A Long Day

After another long day working, I got in my car and drove to my favorite grocery store. The air outside was bitter cold, as clouds covered the windy skies, blowing its icy breath upon my shivering skin. Quickly I hurried inside the store, my makeup wearing off and the dark circles underneath my eyes peaking through; a dreadful reminder of the long hours that I work, even when I am sick.

Walking through the aisles, I loaded my cart with an assortment of nuts, quinoa, and rice noodles, before briefly stopping by the flowers and admiring their delicate beauty. I was tempted to buy myself a small bouquet so that I can place it upon my desk. I have always loved the way fresh cut flowers look in my apartment and something about having them on a desk that I work long hours at, just makes me feel so good inside.  

“Not today,” I told myself, as I remembered that I had just spent far too much on Christmas gifts for my friends and family and I didn’t need to spend any unnecessary money on flowers.

I got in a line and looked up to see the cashier that I normally go to, was there. With her hair tied back into a low ponytail she wore a smile on her face and every time I have been in her line, I have heard her compliment every customer she interacts with. I’ve always liked being in her line. I like watching the faces of the people in front me light up as she finds something positive to say about them. By now I have seen her dozens of times and she always has such a refreshing attitude. I’ve always hoped that when I am her age that I will be just like her.

As I approached her with my full cart, she looked up at me with concern. I’m usually so chipper and happy but today I felt like I was 100 years old with a heavy weight on my shoulders.

“What’s wrong Angelika,” she asked as she began to scan my groceries.

“I’m sorry I am not myself today,” I said with a scratchy voice. “I’m so exhausted.”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” she said, furrowing her wrinkled brow as her dark brown eyes stared into mine. She could tell it was not mere exhaustion that was wearing me down, but something else.

“You’re probably right,” I said with a weak smile, trying my best to muster up some energy even though I felt like a car running on “E.”

Suddenly her face lit up. “I know just the thing you need,” she exclaimed before rushing away for a few moments. I stood there in a state of confusion as the bagger quietly put my groceries in the shopping cart. When the woman finally came back around the corner, she had a fresh bouquet of pink roses in her hand.

“A pretty girl like you needs pretty flowers in her life. Here is something to cheer you up,” She said. “It’s on me.”

My mouth dropped open as I felt a wave of happiness sweep over me. I was taken aback by her kindness. “Thank you,” I stuttered out as I began to smile, looking at the beautiful roses in my cart.

As I walked away from her, I felt in my heart that I wished she could feel the impact that she just had on my day. That small gesture of kindness is one that I will never forget. So now as I write to you, these flowers are drying out in my closet. When they are done drying, I will put them in a vase so that every time I look at them I will remember the impact that a stranger can have in someone’s life.  

Groupon… making unforgettable memories

Lately everyone in my personal life has been telling me that I am working myself to death and that I need to take a break. I did what I usually do and completely disregarded their comments until I realized that I began to feel so overwhelmed that I began to cry. It was then, on a late Monday afternoon, when I decided that I needed a break. I needed to show myself love.

            Not wanting to spend an arm and a leg, I went onto Groupon and viewed the spa packages that they had for my area. I found an amazing deal for a basic facial and an hour long massage for only $59 dollars, so before I could talk myself out of spending money on myself, I clicked “buy.” Quickly I called the location and a kind woman with a thick accent answered the phone. Communicating with her was a bit of a challenge but after repeating myself three times, I was able to get an appointment at 4 pm the next day.  

            The next day, I realize that I didn’t actually check where this place was at or look at what the location’s name was. It was then that I realized that this was actually a nail salon and not the typical spa. Although a part of me wondered if it would be a relaxing experience, getting a massage at a nail salon, I reminded myself that the last time I got myself a massage was at the mall in a massage chair so really anything is a step up from that.

            I arrive at the nail salon 20 minutes early and immediately notice that I am the only car in the parking lot and I was in a very questionable part of town. Pausing, I look at the empty parking lot and wonder what I just signed myself up for and if I should be concerned. I could almost imagine a tumble weed skipping across the road as western music played in the background.

            “Well… Here I go,” I said to myself as I walked up to the clear glass doors and stepped inside. Immediately every nail technician’s head turned to look at me when I entered. They seemed almost upset that there was a customer walking through the door which should have been a giant red flag.

            “What you want?” A snappy woman in her 40’s with a thick Vietnamese accent called out angrily from a nail station as if I just trespassed on her property.

            “I have an appointment for a facial and massage.” I replied before turning to the receptionist with a slightly nervous look on my face.

            “WHAT YOU WANT?” She once again yelled out to me, this time with a bit more anger in her voice.

            “Oh yes, you have appointment,” the receptionist interrupted with a cheerful smile, looking down at the paper. At this point I was pretty sure she was the only nice one in here but I was relieved that at least there was one nice person. Suddenly the nail salon erupted in loud Vietnamese as they yelled at each other from across the room, trying to get the receptionist to tell them why I dared to enter their lair. The yelling came to an abrupt stop and ended with nods, shortly after she yelled back.

            “Come with me,” she said and took me to a back room that was eerily lit. She told me to take off all of my clothes but just leave my panties on and lay on the bed. I thanked her and watched her step out and close the door.

            Turning around, I faced the bed and realized that the massage table was covered in hospital paper and on the top of the table was a single white towel that was cheap and course.

            “Oh shit’s getting real now,” I muttered to myself as I undressed and got on the table, covering my back end with the towel.

            Shortly after I covered up, a man walked in the door and said hello in a very sweet voice with a very thick accent. He immediately walked over to the towel, threw it in the air, before placing it back on me with the towel now going from the top of my shoulders down to the middle of my legs. I thought that was odd and felt a little uneasy that he had just momentarily exposed my cheeky panties for God to see, but once again I shrugged it off.

            My first thought as soon as the massage began was, “Why is he massaging me over the towel without lotion?” Five minutes into the massage, I began to wonder if he even had lotion or if this was the ways of the nail salon. Six minutes in, I began to feel like my skin was being torn off of me and I began to wonder if I had just entered the torture room of a sadist.

            I am not sure if maybe I hurt this man in a past life or if he just got in a fight with his girlfriend, but about ten minutes in he began to push so hard on my muscles that his arms began to shake. He wasn’t even going in the right direction while doing this massage and at one point it seemed like he was trying to shove my spine over with both this elbows and his hands. I wanted to raise my finger and say, “I am pretty sure that sucker isn’t going to move over for you.” But since I can sometimes be slightly passive

            “Take it like a champ,” I thought to myself as my eyes bulged out of my head. “It’s just the deepest deep tissue massage in the history of ever.”

 I admit, after he almost dislocated my shoulder, I considered stopping the service but my cheap ass wouldn’t allow it. I kept my damn mouth shut and got all $59 dollars’ worth of that massage and not a second less.  I wasn’t about to waste that money because I couldn’t champ it out, so I took it like a woman, beefed up and shut up.

            Finally, when it was done, I handed him a 50% tip and was lead into the facial room with an expression on my face that resembled a prisoner about to be executed. The facial room was a little more well-lit and had a glass container at the side with a facials creams and then some. In curiosity I walked over and saw two hilarious labels that made me question my life’s decisions. The first box said, “Sweet warm Uterus Herbs.” The second box was equally amusing with a bright white label that said, “Nourishing Warm Ovary Herbs.” It then occurred to me that considering this was the facial room and this clear glass box was full of facial products, that I might end up with Uterus Herbs on my face.

            “Oh sweet God what have I done to myself?”

            Laying down on the facial table, that luckily this time had a bed sheet, I watched a young woman enter the room. The woman was adorable and looked like she was in her early to mid-twenties. She had a pleasant expression on her face and just a warm energy that made you feel comfortable.

“Hello,” she said in a cheery voice.

 “I’m sorry I have a ton of makeup on. I had a meeting that I needed to go to before this and I couldn’t go out in public without my face on,” I said quickly with a smile.

Immediately the woman’s face dropped as she frantically began to glance at the door and glance back at me. By how quickly she flung her head back and forth I was afraid that she might throw out her neck. My eyes began to get wide as she looked at me with an expression that resembled horror. Finally, her silence was broken.

“No English,” she said with an intense struggle.

            I immediately nodded my head and smiled saying enthusiastically, “It’s okay,” while giving her the thumbs up. She looked relieved and gave me a thumbs up signal back, quickly getting behind me and sitting down.

            The facial began as a relaxing experience, until about midway through when she began to poke her fingers deep into face like some strange form of a deep tissue massage gone wrong. I didn’t think much of it and just figured she had a unique way of doing things that I wasn’t aware of. That thought remained like that until she came to the top of my head and began pounding it with a closed fist. This head knocking quickly escalated to her grabbing onto my hair and pulling it as if we were in some sort of a strange cat fight, of which I was clearly losing. After a few moments she let go of my hair and went back to head knocking for another minute or so.

What did I do while this was happening? I played dead. I literally did not move. I did not open my eyes. I barely even breathed. All the while I am wondering if there was a collective decision to take all anger out on the Groupon customer for taking advantage of their discount services.

            So next time I think I might just stick with that good old massage chair in the middle of the mall. I don’t mind getting cat called by random shoppers as I am vibrating on a chair from head to toe. To be honest, anything would be better than what I just went through.

Oh I Just Can't...

So recently the universe has decided to teach me an important lesson on tolerance and patience. I am not too happy with the universe wanting to teach me this and I find myself often raising my middle finger to the sky in protest and imagining God shrugging his shoulders while drinking some tea. The most recent test of my patience began only a few weeks ago—but these few weeks have gone by as fast as a slug race. There is a woman in her mid-20’s who just recently moved into my apartment complex with her boyfriend. Although her boyfriend seems like a nice guy and proof that opposites attract, I am pretty sure that she is the spawn of Satan. I didn’t think this at first when she approached me while I was walking my dog outside. She seemed like a friendly girl with a fiery spirit and definitely was an open book, telling me far more information about her personal life than I cared to hear.

I began to notice that every time I was outside with my dog, she would show up as if she had some sort of an Angelika radar and follow me around, normally complaining about her own life and on the occasion asking for advice. Now although I don’t usually mind people talking to me and at first the conversations were not that bad, things quickly changed and the complaints shifted to her bragging about the terrible things that she has done. Now when I say terrible things, I am not talking about double parking in a handicap spot terrible, I am referring to sadistic horrible things that made my skin curl and teeth grind. When she would tell me about these things, a sick smile would cross her lips and she seemed almost excited to talk about it. I tried to guide her in hopes that maybe she would see that things like that were not okay, but she would just laugh and tell me that it wasn’t that big of a deal. The few times that she would ask for advice on a certain subject, she would come up with excuses as to why my advice just wouldn’t work. I’ll give you an example of one of our conversations that were not so bad, just so you have a general idea of what I am dealing with right now.

  “How come you have been single for so long? How do you do it?” She asked me with a blank expression.

“I had to learn to love myself and I spend time with friends when I need company,” I responded. “I would rather wait for a really good one instead of settling with the first one that looks at me twice.”

 She paused, looking at me with a cocked eyebrow, “Well I don’t have friends because I am mean to all of the ones that I had.”

Immediately I could tell that this was her way of trying to get sympathy, but I had none to give. For some reason I just can’t feel bad for someone who’s version of a fun time is assaulting a homeless person trying to sleep on a bench so that they could smoke weed. “Well have you considered working on yourself and trying to become a nicer person?” I asked while eyeing a nearby pile of sticks and imagining me building a fire so that I could put out an SOS smoke signal.

 Without hesitation she quickly responded, “Oh I am not the problem. It’s their fault that I am mean to them. I can’t help it that I am mean. It’s just who I am.”

You should have seen my facial expression. I am pretty sure at that moment every muscle in my face dropped and for a split second I didn’t know whether to laugh at a joke or to have a WTF moment. Because of this, I froze, with an almost smirk on my face waiting for her to start laughing or give me some indication that this isn’t “for real.” But unfortunately the reality that she was being serious sank in.

Quickly I told her I had to go. I couldn’t take her anymore. Between pmsing and my bull-shit meter being at – 4, I knew that if I stayed around and continued this conversation my brain would likely melt out of my ears before I ran myself off of a cliff.

Honestly, more than anything, I was frustrated. I saw a human being that had created a depressing life for herself but didn’t want to do anything to change it. She always found a way to point her finger at everyone else but refused to realize that the problem actually was within herself. I saw the potential for her to have a good life but because she had become her own barrier, I knew the life she had would remain the same. Despite the terrible things that she had done to many other people, I just wanted the best for her. After consulting a friend about it, I realized that I can’t change anyone who doesn’t want to change—and most people don’t. Most people are content complaining about things in their life but when faced with the reality of what they need to do to change, they then point the finger to everyone else and blame them instead.

I learned an important lesson that day. Although I want to make the world a better place by helping others change for the better, the reality is, I can’t change anyone. I can only be a light in the life of others, leading by example, and work on myself to be a better person. I can’t make anyone a better person. That’s up to them.  

The Dark Pit

                I often times find that life can throw us curve balls that we don’t feel that we were prepared to handle. In an instant, the life that we once knew changes and we suddenly feel like we are falling into a dark pit, staring back at what we once had. Sometimes these changes feel like stars, we look up at their beautiful light in awe and wonder until it hits us that the light that we were staring at was nothing but the memory of a star that had died long ago. So then we are left in a dark place, wondering why the Universe is against us and wondering what we did wrong to deserve this darkness. As we finally hit rock bottom, we find that our soul breaks like shattered glass and we crumble within ourselves, rocking back and forth, while playing the horrible memory in our minds like a broken record. We find that our emotional pain radiates inside of us to the point of mental paralysis and though we are silent on the outside our soul screams on the inside.

                In times like this it feels like nothing is going to be okay. It feels like there is no way that light will ever reach a ditch as deep as we are in. It seems like an impossibility to climb our way back out of this dark hole. How can you climb up steep walls without a ladder?

                Finally we gather up the strength to pick up the broken pieces of our soul. We look at it, barely able to make out the jagged edges that once were connected, forming into who we once were.

                “I will not be defeated,” we whisper to ourselves as we feel the soft edges of the pit that we are trapped in. But even though we whisper these words to ourselves, there is a part of us that is still afraid.  A part of us wonders if this darkness is our new home. How can you climb up steep walls without a ladder?

                So slowly we pick up each and every piece of our broken soul and feel the jagged edges cutting into our delicate hands. “I will not be defeated,” we once again say this time with more determination. Gripping onto our shattered soul we thrust the first piece into the side of the hole that we are imprisoned in, creating our first step. Piece by piece we climb, higher and higher out of this ditch, until finally we see the light of the sun shining down on us. And as we step out of our darkness, we look down and see, that we have transformed into an entire different soul; one almost unrecognizable. Unlike our last soul full of innocence, soft, and frail we are now a beautiful creature full of strength, far better than the one that we once were. Yes our innocence shattered, but the darkness had to shatter it in order for us to leave our old shell behind and become the better version that we were supposed to become. And even though it felt like the Universe had abandoned us, we now realize that was not the case at all. Because the Universe knew that we had to shatter in order to transform. 

What to Do When Someone is Being a Jerk-Face

                 A few days ago, I was sitting in the break room reading Stephan Hawking’s book, “The Universe in a nutshell.” I was on my lunch break and I always treat myself to a good read before heading back to work. A few pages into the book, a woman-- known for her lack of tact and rudeness-- sat in front of me and began to watch me much like a hawk watches a mouse. I could tell that the little hamsters in her head were running as quickly as they could as she thought about what she wanted to say to me, her brows furrowing with thought.
               “You smell like a dog,” she said to me with a nasty glare.
               This comment was not unexpected considering that she had treated me like a jerk-face since the first day that she began to work for this company and every time I am working with her, I try to avoid her like the plague.
             As soon as the nasty words came out of her mouth, I briefly looked up from the pages of my book and said, “Well I have a dog, and though I am wearing enough perfume to knock out a small child, I am sure that my 200 pound mastiff may have caused me to smell slightly like him. Considering I keep him very clean, I’m not too concerned.”
            "You're a bitch," she responded with, hoping that by continuing to insult me it would get a rise out of me. But since I knew exactly what she was trying to do, I decided to give her exactly what she didn't want. I continued to read my book peacefully in hopes that she would crawl back to her cave and continue to answer phone calls like she was hired to do.
             Once more she opened her mouth, spewing venom in my direction, to which my response was simply to ignore her. Finally, I couldn't take her negative energy anymore and came to the realization that even though I am on lunch break, she was not going to let me read in peace. So I got up and walked away. Did I want to do that? No. What I wanted to do was throw a chair at her head and start screaming, “I AM THE HULK AND I WILL FUCK YOU UP!” But even though I was fuming on the inside, I remained calm on the outside, refusing to show that she had affected me to the extent that she had.

So today I am writing about toxic people. No matter what we do or how positive we are in our lives, there will come a time when a toxic person comes into our life. When this toxic person enters, whether it be for a few hours, a few weeks, or longer, it is up to us on how we handle this person. So here are my suggestions:

1.     If a toxic person comes in the form of a relationship then you need to stay away from that person as much as possible. A toxic person is so used to lingering in their own “shit” that they pull everyone around them down into their “shit” so they won’t be the only one that stinks.

2.      If a toxic person tries to pick a fight with you or tries to get a rise out of you, take a deep breath in and walk away. If you go off on them, they are getting exactly what they came for. If you walk away they don’t succeed in their adventures of being a poison.

3.       Do not lower yourself to the level of a toxic person and give them a taste of their own medicine. You don’t need to lower yourself. You just need to go eat a chocolate and ignore them.

4.      Remember that you are not Karma just like you are not batman. Stop trying to do Karma’s job. Karma does not appreciate it.

5.       Just because they are being a shit head to you, doesn’t mean you have to be a shit head to them. Then there are just two shit heads in a room and that is not cool.

6.      Remind yourself that the words that come out of their mouth is merely a reflection of how they feel on the inside. They are so toxic to themselves that toxicity is released from their lips, poisoning others around them.

7.       Just because you walk away from them without bringing the smack down, doesn’t mean that you feel better. Remind yourself that their opinion doesn’t define you and then go treat yourself to something that makes you happy, like getting a pedicure so your toes look like mini disco balls of awesome or buying that super flippin’ amazing milk shake that you have been eyeing for the past week.  

8.       Set firm boundaries with the person that is toxic. Flat out say to them, “I don’t appreciate the way that you are speaking to me. Until you can speak to me in a respectful manner, I don’t want to hear it.” Then if they continue just repeat yourself and walk away from them.

Lastly, remember this, you are not responsible for the words or actions of someone else. However, you are responsible for the way that you react to those words or actions. Do not lower yourself to the level of toxicity. Do not become the poison that the other person spews. Rise above it and keep living your beautiful life. 

Things to Keep in Mind with Abuse

Yesterday was an interesting day. I found myself in a conversation with a woman I hardly knew. She was a beautiful woman with tumbling locks and a slight Hispanic accent. As she spoke to me, I couldn’t help but notice that her large brown eyes told a story not of happiness and fulfillment, but of sadness and hardship. We somehow found ourselves on the topic on the relationship that she is in. She expressed to me that the man that she is with not only treats her with disrespect but also occasionally gets angry and takes his anger out on her in a physically abusive manner. When I asked her why she stays she responded with that she stays because she doesn’t want her two girls to grow up without a father and though he hits her, he never hits his daughters... at least for right now.

I nodded my head with understanding but then responded with a question. “Would you want your children to be with a man who treats them the way that your man treats you ?” In shock she looked at me, not knowing how to respond. She remained quiet so I continued. “You are an influence to your children. If you stay with a man who does not treat you with respect, your kids will see that and will take that as their largest example of how a relationship should look like. If you say, “Enough is enough. I deserve to be treated with dignity and respect,” and you leave, your kids will see that too and learn from it. So what lesson do you want to teach your kids? Do you want to teach them that if they reproduce with a man who treats them like crap that they should just stay in it for the kids? Or do you want to teach them that it is better to be alone and wait for someone who treats you with kindness and respect, then to be with someone who physically or emotionally abuses you? The choice is yours.”

I often hear people talk about how girls or boys that grow up in an abusive family will either get with someone who is abusive or become abusive themselves. But you do not have to be a reflection of your family and although it takes work and a lot of self-love, you can break the cycle and begin a new path.

Do you remember when you were a child and you spun around in a circle until you became so dizzy that even when you stopped, the world around you kept spinning? Well when you get into these relationships, you are the child, still spinning in a circle. You continue to spin because that is what is familiar to you. But once you decide that enough is enough, you stop. And although you are dizzy and often times don’t know what direction to go, if you remain firm and make it a point to take the right steps in healing, little by little, your spinning world will slow down until finally you are able to see a calm beauty around you.

Why I won't touch Pokémon Go

                So lately everyone has been asking me, “Have you started to play the new Pokémon Go game?” The answer is “no” and it will remain “no.” Don’t get me wrong, I want to download that game more than I want chocolate around my period, but I know the way that I get when it comes to addicting video games.

 Let’s take for example the incredibly awesome game of amazingness, “God of War.” A few years ago I met a girl named Vicki at my work who let me know that she was about to become homeless because she was getting kicked out of her apartment, due to not being able to afford it, and had no other place to go. Since at that time I lived in a town house with an extra bedroom, I told her that she, her 5 cats, and a pit bull, could move in with me until she could afford her own place. Within the week, she had moved in and began to set her things up around the house.

                The next day, I get home from work and my eyes fell upon a sight so beautiful that I felt butterflies flutter inside of me… a PlayStation. And do you know what was on top of that PlayStation of glorious wonders? GOD… OF…WAR…3. I kid you not, I about shit myself.

Quickly I ran up to the bedroom where Vicki was staying at and with eyes as wide as saucers I asked her if I could play on her PlayStation. I must have looked like a three year old kid on Christmas morning when she said yes, because I don’t think I have ever flown down those stairs faster than I did on that day. Now I have an addictive personality and I know this. Which is why I am not allowed to have a PlayStation in my house—it is my Kryptonite. When I sat down on that couch, I only got up to go to the bathroom and to get 3 hours of sleep, until I beat that game. Have you ever played a video game for four days straight? You start to go crazy from the lack of sleep and aching thumbs. By the time I watched Kratos stab his giant glowing sword through his own stomach I was at the edge of my seat with tears starting to form at the corners of my eyes. Yes I gave a standing ovation. Yes I know I am a bit crazy for doing that. And yes, it was from that point on that I realized I should probably not play video games because I get nothing done.  

So now a game called “Pokémon Go” has come out and I know that if I download that game I will end up being on an episode of “Intervention” after getting pregnant and selling my unborn child to be able to afford Masterballs. I already know that technology has taken over our day to day life and this is just another socially accepted addiction that I don’t want to be a part of. I truly enjoy taking a walk in nature without wondering if I will find Cubone in the woods. 

Professional Needle Stabber

                As many of you know, I am not one prone to using Western Medicine unless I absolutely have to—and even then it takes me to feel like I am about to croak before going to that. Now don’t get me wrong, there are many good things that come with using Western Medicine. Unfortunately I haven’t made good experiences and I am weary using anything, especially after watching commercials filled with smiling and dancing people, while in the background the narrator informs you of side effects including suicidal thoughts, bleeding organs, and the occasional side effect of spontaneous combustion.

                A week ago, I decided that I need to find a natural way to take care of my hypoglycemia and I wasn’t about to try the newest latest pill that may or may not work for me while giving me a side effect of growing a second head. Looking online, I went to my favorite website ever, “Groupon.” (If any of you reading this have not tried Groupon, I want you to know that you are missing out on life. Groupon is a magical place of discount services where you can frolic through expensive places, pretending to be rich, before handing the receptionist your coupon of a 5 million dollar discount. Okay maybe it’s not that extreme of a discount, but I have saved a *gabillion dollars using this website that makes dreams come true.) I found an ad for an acupuncturist that was doing 6 sessions for only $68 dollars and although becoming a living voodoo doll is not appealing to me whatsoever, I hear amazing things about the benefits from being stabbed with needles.  

                My first session I was nerve racked and by nerve racked I mean I was in full-fledged panic mode. I am not kidding either. I have a death fear of needles so after nervously ranting for ten minutes to the acupuncturist and feeling like my heart was going to explode from my chest, I finally was able to calm down enough to get out of the fetal position and allow the stabbing to commence. After the first needle went in, I realized that I had pretty much freaked out for a mere tiny pinch and I felt silly for even going into this fright. On the other hand, it’s mother freaking needles and those little shits are scary.

Once the acupuncturist was done making me his pin cushion, he turned off the lights and left me with the words, “Just relax.” At that point I looked like I was reverse planking, with every muscle in my body stiff as a board. How anyone can relax with a zillion needles in their flesh is beyond me but I kept reminding myself that I was doing this for my health.

I admit, I didn’t feel any difference after my first session, so when I came back for my second session, I let the professional needle stabber know that I didn’t think it worked. A few days after my second session, I realized that I noticed not only was I sleeping through the night without a problem, but my blood sugar was starting to stabilize. I just finished my third session today and I admit, I am pretty excited to see my health on the “up and up.” To anyone out there that is thinking about getting this done, you should give it a try—and by a try I mean a few tries.

*definition of Gabillion- pretty much a made up word that means a hell ton

Adulting When Sick

             

                The other day I woke up not feeling quite myself--and by that I mean, I felt like a Gorilla had played wack-a-mole with a two-by-four on my body, mainly concentrating on my head. As I opened my eyes, I realized that despite being sick as a dog, I still needed to go to work so that I can afford my Trader Joe’s addiction and if you have been keeping up with my blogs you will know exactly how bad that addiction is. Groaning, I looked hatefully at the sunlight pouring through my windows, while silently cussing out God for making the sun so friggen bright.

The day went by slower than a slug race and every minute that passed by seemed like an endless eternity of my body finding different ways to express its disdain for me. The end of my shift couldn’t come fast enough and by the time that I left work waddling to my car like a pill popping zombie, a thunderstorm had come, so I had the delightful time of strolling through the pouring rain like some dramatic movie about someone’s bad day. After an endless amount of bumper to bumper traffic and a mastiff that wanted to take his ever loving time to take a shit, I finally crawled into bed and came to the conclusion that I was dying. I wasn’t sure what I was dying from, but between my lack of hunger, my body feeling like I was jumping between a frozen tundra and Satan’s asshole- due to running a fever, and my aching body, I was convinced that I was going to die.

After napping and having terrifying nightmares of Donald trump chasing me, I finally wake up to a missed call from my best friend, of which I hesitantly return the call of. (Apparently I am not very social when dying.) Picking up the phone she greeted me with the usual tone of sunshine and flowers exploding from her vocal chords, neither of which were appealing to my miserable ogre mind. Gruffly I expressed to her that I felt like death and after listening to my symptoms and lamentations, she cheerfully told me that I might have limes disease or the flu. Neither of those sounded appealing to me but both required rest so I took the remaining part of the day and watched cartoons and the Home and Garden channel.

This is where life take a crazy twist and one of the 500 reasons why I shouldn’t watch the Home and Garden channel. After watching around 3 episodes of flea market flip, I came to the realization that I too wanted to flip things and try to sell them. Though I don’t have much vision when it comes to refurbishing anything and my carpentry skills consist of watching someone saw and hammer for me, I have decided that life is all about experiences and this is an experience that I want to have. So today is the day that I become an amateur carpenter entrepreneur and as Effie Trinket said in The Hunger Games, “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Oh no...

The gym and I are pretty much mortal enemies and the one place that I dread as much as a Doctor’s office. There is something so unappealing to me about hard mats and workout gear that reminds me of a bad BDSM movie, while people sweat and grunt while lifting weights and staring at themselves in the mirror and getting small erections. But lately I have been realizing that my thighs are high-fiving each other a bit more than they normally do, so since I have been thinking about going to the gym that I joined 6 months ago, for the last six months, I have decided it was time to drop the procrastination and force myself into the torture chamber ruled by meat-heads.

                Today I got up in the early morning and got dressed for work. But just to make sure that I actually went through with going to the gym, instead of coming up with yet another pathetic excuse, I wore my work out clothes under my work clothes. Now let me explain to you by what I mean “work out” clothes. I dressed up in tight yoga pants, a spaghetti string shirt, and threw on a comfy bra, forgetting entirely that something called a sports bra exists.

After a long day at work, I banned myself from going home until I have at least spent an hour at the gym and arrived at the gym feeling kind of bad ass until I realized that my comfy bra was actually a push up bra and my shirt made my tits look like two muffins on display at a bakery. Considering that I was half asleep when I put on my workout clothes this morning before work, it didn’t come to a shock to me that I had accidentally made myself look like a twenty-something year old horny club girl without meaning to. So in order to regain a morsel of my dignity back, I tried to pull my shirt a bit higher over my “breasticals,” hoping that I in some way I can cover the fact that Victoria is no longer a Secret.

                Walking into the gym was a bit overwhelming and it was packed full of people that shot up steroids like a heroin addict shoots up their liquid version of “fun.” As expected they were grunting and grinding their teeth, while staring at themselves in the mirrors, switching from one torture device to the next and I am pretty sure that I had more fat on my butt cheek than all of their bodies combined.

After walking through a maze of clanking metal devices-- half of which look like they could throw out my back--I finally sighed in relief when I came across a treadmill. I began the treadmill at a steady walk listening to dubstep and trying to keep my steps with the beat of the music just to make things more entertaining.  Finally I took things to a steady jog and looked up, getting a glance of myself at the mirror. It was then that I realized my boobs were not only bouncing around like an exciting episode of Bay Watch, but they were bouncing to the beat of my music. This immediately caused me to start laughing hysterically which caused me to get a few dirty glances from my fellow “treadmillers.”

“Okay it’s time to call it quits on this sucker,” I thought as I began to notice that I was drawing some unwanted attention and climbed off of the treadmill, trying to come up with an idea of what to do next.

I began to roam around this twisted metal labyrinth, looking at the photos of little men with different sections of their muscles colored in red and even gained up the courage to try a few of these devices, only to realize that I looked more ridiculous than ever. After several failed attempts, pulled muscles, and the feeling of outright confusion, I realized that weights and metal are just not my thing.  

Not wanting to quit just yet, I walked over to an area where no one was at, in the corner, on some very uncomfortable fake grass and began to do some yoga stretching exercises. I figured that since my muscles were all warmed up, this was the time to do some stretches and I since I was in a corner coated in green plastic stabby thingies, that I could be left alone to work out in peace. Shortly after I began my stretching exercises I noticed that middle aged men began to gather around me and work out, glancing at me the way that seagulls look at food. I tried to ignore it and continued to stretch until I looked over and saw a bald man with his mouth gaping open, staring at me with serial killer eyes. Now I am not just saying that he was doing push-ups or whatever people do at a gym. I am saying he was just standing there, with his fly trap wide open, and eyes burning holes into my body. It was then that I began to think of Hannibal and immediately decided that my time at the gym was done for the day.

Shortly after I got home I threw off my shoes and gave my dog a bucket full of water, watching him greedily lap it down. A light knock occurred on my door and when I opened it was face to face with two police officers, one male in his 40’s and a woman with a scowl on her face so great it seemed as though I was looking right into her dead sex life. At first I thought that someone had been murdered in my apartment complex but when they began to ask me if I knew about the recent cemetery vandalism, I realized that the only dead people they were talking about, were the ones in my backyard.

For all of those that don’t know, yes, my back yard is a cemetery and no it is not as creepy as you would think that it would be. It’s actually a pretty nice place and has really old tombstones dating all the way back into the 1800’s.  

As these officers were asking me questions my 192 pound English mastiff walks up behind me and vomits water all over the kitchen floor. I am not talking about a little burp of water-vomit that can be cleaned up with a napkin. I am talking about the pacific fucking ocean version of a projectile vomit out of my dog’s mouth and rushing towards and over my feet like a freaking tsunami. Immediately the female officer’s eyes got incredibly large as she stared down in horror at this natural disaster on my kitchen floor. I of course, knew what was happening as soon as I heard the burping sound behind me, but it happened so fast that I didn’t have time to react. So I just acted like nothing happened, while standing in the vomit, before politely excusing myself so that I can disinfect everything like a plague just broke out on my floor. 

Societal Oppression

Society and media instills in our minds that if we are socially accepted then we will find happiness. Media tell us the rules to go by through the “latest trends” and then society is expected to follow these rules without protest or question. If we do not follow them, we are emotionally and verbally beaten until we do by the peers around us that blindly follow these rules. If you don’t believe me, look at the posts that you see online by women and men who choose to not follow the rules of society. In this alone, you will find people that have gone out of their way to degrade the person that they don’t even know, trying to convince them that because they are different, they are “less than” and putting it under the false label of constructive criticism.

                These rules were put in place by opinionated individuals in influential positions, then followed by the masses who at times will go out of their way to enforce these rules, even if that means causing emotional and even at times physical harm to an innocent person.

An example of a common “rule” set by society is the separation of clothing, according to gender. Women’s clothing is normally sexualized to society’s standards and cut in a certain way to better display the shape of her breasts, childbearing hips and back end. Patterns in female clothing are typically limited to what society claims is feminine which is usually flowers, butterflies, and containing shapes and designs that are softly curved or contoured to a shape simulating the curves of a female body, in addition to emphasizing on the preferred body shape that is currently in style. Occasionally you see shirts with memes containing quotes that are considered to be “cute” and containing witty comments or ones based on a pop band. Male clothing is cut looser and normally contains bold colors and shapes that are seen to be masculine. The memes that are found on shirts are either crude, alcohol based, about a rock band, sexually suggestive, humorously sarcastic, in addition to the typical cartoons which are normally based off of popular shows that are violent in nature. Male shorts tend to be longer while female shorts are sometimes cut so short that the bottom of our butt sticks out, like reverse cleavage.

                When it comes to gender, the view point of today’s society is so limited that if we see a female with a short haircut wearing the labeled “male” clothing, we automatically associate her physical appearance with her sexuality and we are shocked when they do not always correlate. If a male is seen in women’s clothing with long hair, he is automatically degraded and shamed beyond reason, to a cruel extent.  

Society tells us what is masculine and feminine and demands that we submit to them. They force everyone into these categorized boxes and demands that everyone must fit in these boxes with a smile on their face, even if that means denying themselves of expressing what they truly like. Though society parades the fantasy of individualism, unfortunately most people are too afraid of the back lash they will receive, whether large or small, for truly being themselves. So they unknowingly submit for the fear of being reprimanded.

One of the first steps to finding real happiness, is to strip away the fear of rejection and dive into your soul, figuring out who you truly are and what you truly like. Be true to yourself. Not to put a morbid twist on things, but we have a 100% mortality rate. Do you really want to be on your death bed and realize that you were never truly yourself? So if you want to dress up in a tutu wearing an umbrella on your head, do it. Fucking do it. In the end the most beautiful part of you isn’t what you show others, but who you truly are on the inside. If you are true to yourself and openly show that, you will become a beacon of light for others, inspiring them to do the same.

My Addiction

So I have officially banned myself from Trader Joe’s, at least until I eat all of the food that I bought. Trader Joe’s, much like crack is to crack heads, has become my addiction. Between the deliciously odd and local foods that they display so proudly in their refrigerated and freezer section, and their inexpensive organic fruits, I have come to the realization that Trader Joe’s is my kryptonite.

This addiction is not helped by the fact that I pass by this hypnotic grocery store with large red letters, every day and every time I pass by this blasted store, I am left wondering if there is an excuse for me to go in to get something—which unfortunately there usually is and it usually has to do with flowers, fruit, and cheese.

Now before you tell me that I am being dramatic and telling me that I am sure this addiction is not that bad, let me tell you this… I somehow beyond me, have been spending around $300 a week on groceries for one person. My cabinets are loaded with so much food that I had to rearrange my entire kitchen to make more room for the “food I haven’t tried yet” section and even had to give some of my stuff away for “cabinet space.” I have so much food in my house right now, that if an asteroid hit this planet right now and I had to survive off of what I had, I would have no worries whatsoever. I probably could feed a few friends too!

My problem with Trader Joe’s isn’t so much sales, because quite frankly I really don’t think I ever see them. My problem is that everything is so cheap that it feels like everything is on sale. So naturally, I feel like I have to buy it all, especially the things that you know you shouldn’t eat but you want to eat… like cake and cookie dough—God yes.

Hello There Doctor

                So today I woke up to rain pattering on my window, while the question lingered in my head, “Why the hell am I up so early?” Slowly the horrific realization sank into my head that today is V-day-- the day that my vagina goes to battle with the gynecologist. This is the one day a year that I dread more than spring cleaning my disaster house with a hangover.

                When I finally pull up to the office, I look at the ominous windows trying to figure out why anyone would choose to have this job.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad there are doctors that specialize in my “Vag-health,” but it is definitely not a job that I would want to have. I can’t imagine the horrors they have seen, which is probably the reason why most of the gynecologists I have come across seem to have no sense of humor.  

                After walking through the dreary rain, I step into a bright office and walk up to the woman behind the counter. She seemed awfully happy to be working the front desk and quickly asked me if I had my insurance card and my ID on me. I quickly pulled it out of my dinosaur green purse and as I was doing so, was asked if I had an emergency contact. For some reason I find this to be a nerve racking thought as I wonder to myself, “why I would need an emergency contact? Is there the possibility that I might go into shock during this yearly pap-smear?”

                As soon as I hand her the cards, I rush into the bathroom to pee because for some reason the random fear of accidentally pissing myself when prongs are shoved in me, came into my mind. What I didn’t realize is that #1 the lady was asking me though the door for me to pee in a cup and #2 apparently I am really good at locking myself in bathrooms but not very good at getting back out.

                Five minutes and two nurses later I am finally freed from solitary confinement. As I stumble out of the bathroom while trying to maintain some sort of dignity, the nurse then asks me in front of a room full of waiting women, “Did you happen to pee in a cup?”

                “No, but I promise I’m not pregnant!” I said as cheerfully as possible with the realization that I just released the specimen they needed in the porcelain throne. “Is that what you’re checking for?”

                The nurse’s face became flat as she said, “no.” She then quickly turned around and walked away, going back to whatever vaginal duty she had.

                “I might be able to make some more,” I wearily called after her while patting my stomach. She didn’t respond and instead disappeared behind the wooden door.

                I am finally called to the back by a petite woman with a thick Ukrainian accent. She takes me to a room and tells me to go stand on the scale. With hesitation I look at the scale, knowing that I won’t like whatever number they throw out to me-- which is why I refuse to have a scale in my bathroom. I prefer just eyeing my weight. Do I look healthy? Yes. No number needed.

                “Do I have to?” I ask the tiny woman standing in front of me.

                “Yes it is needed,” she responds with a look of annoyance.

I immediately begin to take off every piece of crystal I had on my body, including multiple rings and bracelets because there is no way that I am getting on this satanic machine with anything unnecessary that might add onto the number. I then tell her, “My underwear and my bra weigh too much, please take off an additional ten pounds in consideration for that.” Yes, I do admit that I was sporting a good old pair of granny panties because cute panties are only worn when someone other than my dog can see them.

Once I step on the machine and she measures my numbers, I ask her if this is even accurate. She tells me it is, so I then insist that I go to another one because, “This one is lying to us.” She agrees to do this and takes me to another scale which I’m pretty sure lied to me also. Once this is done, I step into the gynecology interrogation room where I am sat in front of a grumpy lady with a scowl on her face, the gynecologist. She then begins to ask me numerous questions, some of which I am still not sure why she asked. For example, “Have you ever had an eating disorder?” In all my years of doctors spelunking in my cave, I have never had someone feel the need to ask me about what I do or do not put in my mouth. I admitted that I had in the past had an eating disorder and she asked me if I still had an eating disorder and if I saw a therapist. I told her that yes I used to see a therapist for it and no I currently am not barfing up my food.  She then asked me why I am there to see her and I told her that I was there for my yearly and some good old birth control. She asked me if I was sexually active, on which note I laughed and I said, “No you would be the most action I’ve seen in months! I need the birth control because I want to rip my uterus out if I don’t, because my period cramps feels like I’m exorcising a demon.”

After that, she takes me into another room where she tells me to get naked and put on a paper sheet which was folded on the table. She then stepped out of the room. I never understood why gynecologists do that. This woman is about to be all up in my junk and see me butt naked but has to step out of the room to give me privacy so that I can get naked.

I shrug my shoulders and take off my clothes before beginning to attempt to unfold the paper sheet. As I am unfolding the sheet, I realize that this paper has sections that are glued together and I can’t figure out what goes where. Three rips later, I try to stick my head through what I believe is the hole where my head goes through. That rips the sheet so badly that two sections drop to the ground. So I give up and sit naked on the table until she comes back.

A few seconds later I hear a knock on the door and the woman steps in the explosion of confetti that I accidentally created. Rolling her eyes she takes another sheet out and points to the holes saying, “These are for your arms and it’s open in the front.”

“What is the point in wearing a paper sheet dress that is entirely open in the front? How does this make any sense?” I wonder to myself as I lean back and put my legs in the stirrups.  As soon as the doctor comes around, I immediate say, “I did a courtesy shave. Let me know if there are any problems down there.”

Although quick, I still hated the procedure that she did. I always do. Every time I get a pap smear done, I always wonder if this is what it feels like to get probed by an alien and then I begin to wonder if all of those alien abduction stories are based off of what happens in the gynecology appointments.

Well as you see, I have survived the appointment and the final message that I was told by the doctor was that everything looked normal down there and by that I’m assuming that she meant my junk did not mutate into some other organ over the span that I was there. I guess I won’t be using my emergency contact. 

Global Suicide

We are creating a planet buried in our own filth, simultaneously committing global suicide, genocide, biocide, and ecocide. The more that we advance, the more that we destroy, like an unstoppable virus that has taken over our once-healthy host planet. Walk into any major city and look at the horizon; you can see the pollution weighing heavily like a massive beige cloud. That cloud is a poison that we breathe into our fragile bodies while we live amidst the trash that litters our streets, our parks, and our beaches.

That plastic bottle you saw on the side of the road will take between 450 to 1,000 years to decompose because the person that threw it out of their window decided that this planet- our home- is their trash can. Videos of sea turtles screaming out in pain as trash is being pulled from their bleeding nostrils has surfaced all over the internet, while other photographs and videos show corpses of animals and birds with guts full of the trash that we discarded and they accidentally consumed. While we may not like to admit responsibility for these actions, every piece of trash that slices open an animal is the result of our species’ irresponsibly and carelessness. We are at fault and almost every species on this planet is suffering in some way or form.

Lush, beautiful rainforests used to cover 14% of the planet’s surface yet to this day only 6% remains and that percentage is rapidly shrinking at the rate of 1 acre per second. We tear down the homes of millions of different animals because we believe that our agenda has more worth than their life; yet by doing this we are shooting ourselves in the foot by polluting our largest fresh water source and destroying the trees that filter the air that we breathe. The runoff from the agricultural fields that replace the rainforest are polluting our largest fresh water sources, making the water undrinkable. Only 1% of our water sources are accessible and available for human consumption. These water sources are depleting at an alarming rate while our population is ever increasing. What exactly is humanity going to drink when it is all gone? Why are we destroying what helps us survive?

Due to poaching and rainforest destruction amongst many other human activities, scientists have now informed the public that we are bordering the next mass extinction. According to the World Wildlife Foundation, “The rapid loss of species we are seeing today is estimated by experts to be between 1,000 and 10,000 times higher than the natural extinction rate,” and this is due almost exclusively to human activity. Soon our grandchildren will be viewing tigers and mountain gorillas among thousands of other species the way that we view dinosaurs; creatures only to be found alive within the pages of a book, but never to be seen with the naked eye.

                Here we are as consumers, standing in the middle of a consumer-based society, arguing over whether or not climate change is actually happening and no matter what evidence is shown the argument is an endless one. This isn’t a zombie apocalypse, y2k, or some other scare tactic for those that love a good dose of drama. This is the result of human activity as a collective whole impacting the planet that we live on to a detrimental point. Climate change is serious enough of an issue for global leaders to hold a conference in Paris, inviting officials from nearly 200 countries to meet and come to an agreement to reduce climate change. Global warming is not a conspiracy to alarm people and it isn’t a concept made up by Al Gore. This is real and it is happening. Change starts with the individual and needs to happen for the sake of humanity’s collective future. Procrastination is our biggest enemy; the actions need to happen now. One doesn’t have to go to extremes, wearing burlap in the woods while deodorant becomes more of a memory than a hygienic effort. There are little things that you can do to help that won’t take much effort and these little things you do will make a big impact. Remember a single pebble can stir an entire pond.