As you may have seen in my previous posts, I mention Manfriend quite a bit.
I love him.
He is a good man. He has made me believe life can be good, and that there is love and happiness after divorce. He is kind. He is sexy. He makes me laugh. He is a sweetheart.
On December 13, he got down on one knee, told me he didn't want to wait anymore to start the next phase of our lives, and asked me to marry him. After the initial shock wore off, I said yes.
My parents proceeded to ask when we thought we'd get married, and I said it all depended on when my annulment arrived. The last correspondence I received indicated it would take up to a year for it to be decided.
Four days after Manfriend proposed, I received a letter in the mail from the Archdiocese Tribunal:
"This letter is formal notification that the Reverend Judges of this Tribunal have handed down an AFFIRMATIVE decision and that the nullity of the [NAMES] marriage has been judged as proven in the eyes of the Church.
"You are hereby informed that you are free to marry in the Catholic Church insofar as your marriage to [EX'S NAME] is concerned..."
There are other formalities in the letter. I could barely read them through my tears. I couldn't believe it. I thought I'd be waiting for months for this letter. And it was there, in front of me. I called Manfriend at work and told him the news. He was initially speechless, and then said, "Wow. Talk about perfect timing!"
I know!!!
Manfriend and I talked later that night, and we decided to look forward to all the positive things in the coming year.
I feel so blessed and happy right now. I am overjoyed.
Love you, Manfriend. I can't wait to be Mrs. Manfriend in late 2010!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Catching Up, Part II: Coumadin Free!
In early September, after an ultrasound of my leg and blood work completed, my doctor informed me I no longer had to take Coumadin.
I can't tell you how relieved I was.
I've since had a follow-up ultrasound of my leg, and everything is still clear! I am so happy!
While there are moments where I still freak out a little if I feel a twinge in my leg, I feel like I sleep a lot better at night now.
Let's face it. My early 2009 was not terrific, but things definitely picked up!
I can't tell you how relieved I was.
I've since had a follow-up ultrasound of my leg, and everything is still clear! I am so happy!
While there are moments where I still freak out a little if I feel a twinge in my leg, I feel like I sleep a lot better at night now.
Let's face it. My early 2009 was not terrific, but things definitely picked up!
Catching Up, Part I: Death and Heartache
Hello:
I just looked at the last time I wrote anything here, and I'm embarrassed it's been that long. There's so much to tell, though, so I guess it was worth the delay in posting anything. It's been a roller coaster of a year.
Let's catch you up, shall we?
Death and Heartache
In August, I lost my beloved Scottish Terrier to intestinal and liver cancer. He was seven years old, and such a joy. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of him or miss him. I am grateful to have my 12 year old Boxer girl, but he was the one that always greeted me at the door. I miss my furry welcoming committee.
When I found out the diagnosis, Manfriend looked at me and asked me if I was going to contact my ex. I stared at him. I really didn't want to, but at the same time I knew if it was me I'd want to know (which is exactly what Manfriend said to me). My Scotty's timing was interesting, as I had to contact my ex anyway to inform him I'd be going through the Catholic annulment process and he'd have to complete some paperwork.
I e-mailed him on a Sunday with the news about the dog and about the annulment. He wrote me back immediately and told me he wanted to see him before I took him to be put to sleep. The next day, I called into work to let them know I would have to work from home for a couple of days. I had already taken a half day, as I had to go to the Archdiocese of Philadelphia in the afternoon to start the annulment process, which consisted of providing payment, completing initial paperwork, and being deposed by a Deacon.
I asked my Dad to watch the dogs while I traveled to Philadelphia. My mom went with me for the ride. We parked and went to the Archdiocese's building, and I signed in as my mom found a chair in the waiting room.
Side note: When I get nervous I tend to make inappropriate observations..and then say them out loud. Case in point: I had no idea what to expect as part of the deposition, and as my mom took out a baby blanket to embroider for my niece, I looked above her and noticed a painted picture of Jesus. It looked like Jesus was giving gang signs. I mentioned that to my mom, and she just looked at me and said, "Keep it up, Cher." I think she was worried I would botch up my chance at the annulment if the wrong person walked by and overheard me.
The Deacon, a very nice older gentleman, came for me. I handed over all the necessary paperwork, and he informed me he'd be interviewing me, and the deposition would be cassette-taped. It started off pleasantly enough: How was your childhood? How many years of Catholic school did you attend? And then, we switched to: When did you notice changes in your marriage? What do you think it was that ended your marriage?
Between my dog dying and reliving tough moments in my marriage, I burst into tears. The second half of the interview consists of me bawling my eyes out and the Deacon reassuring me it would be okay and handing over half the contents of the tissue box on his desk. I'm glad he took notes. I don't think anyone attempting to listen to the tape would have understood the second part.
Completely drained, I walked out, paid the fee, and Mom and I walked back to my car in relative silence. I drove home, asked Dad how the dog was, and he looked at me and said, "he's okay" in a way that let me know it was time to make an appointment to put him to sleep the next day.
I called my vet to let her know I needed to schedule it, and we scheduled it for the next night. I planned on spoiling him rotten until I had to take him and say goodbye.
After a long day, Manfriend came over to spend some time with him. We went outside, and as I look at the street in front of my house, a familiar red truck goes by. I checked my phone and saw he left a text message indicating he was staying at a local hotel and wanted to know if it was okay to see him that night. Sure. Why not? I had already been kicked in the balls all day that day, why not just wrap it up. I agreed, and with that, after over a year, I saw my ex for the first time.
Admittedly, it was difficult to see him. He came in and hugged me. I just stood there like a statue. Once that was out of the way, he spent some time with the two dogs. When I told him I had made the arrangements, my 40-something year old ex burst into tears. He loved that dog, and while I was sympathetic, it was almost more than I could bear. I grabbed tissues for him, we exchanged "how is your family" pleasantries, and then I walked him to the door. He thanked me for allowing him to say goodbye, hugged me again (and I stood like a statue again), and then walked out the door.
Before he got into his truck - and again, why not continue the ball-kicking - I asked him a question that had bothered me for a long time. I gave him a name, and asked him how he knew her. Very casually, he said, "Oh, we're dating." Just like that. We're dating. Keep in mind I still have annulment deposition trauma circling in my head. I told him that was interesting since her number was all over our mobile number bill since the December before we got divorced. Again, nonchalantly, "We were just friends." Uh-huh. A friend of which he had never spoken. As emotional as I was, my heartbreak was complete, and I felt like I could move forward with my life.
The next day, I spent as much time as I could with my little Scotty as I could (in between eight conference calls throughout the day). At about 2pm, my ex texted me again. He wanted to see him one last time before he headed back home. I acquiesced, but told him I barely had time to say goodbye. He arrived at my house at 4pm, pet him, asked me to take a picture of him and the dog with his cell phone, I snapped the shot, and then he walked out my front door, hugged me again, and drove off by 4:15pm.
Manfriend picked me up an hour later, and he held my dog as I drove to the vet's. I carried my dog in with Manfriend in tow, and asked him to sit in the waiting room while I had my appointment. I've never had to say good bye to a pet via euthanasia before, so I was a mess. The vet came in to the room, and she gave him an initial shot, and then she administered the final drug, and I felt him slip away.
There are no words for that moment.
I kissed his forehead for the last time, made the cremation arrangements, and walked out. They give you so much love, and you can only hope they felt happy and just as loved when they exit the world.
I was so grateful Manfriend was there for me. (Thank you, Manfriend. I love you for that.)
I know this was a bummer of a post upon returning to writing, but don't worry. There is good news and happiness in the follow-up posts.
I just looked at the last time I wrote anything here, and I'm embarrassed it's been that long. There's so much to tell, though, so I guess it was worth the delay in posting anything. It's been a roller coaster of a year.
Let's catch you up, shall we?
Death and Heartache
In August, I lost my beloved Scottish Terrier to intestinal and liver cancer. He was seven years old, and such a joy. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of him or miss him. I am grateful to have my 12 year old Boxer girl, but he was the one that always greeted me at the door. I miss my furry welcoming committee.
When I found out the diagnosis, Manfriend looked at me and asked me if I was going to contact my ex. I stared at him. I really didn't want to, but at the same time I knew if it was me I'd want to know (which is exactly what Manfriend said to me). My Scotty's timing was interesting, as I had to contact my ex anyway to inform him I'd be going through the Catholic annulment process and he'd have to complete some paperwork.
I e-mailed him on a Sunday with the news about the dog and about the annulment. He wrote me back immediately and told me he wanted to see him before I took him to be put to sleep. The next day, I called into work to let them know I would have to work from home for a couple of days. I had already taken a half day, as I had to go to the Archdiocese of Philadelphia in the afternoon to start the annulment process, which consisted of providing payment, completing initial paperwork, and being deposed by a Deacon.
I asked my Dad to watch the dogs while I traveled to Philadelphia. My mom went with me for the ride. We parked and went to the Archdiocese's building, and I signed in as my mom found a chair in the waiting room.
Side note: When I get nervous I tend to make inappropriate observations..and then say them out loud. Case in point: I had no idea what to expect as part of the deposition, and as my mom took out a baby blanket to embroider for my niece, I looked above her and noticed a painted picture of Jesus. It looked like Jesus was giving gang signs. I mentioned that to my mom, and she just looked at me and said, "Keep it up, Cher." I think she was worried I would botch up my chance at the annulment if the wrong person walked by and overheard me.
The Deacon, a very nice older gentleman, came for me. I handed over all the necessary paperwork, and he informed me he'd be interviewing me, and the deposition would be cassette-taped. It started off pleasantly enough: How was your childhood? How many years of Catholic school did you attend? And then, we switched to: When did you notice changes in your marriage? What do you think it was that ended your marriage?
Between my dog dying and reliving tough moments in my marriage, I burst into tears. The second half of the interview consists of me bawling my eyes out and the Deacon reassuring me it would be okay and handing over half the contents of the tissue box on his desk. I'm glad he took notes. I don't think anyone attempting to listen to the tape would have understood the second part.
Completely drained, I walked out, paid the fee, and Mom and I walked back to my car in relative silence. I drove home, asked Dad how the dog was, and he looked at me and said, "he's okay" in a way that let me know it was time to make an appointment to put him to sleep the next day.
I called my vet to let her know I needed to schedule it, and we scheduled it for the next night. I planned on spoiling him rotten until I had to take him and say goodbye.
After a long day, Manfriend came over to spend some time with him. We went outside, and as I look at the street in front of my house, a familiar red truck goes by. I checked my phone and saw he left a text message indicating he was staying at a local hotel and wanted to know if it was okay to see him that night. Sure. Why not? I had already been kicked in the balls all day that day, why not just wrap it up. I agreed, and with that, after over a year, I saw my ex for the first time.
Admittedly, it was difficult to see him. He came in and hugged me. I just stood there like a statue. Once that was out of the way, he spent some time with the two dogs. When I told him I had made the arrangements, my 40-something year old ex burst into tears. He loved that dog, and while I was sympathetic, it was almost more than I could bear. I grabbed tissues for him, we exchanged "how is your family" pleasantries, and then I walked him to the door. He thanked me for allowing him to say goodbye, hugged me again (and I stood like a statue again), and then walked out the door.
Before he got into his truck - and again, why not continue the ball-kicking - I asked him a question that had bothered me for a long time. I gave him a name, and asked him how he knew her. Very casually, he said, "Oh, we're dating." Just like that. We're dating. Keep in mind I still have annulment deposition trauma circling in my head. I told him that was interesting since her number was all over our mobile number bill since the December before we got divorced. Again, nonchalantly, "We were just friends." Uh-huh. A friend of which he had never spoken. As emotional as I was, my heartbreak was complete, and I felt like I could move forward with my life.
The next day, I spent as much time as I could with my little Scotty as I could (in between eight conference calls throughout the day). At about 2pm, my ex texted me again. He wanted to see him one last time before he headed back home. I acquiesced, but told him I barely had time to say goodbye. He arrived at my house at 4pm, pet him, asked me to take a picture of him and the dog with his cell phone, I snapped the shot, and then he walked out my front door, hugged me again, and drove off by 4:15pm.
Manfriend picked me up an hour later, and he held my dog as I drove to the vet's. I carried my dog in with Manfriend in tow, and asked him to sit in the waiting room while I had my appointment. I've never had to say good bye to a pet via euthanasia before, so I was a mess. The vet came in to the room, and she gave him an initial shot, and then she administered the final drug, and I felt him slip away.
There are no words for that moment.
I kissed his forehead for the last time, made the cremation arrangements, and walked out. They give you so much love, and you can only hope they felt happy and just as loved when they exit the world.
I was so grateful Manfriend was there for me. (Thank you, Manfriend. I love you for that.)
I know this was a bummer of a post upon returning to writing, but don't worry. There is good news and happiness in the follow-up posts.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Being Smacked With A Message
I've re-learned every day is a gift. I was actually smacked pretty hard with the message this week.
A colleague of mine lost her husband to a pulmonary embolism three weeks ago. He was 46. He is survived by his wife (my colleague) and his two daughters, ages 12 and 8.
I'm going to give you the short version of the chain of events. Four weeks ago, my colleague called out of work. She said her husband took a bad fall and he had to go to the hospital. He cracked his head open and broke an orbital bone (near his eye). I later found out from her he was a lifer on coumadin, due to a blood clot he experienced in 1995 after back surgery. Three weeks ago, she said she had to work from home, because she was picking her husband up from the hospital after surgery (he had blood on the brain from the fall). She expected to take him home that day. She received a call indicating he had fallen. (He collapsed in the hospital's Dispatch area). She went to the hospital, where she found out he was "code blue." He had a moment where he was awake, and said something was wrong, that his chest hurt. Despite their best efforts, he did not make it.
I spoke with my colleague yesterday, to see how she was doing, and she's still trying to process everything in her head. She repeatedly said "I just don't understand. I was supposed to bring him home." I'm glad this wasn't a face to face discussion. I had tears streaming down my face as she told me the chain of events.
Then she asked me about all things related to my experience with DVT and the pulmonary embolism, but my experience was so different from her husband's. I felt terribly I could not give her comfort or answers to her questions.
After I finished my phone call with her, I wanted to walk out of the office and hide. Escape. Run. Never once while I was in the hospital did I think I would die. I imagine that's what he was thinking, too. They would just patch him up. He would go home to his family and resume his life. I think about that poor man, and my stomach churns.
It's been a while since I've really thought about the series of events with my situation earlier in the year. I make no apologies about the self-centeredness of this next comment: That could have been me. I could have been dead, at 36.
A friend of mine said to me a couple of weeks ago, "I don't understand why you are doing the fitness boot camp. You don't like getting up early, you aren't a fitness junkie, and you don't like being outdoors. Why?" I just shrugged my shoulders, unable to articulate why exactly I decided to participate in something that is so contradictory to who I am.
If I had to answer that question today, I would say, "Because I don't want fear to cripple me." I had my toe in the grave without fully realizing it until three weeks ago, despite the numbers of medical staff, Manfriend and others telling me how lucky I was during that timeframe. I remember being terrified of every pain and ache when I first started the DDIP. I remember pulling a groin muscle in the first week and thinking I had another DVT. I was afraid of the pain and the inconvenience of the DVT and PE earlier this year. Fear can be downright paralytic. I had to mentally fight the fear through the physical activity.
That phone call on Friday was an epiphany. As my Instructor said this week, "The best things in life are not things."
A colleague of mine lost her husband to a pulmonary embolism three weeks ago. He was 46. He is survived by his wife (my colleague) and his two daughters, ages 12 and 8.
I'm going to give you the short version of the chain of events. Four weeks ago, my colleague called out of work. She said her husband took a bad fall and he had to go to the hospital. He cracked his head open and broke an orbital bone (near his eye). I later found out from her he was a lifer on coumadin, due to a blood clot he experienced in 1995 after back surgery. Three weeks ago, she said she had to work from home, because she was picking her husband up from the hospital after surgery (he had blood on the brain from the fall). She expected to take him home that day. She received a call indicating he had fallen. (He collapsed in the hospital's Dispatch area). She went to the hospital, where she found out he was "code blue." He had a moment where he was awake, and said something was wrong, that his chest hurt. Despite their best efforts, he did not make it.
I spoke with my colleague yesterday, to see how she was doing, and she's still trying to process everything in her head. She repeatedly said "I just don't understand. I was supposed to bring him home." I'm glad this wasn't a face to face discussion. I had tears streaming down my face as she told me the chain of events.
Then she asked me about all things related to my experience with DVT and the pulmonary embolism, but my experience was so different from her husband's. I felt terribly I could not give her comfort or answers to her questions.
After I finished my phone call with her, I wanted to walk out of the office and hide. Escape. Run. Never once while I was in the hospital did I think I would die. I imagine that's what he was thinking, too. They would just patch him up. He would go home to his family and resume his life. I think about that poor man, and my stomach churns.
It's been a while since I've really thought about the series of events with my situation earlier in the year. I make no apologies about the self-centeredness of this next comment: That could have been me. I could have been dead, at 36.
A friend of mine said to me a couple of weeks ago, "I don't understand why you are doing the fitness boot camp. You don't like getting up early, you aren't a fitness junkie, and you don't like being outdoors. Why?" I just shrugged my shoulders, unable to articulate why exactly I decided to participate in something that is so contradictory to who I am.
If I had to answer that question today, I would say, "Because I don't want fear to cripple me." I had my toe in the grave without fully realizing it until three weeks ago, despite the numbers of medical staff, Manfriend and others telling me how lucky I was during that timeframe. I remember being terrified of every pain and ache when I first started the DDIP. I remember pulling a groin muscle in the first week and thinking I had another DVT. I was afraid of the pain and the inconvenience of the DVT and PE earlier this year. Fear can be downright paralytic. I had to mentally fight the fear through the physical activity.
That phone call on Friday was an epiphany. As my Instructor said this week, "The best things in life are not things."
Woo-hoo!
I can't believe I did it, but I did.I "graduated" from Fitness Boot Camp. I didn't quit the Squad. I managed to get through most of the running (still, not my favorite). I enjoyed being outside, often covered in grass clippings and mud. I looked forward to starting off Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at "zero dark thirty" with 100+ crazy people and an incredibly disciplined and motivated set of instructors.
On Friday, after an integrity run (we all stayed together - left no one behind) and a series of insane calisthenics, we huddled together for graduation. Each of the new recruits received certificates and dog tags. They honored select recruits for their motivation, discipline and heart. Someone from the squad catered a graduation breakfast (for which I could not, unfortunately, stay).
Here's the nutty thing: After the first two weeks where I could barely walk or breathe, I've come to a place where I crave this time. I've signed up for the next session.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Fabulous: The Millionaire Matchmaker
I'm always on the go. This is the first night in a very long time I've had a night to myself. Just my two sleepy dogs, the television and me. While I miss Manfriend tonight, I feel like the "me" time is so needed.
I made my way through all the premium channels, and nothing. Then, my pastry-puff, mind-numbing salvation: Bravo TV. The entree: The Millionaire Matchmaker. The star: Patti Stanger.
I love this woman. She tells it how it is. Present company included, men and women should follow the Millionaire's Club rules for the participants.
I love watching her verbally beat the crap out of her clients. They get frustrated; they get irritated; but then a light bulb goes off and they start to listen to her. And you know what? She's right. Wanna know something else? A lot of them find happiness when they follow the rules.
However, when they don't follow the rules...drama. Lots and lots of drama.
Both scenarios are great television. I cheer for the happy couples and the men who follow the rules!
I made my way through all the premium channels, and nothing. Then, my pastry-puff, mind-numbing salvation: Bravo TV. The entree: The Millionaire Matchmaker. The star: Patti Stanger.
I love this woman. She tells it how it is. Present company included, men and women should follow the Millionaire's Club rules for the participants.
I love watching her verbally beat the crap out of her clients. They get frustrated; they get irritated; but then a light bulb goes off and they start to listen to her. And you know what? She's right. Wanna know something else? A lot of them find happiness when they follow the rules.
However, when they don't follow the rules...drama. Lots and lots of drama.
Both scenarios are great television. I cheer for the happy couples and the men who follow the rules!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Rest and Relaxation, Damnit
I need to get my head in order. Things seem to be moving faster than I can handle at work, home and personal. I'm sitting on my couch, my hamstrings and knees completely sore from a week of working out at fitness boot camp. I'm making an active effort to ensure I spend equal amounts of time with Manfriend, family and girlfriends. I don't want anyone feeling like I'm ignoring them or that I want to spend less time with them. My head hurts from all the complications related to the several projects on which I am engaged. Even my day off this week felt like work. I'm either too distracted or too tired to settle down and do the things I need to do. Laundry is my continual enemy. My writing time seems to diminish each week. I know consulting is not something I want to do for the rest of my life, but I don't have the brain power to really examine what it is I want to do that can also provide the same amount of financial security. I'm desperate to find balance and to avoid the mistakes I've made in the past. I seem to be falling short in areas.
Honestly, I'm burnt out. I could really use a break. Unfortunately, with Purple Leg at the beginning of this year, my vacation time is scant at best for the rest of the year.
A little rest and relaxation is in order. So, this weekend I'm doing as little as possible - with the exception of laundry.
Second Chances
I watched Sex and the City for the umpteenth time. I really am a sap for the romantic comedy.In a scene with all four girls, Samantha talks about not being happy all the time in her relationship, and looks at the other girls for agreement. She asks Charlotte how many times she's really happy in her marriage. Charlotte, the only one not in turmoil in the movie, says, "I'm happy every day. Maybe not all the time every day, but I'm happy every day."
If you were a fan of the show like I was, you know that Charlotte's road to happiness was not simple or straight-laced. She was married to someone who couldn't...perform. The two of them couldn't work it out for additional differences, and eventually divorced. This shattered Charlotte's view of the fairy-tale marriage she always wanted. And then she met Harry Goldenblatt.
Sometimes, like Charlotte's storyline, happiness comes in the form of second chances.
I dig that concept.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Exhaustipated
I'm a little run-down after this week.
For starters, my hot water heater broke. This is after almost a month of trodding down to the basement every three to four days to reset it so I could get hot water. Tuesday night, Manfriend went into the basement to check if there was any water from the torrential downpour we've been experiencing in our area. I heard him bellow, "Cher...I think you better get down here." Never a good sign. I walk down the stairs, and it's like Amazon rain-forest humid. I see water pouring from the overflow of the water heater, and it appears to be raining from my ceiling.
Shit.
There's water dripping from the ceiling, and from all the house wires, too. Time to call Dad.
Manfriend and Dad determined, thankfully, the water dripping from the ceiling was condensation, and not a broken pipe. They dried everything using a leaf blower and shop vacuum, and then instructed me to call my service company. A technician came out and replaced the lower element, and said someone else would return in the morning to replace the upper element and the relief valve.
Wednesday, the technician came and replaced the remaining parts. I was working from home. As he was downstairs fixing things, my internet connectivity went dead. I was not happy, as I was in the middle of a meeting which required me to use netmeeting, a webconferencing tool. After he finished, I asked him if he had touched anything other than the hot water heater. He said no. While happy I would have hot water like normal people do, I was very frustrated my connection could not be restored. Because I looked like hell and refused to go to the client site looking the way I did, I packed everything up and worked at the local supermarket's wi-fi cafe, which is about a mile or so away from my house.
Do you know how difficult it is to facilitate a conference call while someone on the loud speaker is yelling "PICK UP ON AISLE EIGHT?" Side note: Peeps at the grocery store, please - you have a loud speaker. There's no reason to SHOUT!
Thursday morning, I turn on my shower faucet, and guess what? No. Hot. Water. I could feel myself unhinge. I called the service company begging them to get someone out later in the evening. My buddy John talked me off the proverbial ledge, explaining it was most likely a circuit breaker issue. I took the quickest shower in my life (I had lukewarm water.), and got to work early. I tore home after an exhaustive day of meetings, and met up with my Dad. He took a look my basement configuration, went over to the array of switch and fuse boxes, and found the breaker for the hot water. Click. Let the Seraphim sing - HOT WATER! I called the service company and canceled the visit. The cable company technician arrived, and replaced some old splitters, and I had wonderful, glorious internet connectivity again! Woo-hoo!
Friday, I got up at 4:30am for my fitness boot camp session, and the majority of it was running. Yep. Running. My exercise kryptonite. We were to run a two-mile course, and then come back for two to three exercises (push-ups, flutter kicks/crunches, and squats). My running was more run-jog-walk-drag-get yelled at to pick up the pace-run-jog-walk-walk-run the home stretch-collapse. From there, took a FABULOUS hot shower at my house, and then worked from 9am to 11pm.
I crawled into bed on Friday, and swore I would sleep through to Sunday. I slept...and woke up at 7am. *whimper* I couldn't fall back to sleep again, and got up for the day. I returned my client manager's text to hear his feedback and to provide him with any updates I had on the previous day activities, had lunch with a couple of friends, and went to Manfriend's house for dinner and hanging out.
Today will be laundry day, and anything else that comes up. I'm hoping there's a nap somewhere in this day's agenda. :-)
For starters, my hot water heater broke. This is after almost a month of trodding down to the basement every three to four days to reset it so I could get hot water. Tuesday night, Manfriend went into the basement to check if there was any water from the torrential downpour we've been experiencing in our area. I heard him bellow, "Cher...I think you better get down here." Never a good sign. I walk down the stairs, and it's like Amazon rain-forest humid. I see water pouring from the overflow of the water heater, and it appears to be raining from my ceiling.
Shit.
There's water dripping from the ceiling, and from all the house wires, too. Time to call Dad.
Manfriend and Dad determined, thankfully, the water dripping from the ceiling was condensation, and not a broken pipe. They dried everything using a leaf blower and shop vacuum, and then instructed me to call my service company. A technician came out and replaced the lower element, and said someone else would return in the morning to replace the upper element and the relief valve.
Wednesday, the technician came and replaced the remaining parts. I was working from home. As he was downstairs fixing things, my internet connectivity went dead. I was not happy, as I was in the middle of a meeting which required me to use netmeeting, a webconferencing tool. After he finished, I asked him if he had touched anything other than the hot water heater. He said no. While happy I would have hot water like normal people do, I was very frustrated my connection could not be restored. Because I looked like hell and refused to go to the client site looking the way I did, I packed everything up and worked at the local supermarket's wi-fi cafe, which is about a mile or so away from my house.
Do you know how difficult it is to facilitate a conference call while someone on the loud speaker is yelling "PICK UP ON AISLE EIGHT?" Side note: Peeps at the grocery store, please - you have a loud speaker. There's no reason to SHOUT!
Thursday morning, I turn on my shower faucet, and guess what? No. Hot. Water. I could feel myself unhinge. I called the service company begging them to get someone out later in the evening. My buddy John talked me off the proverbial ledge, explaining it was most likely a circuit breaker issue. I took the quickest shower in my life (I had lukewarm water.), and got to work early. I tore home after an exhaustive day of meetings, and met up with my Dad. He took a look my basement configuration, went over to the array of switch and fuse boxes, and found the breaker for the hot water. Click. Let the Seraphim sing - HOT WATER! I called the service company and canceled the visit. The cable company technician arrived, and replaced some old splitters, and I had wonderful, glorious internet connectivity again! Woo-hoo!
Friday, I got up at 4:30am for my fitness boot camp session, and the majority of it was running. Yep. Running. My exercise kryptonite. We were to run a two-mile course, and then come back for two to three exercises (push-ups, flutter kicks/crunches, and squats). My running was more run-jog-walk-drag-get yelled at to pick up the pace-run-jog-walk-walk-run the home stretch-collapse. From there, took a FABULOUS hot shower at my house, and then worked from 9am to 11pm.
I crawled into bed on Friday, and swore I would sleep through to Sunday. I slept...and woke up at 7am. *whimper* I couldn't fall back to sleep again, and got up for the day. I returned my client manager's text to hear his feedback and to provide him with any updates I had on the previous day activities, had lunch with a couple of friends, and went to Manfriend's house for dinner and hanging out.
Today will be laundry day, and anything else that comes up. I'm hoping there's a nap somewhere in this day's agenda. :-)
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
I think I've grown gills...
What is up with all of the rain? Don't get me wrong: It's great for the greenery. But, sheesh.
This morning I woke up to the news and saw the weather forecast, which indicated to me not only would the roads be slick, but the traffic would be horrendous, too.
I wasn't disappointed. It took me 2.5 hours to get to my client site today. Boo.
Tomorrow, I will work out in the great outdoors. It will be soggy and muddy. Awesome.
This morning I woke up to the news and saw the weather forecast, which indicated to me not only would the roads be slick, but the traffic would be horrendous, too.
I wasn't disappointed. It took me 2.5 hours to get to my client site today. Boo.
Tomorrow, I will work out in the great outdoors. It will be soggy and muddy. Awesome.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Not Too Bad Today...My Groin Might Give You a Different Story, Though
Day 1, Week 2 of Fitness Boot Camp is under my belt. I thought I had actually worked through the groin muscle pain until one particular move where you "shuffle" across half a field, and then switch and "shuffle" the second half. As soon as I switched, I felt my right groin scream at me. I yelped in unison.
Dr. Drill Instructor used a different approach today. He announced squad leaders. We have BEE Bach, who is all sorts of awesome. (She did this slide across the field on her belly - very reminiscent of Brandi Chastain or Mia Hamm!)
Each squad leader led us through one exercise and one stretch exercise. We then lined up into six squads. I'm in squad three. We were instructed there were stations where various exercises were conducted.
The following is my recollection of those exercises. It's 5:30am, and you're lucky I remember my name. As Dr. Drill says, I've got to wrap my tiny little brain around these items. Some of these items, I've made up names, but hopefully they give you a picture of what happened in each station. I'm a work in process. So is my brain and memory.
My squad went to four stations. To do so, we had to run various parts of what I affectionately call "the evil mo-fo mile." Our team ran a quarter of it, then got into formation. The first exercise was "shimmying" on all fours to the center of the space, and then do 20 squats. We repeated this twice.
Then, we ran to the next station, where we did lunges up a hill and then ran down the hill. We repeated this a number of times. Then we got down on our butts and pulled ourselves up the hill using our arms (this was to work out the triceps). We did this once, I believe, before another squad appeared.
We got up, and ran to the third station, by the picnic tables. We did reverse push-ups by getting in a sitting position with our backs against picnic table seats and using our arms pushed ourselves up. We did 20 of those. Then we did push-away squats, where we squatted and shoved ourselves away from the table. (20 of those). Then we did steps ups, basically stepping up with one foot on the picnic table seat, then lifting the other; getting down, and using the opposite leg, repeating the process 20 times. Our final piece in this station was to do pushups using the table, by pushing as close to the table as possible, the pushing away, clapping your hands together, and then repeating the process 20 times.
Our final station was our home field, where we did lunges half way across the field, then sprinted the second half of the field. We did squats, push ups, and one-armed holding positions with each arm. I'm forgetting the order now, but somewhere in there we did the shuffle across the field where I re-injured my righ groin muscle. We then ran back to the opposite end of the field, and did planks, super planks, modified sit ups, held our legs six inches from the ground and did circles clock-wise and counter clockwise, and then more more modified situps. As we were doing this, the five other squads were coming in, and at the end we did what I can only describe as a "squat showdown." We held this position for a long time.
We then came together, sat down, for school. Dr. Drill talked about the importance of discipline to make it through the program, and encouraged us to talk to our neighbors to the left and to the right to encourage them and to get to know them, as we will be in a team unit.
My trusty Philadelphia Eagles hat needed to be washed from last Friday's hour in the rain, so my head was soaked and covered with cut grass, as was the rest of my body. Note to self: buy multiple hats, be they baseball hats or skull caps.
I am glad I am done, and that I am starting off my day with this. While I'm not nearly as good as some of the others in the squad in terms of performance, I'm pushing myself as hard as I am able to go.
Today was a good day.
Dr. Drill Instructor used a different approach today. He announced squad leaders. We have BEE Bach, who is all sorts of awesome. (She did this slide across the field on her belly - very reminiscent of Brandi Chastain or Mia Hamm!)
Each squad leader led us through one exercise and one stretch exercise. We then lined up into six squads. I'm in squad three. We were instructed there were stations where various exercises were conducted.
The following is my recollection of those exercises. It's 5:30am, and you're lucky I remember my name. As Dr. Drill says, I've got to wrap my tiny little brain around these items. Some of these items, I've made up names, but hopefully they give you a picture of what happened in each station. I'm a work in process. So is my brain and memory.
My squad went to four stations. To do so, we had to run various parts of what I affectionately call "the evil mo-fo mile." Our team ran a quarter of it, then got into formation. The first exercise was "shimmying" on all fours to the center of the space, and then do 20 squats. We repeated this twice.
Then, we ran to the next station, where we did lunges up a hill and then ran down the hill. We repeated this a number of times. Then we got down on our butts and pulled ourselves up the hill using our arms (this was to work out the triceps). We did this once, I believe, before another squad appeared.
We got up, and ran to the third station, by the picnic tables. We did reverse push-ups by getting in a sitting position with our backs against picnic table seats and using our arms pushed ourselves up. We did 20 of those. Then we did push-away squats, where we squatted and shoved ourselves away from the table. (20 of those). Then we did steps ups, basically stepping up with one foot on the picnic table seat, then lifting the other; getting down, and using the opposite leg, repeating the process 20 times. Our final piece in this station was to do pushups using the table, by pushing as close to the table as possible, the pushing away, clapping your hands together, and then repeating the process 20 times.
Our final station was our home field, where we did lunges half way across the field, then sprinted the second half of the field. We did squats, push ups, and one-armed holding positions with each arm. I'm forgetting the order now, but somewhere in there we did the shuffle across the field where I re-injured my righ groin muscle. We then ran back to the opposite end of the field, and did planks, super planks, modified sit ups, held our legs six inches from the ground and did circles clock-wise and counter clockwise, and then more more modified situps. As we were doing this, the five other squads were coming in, and at the end we did what I can only describe as a "squat showdown." We held this position for a long time.
We then came together, sat down, for school. Dr. Drill talked about the importance of discipline to make it through the program, and encouraged us to talk to our neighbors to the left and to the right to encourage them and to get to know them, as we will be in a team unit.
My trusty Philadelphia Eagles hat needed to be washed from last Friday's hour in the rain, so my head was soaked and covered with cut grass, as was the rest of my body. Note to self: buy multiple hats, be they baseball hats or skull caps.
I am glad I am done, and that I am starting off my day with this. While I'm not nearly as good as some of the others in the squad in terms of performance, I'm pushing myself as hard as I am able to go.
Today was a good day.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Fear of Full Metal Jacket Moment!
I am pleased to say I survived week one of Fitness Boot Camp. And when I say survived, I mean barely: This first week included getting a prescription for a rescue inhaler and pulling both groin muscles. Let's just say I have a new appreciation for the military recruits.
The instructors keep saying it's not a competition, but I've seen the Vincent D'Onofrio scene from Full Metal Jacket, and I'm a little nervous. We're supposed to do a baseline test on Monday.
It's been two days of rest. I am still sore in a few places, and I have no idea what that will mean for tomorrow.
Oye.
Still taking it a day at a time, but it is intimidating that there are 50-year-olds passing me during the running portion of the camp!!!
The instructors keep saying it's not a competition, but I've seen the Vincent D'Onofrio scene from Full Metal Jacket, and I'm a little nervous. We're supposed to do a baseline test on Monday.
It's been two days of rest. I am still sore in a few places, and I have no idea what that will mean for tomorrow.
Oye.
Still taking it a day at a time, but it is intimidating that there are 50-year-olds passing me during the running portion of the camp!!!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Oil...Can...
As I've written in a previous post, I decided to sign up for a Fitness Boot Camp.
Monday, I thought I had made a terrible mistake. I woke up at 4:30am, managed to get dressed, put on underarm deodorant, brushed my teeth, put on my trusty Philadelphia Eagles hat, and drove to the park. I was told on-time (5:30am) is late, so I got there at 5:15 and managed to get a parking space. There were a total of 100 "recruits" (newbies) and "veterans" who attended the first session.
I didn't realize how poorly out of shape I was until the calisthenics drill began. I managed to do a lot of them, but not all of them. I was wheezing so badly that I had to stop a few times. After 45 minutes worth of planks, side-straddle hops (the new-fangled way of saying jumpin' jacks), push ups, hello dollies, cherry pickers, and others I can't even remember the names of, we lined up in rows of three to run. At about a tenth of a mile, my allergies took over my lungs and I had to stop. I walked the rest of the way. I was the last one to join the platoon during Dr. Drill's first talk.
Needless to say I went home, feeling a little defeated. Pathetic. I stood under the hot water of my shower for about 40 minutes. My tired, aching muscles really appreciated the heat.
I got changed, and went to work. Later that night, I went to Manfriend's house, and as I promised, worked out on the elliptical. I managed to get in 19.08 minutes. Then he got on, and I zoned out.
I left his house, and crawled into bed, realizing I had to get up early AGAIN because I had to travel to Jersey for work in the morning. The alarm rang at 5:30am. I whimpered, and my legs were absolultely screaming at me. I managed to get ready and out the door to beat rush-hour traffic. I did a lot of walking on-site, and my legs were really starting to get ticked off, to the point where people were laughing at me as I struggled to get seated in various meetings.
I thought, "How the heck am I going to do this for eight weeks?"
My friend C wrote me during the day, providing words of encouragement. She said even though she's been through it twice, her legs were hurting, too.
As she advised, Tylenol would become my best friend on Tuesday night.
This morning, I heard thunder and lightning. I was kind of excited, thinking, "Ooooo. Maybe we'll work out indoors." No such luck. The skies cleared up in time for 5:30am, and we ran out to the field and worked out. I was covered in grass and mud by the time I left today. And I smushed two worms on the way down to do plank exercises. (Ew.)
My legs hurt just as much as they did yesterday, but I feel better about today. I ran a little, started to wheeze, walked the rest of the way, was the last person to sit down, again. It doesn't matter: I felt better about what I accomplished for the day. I'm just going to take it a day at a time.
If I had to set a long-term goal, it would be to get through all the exercises prior to the running. My guess is by week eight, I'll still be the last one to sit down, but perhaps I'll have a slow jog going, rather than a walk.
In the meantime, I am SORE. It's a good sore, but it's SORE nonetheless.
Monday, I thought I had made a terrible mistake. I woke up at 4:30am, managed to get dressed, put on underarm deodorant, brushed my teeth, put on my trusty Philadelphia Eagles hat, and drove to the park. I was told on-time (5:30am) is late, so I got there at 5:15 and managed to get a parking space. There were a total of 100 "recruits" (newbies) and "veterans" who attended the first session.
I didn't realize how poorly out of shape I was until the calisthenics drill began. I managed to do a lot of them, but not all of them. I was wheezing so badly that I had to stop a few times. After 45 minutes worth of planks, side-straddle hops (the new-fangled way of saying jumpin' jacks), push ups, hello dollies, cherry pickers, and others I can't even remember the names of, we lined up in rows of three to run. At about a tenth of a mile, my allergies took over my lungs and I had to stop. I walked the rest of the way. I was the last one to join the platoon during Dr. Drill's first talk.
Needless to say I went home, feeling a little defeated. Pathetic. I stood under the hot water of my shower for about 40 minutes. My tired, aching muscles really appreciated the heat.
I got changed, and went to work. Later that night, I went to Manfriend's house, and as I promised, worked out on the elliptical. I managed to get in 19.08 minutes. Then he got on, and I zoned out.
I left his house, and crawled into bed, realizing I had to get up early AGAIN because I had to travel to Jersey for work in the morning. The alarm rang at 5:30am. I whimpered, and my legs were absolultely screaming at me. I managed to get ready and out the door to beat rush-hour traffic. I did a lot of walking on-site, and my legs were really starting to get ticked off, to the point where people were laughing at me as I struggled to get seated in various meetings.
I thought, "How the heck am I going to do this for eight weeks?"
My friend C wrote me during the day, providing words of encouragement. She said even though she's been through it twice, her legs were hurting, too.
As she advised, Tylenol would become my best friend on Tuesday night.
This morning, I heard thunder and lightning. I was kind of excited, thinking, "Ooooo. Maybe we'll work out indoors." No such luck. The skies cleared up in time for 5:30am, and we ran out to the field and worked out. I was covered in grass and mud by the time I left today. And I smushed two worms on the way down to do plank exercises. (Ew.)
My legs hurt just as much as they did yesterday, but I feel better about today. I ran a little, started to wheeze, walked the rest of the way, was the last person to sit down, again. It doesn't matter: I felt better about what I accomplished for the day. I'm just going to take it a day at a time.
If I had to set a long-term goal, it would be to get through all the exercises prior to the running. My guess is by week eight, I'll still be the last one to sit down, but perhaps I'll have a slow jog going, rather than a walk.
In the meantime, I am SORE. It's a good sore, but it's SORE nonetheless.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
What's in a Name?
Manfriend has a very cool first name. It rhymes with "neato."
We went to a home improvement store on Sunday, in search of a patio set for his house. To his delight, the store was running a sale. He found a cart, grabbed a green table, six matching chairs and three side tables, and we walked up to the cashier.
He paid by credit card. She looked at his name on it, and said, "I really like your name."
"Well, thank you," Manfriend said with a smile.
"Yes," she continued, "because you can be called by that. I can't stand it when people are given a name, and other people shorten it. Makes no sense to me. Like, when someone names their kid Joseph, and they call him Joe..." (She said Joe with a sneer.)
Oooookay, then.
I had to look away, as Manfriend was dumbfounded by the exchange. He recovered nicely. He smiled, politely took his card, wished the cashier a happy Memorial Day weekend, and we walked out with his stash.
As we strolled to the exit, Manfriend whispered out of the side of his mouth, "Yep...it's definitely you!" We both started to laugh.
Tonight, he asked me if this was the same home improvement store I went to where I was accosted with Grandpop spittle. (It was.)
"Why do you keep going there?"
We went to a home improvement store on Sunday, in search of a patio set for his house. To his delight, the store was running a sale. He found a cart, grabbed a green table, six matching chairs and three side tables, and we walked up to the cashier.
He paid by credit card. She looked at his name on it, and said, "I really like your name."
"Well, thank you," Manfriend said with a smile.
"Yes," she continued, "because you can be called by that. I can't stand it when people are given a name, and other people shorten it. Makes no sense to me. Like, when someone names their kid Joseph, and they call him Joe..." (She said Joe with a sneer.)
Oooookay, then.
I had to look away, as Manfriend was dumbfounded by the exchange. He recovered nicely. He smiled, politely took his card, wished the cashier a happy Memorial Day weekend, and we walked out with his stash.
As we strolled to the exit, Manfriend whispered out of the side of his mouth, "Yep...it's definitely you!" We both started to laugh.
Tonight, he asked me if this was the same home improvement store I went to where I was accosted with Grandpop spittle. (It was.)
"Why do you keep going there?"
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Angry
Today was a tough day. I behaved in a way un-befitting a professional, and I am pissed off at myself. Worse yet, I was angry, and I did the one thing one should not do in an office setting: I cried.Granted, they were angry tears, but they were tears nonetheless. In my field, there's no crying. There's no crying in I.T., and yet there I was. Pissed off. Angry. Tears flowing. Eyes beet red and swollen. Pissed off, and no longer able to control the anger, the tears flowed down my face.
For a brief few minutes, I didn't give a shit. You know what, I'm pissed. Here's what Pissed looks like. It's not pretty, and sometimes it comes with tears and snot. Piss off.
My manager sat there in shock. He was used to a happier, have-it-all-together, sane person. This was not the person who was in front of him. He did not know quite what to do with me. So, he took me out to lunch. You know, the way a father would take a four year old out for ice cream when she lost a baseball game. Or, get the crazy lady out of the office. Either way, not good. I was so embarrassed by my behavior. I kept apologizing. He told me to stop beating myself up, that it wasn't personal.
I don't know why people don't understand this: It is personal. If we're lucky in today's economic environment, we go to a place of employ, and we spend over a third of our time during the week there. We work hard to enjoy the life we have outside of work. If that hard work is questioned or countered, it equates to a potential altering of our personal lives. So, please - don't tell me it's not personal.
(Yeah. Still pissed off. Can you tell?)
Some days I wish I had the - what's the word? courage? balls? - forethought to collect myself and defend my position, rather than cry or clam up. This applies professionally and personally. Then I think to myself I'd be throwing someone under the proverbial bus if I did so. I wouldn't like myself much if that happened, either. So, the alternative: tears.
One day, I'm going to find my Inner Voice in these situations. Lord help the universe when I do.
Until then, I'm going to be grouchy. And have a cookie. So there.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Private Benjamin with Kettle Bells
It's been a while since I've posted. I've been distracted.
I have a birthday coming up soon, and I think it's time for reinvention. My friend, C, has been talking about her time in a Fitness Boot Camp. It's run by a chiropractor who was also a Marine. (He signs his e-mails with Semper fidelis.) She said it's done wonders for her, and has said to everyone "you should do this!"
Now, I will say this: She is a feisty warrior without the boot camp training. She's up for any challenge.
I've been trying - trying! - to get back to a normal exercise regimen. Manfriend purchased an elliptical, and we were working out three times a week. We were going at a good clip, but we stopped this week (lots of work just knocked both of us out). We plan on returning to our normal schedule this week, but I want to ramp up my exercise routine. The elliptical is awesome for my legs, but I still am experiencing the "chicken wing" arms. I went to a wedding recently for a family friend, G, and she has these killer arms. I am admittedly very envious!
So, I took the plunge, and signed up for an eight-week stint with the local Fitness Boot Camp. I will go through a physical tomorrow to determine if I can go through with the program (I don't see any problems.). The Fitness Boot Camp is three times a week, from 5:30am to 6:30am. Yes, I did say AM. It's also all outside.
When I tell you this will be a challenge, it will be a challenge. I hate the outdoors. Nature doesn't like me much, either. I've had "tree issues:" They've fallen on my house and my fence, and they are costing me a small fortune to remove them.
I really want to do this, so that I know I can do this. Will I be running marathons after this? Um, no. But, at least I will feel like I've attempted multiple avenues to maintain my health and weight.
OORAH! I've enlisted.
I have a birthday coming up soon, and I think it's time for reinvention. My friend, C, has been talking about her time in a Fitness Boot Camp. It's run by a chiropractor who was also a Marine. (He signs his e-mails with Semper fidelis.) She said it's done wonders for her, and has said to everyone "you should do this!"
Now, I will say this: She is a feisty warrior without the boot camp training. She's up for any challenge.
I've been trying - trying! - to get back to a normal exercise regimen. Manfriend purchased an elliptical, and we were working out three times a week. We were going at a good clip, but we stopped this week (lots of work just knocked both of us out). We plan on returning to our normal schedule this week, but I want to ramp up my exercise routine. The elliptical is awesome for my legs, but I still am experiencing the "chicken wing" arms. I went to a wedding recently for a family friend, G, and she has these killer arms. I am admittedly very envious!
So, I took the plunge, and signed up for an eight-week stint with the local Fitness Boot Camp. I will go through a physical tomorrow to determine if I can go through with the program (I don't see any problems.). The Fitness Boot Camp is three times a week, from 5:30am to 6:30am. Yes, I did say AM. It's also all outside.
When I tell you this will be a challenge, it will be a challenge. I hate the outdoors. Nature doesn't like me much, either. I've had "tree issues:" They've fallen on my house and my fence, and they are costing me a small fortune to remove them.
I really want to do this, so that I know I can do this. Will I be running marathons after this? Um, no. But, at least I will feel like I've attempted multiple avenues to maintain my health and weight.
OORAH! I've enlisted.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Things that shouldn't make me laugh and yet do...
Quick post:
My younger dog is blind; my older dog is deaf. Older dog was asleep on the floor; younger dog was asleep on the couch directly above older dog. Younger dog decided to jump to the floor. Older dog can't hear younger dog jump; younger dog can't see what's below him.
Result: Younger dog scares crap out of older dog; older dog growls at younger dog; younger dog still doesn't know what he did.
LMAO.
Like I said... I know it shouldn't have made me laugh. Yet... *giggle*
My younger dog is blind; my older dog is deaf. Older dog was asleep on the floor; younger dog was asleep on the couch directly above older dog. Younger dog decided to jump to the floor. Older dog can't hear younger dog jump; younger dog can't see what's below him.
Result: Younger dog scares crap out of older dog; older dog growls at younger dog; younger dog still doesn't know what he did.
LMAO.
Like I said... I know it shouldn't have made me laugh. Yet... *giggle*
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
I want to go baaaack!
Hello. Long time no blog.
A quick update: I went on a mini-vacation. The kind that didn't involve a hospital bed, and tests, and machines that made loud noises. The kind that included Manfriend, and roses, and wonderful food, and just the two of us away from work and stress. It was heaven.
Oh, yeah - and it was the first time away with Manfriend. It was fantastic. I didn't plan a damn thing. He took care of it all. The place was just perfect for a short-stay getaway. I have to say, I felt very spoiled. The place was delightful. There was a fireplace in the room. Very cozy. I had a massage one day. The breakfasts were phenomenal.
And people, please: they had Ghirardelli hot chocolate and home-made marshmallows. I was ready to move in!
Oh, and there were sheep. They were interesting. I thought sheep made peaceful 'baaaa' sounds. No. They make "MWOOOOAARR" sounds. Scared the crap out of me. Oh, yeah - and they run. FAST.
The last day of our mini getaway, I was determined to take pictures of the sheep. Mostly, they stayed inside their sheep house. We were surprised there was more than one sheep, actually. I walked over to the fence, and started to snap pictures of the four of them in their sheep house. Awww, pretty!
Then, Manfriend says, "Um...do sheep charge?" And I reply, "That's ridicu..."
MWOOOOARRR!
I turn around, and one of the sheep is galloping toward the fence. Galloping!
He stopped at the fence, and then just stared at me. I think it was the shutter click of my camera that had him curious. I said hello. He stared. (I was so tempted to pet him, but really - he was pretty dirty and covered in hay.) Then a second one came out to see what I was, and decidedly uninterested, he went over and had himself a drink of water. The third one, a short, fat, snow white sheep, walked about half way out and stared at me. He looked like a mix between a bull and a sheep. I called him Bullsheep. Yes, I know. It's not original. But to me it was funny.
The fourth one could have cared less and remained in his sheep house.
I'm telling you, I could have holed up at this place (not the sheep house...you know what I mean) for quite some time. I didn't want to leave.
We have to go back, Manfriend. Do you hear me? We have to go baaaaaaack!
A quick update: I went on a mini-vacation. The kind that didn't involve a hospital bed, and tests, and machines that made loud noises. The kind that included Manfriend, and roses, and wonderful food, and just the two of us away from work and stress. It was heaven.
Oh, yeah - and it was the first time away with Manfriend. It was fantastic. I didn't plan a damn thing. He took care of it all. The place was just perfect for a short-stay getaway. I have to say, I felt very spoiled. The place was delightful. There was a fireplace in the room. Very cozy. I had a massage one day. The breakfasts were phenomenal.
And people, please: they had Ghirardelli hot chocolate and home-made marshmallows. I was ready to move in!
Oh, and there were sheep. They were interesting. I thought sheep made peaceful 'baaaa' sounds. No. They make "MWOOOOAARR" sounds. Scared the crap out of me. Oh, yeah - and they run. FAST.The last day of our mini getaway, I was determined to take pictures of the sheep. Mostly, they stayed inside their sheep house. We were surprised there was more than one sheep, actually. I walked over to the fence, and started to snap pictures of the four of them in their sheep house. Awww, pretty!
Then, Manfriend says, "Um...do sheep charge?" And I reply, "That's ridicu..."
MWOOOOARRR!
I turn around, and one of the sheep is galloping toward the fence. Galloping!
He stopped at the fence, and then just stared at me. I think it was the shutter click of my camera that had him curious. I said hello. He stared. (I was so tempted to pet him, but really - he was pretty dirty and covered in hay.) Then a second one came out to see what I was, and decidedly uninterested, he went over and had himself a drink of water. The third one, a short, fat, snow white sheep, walked about half way out and stared at me. He looked like a mix between a bull and a sheep. I called him Bullsheep. Yes, I know. It's not original. But to me it was funny.
The fourth one could have cared less and remained in his sheep house.
I'm telling you, I could have holed up at this place (not the sheep house...you know what I mean) for quite some time. I didn't want to leave.
We have to go back, Manfriend. Do you hear me? We have to go baaaaaaack!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
South Park Avatar Creations
My last two posts had some customized avatars. I made these through using the tool at South Park Studios.
It's fun and simple. Enjoy. There's a great Cartman t-shirt you can put on your likeness, but I preferred to keep both of the avatars I created relatively 'normal.'
It's fun and simple. Enjoy. There's a great Cartman t-shirt you can put on your likeness, but I preferred to keep both of the avatars I created relatively 'normal.'
My Lily Tootsabelle Experience!
Ooooo! I finally got up the nerve to hold my niece. And it was AWESOME!
Yes, I know this sounds ridiculous. She's almost six months old. But, I have a thing about babies. They look so fragile as infants. So breakable. And they are also so intuitive. They smell fear. I know that if I had held my niece in previous months, she would have known right away what a hack I am at holding children and would have cried her ever-lovin' head off.
When I entered my parents house and saw my sister holding Miss Lils, I knew I could hold her. She's gotten so big, and is just the cutest baby on the planet. So, my sister placed her in my arms, and she only fussed for a minute (she saw her bottle and wanted it, wanted it, wanted it!), and then I sang "The Wheels on the Bus" song to her. Off key. With made-up lyrics. Because I don't know any kiddie songs. (There. I've said it. I'm a mediocre aunt.)
Miss Lils was a trooper. She waited as patiently as she could for her dinner bottle, and tolerated my singing.
She's so beautiful! She's got these amazing cheeks, and the longest eyelashes. She totally adores my sister, which is so cool to see. And my parents are just eating up being grandparents. Tootsabella lights up a room when she's in it.
I can't wait to see her again!
Happy
Here's what my horoscope said for February 14, 2009:
Today is a great day to surround yourself with the most important people in your life. Don't dwell on all the jewelry and flowers exchanging hands. Instead, admire the gifts in your life -- your sanity, health and sometimes happiness. It'll only get better from here.
The astrology reading rang true today.
I have to say, this is the first Valentine's Day in a very long time where I was truly happy. It's also the first time I've failed miserably in the gift-giving department. I purchased a music box set for Manfriend - and he already had it! D'oh! I know now why it appealed to me when I saw it: he's had it sitting in his living room. As in right in front of me! Durrrr *smacks forehead*
(Well, the good news is at least I know his taste. The better news: I get a shopping challenge!)
Manfriend really made me feel special today. We went grocery shopping; then went to a place called Ray's Diner. We love it there, especially in the back, where it's well-lit, and a little on the intimate side, since there are less tables and booths there. We ate our standard fare, which consists of cheeseburgers (his with bacon and mine with extra pickles) and fries. Since Ray's isn't exactly a yuppie establishment, it's quieter. Which means Manfriend and I can enjoy a very satisfying meal, talk and not feel rushed. It's one of our great pleasures.
He spoiled me today, which was a little overwhelming. At first, I thought he was getting me flowers. Instead, I got a big fluffy red dog stuffed animal, a lovely card (which described our relationship to a 'T'), and a single red rose.
I totally admit, among the things he selected for me, the single rose equates to true romance. There's something beautiful about a single red rose. It's special. It's delicate. It's lovely.
Yeah, he totally made my heart melt.
We went back to his house and enjoyed a slice of Carvel ice cream cake. What Philly girl doesn't enjoy the black and white cake with the chocolate crunch in the center? Mmmm!
He really is such a caring soul. Part of the fun on my road to recovery has been nagging shoulder and neck pain. Since the fast-acting Tylenol did very little tonight, he took care of me to ease my discomfort. He took out this thing you put around your neck. It's cloth with some bean thingies in it. It heats up in the microwave and it smells like lavender. The warmth and the aromatherapy combines to be pure heaven.
He and I chatted away to each other throughout the night, and I thought, "Yeah. One of the best Valentine's Days ever - even if I'm having trouble moving my neck..." I just smiled throughout the night, as did he.
He dropped me off at my house; we kissed goodnight, and then he called me to let me know he had gotten home okay.
Today was a good day. A great day. And I am happy for it!
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Above Ground
Ok, so January was interesting. I spent the first week of it in the hospital, and the second week at home. This past week, I returned to my 'normal' life, which included going to work, a follow-up doctor's visit, blood work, getting into the car and driving solo, a quick drive by and 'hi' to Manfriend and his mother (the visit lasted all of 10 minutes before I felt tired and returned to my sofa at home) and going to my parents' house to see my sister and the most adorable child on the planet, my niece, Miss Lily Isabel.
I have an uncle, who when I get on the phone and ask him how he is, he always responds with the witty retort, "I'm above ground." We both laugh, even though there's still a cringe moment associated with the response, as he's been the recipient of six angioplasties. No, that's not a typo - SIX.
Well, peeps, I'm here to tell you that being above ground is a very, very good thing. I am grateful to have received excellent care at the hospital. I am grateful to have had the support and concern of my family, friends, Manfriend and his family and friends. I am grateful to be home with my nutball dogs. I am so happy to be able to make goofy faces at my niece and hear her giggle.
I'll be blatantly honest: None of what happened to me hit me until I got home. I made an error in judgment and started to read about DVT (deep vein thrombosis) and PE (pulmonary embolism) on the 'net as soon as I got home. DVT - ok, not bad. Not great - but not bad in and of itself.
The complication of having a PE though, not so much. Every web site said the same thing: "life threatening."
On that day of research when I was home, I looked at my dogs, who were sleeping comfortably next to me on the couch, and I thought: Who would they go to? Sure, my parents and Manfriend were great about taking care of the dogs: stopping in each day, feeding them, giving them people time. But that was for seven days. If I wasn't here to return to them, who would they go to? I didn't have a will, because I was 36 and healthy. That's when it hit me. And I cried for about an hour, hugging the both of them, realizing I was scared for them, and yet so grateful to be here and not...elsewhere.
I am grateful for so many things right now. Despite a weird beginning to 2009, I feel blessed. This is my wonderful life, and I take nothing for granted in it.
I have an uncle, who when I get on the phone and ask him how he is, he always responds with the witty retort, "I'm above ground." We both laugh, even though there's still a cringe moment associated with the response, as he's been the recipient of six angioplasties. No, that's not a typo - SIX.
Well, peeps, I'm here to tell you that being above ground is a very, very good thing. I am grateful to have received excellent care at the hospital. I am grateful to have had the support and concern of my family, friends, Manfriend and his family and friends. I am grateful to be home with my nutball dogs. I am so happy to be able to make goofy faces at my niece and hear her giggle.
I'll be blatantly honest: None of what happened to me hit me until I got home. I made an error in judgment and started to read about DVT (deep vein thrombosis) and PE (pulmonary embolism) on the 'net as soon as I got home. DVT - ok, not bad. Not great - but not bad in and of itself.
The complication of having a PE though, not so much. Every web site said the same thing: "life threatening."
On that day of research when I was home, I looked at my dogs, who were sleeping comfortably next to me on the couch, and I thought: Who would they go to? Sure, my parents and Manfriend were great about taking care of the dogs: stopping in each day, feeding them, giving them people time. But that was for seven days. If I wasn't here to return to them, who would they go to? I didn't have a will, because I was 36 and healthy. That's when it hit me. And I cried for about an hour, hugging the both of them, realizing I was scared for them, and yet so grateful to be here and not...elsewhere.
I am grateful for so many things right now. Despite a weird beginning to 2009, I feel blessed. This is my wonderful life, and I take nothing for granted in it.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Metallica Convert
My first post-illness event was Metallica, and lemme tell ya' what: They were AWESOME! (Photo is courtesy of my Manfriend's friend.)I just have to say that my last concert was Jimmy Buffett, so this had a little different vibe to it. Manfriend and I went last night, and I didn't know what to expect. Even Machine Head and The Sword, the two opening bands, were quite good. (Update: According to Manfriend, I was delusional. Apparently I only saw Machine Head. My apologies to The Sword...)
They played some good ones (okay, so I know like three songs, and they played two out of three): Enter the Sandman and The Unforgiven. And they played songs from their new album, Death Magnetic, including That Was Just Your Life.
What I found interesting was the gamut of fans. They had people our age (mid 30's), the 20-something set, people in their 40s, and the luxury suite next to us contained parents with their kids aged 8 - 10, who were headbanging along to each of the songs. Of course, since we're in Philly, one of the sections started cheering for the Eagles, and the crowd went nuts.
One of the things we missed was the lead singer bringing out his daughter and having Philly sing Happy Birthday to her.
I love this town!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Graceland Revelation: Thank you, Lisa Marie
No, the revelation is NOT that I like peanut butter and banana sandwiches (seriously - they wondered why Elvis died young?). But Graceland's Lisa Marie Presley, along with a hematologist from my hospital stay, provided some insight into a previous issue that leaves me a little on the speechless side, and a lot on the hopeful side.
As part of the littany of questions I had to answer, a hematologist at the hospital asked me if I had every had any surgeries. I replied that I had had two, due to miscarriages. He replied, "You know, the miscarriages may have been due to a clotting issue you might have."
No, I didn't know that.
Yesterday, my best friend J calls me. I had told her the hematologist story, and then she saw this news:
"I really wanted these babies," says Presley, 40, who tried for two years to get pregnant before conceiving the twins.
"My blood was too thick and would clot, which caused several miscarriages," she tells PEOPLE. "The moment I took blood thinners, I got pregnant."
I just stared and stared at these two lines in the text. Could this possibly be why I wasn't able to carry to term? While all my blood tests came back and said my blood did not show any signs of hypercoagualative states, this still could be the answer to all of my questions!
As my friend J said, while I went through Hell for a week, nothing but good can continue to come from the experience. I can only hope.
Now, does that mean I'm going to run out and get pregnant right now? Uh, NO. Let me be clear: No. With a side of no. With a T-shirt that says No.
But, what this means is that when I am ready, this might be something I need to consider. I will be on Coumadin for a year, but while it is the blood thinner of choice, it is also not good for developing babies. So, if I would want to get pregnant in the next few years, I may have to re-visit this topic and determine if heparin is the way to go.
As part of the littany of questions I had to answer, a hematologist at the hospital asked me if I had every had any surgeries. I replied that I had had two, due to miscarriages. He replied, "You know, the miscarriages may have been due to a clotting issue you might have."
No, I didn't know that.
Yesterday, my best friend J calls me. I had told her the hematologist story, and then she saw this news:
PHOTO EXCLUSIVE: Lisa Marie Presley's Twin Baby Girls!
I'm like...oookaaay. What does that have to do with me? Then I read it. Here's an excerpt:"I really wanted these babies," says Presley, 40, who tried for two years to get pregnant before conceiving the twins.
"My blood was too thick and would clot, which caused several miscarriages," she tells PEOPLE. "The moment I took blood thinners, I got pregnant."
I just stared and stared at these two lines in the text. Could this possibly be why I wasn't able to carry to term? While all my blood tests came back and said my blood did not show any signs of hypercoagualative states, this still could be the answer to all of my questions!
As my friend J said, while I went through Hell for a week, nothing but good can continue to come from the experience. I can only hope.
Now, does that mean I'm going to run out and get pregnant right now? Uh, NO. Let me be clear: No. With a side of no. With a T-shirt that says No.
But, what this means is that when I am ready, this might be something I need to consider. I will be on Coumadin for a year, but while it is the blood thinner of choice, it is also not good for developing babies. So, if I would want to get pregnant in the next few years, I may have to re-visit this topic and determine if heparin is the way to go.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
My 2008 Hangover
Wanna ask me how my 2009 is going?I've started off the year with new vocabulary. I learned the meanings of Deep Vein Thrombosis, Pulmonary Embolism, Greenfield Filter and May-Thurner syndrome.
So, last Friday, January 2, 2009, I wake up and I am in serious pain. My left groin is throbbing. I get up, thinking I pulled a muscle. Nope. Can barely put pressure on the leg to walk to the bathroom. "This is fun," I think to myself. An hour later, I notice my entire left leg is swollen. Hmmm. That can't be good. I tell Manfriend I don't feel well, along with the symptoms, and he suggests a doctor's appointment.
Now, no offense to doctors, but I can't stand going. I have to be uber-sick.
Apparently, I was uber-sick.
By the time I got to my 1:45pm appointment, my entire leg was not only swollen, but it was purple. My doctor took one look at my leg and said go to the emergency room immediately. I drove myself there, they took one look and said, ok - you're staying.
Again, not one for doctors, I wasn't happy with this. What do you mean, staying? For how long?
That depended on the ultrasound of my leg.
I have the ultrasound done, and the technician took one look at me and said, "This isn't good. Are you short of breath? How do you feel?" I reply other than my leg hurting, I feel fine. She informs me I have a blood clot that stretches from my knee cap to the top of my left groin. Ok, that really didn't sound good. With that, I was admitted to the hospital. I called my parents, Manfriend and my best friend, J, who all equally freaked out. Manfriend was the first to arrive. Then the parents. They saw the leg, and all of them freaked out more. I'm placed in a hospital room, and given Lovenox and Coumadin.
The next day, the nurse administered the Lovenox shot, and something happened. I felt like someone had shoved long fingernails into my chest. Ok, that's definitely not good. I get a CAT scan. Turns out some of the enormous clot in my leg broke off and entered my lungs. It did not, thankfully, reach any part of my heart. Otherwise... I might not have been here to type this post.
The CAT scan also brought other news: I don't have cancer. That was a freak-out moment. "What do you mean, I don't have cancer? Since when were we looking for CANCER?" I also have a cyst on my right ovary. Oh, goodie.
After the lovely pulmonary embolism revelation, the doctors inserted a Greenfield filter via my right groin. (Being a sci-fi geek at heart, this is fascinating to me. It kind of looks like a freaky metal spider out of The Matrix movies. ) The Greenfield filter is in place to ensure if I do get blood clots in the future, they do not travel to my lungs or to my heart. So far, the Greenfield filter is my favorite thing that has come from this.
The good doctor also informed me I would have a pulmonary breathing study, a venal exam, and several blood tests to determine if I had a blood clotting disorder.
The next day, I am administered the pulmonary breathing test, which consists of taking a deep breath, holding it in, holding my nose and simultaneously breathing out as hard and as long as I can into a plastic tube, and then sucking in breath again. My tests were within normal range considering I had a pulmonary embolism.
A couple of days later (I think it was the following Tuesday), I was taken down to a place called Interventional Radiology, where they asked me to lie on my stomach as they took pictures (this was the venal study), and then with some local anesthetic, they inserted a catheter via the back of my left knee. The catheter inserted had tiny holes in it. Attached externally, the doctors plugged in two IVs, one for heparin and one for something called TPA. These were both used to bust up the ginormous clot in my leg. Here's the kicker: I had keep my leg flat for 24 hours. This led to a lot of back pain and a lot of Dilaudid, a serious painkiller of which I took full advantage. It also messes with your head. At one point, I was convinced someone was stocking shelves all around my bed. Manfriend also said I got into an imaginary argument with him about Indians, as I asked him, "What about the Indians?!?!" Yeah. Nothing but fun and giggles.
The next day, I was carted back down to Interventional Radiology, where they said the treatment was working well, but they wanted me to remain on it for another day, which meant another day of lying flat, and more Dilaudid, and one shot of Ativan, because my nerves were completely frayed. One note, I got to see the Greenfield filter. X-rays of your body are also kind of cool.
More Dilaudid. More Ativan.
My final day in Interventional Radiology, I got to see more pictures of my leg, and it looked like it was all clear. They removed the catheter, but told me I had to remain on the heparin for a while.
Two days ago, Friday, January 9, I was sent home with a Lovenox kit (which I hadn't looked at until I got home and realized it was the Spanish version of the literature), compression 'leg warmers' (that's what they look like! I feel like I can relive my 80s childhood!) and prescriptions for Lovenox (which came in syringes), Coumadin, Prilosec, a follow-up ultrasound, and PT/INR blood tests to check my "levels." The doctors and nurses wished me luck, and one nurse continually reminded me "someone was watching over me last Friday" and "I had no idea how lucky I actually was."
After all the blood tests were completed, it was determined I do not have a blood clot disorder. I was told that I have something called May-Thurner, which means that on my left side there is an artery that crosses over a vein. This is normal in most people. However, in the case of May-Thurner, as I understand it, the artery compresses the vein, which can sometimes lead to DVTs.
I am home now, and grateful to be at home. My parents, friends and Manfriend have all been wonderful.
I am still getting used to the concept that I am not invincible. I was all gung-ho on returning to work this Wednesday, but I'm not so sure after yesterday. It took me a good two days to type this post. The Lovenox makes me dizzy and it gets difficult to look at a computer screen for too long as a result. Ironically, my left leg feels like nothing happened to it, but my right leg is another story. Due to the Greenfield filter insertion, my right groin and surrounding area is very tender, which makes it difficult to sleep and to get comfortable. I feel run down after showering. Yesterday was a big day, as I took my first shower post-hospital stay (the word "orgasm" comes to mind), paid my bills, fed the dogs, had my parents and my friend L came over with her five year old daughter (who is a riot, very well behaved, and along with my niece Lily makes me want to have kids of my own) to visit. By the time they all left, I felt like I had run a marathon.
On a positive note, I lost seven pounds while in the hospital, so I'm at least tackling one of my New Year's resolutions.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
New Year - Old Resolutions
Thank God it's 2009 and 2008 is OVER.
And now, the dreaded resolutions. Personally, I'm not big on resolutions. While there are good intentions initially, I find it rare that people actually follow through with them. I'm one of those people.
But, this year, I am going to really try to keep to them, and there's motivation involved. There's a website called StickK, where people can register, list their resolutions, assign a coach to make sure they are making progress, and even wager money, so that if the resolution isn't performed, the money can go to a favorite charity...or a least favorite charity (I think it's referred to as an anti-charity).
With this in mind, I have three resolutions:
- Lose 20 pounds and maintain the loss throughout the year.
- Write the manuscript for the book.
- Hand-write letters to people throughout the year.
Happy New Year!!!
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