Nasal Strip Nightmares

I snore.

It’s something that I’ve been told. I even heard it after recording myself. It’s not a loud, earth-shaking sound, but it is a snore. My problem is that I have allergies and I get congested, especially at night. My nose can barely release air when when I’m awake, let alone when I’m sleeping. So those six to eight hours I spend in bed are really a fight between oxygen and my nasal passages.

Because I’m the Google Queen, I’ve found several ways to solve my problem. The only one that seemed worthwhile were the nasal strips. What you do is put one of these taped strips on your nose while sleeping and your sinuses open right up, and there will be no rumble emanating from the nostrils. I’m willing to try anything that my FSA will pay for, so I bought a pack of Breathe Right Nasal Strips.

Do you know what’s been happening? My sinuses open up as they never have before. I get into my bed and I’m out until my alarm clock goes off. I sleep hard, and I sleep quietly. But there is a downside to that. For me, that’s the dreams. I often have a dreamless sleep (or dreams I forget by the time I wake) and when I do dream, they’re pretty crazy and are usually because I’d been lacking sleep.

I’m in a whole new world with these Nasal Strip Nightmares. I’ve committed murder. Driven off cliffs. Beaten elderly men with their own canes. Watched our new CEO transform into a snarling lion. Then I awake in a slight state of panic and rip the strip off.

I could stop using the nasal strips, but I can’t. You see, NOTHING has ever made my nose feel this clear so I’m willing to make the sacrifice. It’s time for me to go to bed anyway. I wonder what I’ll dream up next. 

On Noise

My workplace is quiet. Too quiet. That’s not to say there isn’t a lot of talking going on. My coworkers and I talk constantly, from the minute we get in to the minute we leave. But this is the 21st century. Our communication is centered over email and the company’s i.m. system. When you’re in a silent environment, you don’t want to disrupt it with useless noise. So I’ll send Coworker A a note where I compliment her shoes; I’ll get a message from Coworker B that there are doughnuts in the back of the room and Coworker C will electronically ask me about my lunch plans.

There are times when the quiet gives me a headache. I have a lot of cds downloaded on my computer, so there are times when I put my headphones on and zone out. But sometimes this is problematic. My musical tastes go from gospel to gangsta, so catch me at the wrong moment and I’ll either pray for you or bust a cap in your ass.

This week, I tried to cut down on my musical tug of war. One day, I streamed NPR on my computer. It was cool, but the constant conversations had me so interested in what the hosts were saying, that I couldn’t concentrate on my work. Then I decided to stream NPR’s classical music station. Maybe listening to Mozart would not only motivate me, but it would simultaneously make me a genius. Well, I had the same problem as I did with my own musical selection. One song would have my heart beating out of my chest, and the very next one would depress me.

Today, it is quiet again. I’m going to talk to my plants. If that doesn’t work, I may just start talking aloud to my coworkers. We’ll see how they like that.

Here's a Personal Story: Bring Your Friends!

I mentioned before that I got a part-time job to help cope with the furloughs and other cutbacks my full-time gig had implemented. The second job is retail, so that means I would spend portions of my time going into this store and transforming myself into the bubbly aggressive salesperson that everyone ‘loves.’ Yes, this was very difficult for me.

I’d been leading the dual-job life for nearly three years now. We have secret shoppers who come in and evaluate us. It’s all very easy to get a 100 percent. And you’ll definitely get accolades if a customer complains that you were bothering them, because that just shows that we value customer service. So imagine my surprise when I got my secret shopper evaluation. My evaluator gave me a 91 percent. I didn’t get a perfect score because I didn’t tell her a personal story (i.e. “I love these pants because they make my butt look cute”) and I didn’t end our conversation with the company mantra: “Next time, bring your friends!” So here’s a personal story from me to her:

Dearest Secret Shopper:

Thank you so much for submitting your opinion about my customer service. Because we see hundreds (ok, dozens) of women a day, it is hard for me to remember exactly who you are. Could you be the shopper who came in pushing a stroller. I rushed over to give your child a sticker, only to realize you were not pushing a child, but a dog. Or could you be the shopper who came in wearing M-sized pants, but then only wanted to be fitted in XS? And after each pair of XS’s wouldn’t do, you’d look at yourself in the mirror and screech “MY LITTLE GIRL PARTS ARE SHOWING!”

So after struggles like that, you an imagine why I may have neglected to share a personal story with you. You don’t want to hear about the acrobatics I have to pull in my main job’s bathroom stall when it’s time to change into my job #2 uniform. Surely you don’t want to hear about those times I’ve hidden myself in the fitting room, closed the curtains and took a cat nap. Or maybe you’d like to know that working in a store full of women has made me ravenous for practically every man that walks by. (See UPS Man, water cooler man, light fixture man, shoppers’ husbands, etc etc etc)

See, I knew all of that would bore you. Never the less, you asked and I answered. And it is because of silly demands like that that today will be my last day at the store. I’m going to catch up on two things I value in life -- Sleep and Sanity. But don’t let that stop you from coming in the store. I’m sure my (former) coworkers would love to entertain you and your retail values. But as for me.... I’m gone.

Next time, bring your friends!

Best,

S/C/W

Dirty Dishes

I was running late for work yesterday morning when I was confronted with a severe case of D.D.G -- Dirty Dish Guilt. My sink was overflowing with used pots, bowls, silverware, plates and glasses. I was already running late … what could I do?

People judge you on your dirty dishes. Just like they judge you on your unmade bed. When I was a kid, Mom used to make a big fuss about my messy bedroom. I found that as long as I made my bed, she didn’t fuss as much. It’s the same with dirty dishes. Look at the media portrayal. You remember those movies where the police had to enter the home of a a drug addict/unfit mother/pedophile/hoarder/otherwise poor person? The first thing they do is zero in on the sink and the flies that swarm off of the tiny bits of crud that’s caked onto their dirty dishes. Think back to the 1980s and that movie, Lean On Me. Remember when Mista Clark had to visit Kaneesha’s home, because her mom didn’t want her anymore? When they went inside the apartment, the first thing they showed was the huge pile of dirty dishes in the mom’s sink. Ok, maybe not. But that’s how I remember it.

So the last thing I want is for some sort of a emergency arise, where maintenance has to get in and they see my dirty dishes. Or better yet, what if my apt is burglarized?? Criminals don’t need to know about the scrambled eggs, broccoli, cream of wheat, and turkey burgers that had been fortifying me. I am NOT Kaneesha’s Mother. I’m also not a drug addict/unfit mother/pedophile/hoarder/otherwise poor person.

I glanced at the clock, and I glanced at the dishes. I did what any sensible person would do. I stuffed my dishes inside my microwave, and my oven. I drove off to work with ‘Lean On Me’ theme song stuck in my head.

Photo from

http://tinyurl.com/3gtnf44

The Things I Carry

I decided to undertake a few reorganization projects this year. It's not that I'm terribly unorganized, but we all have some baggage that we need to get rid of from time to time. So I'm thanking Eminem and the TV show "Hoarders" for giving me the inpsiration to start Cleaning out My Closet.

I've gotten rid of quite a few things, but there are some objects that I'm going to hold onto:

My favorite tshirt:



Yes, that does say class of 2000. Yes, that shirt is that old. And yes, if you look closely, you can see holes dotting along the collar and the 'Class of 2000' section. And if you lift up the right arm, you'll see a giant hole right by my ribcage area. But I'm not letting it go. It's comfy. I only wear it on laundry day, and even then, I don't leave the house in it. And it's fun to look down and think back to those lazy college weekends.


Correspondence:

I've received lots of cards and letters over the years. I don't keep all of them, but there are some that hold special places in my heart. This pile mostly contains greeting cards from relatives and friends. There are also a few touching letters in there, like the one my mom sent me during my first year of college, or one another friend sent with the plea "TAKE YOUR BUTT BACK TO CHURCH" and a revamped Teletubbies birthday card from my college roomie, Bianca.



More tshirts:

Ok, it's true. I have a lot of tshirts. Most vacations and concerts, I pick up one. Sue me. Yes, that is a New Edition Reunion Tour shirt you see, along with a Lauryn Hill concert shirt, circa 1999. Hey, I'm keeping them. I found a new use for my N.E. shirt when I went to an '80s party this year and wore it with leggings and a scrunchy on my wrist. And as a die hard Lauryn Hill fan, I reserve the right to wear that shirt whenever I please. The other photo is of a shirt that I still have, never wear, but won't throw away. The last time I wore it was when my dad died.


Weapons of mass destruction:

It's been several years since I've taken karate lessons, but I do still have my uniform and my belts. (Yes, my black belt is in there) Somewhere along the way, my sparring equipment, nunchucks and sai were lost in the shuffle. However, my uniform and/or belts comes in handy around Halloween time. Or when I want to stress to the mailman the importance of putting my mail in the right slot. Ahh, memories.

Anyway, these are just a few things that I'm holding on to. I did get rid of a lot more. I'm not a hoarder, I'm not!

Soc(k)rates Saved My Life

A sock puppet saved my life

I’m sitting at work with a sock puppet on my neck and I am NOT ashamed. I have named the puppet Soc(k)rates, and it has saved my life.

Previously, I mentioned that I was out of town, on vacation. I mentioned the beautiful beaches, the wedding and the scenery. But I did not mention The Pain. You see, I am not as young as I once was. That means I can still hold a drank while dropping it like it’s hot, but I can’t do it as easily as I once did. So after a weekend of electric slidin’, wave ridin’, and old man hidin’, I was in PAIN. The left side of my neck felt like somebody had been beating it with a hammer. The only way I could get relief was by popping pills, applying hot compresses and cocking my head to the side in a not so sophisticated gangsta lean. I just hope I don't have this.

So I did what most people do. Go to the doctor? Nope. I googled my symptoms and whined about my pain until someone gave me a solution. A trusted friend suggested I take a sock, fill it with uncooked rice, warm it up in the microwave, and place it on my pained neck. I did it and by golly it worked. But then I’d go to sleep, and wake up in pain again. So I had to start breakfast with my new sock puppet on my neck, get dressed and drive to work that way. Heck, once I arrived at work, I warmed Socrates up again and placed him back on my neck. Most folks looked at me and just shook their heads. Of course, one person asked me about it and when I explained Socrates’ function, she said ‘don’t you know they sell real heating pads nowadays?’ Point taken, but I enjoy the level of comfort Socrates and I have reached.

In my crazier thoughts -- and my ongoing efforts to get sent home for Mental Health Day -- I’ve drawn eyes and a mouth on Soc(k)rates. I’ve propped him up right beside my morning cup of tea and asked him about his goals and aspirations. I’d gossip with him about coworkers, all within earshot. I’d dance with him in the middle of the day. But no, I didn’t do any of those things. I do keep Socrates perched on my neck. And I do warm him up in the microwave a few times a day. Whenever anyone inquires about him, I say “This is Soc(k)rates. And he makes me feel good.” Then they march away quietly.

Birth of a Thesis

I have recently given birth, and unlike many new mothers I can say unequivocally that I despise my child. Ok, it’s not a child, exactly, but a 170-page 36,000-word document that has caused me to exist on nothing but bananas and green tea for the last several weeks. Yes, I’m talking about my thesis, or as I affectionately call it, Hemorrhoid.

In the early stages of my Hemorrhoid pregnancy, I was excited. Yes, there were the usual bouts of morning sickness that comes with assembling my committee, making my topic as specific as possible, structuring my abstract and review of literature, but I knew it would all pay off in the end. I looked forward to the day little Hemorrhoid was in my arms, beaming up at me with my name in print.

Months passed and I realized this would be a difficult pregnancy. One member of my committee had gone MIA, another forgot all about Hemorrhoid and the committee chair put me on a diet that stretched my baby beyond anything I’d ever imagined. But again, I was excited. Thrilled even. How long is your typical pregnancy? Nine months? More specifically, 40 weeks? I could handle that.

Two years and some change later, I remained face up, legs spread as members of my committee used various instruments to pull, heave and even drag Hemorrhoid from my womb. A portion of Hemorrhoid’s bloody body was extricated in time for me to meet with The Big Man this week. The Big Man has the final say on all things thesis, and if he doesn’t like an aspect of your formatting – don’t come with a ‘…’ when you should come with a ‘. . . ‘—then it’s over. The two members of my committee and I hemmed and hawed over the measurement of page numbers at the bottom, the MIA member told me his middle intial on the signature page was incorrect, etc etc. Like all mothers in labor, I pushed and pushed and I pushed until it came out to the way it was supposed to be. I paid my $200 to have Hemorrhoid bound and copyrighted (a copy for me and a copy for the school) and I was on my way to the Big Man.

Well, what can I say about my meeting with The Big Man? A LOT, but I’ll keep it brief. The first thing he says is that my committee and I have been working off of an out of date checklist, which means that I didn’t have all the materials he needed and that my formatting was again, incorrect. And since said out of date checklist was created, the fees for the thesis have gone down, so in the amount I paid, I actually bought THREE copies of the thesis (Happy birthday, Mom) instead of my desired two. So I had to go back to work on my day off to do some hasty reformatting (took me six hours), switching to pdf, signing and faxing before I could send dear Hemorrhoid away.

But you know how they say never look back? Well I do, often. My dear pdf version of Hemorrhoid has blank pages in the file, a wrong completion date and page numbers with issues. I can’t make any corrections now, I just have to wait for the grad school to come back with their revisions and/or instructions for me to go straight to hell because Hemorrhoid is such a mess. It’s only fitting that everytime I turn on the radio, Cee Lo is screaming for me to … uh…. ‘forget’ everyone who has made my life a mess.

So I’ve been trying to listen to Cee Lo as I make mani/pedi plans for next week. World Tuberculosis Day is coming up and I hope to spend it with a tiara on my head, Hill Harper in my bed and Chaka Khan’s ‘I’m Every Woman’ in my soul. And no Hemorrhoid is getting in the way of that.

Photo from https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ60QyfWxZitR9zhyph4KPSv_1lDQ23kfNjwNE9sjo4UKEMuxI4lizkUmW8Ra0khlvVAVW-d35pUrZy6hqxniHB6RxFqeaF7JyPu4DL-XwzeHgQjzWjmHdPoHfGyK0TruiKrRmdw/s400/thesis+draft.jpeg

Hey, Mr (Computer) Man, there's something wrong with my line ....

(week 1)

Dear Dan The Computer Man:

I appreciate all the rearranging you've done to my work area and giving me a new computer monitor. With all the cutbacks at the company, I'm glad you were able to fit my technical needs into your additional tasks of custodian/payroll supervisor/carpenter. When I saw you leveling that desk the other day, you were less than pleased when I told you about my blank computer screen. Nevertheless, I'm glad you got to it.

That being said, you should know that I keep a variety of items at my desk as a source of inspiration. That Method Man picture you saw, taped to the bottom of my screen? Yeah, I'mmma need that back. There is nothing like a gorgeous, thuggish man staring at me with those possessed eyes, silently encouraging me to represent Wu. Yes, I know he wouldn't want me in all my natural glory, but let me have my fantasy. I'll patiently await my picture to be returned.

Best,

Strength

(week 2)

Dear Dan The Computer Man:

First off, I want to apologize for interrupting you while you were plunging that toilet. Apparently, the unisex bathroom isn't enough for us anymore. And poor you, having to fill in for Craig n dem who rolled out on the company earlier this month. I mean, he could've at least left a uniform behind for you to wear. You look so out of place in your suit and tie, fiercely wielding a plunger.

So it breaks my heart to have to share another computer problem with you. I'm not able to retrieve pertinent documents from my hard drive. Now, I can understand the confusion. When you saw a document saved as 'FUCK YA'LL', you probably thought it was nonsense. Actually, that 12-page document is my letter of resignation. Whenever the Powers That Be give me unneeded stress, I whip out this treaty and add to it. When I leave this company, I want them to know each and every reason for my departure. At least count, I reached reason #274. Please locate my document so I can add reasons #275-#312. Yes, it's been that kind of week. I'll wait for you to work your magic.

Peace and blessings,

Strength

(week 3)

Hey Dan:

Fine, I'll stop calling you at home. But what else am I supposed to do when you don't return my emails or work IMs? I know I scared you when I was sitting at your desk yesterday morning, but desperate times call for desperate measures. If you hadn't called security on me, I would've explained this.

Anyway, my latest computer problem is with my music. In the nearly six years I've been here, I've taken the time to load inspirational music onto my computer. But ever since you did your extreme makeover, I can't find any of my old tunes. I'm a woman who needs to be fed with copious amounts of Eminem/Jay-Z/Me'shell N'degeoHoweverYouSpellIt/Amel Larrieux. And I'm talking DAILY. If I seemed especially aggressive, that was because I didn't get my dose of 'Dead Nigga Boulevard' or 'Way I Am' or 'Kill You.' These are my lullabyes. Once the security guards let me go, I hope to return to a musical computer.

Thanks,

Strength

(week 4)

Hi Dan:

Fine, leave if you want to. You should know that the rumor mill is blazing with tales of your departure. Did you really just erupt when you learned that my latest computer monitor had failed me, and you'd have to get me another one? Did you really storm out of the building shrieking 'FUCK YA'LL!!'? If so, that's copyright infringement, and I hope my check is in the mail.

You'll be happy to know that your replacement is handling my needs. Leo is not disturbed by my bobbleheads, or my Avenging Unicorns. He also has the same musical interests as me. Just the other night at karaoke, we entertained the audience with our duet of 'Renegade.' He did Jay-Z's verses, and I did Eminem's. It was a great time. But I do believe I scared the audience when I jumped up on the table and shrieked 'What did I do (huh)/I'm just a kid from the gutter/makin this butter off these bloodsuckers/cuz I'm a muh'fuckin RENEGADE.' I can't begin to emphasize the sexiness of a man who is strong enough to carry his drunken/deranged colleague off the table, yet gentle enough to hand her another beer and tell her to get back on that stage. I do believe I'm in love.

Anyway, it was great working with you Dan. I heard that a going away party is being planned. Expect Leo and I to be there, carrying microphones and a karaoke machine.

Best wishes,

MC Strength

(Photo from www.digitaljournal.com/img/5/6/48/9/8/i/4/6/2/o/love.jpg

She's Baaaack

I mentioned before how I’d been avoiding my good friend “Sheila”, because all of our outings tend to revolve around me sitting in on various kid-friendly events. Yes it may sound cruel from the outside, but picture yourself as a single, 30 something eager to spend time with a friend who only invites you to Chuck E Cheese and kindergarten singalongs. This was not a good look for me in the 21st century.

While I didn’t let go of our friendship, but I scaled it back to ‘see as needed’ levels. I must admit, the last time we hung out, she made every attempt to make things adult. We decided to go to dinner, so she picked me up. Somehow, our plans evolved into going to a restaurant where her friend was having a “party.” It was in this restaurant’s tiny room where I endured 67 minutes of the most boring, foodless pyramid scheme I had ever endured. My stomach growled so loud that it sounded like a cell phone with a dying battery. When they finally unveiled the food, it was a bunch of teeny-tiny appetizers, not even enough to feed everyone who gathered there. I remember leaving there a bitter, hungry wretch, then racing home to eat everything in sight.

Sheila and I exchanged a few halfhearted emails and texts after that. I’ve been keeping up with her from a distance. Her older child – the attitudinal daughter – has gone off to college. Her younger son – my road dog, who has the best dimples I’ve ever seen – is in all sorts of activities and is often on the honor roll. And this week I had the pleasure of receiving a message from her, inviting me to her birthday party next month. I hope her definition of “party” has changed since the last time we hung out. **FINGERS CROSSED**

Photo from http://info.blogged.com.s3.amazonaws.com/info02545297a29d9fdf43e9763cda81dcd5.jpg

Pretty Girl Swag

I’m slowly but surely getting out of the funk that has plagued me for quite sometime. One of the things that has helped me get through it is just thinking about things that make me laugh or smile.

Whenever my mind turns to the dreaded subject of XXXX, I fight it with all might. I whip out my Happy Arsenal, which contains the lyrics to Willow Smith’s ‘Whip My Hair’, the screams of a relative who was prancing around her home naked when a maintenance man walked in, and images of my friend’s 2-year-old daughter placing a maxi pad in her diaper. ( True story, the child does everything her mama does. Thankfully there were no tampons around)

I’m always looking for new things to put in my Happy Arsenal. I think I found the perfect addition recently when I was flipping through the newspaper. This ran as a letter to the editor:

‘You’re pretty’
Recently I was assured that there are beautiful people in our world.
I was at Trader Joe’s, sitting near the exit door waiting for my daughter to complete her shopping. Many people passed by – some smiling, some deep in thought or talking to friends and family members.
A young woman with her three children approached the exit. One was a little girl about 8 or 9 years of age. I smiled at her and asked how she was. She smiled back and then commented, “You’re pretty.”
Those two words were so precious to this 90-year-old grandma. Not the fact that she gave me a lovely compliment, but that she had the love in her heart to make someone feel good. I will never forget that moment and that little girl. She has lovely parents. May God bless her and her family.

- H.S.

We all could use a Happy Arsenal from time to time. Feel free to take anything of mine, until you can create your own.

(Photo from http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTICEPqMviHIQqSTLQSPVfh-m5J0MfHufQmVcwjYO4GEzKilso&t=1&h=158&w=236&usg=__0usf_nJuzvZHLahy1fqlJRZjTbY= )

My Turquoise Chain

I'm the type of person who gets obsessed with the obscure**. Years ago, I read a novel that had a slight reference to Little Jimmie Scott, so I went on a googling frenzy. And I mentioned here before that I read another novel that led me to do the same with singer Phoebe Snow.

Well, my new obsession is Betty Davis. I didn't get her from reading, I actually got her from peaking around in the infamous Bianca Laureano's Amazon wishlist. I saw a cd from the 1970s featuring a beautiful sista with the largest fro I had ever seen. Then I started to listen, and I was blown away by this woman who sang -- sometimes growled -- about infidelity, sex, men, sex, love, sex ... and, well, sex.

I quickly added some of her songs to my iPod. I play her as I'm driving to work, and I've gotten many a strange stare when I belt out "He Was A Big Freak":



But 'Git In There' always makes me want to jump out of my seat and dance:


And there is also the love ballad, "The Anti Love Song"


But I do believe the first song I heard by her was the mansharing song, "Your Man, My Man."


The woman formerly known as Betty Mabry was also Miles Davis second wife, and he wrote a song about her, like to hear it? Here it go:


I've tried to get others, like my mother, to discover the joy of Betty Davis. But not everyone is ready. You should've seen the look on my mom's face when I played "He Was A Big Freak." She thinks I've truly lost my mind. Ah well, I'm just enjoying the 70s these days. Alot of good things came out of that decade, namely me. =)

**these artists aren't necessarily obscure, but they were obscure to me**

Beachbound

It's late.

I just finished washing clothes.

My bed is covered with said clothes.

I haven't packed a thing.

All of that means one thing: I'M GOING OUT OF TOWN TOMORROW!!!!

I'm headed to the beach for a little while to get some much needed R&R. I took off today so I could get prepared for my trip, but as you can see, not much has happened on that front. What can I say? I'm the Last Minute Queen. I thrive on tight deadlines. It's an art form.

Soon, I'll start tossing things into my getaway bag. Then I'll make a list of the last minute things I need to do. My cat will roll his eyes and give me his "You better leave me enough food this time" look. It'll all come together smoothly ... it always does.

So, I guess at some point, I'll need to move away from this computer and start expediting the situation. But I'm watching The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo on Netflix and I'm not sure I'll be able to move until I've finished.

Anyway, everyone enjoy your weekends! I hope to post some pix when I return.

Yes, They've Finally Made Me Bonkers

To All of My Coworkers:

I sit near the printer
I do not fix jams
Nor do I replace toner
If your document didn’t print
Take it up with management.
Again, I only sit near the printer

How is your paper jam my problem?
You think I know the right way to hit it
The divine secret behind making it spit
Newsflash: I DON’T
So I’ll keep giving you a blank stare
Or my frown, my terrible thug mug
Until you get a clue
And go away.

I sit next to the printer
So when you print your credit report
Your elaborate expenses
Your fudged time sheets
Your receipts for your mistress
Guess who has the first peek?
That would be me.
Let’s work together, shall we?

Photo from http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2008/08/funny-pictures-your-printer-has-a-kitten-in-it.jpg

The Quiet Storm (or All My Single Ladies ...)

When news spread that my region was going to be hit with a record-breaking storm, everyone crowded their grocery stores, gas stations and prepared to lock themselves in with the bare necessities. God forbid you be trapped inside without toilet paper. Or eggs. Or popcorn. Or movies.

But then an even bigger fear arises – what are you going to do, if you are trapped inside *gasp* ALONE??

A few people asked me what I’d do during this period, since I live alone. Was I going to stay with my parents, establish a bunker with some friends? How would I survive? Just fine, thank you very much. And here’s how you can too.

So, All My Single Ladies, listen up. Here’s how you to can make the best of being inside by your lonesome as the Snowtorius B.I.G. knocks on your door:

-Remember the important things:
Look around and realize that you have everything that you need right there, most importantly, POWER. That means you can blast Sade, Corinne Bailey Rae, your Bob Marley 3-disc collection as loud and as often as you want. Who’s gonna complain? Let’s face it, your neighbors are too busy shoveling, having sex, beating the hell out of their kids, or screaming at each other to worry about the noise you’re making.

-Shovel, girl. Shovel: The first day of the storm it was myself and two other women shoveling ourselves out of our parking spaces. Mr. Bad Element walked by several times to tell us we were doing it wrong, that it would take forever and to make fun of our shovel technique. Yet by the time he returned from the liquor store, he and his drunken entourage of delinquents marveled at how much I cleared off of my space while their cars remained immersed in the white stuff. Yeah, my back, leg, arm and a region in my left hip/lower back/butt cheek are sore, but Mr. Bad Element was shamed, and that's all that matters.

-Never forget that you’re a lady: That’s my golden rule. No matter how much snow has fallen, I have remained true to my fashion plate status. On my first day of working from home, I was dressed in what I call my sexy outfit. I’m talking about my wife beater (I know I shouldn’t use that term, but you’ll just have to forgive me. I have cabin fever), blue leggings and white head rag. I showered, then switched it up to my Detroit t-shirt, BLACK leggings and RED head rag. Today, day two of working from home, I’m wearing gray sweatpants, a fuschia cami and NO head rag. Gotta keep it interesting. And sexy. Also, remember to shower and/or bathe often. You’re only as good as your last stick of deodorant.

-Don’t crack under pressure: After days of being indoors and only being able to socialize with your neighbor – and your cat, who may or may not be tired of you, depending on his mood –you may feel the heebie jeebies settle in. Just the other day, I was in my bed trying to get my beloved pet to play with me, but he just sat there and stared. I was hurt. I put on my glasses and realized that I hadn’t been talking to a cat, but a box! Which leads me to my final point ….

-Never let the snow turn you into a slob: Seriously. If the laundry must pile up, keep it in the hamper. Don’t spread it out on the floor into intricate piles that you intend on handling. Those clothes you plan on sending to the Salvation Army? Pack em up, don’t leave them on the floor simply because you paid way too much for that coat you boat in the ‘90s. That’s not vintage, bitch!

*Steps off of soapbox*

I hope my guidelines help. And rest assured, this epic blizzard will be over soon, despite *gulp* a forecast of even more snow this weekend. In the meantime, I’ll leave you all with the same desperate plea I shouted to my mother after she left me for my first day of day care: “GET ME OUTTA THIS DAMN PLACE!!!” Hopefully you all won’t give me the whoopin that she did.


Photo from http://www.csmonitor.com/var/ezflow_site/storage/images/media/images/1228-snow-shoppers-east-coast/7160509-1-eng-US/1228-snow-shoppers-east-coast_full_380.jpg

Headache

Someone is banging a hammer inside my brain, so this post will be a bit of a freestyle ... By freestyle, I don't mean rhyming, but I mean saying whatever has been on my mind at the given moment ... Right now, I'm 99.9 percent done my Christmas shopping, but I stll have to wrap gifts ... I wrapped presents for two people the other day, but ran out of wrapping paper ... I actually had a dream last night about the kind of wrapping paper I wanted to buy ... And I only have memorable dreams when I'm not getting enough sleep ... My sleep meter is off the chain as of late ... I've been getting entirely too much sleep ... Yet I can't wake up in the morning ... Weird! ... This year, my job's idea of a holiday party is a potluck meal that we all enjoy during the workday ... That does not sound like fun to me ... Of course, we had this same situation last year when I got horribly sick ... I'll have to stay away from the hygenically challenged coworker's food this year ... I love getting Christmas cards, it's nice to know that my friends and family worldwide are thinking about me this holiday season ... However, if I've previously told you to stay out of my life, does that mean I want you to send me a Christmas card? ... I would think not, but apparently, folks don't get that memo .... So now I'm torn between using this card for a bonfire or dart practice .... We shall see .... Oh, I just finished draft 5 of my book!!! ... I guess that means I should .... I don't know, maybe try and get someone to publish it? ... Or go over it again, to make sure things hold together... *Shrug* ... Why are things so hard when they don't have to be? ... I'm reading 'Midnight: A Gangster Love Story' and I'm actually liking it, despite my previous reservations ... I have two free movie passes in my wallet that I'm desperate to use ... There are so many movies I want to see ... Slumdog Millionare ... Bolt ... 4 Christmases ... Changeling, but that's probably left the theaters by now ... Sigh ... Oh well, I'm off to go rest on my couch and read ... Or perhaps I'll start watching season 2 of Gossip Girl ... Yes, I watch that show ... And I am not ashamed .... At least, not yet ... Have a good day everyone!

(Photo from http://www.cjreport.com/files/webpics/honee-not-now-i-has-headache.jpg)

The Sleep Deprived Post

There comes a time of night where it's so late that you completely lose your mind, all sense of focus. You know you should shower and get ready for bed, because you have a long workday ahead of you tomorrow. You avoid looking at the clock because that would only make it painfully clear that you have five hours, no four hours, hell maybe even three hours, before you need to get up and go to work. Your cat stares at you like your crazy before going off to bed and leaving you alone. That's when it hits you: You're well on your way to staying up all night.

Well, that's my situation this evening/morning. It is currently 3:40 a.m. and I am wide awake. The obvious question is why, so let me tell you. I am writing a paper that is due by 5 p.m. tomorrow. It needs to be 15-20 pages long and contain all the glowing research and analysis I've compiled on 'Sula' and 'The Street'. The problem? The paper is currently only 12 pages long, and that includes the bibliography.

Before you ask, the answer is NO! I did not procrastinate on this assignment. I've been working on it for quite a while give or take a few ... okay, several ... distractions. The problem with this paper is that I have absolutely NOTHING LEFT TO SAY, so I'm a bit on the stressed side. This stress part is very amusing, cuz ordinarily I'm not a stress filled type person. I mean, I can be sooooo cavalier with my "I don't give an eff" attitude that it scares people. But that's the daytime Strength. Apparently, this 3 a.m. version of me will do whatever she can to squeeze another three pages out of this paper.

Am I tired? Not at all, but that's probably because my eyes are numb from staring at this screen. I will say that I am hungry. And thirsty. And I'd like nothing more than a long, hot shower right now so that I can lather up in my new favorite body scrub. I'd list the name here, but I can't remember and if I go into the bathroom to grab it, I may just take that shower and never return.

Have I mentioned that in addition to this research paper I also have a final exam to do? That's probably because I'm still in denial. See, my highly organized professor promised to email us the final during our regular class time, which is between 4:30 and 7, so we could turn it in the next day. So I leave work early, all ready to abuse my brain cells. I check my email and she hasn't sent a final. I check it 54875485488 times and there's no test, despite several other students asking where it is. Finally, the professor sends the test at what time?? Go ahead, ask what time! She sent it ... at 10 pm!!!!!!! Luckily, she gave us an additional day to do the test, but still.... I'm annoyed!

I say all this to say that I'm calling out sick tomorrow. I'd certainly be a sight to see if I hauled my sleepy carcass into the office in the next four hours. I'd literally have to douse myself with coffee.

Oh, what's that I feel? I think my eyes are getting heavy. Maybe I'll finally go to sleep now. It's a good time cuz my cat looks like he's about to attack me and I don't have the energy to defend myself. My biggest struggle is going to be waking up early enough in the morning to tell the bosses I won't be in. Wish me luck!

Restless

So, I mentioned before that I’ve turned to art therapy to cure the occasional blahs. I even bought this book, since I was getting the itch to expand my mind beyond collage and finger painting. I know that makes me sound like an expert, but in all honesty, I’ve done exactly one collage and one finger painting project, which I wrote about here.

I flipped through the book the other day and I’m torn on a new project. Some of them just weren’t for me and some were a bit too involved. I mean, my interest wanes quite easily. That means I’m not entirely psyched about taking a bunch of silverware and creating a lamp. Creating 3-dimensional images of my pictures freaks me out, though not as much as the idea of making paper doll cutouts of my pictures does.

Anyway, I’m going to start light for the next project. The author, Mark Montano, has a bunch of suggestions for making crafty coasters, so I’m going to give that a try. I don’t have any coasters in my apartment; I just let guests set their drinks on a magazine and call it a day. But soon, that will change. Hopefully, I don’t ruin this!

Photo from http://z.about.com/d/healing/1/5/k/P/gc_art.jpg

"Keep In Mind I'm an Artist, and I'm Sensitive About My Shit"

A few months ago a friend introduced me to art therapy. It wasn't really therapy, it was just a bunch of us sitting around making a bunch of collages. She mentioned that art projects help her feel sane and I couldn't help but feel the same way as I put my collage together.

Anyway, I finally did my own art project. I mentioned before that I had a raging desire to revert
into my childhood and finger paint. Well, I finally did it.

I got some fingerpaint paper from my new favorite store, A.C. Moore, as well as some paints. It took me several weeks to get the motivation for my painting project, but I finally got the courage to do it after going here.

So, I grabbed my old newspapers and spread them out on my living room table. I wet the paper and dipped my fingers deep into the green, fuschia, brown and blue paints. I swirled my fingers all over the paper and came up with a colorful, convoluted mess.

But at second glance, the picture is really saying something, at least I think so. To me, it looks like a big flower emerging out of a cloud of confusion and chaos. Of course, that's my interpretation. Anyway, here's another glimpse of my workstation:

Basically, I made a bit of a mess. But that was my intention. It was kinda fun, actually. It didn't take very long and I was sad when it was over. Now, my picture is sitting on top of my television so it can dry. You'll notice that I haven't included any pictures of my work. That was intentional. Maybe I'll share next time. Because there will be a next time.

Finished ... Finally

I hadn't planned to write another Harry Potter post, but I feel the need to let everyone know how grateful I am now that I have finished that massive book. I'm generally a fast reader, except when it comes to the HP series. During those times, I read at a snail's pace while my friends can digest it in one sitting. There was always this increasing pressure for me to finish the books within a reasonable time frame, just to keep up with my rep as a speedreader.

The pressure was even worse for this last book, since it is (allegedly) the final one in the series. It was nearly impossible to read without stumbling onto spoilers, like here, here and here , not to mention the Wikipedia summary of the book and those blasted interviews JK Rowling had been doing on the Today show. Top that off with all the people who wanted to bug me constantly and say, 'are u fininshed yet? what's taking so long? u of all people should be done by now!'

The last straw came when a coworker of mine, who was trailing behind me in the number of pages left to read (she had 500+, while I had about 100) came to work the next day and told me she was done. I politely told that heffa to go make love to herself and take her stinkin' book with her. Grrr. But then, I spent my lunch break reading. I read and I read until finally ... I FINISHED.

It took me a whole week to finish the book, but I'm done. Thank goodness. I loved the book, even though Prisoner of Azkaban was my favorite. There were constant deaths and some caused me to shed a tear. I still have my undying love for Fred and George and I don't care what anybody says, I hate Hagrid. And now it's all over. Sniff, sniff. Can't wait for the last two movies!!

Mourning The Morning

Yes, I've been gone for far too long and I apologize. The truth is, I've been ex.haust.ed! Too tired to think, let alone do blog posts. But thanks to a reminder and gentle push from Tha L, I am putting my slacker ways behind me.

I've been so tired that I'm going to spend this post writing about the odd morning I had today. I'm the type of person who often has a dreamless sleep. The only time I do dream is when I'm severely tired. And on those nights when the dreams occur, they're pretty crazy. For example, I once dreamt that I saw a male coworker cough up a bunch of tampons. True story and dreams like that are some of the main reasons that I like to get my rest.

Last night, I went to bed much later than I wanted to. I had a busy, but fun weekend and I didn't have much time to rest. I planned to go to bed early, but that never happens. I jumped into bed around 11 o'clock, my normal time. But even though I was severely tired, I could not sleep. I tossed and turned, tossed and turned. Occasionally, I'd sit up in bed and see my cat on floor, staring at me like he was concerned.

After what seemed like several hours of this, my alarm clock went off. I shook myself awake and realized I'd been asleep the whole time. I was dreaming that I couldn't sleep! Weird, huh? I wonder if I was having one of those out of body experiences that people talk about. Hmmm ....

Anyway, I pushed the snooze button and went right back to sleep. This time, I dreamt that a colleagues mother (whom I've never met) called me up and gave me some money. Just when I was about to cash the check, the alarm clock went off again. This time I listened and started getting ready for work. I'm still tired this evening, so I wonder what dreamland holds in store for me tonight!

(Photo courtesy of http://www.moeyyo.com/MM/homepages/24/d88498392/htdocs/ourfamily/MM/insomnia.jpg