do (in no particular order):

- Counted my blessings

- Counted my money

- Counted my shoes

- Counted my Skymiles

I've made all the excuses:

"Not like anything was gonna happen anyways."

"He's a jerk, remember?"

"Uh... he's an inconsiderate, immature, brat."

"Probably the only reason he even came into your life was so you could meet your awesome Twin."

It ain't workin, y'all.

What more do I want? It's like I'm 4 and my cousin came over to play Barbies with me. She reaches for the Barbie that I haven't played with in months and was my least favorite Barbie to begin with, but as soooooon as she touches it... "That's MY Barbie, give it back! You can't have it." And it becomes the extra Barbie in the Ferrari that I crammed in between Skipper and that Hawaiian lookin' chick because she's NECESSARY to the pool party I'm planning so NO you can't have her back even if all she's doing is sitting there.

Know the sad part? (Besides that crappy analogy) I wasn't like that when I was a kid. I never had a problem sharing. I was always the generous one who said "Oh I haven't played with that Barbie in AGES, you can even take her home with you!" This is a recent development. Well, as recent as adulthood. We'll call it early 20s.

So I can't blame this on being an only child.

I can't blame it on "the one that got away" (Thanks, Katy Perry) I never "had it" in the first place.

I can't find anything to blame this feeling on except unsound logic! Which brings me back to being bitter and pissed and pissed that I'm bitter.

Ugh. This whole post made no sense. And I'm still bitter. And pissed.

Help? Anyone? Words of wisdom?

"No thanks, I'm full up in the retard department!"

I gotta give a shout out to my girl K for that title. And apologize for calling her hubby a retard when she offered him to me.

But that got me to thinking... A lot has happened since October, and I'm just not quite sure where to begin. I do know this, though: I really am full up in the retard department!

Development 1: Ed's home.

Well, he's not HOME home. But he is back in Florida. Bless him, his lil brain was not dealin' with cold and dark too well. Apparently he's more sensitive to the cold than I am. 40 degrees and this southern gal was walkin around in jeans and a sweater. He looked like Nanook of the North with his beanie hat and gloves and 25 jackets. The worst part was the dark, though. He had to be at work at 7am and most times it was after 7pm when he got off of work. That far north, the sun doesn't rise until about 8:45am and sets at 4pm. Poor boy never saw the first ray of sunshine. That's not healthy. He was on the verge of death. (For reals, he had about one more day left before he OD'd) I was up there over Christmas and we made the decision to bring him home. It just wasn't worth risking his life anymore. He's in Tampa now, living with his sister and her family and training for his new job with a heavy equipment company. This company has great benefits and a great future for him. Best of all, when he's done training, they'll send him back up this way to work in a service truck, so he'll be all up and down the I-10 corridor. Yay!

Development 2: I have a twin!

Not in looks, but in just about every other way. Same interests, same shoe size, same ring size, same way of thinking. I HAVE to be the luckiest girl in the world. I have my BFF in Minnesota (who is such the polar opposite of me that we compliment each other) and I have my carbon copy twin in Minnesota. The first time I ever met her was last month when I flew up there, even though we'd been talking for months before that. I'm even gonna be in her wedding next year. The connection was THAT instant.

Development 3: Thanks to my twin, the twatwaffle problem has been solved.

It's this development that made me realize that everything really DOES happen for a reason. My twin and I started talking randomly because of a mutual friend. Come to find out, my twin knew twatwaffle. She knew him well. She knew him well because he tried to hook up with her.

Let me repeat that for all you fast readers: She knew him well because he tried to hook up with her.

Within a week of when she and I started talking, I decided to confide in her about the twatwaffle... and my confusion over some of the actions I was observing. That's when it allllll started to unravel. I will say this: The odds of him getting caught were on the slim side of none. He was playing with fire, but the fire was on opposite ends of the country. "Of all the gin joints in all the world..." right?

I woulda taken that bet. And I woulda LOST. Just like he did.

Interestingly enough, about the time that my twin and I put two and two together (Twatwaffle was just bouncing back and forth between us, seeing whichever one he could, when he could.) Ed started to really get it in gear. We'd had a rough few weeks since he'd moved up north. He'd been pretending he was 23 and hot to trot, when really he was 33, overweight and officially the "old creepy guy" that hit on younger girls. I won't begrudge him his mid-life crisis. But I can tell you it didn't set well with me. Luckily, it all worked out. As did the twatwaffle situation. I gained a twin and a lot of perspective

Development 4: I may be full up in the retard department, but he's MY retard in MY department.

Bless his heart, Ed has a lot of learning to do. But he's trying. Oh, how he's trying. I honestly do the "face palm" move at least 3 times a day when it comes to him, but I know without any doubt in my mind, that man loves me more than just about anything. He's got a long road to wander down... he's still got a lot of learning to do. But we'll do it together. No man will ever love our daughter more than him. That one thing keeps me going when I just wanna smack him.

Development 5: How the heck did my kid get to be 5 so fast?!?

WTF, Life? Slow the heck down. There's no rush. Can I please enjoy my one and only offspring just a little longer before she becomes smarter than me? Yeesh. Next Thursday is gonna be here before I know it!

Development 6: The more things change, the more they stay the same.

I am still vain, I am still a size 4 and I am still (sorta) hoarding my money.

Development 7: Maybe I shoulda gone to law school after all.

That guy that hit my car last summer? He got a careless driving ticket. I totally disagreed- those lights are timed for SHIZNIT and if you don't drive that route DAILY, you are just askin' to be another victim of the City of Tallahassee's piss poor traffic engineering department. So like a good lil samaritan (and by good lil samaratin I mean scared to death of the karma fairy) I went to traffic court with him last week and got him outta his ticket. I believe the judge's exact words were "I'm not gonna argue with the love fest... y'all have a nice day." The kid still can't believe his good luck and my karma point cup runneth over.

(My boss actually asked me the next day if I'd 'given that whole goin' to law school thing any thought' I told him that yes, yes I had. I had thought about it and filed it under "Things to do when I'm rich and have nothing better to do with 3 years of my life." Seriously, these people pay ME to learn the tricks of the trade, yet I don't have any student loans, work bankers hours and get to enjoy my vacations. Law school? Negative, Ghostrider. I got it TOOOOO good.)

Development 8: Mama drives a Yukon now.

Only temporarily. Ed bought one when he was up north. (He claimed it was for the Four wheel drive, I claim it was because Ed wanted something new) Either way, that mo fo sucks down fuel quicker than Lindsey Lohan at a frat party so I GRACIOUSLY told Ed that he could borrow ALexus for his commuting needs down south and *I* would selflessly drive the purdy gas guzzler with the booty warmers.

Development 9: Booty warmers are the best. invention. EVER.

Nothing warms you up faster than getting into a toasty warm seat on a cold morning. Nuff said.

Development 10: For once in my life, I really can't complain.

I mean, I COULD, but none of it's legit. Never fear though, as the political season ramps up I am SURE that I will be on here ranting and raving about some stupid candidate that has gotten all up in my craw.

I promise to do a better job of updating this year. Things got so crazy the last part of 2011, that I couldn't even stop to breathe (which could have been a contributing factor in all them panic attacks)

XOXO