What's New Pussycat...WHOAWHOAWHOAOAHHHHH

Sorry, I kind of have a thing for Tom Jones.

Never in my life would I have considered myself a cat person. I'm too edgy and hard to love cats man. Cat people are middle aged lonely ladies who knit and watch the Lifetime channel, right? WRONG!

My friend's sister had two kitties and was going to Australia for a year. She needed someone to take the cats while she was gone. I decided that was totally something I could do. I've had them since July and I've fallen madly in love with them. But I've also kept in my mind that these are not my kitties, so have been able to keep a healthy attitude about giving them back in a while.

If I see grown ups being mean to each other I kind of just smirk and think, "Oh people." But if I see someone being harsh to a child or an animal, old Melanie who used to knock out people's teeth comes to the forefront. I simply don't ever want to comprehend what would make someone able to abuse a small child or an animal. I know I should care about the abuse of adults too, but I guess I just figure they can defend themselves better. Oh, and don't get me started on elderly abuse. I will seriously land back in jail. I will cut you. It might be with a spork, but it will be a cut just the same.

So back to kitties: their names are Roxy and Molly. Roxy is a large kitty princess who is half siamese with somewhat crossed eyes. Every time she looks at me I giggle a little inside. I also have her on weight control food. When I got her she was 21 pounds. Yes, I know she's not my cat. But I also know she has trouble cleaning herself and breathes heavy, so to me it would be abuse not to monitor her weight and try to get it to a more healthy level. I even took her to the vet to see if she was okay at this weight, as I am a chubby gal in good health. I thought maybe there could be a chubby kitty in good health too. Not so much. Molly is a skinny stripey gal who just now got off my lap. She sleeps on my legs or touching me in some way. She is also one of those crazy bastards who with no warning, will take off full sprint and run around the house for 30 seconds, until she just stops again for no reason and goes about her business. For this reason I joke that she is crazy just like me.

They were indoor outdoor cats with their family, but I tried to let them out here and they came in to contact with one of the neighborhood ferals and haven't been back out since, which is okay with me. They've destroyed a beautiful antique dresser by scratching, and have kind of tore up my favorite couch, but whatever. One of the OCD things I'm working on is that "things are just things" and they don't have to be perfect.

If Roxy stretches out, the bitch takes up half the couch.

I saw Molly doing this and laughed for a half hour on and off. No joke. Part of me thought, "It's the world's laziest Superman pose!" Then my mind went to the scene in Trainspotting where he's overdosed and is sinking in to the carpet and I started singing, "It's such a perfect day. I'd like to spend it with youuuuuuu." I know, I'm sick.

Ring In The New Year

No serious posts on new year's day. Happy new year everyone! For today's post I decided I shall do a year in review. A year in review of some of the ridiculous things that have come out of my mouth. The xmas tree comes down today. I always have a real tree. It's going to be sad to take all the ornaments off and wait 'til next year to do it all over again. Now, on with the ridiculousness! These are actual things I have said out loud or sent in emails over the last year. And it's merely the tip of the iceburg. I say 100 dumb/silly things a day.

"These shoes are killing me. They're like little iron maidens, but without the great music."

"You have a gun at your house, I have a ninja sword. I figure I should carry the nerdy all the way through to defending myself in case of a break in."

A friend and I were talking about people not being able to properly pronounce words. He said, "And if you don't know, you don't axe somebody." To which I replied, "Unless you really don't like them."

Someone was singing The Gambler and I interrupted at the "know when to run" part to say, "I know when to run. I'm just lazy so I rarely follow through with it."

Back when I had Facebook I had "liked" The Cramps fan page. It said "Cramps, the band." I asked my friend, "Is that really necessary to specify? Is there like a whole crew of people who like cramps, the pain?"

Someone called me on jumping to a conclusion and I told them I jumped to conclusions so often I should be in much better shape.

One day it was raining really hard and my friend said it was smacking him in the face. I told him, "You just look at that rain and tell it to stop being the Chris Brown of weather."

"I want to meet the interventionist who specializes in addictions to the show Intervention. If and when I meet them will I automatically be catapulted in to the fourth dimension of addictive behavior?"

A friend was talking about coming at people with a weapon and thought I should start doing that with my Star Trek pizza cutter. I can't think of a better way to threaten someone with a sharp object, while simultaneously looking so non-threatening it's ridiculous. "I will USS Enterprise you in to many small pieces! Many!"

I'm gonna miss you tree!

I am going to hate wrapping you up and putting you in a box, favorite xmas ornament.

Dating

I was going to talk mostly about how hard dating has been since I got sober but then decided that dating is fucking hard no matter what, so why narrow it down? Being sober does enter in to the story, but I think this is a story that some people can relate to, and it may bring hope to some single folks out there.

I am really lucky to have been with some amazing guys in my lifetime. One was a drummer in a punk band. He was my first love. One was a kid who sold ecstacy and spun trance records. He was just an all around handsome and amazing guy. One worked at Ralph’s stocking all night, and I would run him a bath and have it ready for him when he came home in the morning. The one before this one was a burly biker dude who was ten years older and pretty gruff. I can honestly say I don’t really have a type. If you seem genuine and nice, and you can handle my strong personality and off kilter sense of humor, I’ll give it a go.

That being said, I took the rule of being single a year after getting sober very seriously. I wanted to work on and get to know myself. My goals were so vast that a man didn’t really have a place in there. At about my 1 ½ year mark I started to think I was ready to date again. I realized that not having bars to use as a market for this, I was going to have a problem. So I started some profiles on dating sites.

I got the guy who hit on my friend right in front of me while we were out, the dude whose baby mama would call in the middle of our dates on purpose and he would answer, and the oh so lovely guy who used to be hot so used a 15 year old 30 pounds ago picture. I honestly walked in to where we were meeting and looked around ‘cause I couldn’t find the nice gentleman I’d been talking to several weeks via email and text. I tried to keep an open mind but all I could think was, “If I had come in here 30 pounds heavier, with gray hair when in my profile pic it was black, this dude would be having a tizzy fit.” Needless to say after a few months off and on of internet dating, I was ready to give up.

Flash forward to a few months ago. I was at KVIE which is our local public broadcasting station waiting to work the phone banks for an art auction. I was wearing some loose yoga pants, toms shoes, and frumpy t shirt. A fellow came over and complimented me on my messenger bag, and we got to talking. So the few hours we answered phones I checked him out and thought, “Wow, he just seems like a sincerely nice guy. There aren’t that many of those out there.” I planned on giving him my number as we walked out together, but he had other plans. He was staying to work another shift. I usually would’ve let it go at that. I would’ve done the, “The universe didn’t mean for us to get together” bullshit and carried on, but something wouldn’t let me. So I contacted my friend who runs the art program at the station and asked her for the guy’s contact info. I told her, “I know it might be inappropriate, but could you please???” and I sent the guy an email. In the email I apologized for the strange way in which I got his info, told him he seemed nice and asked if he’d like to get together some time. I ended the email with, “I promise, I’m not outside watching you from your bushes.” Not funny? To me it was hilarious.
He called back and we started hanging out. Our first date was at my house where I made us a delicious caramelized onion and baby bella pizza, and a salad. To make a long story short we’ve been together ever since.

You know how you make those, “I don’t want to date someone who…” lists? He matches several entries on that list, and I’m really glad I let the list go and took a chance. He is amazing. He accepts me 100% for who I am. He forgives my extreme control in the kitchen when he tries to come help stir the breakfast potatoes and it makes me want to cut off his hand. I am working on it. I even let him make the potatoes once. He is the first person I’ve allowed to cook in the kitchen in my house, and I bought it over a year ago. He leaves me adorable voicemails, sends me texts about how amazing I am, and is the first person in over a decade who makes me want to be a truly better person. Not only for myself, but for everyone around me. He actually likes that I do silly dances walking up to him while I make up nonsense songs. He even has made a silly dance of his own, which I am pretty sure did not exist before he met me. We’re rubbing off on each other, in a good way. He wants kids so somewhere down the line when he decides he’s finally ready, we’re going to have to part, because I don’t want kids. But you know what? I’m going to enjoy what we have for now and continue to be the best girlfriend I can be, until that is no longer an option. He is 30 and I am 37. So he also lets me feel like a cougar. I know I'm not quite old enough to be a cougar. I'm more like a cougar in training.

He is in Michigan with his family right now and I miss him something awful. He took this while his father was peeking over his shoulder when he was trying to send me a lovey dovey email.

He had apparently snuck this cheeseball one that is my favorite, in earlier. And yes, he did say I could put these on the blog. What 30 year old man would let me put these on my blog? A near perfect one.

Spork 'Em If You Got 'Em

My obsession with sporks began many moons ago. It all began with the fact that even as a child I had really compulsive tendencies. Once I found something I liked on a menu, it is all that I would ever order. At Taco Bell, that item was my beloved enchirito. When you got the enchirito, it came with a spork. I’m quite sure that most people’s first encounter with the spork was from the dreaded KFC, but not mine. I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Rocko Taco (that’s what we called Taco Bell as kids) because of this nifty utensil.

Unlike some of my obsessions from childhood that I’ve been able to let go of: like ironing my socks, and eating my M&M’s from lightest to darkest, the spork has had a hold on me ever since. A few years back I even got a titanium spork in the mail with no return address. Yes, that’s right folks, I have a secret spork admirer.

There are quite a few folks that love the spork. There are really cute cartoons, shirts, and other things touting the amazing qualities of this fine utensil. One of my favorites is a love note written something like: Dear Fork, I’m sorry I had to leave you but it just wasn’t working out for me any more. But I’ve had a son who kind of looks like you. His name is Spork. Love, Spoon.

I have a pretty keen spork collection, along with two shirts to show my spork love. The one shirt I’m missing that I really want is called, “That’s Not A Spoon.” It’s the Star Wars folks all sitting in the cock pit, looking out at space, at a floating spork. They stopped making it before I could buy one. I even contacted the artist to see if he would make me one, but no such luck. So you see, my love of the spork is stronger than most. It started out as a, “Holy shit that thing is as weird as I am. But good lord if it doesn’t serve its purpose. I can stab in to this here enchirito with the fork like prongs, and then sop up all the sauce with the spoony back portion. Oh my, you and I are gonna have a life long love affair spork.” Yes, yes I do talk to inanimate objects. They rarely ever talk back, so I think I’m okay.

I may or may not have tattoos on my shoulders with skulls and crosssporks.

What do you mean a 37 year old woman can't wear shirts with ridiculous pictures on them?

My collection is nowhere near complete.

Dear Body

First off let me thank you for being so resilient. You are a true wonder of the world indeed. The fact that I drank copious amounts of alcohol and topped that off with drugs for over a decade, and you’re still running strong is something that I really appreciate. Sorry about the booze, the yellow jaundiced eyeballs, and the heroin overdose. The fact that I stopped breathing and had purple lips, yet am still here today, makes me realize how awesome you really are.

I apologize for the years in high school where I ate as little as possible, then worked out obsessively to maintain a weight between 110 and 150, when that was obviously not the weight I was meant to be. I’m sorry that even after that I have continued to diet then stop, exercise vigorously then quit, for many years. I am not going to do that to you anymore. I’m not going to apologize to people that I now weigh anywhere between 215 and 220 on a given day, and that’s where I’m staying. I promise to still eat 1600 calories or less 6 days a week, and give myself one free day to eat a burger or some bacon. I promise to work out 4 days a week doing something that is fun, whether that be kettlebell workouts, running, walking, or dancing to a silly wii game.

I promise to try and love that little pooch belly that I often have dreams of taking a knife to and cutting off. The days where I cry about the ripples on the back of my thighs are coming less and less. I have a few days a month where I actually feel like a cute girl, when I used to have maybe a day a year. I’m really working on it, but it’s going to take time. I can’t even promise that I’ll ever get there. All I can say is that I’m really making an effort to realize that this is what you look like, and love you regardless. I promise to continue to eat whole foods and cook mostly from scratch. But let's not lie, I will still be having my Eggos, Coffemate creamer, lean cuisine meals, and Taco Bell fixes. Those are the processed things I just can't seem to let go. So let's go ahead and accept that shall we?

I will make more of an effort not to groan when other people think, “Hey, have you lost weight?” is a compliment. They don’t realize that it’s not. They also don’t realize that it’s probably their own weight issues that would cause them to focus so much on the weight of others. I do it too. I have said it to my best friend. I’m trying not to do it anymore. It’s okay to say, “You’re positively glowing today” or “That outfit is amazing on you.” But commenting on the weight of others is invasive and I’m really going to try and cut it out. The fact that others say, “But you don’t look like you weigh 215” is a compliment in their eyes. Even though it’s creepy that anyone would have a number in their mind about what I weigh, I know it’s just what society has done to them, and it’s not their fault. I will swallow the smartass comments and really try to be more compassionate about weight, period.

Now let’s talk for just a moment about brain. I mean, it’s great and all that you made him (shut up my brain is a him) all smart and stuff. The fact that I can do ridiculous math problems, solve Sudoku puzzles like some sort of rainman, and play Tetris like the bejeezus is all keen and great. But what’s with the obsessing? What’s with the if I don’t clean the house for a few weeks it feels like the walls or closing in on me? Did I have to be born thinking everything needed to be on my desk at a 90 degree angle? Did you have to make it so that some days I’d wake up wanting to curl up in a ball and cry, while other days my brain is going so fast I can’t let someone else finish their sentence ‘cause I REALLY have to get this out? Okay, I guess you had to balance out my brainy awesomeness with more than a few what I will label as “quirks.” So thanks for that. I’m humble because of it. Good lord am I humble. Thanks for letting me meditate to stabilize my moods, so I can be more accepting of my faults when things around the house aren’t perfect. And thanks for helping me to not yell at the boyfriend, and good friends, when they don’t do things the way that I would. I’m working not only acceptance of you body, but of others.

You’re welcome that I will be sober for 3 years in a few months. That was the least I could do for you. And thanks for making me one of those sober folks that doesn’t freak out to the max about alcohol. I’m really happy that I’m comfortable around it, and those who drink it.

Today's picture was going to be a full body pic I took of myself standing in front of the mirror, to show that 217 doesn't look so bad. But my iPhone seems to not be able to email pics so instead, I'm putting up my favorite pic of myself. Taken by my friend Lauren at the Blue Lamp, while we watched the Detroit Cobras. It's just taken from her iPhone sans flash, and turned out pretty. She's about 6 inches shorter than me and the angle is her taking it while I stood on a bar stool.

Huge thanks to my friend Marcela who sent this pic to me so I could get it up. This is what 217 looks like y'all. No tricky angles, no fancy lighting. Just me and my chub rock in a really cute outfit.

Personal Responsibility

This will be my only regular Wednesday post. I am going to make Wednesdays “cliché Wednesdays.” I will take an overused phrase that makes people groan, and explain why it either makes sense, or it makes me want to stab someone in the eye with a rusty spoon. (You could stab someone with a knife but I think a rusty spoon would hurt more, plus it might give them tetanus. Win win). I’m sure I’ll run out of clichés in like two months and start asking people for ideas and use those. Pretty positive there are enough clichés in the world to fuel a blog post every day for a year; once a week shouldn’t be all that difficult. On to the real post now!

I spent a good portion of my life making excuses for why I was where I was. Why I drank. Why I couldn’t get ahead in life. Why I kept having to move back in with my parents time after time because my roommate situations always seemed to be slightly less than optimum. Slightly less than optimum meaning living with junkies, or people who drank even more than I did. It isn’t up until very recently that I looked inward and realized that all of the things that happened to me, I can look at what part I played in them and see how if I’d have responded or reacted differently, life could’ve gotten as good as it is for me now, much sooner.

I have one rule I really try to stick to in life. I am allowed to complain about something three times. The third time complaining about the same thing I have to come up with a remedy as to how to fix whatever it is I’m complaining about. If I have a friend who is constantly late and I complain about it, I have to decide if that’s a fault I’m willing to accept in them. If I am, I need to stop whining about it. If I’m not, I need to tell them I don’t want to be friends with someone who doesn’t value the time of others. It really is that simple. What’s extra special awesome about this rule is seeing someone else’s face when you say to them, “You complain about this a lot. What are you actively doing to fix it?” They really *love* me when I say that. Now, nobody’s perfect and sometimes I’ll find myself being a constant complainer about something and it takes someone else nudging me and reminding me, “Hey, are you complaining about that AGAIN?”

The key is to be able to laugh at yourself when someone calls you on your shit, and realize when you are in the wrong and need to work on stuff. There are so many people that were taught, “Say sorry Johnny” to the point where sorry doesn’t really mean anything anymore. You can say sorry to me all you want, but you know what’s better? Fixing your behavior so that you don’t have to apologize so much. If you never admit you are wrong and truly realize when you’ve done something you shouldn’t have, you will stagnate and never grow. There are so many people who get defensive and pull the, “I didn’t do anything wrong” card. Try and look at it this way: even if you don’t think it’s wrong, but you’ve hurt someone you care about, maybe you could try to work on it anyways. I mean, who wants to continually hurt those they care about?

I know I’m a sarcastic ass sometimes, and I really have to pay attention when someone’s body language or words tell me that something I’ve said or done has crossed a line. I didn’t used to do that. I used to be the, “This is how I am and if you can’t take it eff off” lady. I’m really proud, and blessed, to no longer be that lady.

Oh, and did I mention that every post is going to have a picture of something that makes me happy? Sometimes it’ll be stuff I came across while walking around. But most of the time it’ll be something in my home environment that makes me smile. Yes, sometimes material things really DO make people happy, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

This is a picture I took while walking to work a month or so ago. The colors on that tree totally made my morning.

New To This...Again

So I started this blog years ago and like most things in my life I let it go because I was too busy partying and being busy with my treacherous life, to follow through with it. I found it by accident and decided I'm going to start it back up. I'm mostly writing it to get stuff out but hopefully it will make someone laugh, help someone out, or let someone know they're not the only crazy person out there.

A little about me: I'm a total OCD head and everything in my house has to be just so. The blog will get prettier as I put more time in and tweak it here and there. Sometimes it will be about my non-stop brain. Sometimes it will be about a great recipe I made. Sometimes it will be about being a sober lady who still likes to go to bars on occasion. Sometimes it'll just plain be all over the place.

I just started following blogs again. I have no Facebook or Twitter, and I'm okay with that. My life is complicated enough without a lot of electronic distraction. I am dating a boy I adore, and have friends who love me for exactly who I am. I will attempt to post at least twice a week, and almost every post will have a picture of myself, my home, or something I've whipped up to eat. Enjoy!