A Tequila Sunrise and More Contemplation

Back in the office today. It was nice to interact with grown adults, even if most of my day was spent looking at data tables, trying to ascertain which needed updated to complete updates the data model I work on.

Still wrestling with whether to invite J's family to dinner. The more I think about it, the more I would rather just limit it to my family. I don't think I can deal with the bullshit and inviting four to six additional people to act as buffers would not be a solution, just piling on additional stress.

In truth, the anticipation is probably worse than what will happen in real life. Or not.

I'm having a lot of moments of silently simmering anger towards J and I don't know what to do about that either. I anticipate another one occurring shortly as I hear the garage door going down, which means he is done working on the kitchen table for the night.

I can't quite pinpoint where this round of frustration is coming from, just that it is here. Today it was walking in the door after work and seeing the sink filled with dishes, even though I've asked him repeatedly to keep in clear so I can cook more easily. Then him asking, *while I'm in the middle of cleaning up something* if there is anything he can do for me. If I tell him the truth, to look around, see what needs done and *just do it* he'll just get pissy and complain.

Then there is the fact that when he gets a DVD from Netflix, it can linger around the house for a week and it is not a big deal, but when I get one he goes two days maximum before he starts nagging me about watching it.

Either that or this is displacement anticipatory stress of having to care for Linus by myself for 11 days manifesting itself in some strange, strange ways.

Like the burning desire to order the medium 1904 Porter Rough and Tumble bag in Tabasko waxed cotton canvas, the same style I saw in Toad & Company in Freeport. Roughly three weeks and I am completely obsessed with the silly thing. To keep myself from buying it, I paid all the bills (credit card with the new bed tomorrow) and moved $500.00 into savings. Now I just need to freeze the credit card to keep myself from charging it.

It does not help that the bag is EXACTLY the size I have been looking for and would make an amazing replacement for my nylon Fossil bag, which is s.l.o.w.l.y falling apart. Or that I just spent a goodly amount of money on a leather Frye satchel that suits all my needs very, very well and has garnered quite a few compliments since I purchased it with some of our tax refund money last spring.

The mantra that I don't need the bag, I just want the bag is not helping right now, no matter how true it is. I honestly don't need this bag. I have the Frye, the Fossil will survive for several more years, the Sherpani Verona is an excellent replacement for the Fossil, the Timbuk 2 is holding up phenomenally well, and I have an additional bin of miscellaneous purses and totes that need to be discarded before I buy anything else.

What I need is to figure out what I'm trying to fill by buying the bag, and take care of that instead.

Tricky

I am contemplating a dilemma this evening.

Family (my parents, both siblings, siblings spouses and possibly two dogs) are coming to the house to celebrate an early Thanksgiving, the weekend before Thanksgiving to be precise. Since we no longer exchange gifts (or try not to at any rate), my father's only desire for the holidays is that we share a meal together.

So we shall, in my big comfortable house. With new furniture in the living room and refurbished dining room chairs.

The dilemma? Should we invite J's family to this dinner? Have I lost my mind?

The instinct of general etiquette suggests it would be a decent and honorable thing to do.

The instincts of past history of hosting my in-laws are screaming “hell no”. The last time we hosted J's family, his father waited until an hour after I put the food away (which had been sitting out untouched for over an hour before I cleaned it up) to pull out two frying pans and cook hamburgers he had bought with him “because he was hungry again”. Which meant another hour in the kitchen cleaning up the pans, silverware and additional dishes.

We have kicked around some ideas that might make it easier, such as inviting the parents of both my sister in laws. But then it also occurred to me that I both my brothers that it was ok for them to bring their dogs - which means that I have to allow J's niece to bring her dog too. And if what J's parents are reporting is true, her dog is showing signs of aggression towards other people and I don't want an aggressive animal in my home.

(You know what pisses me off? When I clearly state to J that I am writing, only to have to deal with him being affectionate towards me even though attention from him is the last fucking thing that I want at that moment. I don't want loving gestures, I want to be left the fuck alone to think and form sentences.) 

– End rant. I love J, but I really wish that he could hear “I'm writing” as “leave me alone right now”.

So I did what any sane person in this day and age would do. I wrote to the hosts of the podcast Awesome Etiquette to see how they would answer the question.

In the meantime, I will consider my options.

Settled and Sunday

I made a trip to see my parents. They put their much loved, but difficult to maintain home up for sale and moved to a small cottage in a retirement community. Both of them acted out in expected fashion prior to the move on Monday. My mother was argumentative, my father obsessively packed random objects in the middle of the night. My brothers helped them move into the cottage, I came out this past weekend to help unpack boxes and see what they need to be settled and comfortable. I now have a list that includes a non-slip bath mat for the guest bath, a pair of pretty slippers for my mom and a couple more sets of new towels of the bath and kitchen variety.

My dad pointed out a box and bag, set aside for me to take home. The bag held some quilts and shams. The box contained the rest of their wedding silver, including my favorite pair of silver candlesticks, two birth certificates, the one from the hospital marked “baby number 2”, and some miscellaneous items from college and high school.

There was one carefully wrapped object that turned out to be a photograph of me at age sixteen, dancing with my maternal grandfather at a family wedding. I was genuinely surprised that my mother let the picture go, as she adored her father and it is one of the last photographs of him healthy and vibrant. Shortly after that wedding he became incapacitated by a series of strokes and died a month before I turned nineteen.

I am glad she let it go, as I adored my grandfather too and she has all but admitted that I was he favorite grandchild of both her parents.

Family Vacation Planning

I have a lot to talk about. Some of it is even worthy of dusting off my blog and publishing. About how cute it is that Kayne West is such a fan boy of Beyoncé. How awesome that the Day One application actually has auto-correct for Beyoncé.

I could talk about my doctor-mandated weight loss/food lifestyle makeover and how that is going (surprisingly well, thank you). I could talk about the umpteenth bone scan my mother will have, due to suspicions that the cancer has metastasized to her spine. I will need to talk about that if the scan shows cancer, as I will need to create some response scripts to the inevitable raft of “well meaning” comments and questions.

Or I could talk about family vacations. Specifically extended family vacations, the kind you take with your parents, your children, your siblings, their spouses and their children and live in a single space for a week or so.

About the fact that J's sister, who does not pay for the home rental, is able to dictate the time (first week in August) and the place (Outer Banks) over the wishes of the rest of the family.

After last year, J's parents said they going to start renting a houser earlier in the summer, as July-August was hot, a bit uncomfortable and expensive due it being high tourist season.

When J and I learned that they were returning to the Outer Banks in August we sent a list of alternate suggestions. Included in the list were islands such as Mackinac, beach towns on the New England East Coast and Nova Scotia. All cooler places with lots of family activities.

All rejected. The explanation given was that J's sister did not want to deprive her children of a beach vacation as that is where the rest of their classmates went in the summer. It has to be in August because they would miss other activities if it was not.

Did I mention that she doesn't pay for the house rental and that we suggested beaches? Or that one of J's brothers actually hates the beach and would also enjoy going somewhere different.

J and I have decided that we are not going this year and are looking into visiting Nova Scotia instead, if I can get Boy Alien's passport organized in time. J's parents have asked if we are interested in taking a weekend trip to Mackinac Island with them in the spring, sans the other siblings. I said yes, as it is on the list of places J's mom has always wanted to see and I think they are offering it as a way of soothing over the bad feelings.

My frustration with her does not end with vacation planning. J's sister holds some strident pro-life views, which are about to run smack into the end-of-life care decisions that my family may be making in the near future.

My mom is going for another bone scan. She broke a rib due to tripping over a coffee table and is experiencing a tremendous amount of pain in her back, possible signs that the breast cancer has metastasised to her bones.

She has already stated that she will not go through chemotherapy again. If the cancer has metastasised to the bone, treatment would be pointless in light of her other health issues. It would not extend her life and would severely limit the quality of whatever time she has left. My brothers and I understand and accept that a return of cancer means she will elect palliative care.

J's sister will not understand this. If her prior comments on the subject are an accurate reflection of her beliefs, she is a big proponent of “by all means necessary” to extend the length of a life without regard to the quality of such a life. She would interpret my mom's refusal of treatment as affront to this belief.

She is intellectually lazy. Suggestions that she try to understand by reading about the mechanics of dying or learning what it means to have a severe illness with comorbidity are not viable, as scientifically-based sources will conflict with her world view.

And she will not respect any boundaries I attempt to put around the subject. Although I have asked J to handle this issue with his family, I have no doubt she will attempt to make her thoughts known directly to me. She will harangue and harass until she believes her point is made and play offended when I tell her that my mom's decisions are not her concern.

I could be completely catastrophizing this entire thing. The bone scan could come back negative for cancer, rendering this whole entry moot. It could come back positive and J's sister could act like a decent human being.

I'm not holding my breath.

34° Fog

The Thing About an Abusive Relationship

Note: I've turned off comments for all posts, as I have no desire to open myself up for attack from the legions of assholes.

Sometimes it takes a while to learn that you are in one. Especially if he doesn't hit you.

In March 2007, I wrote a brief entry about a bad relationship. It was written in a light-hearted tone, the kind I would take when swapping dating and breakup horror stories among a group. When you tell those kind of stories, you downplay the really horrible parts and focus on that one aspect of the relationship that screams "bad match!" You don't want to bring the rest of the group down.

Since I wrote that post I've done some reading. Gavin de Becker's The Gift of Fear. Rosalind B. Penfold's Dragonslippers: This is What an Abusive Relationship Looks Like. Kate Brennan's In His Sights. I recently finished Lundy Banecroft's Why Does he Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men. In between there have been blog posts, articles and essays. There have been multiple hundreds-of-comments long threads at Metafilter and an especially excellent entry on Sick Systems at Live Journal.

All that reading to confirm what I always suspected, that he was abusive and I was lucky.

So I downplay the really horrible parts.

I talk about the arguments we would have whenever we went out in public together. But I don't talk about how those arguments lasted hours, until I was exhausted, demoralized and ready to agree with anything he said just to end the "discussion".

I don't talk about how those argument were primarily him accusing me of wanting to fuck other men and hours of him haranguing me for denying it.

I talk about him sulking when he felt like he was not getting his way about something. But I don't talk about how he would freeze me out and refuse to speak to me for days.

I don't talk about how he never allowed me to stay over at his apartment and flat out refused to spend more than ten minutes in mine.

I don't talk about the comments he would make about my body. About how he would dump me if I gained weight but expected me to stay with him no matter how he changed.

I don't talk about the time he deliberately tried to get me pregnant. Because to say it out loud meant admitting that he was escalating from verbal abuse into something much more dangerous.

When I tell the breakup story, I don't tell the part where he called me at 2:00 AM wanting to discuss things.

I don't talk about how I would go out of my way to avoid him for the rest of the time I was in school. How I would look for him where ever I went, mentally planning escape routes in case he our paths crossed.

I don't talk about how I took J to a mutual classmate's wedding after our second breakup, as I knew that was the only way to keep him from approaching me.

After the first breakup I went back to him because I genuinely believed I was the problem. I left the second time because I figured out that I was not.

But I'm not any smarter, more self-aware or more confident then other women. I figured it out sooner then most, soon enough to prevent any real permanent damage.

He was abusive. I was lucky.

Costco Tire Department, Sunday Afternoon

After what can only be described as a mediocre holiday, I decided to cap off the weekend with a quick run to Costco to pick up bread and honey. French bread, because it tastes as good as I am going to get without jetting to Paris, honey for J to make cherry mead.

As we are going on a road trip in a few weeks, I also stopped in the tire department on my way out to get a quote on a new set of tires.

I learned a few things. I learned that our vehicle had after-market rims in a weird size that Costco does not carry. I learned that the employees of Costco's tire department are incredibly competent, patient, polite and willing to walk out to your vehicle and examine the tires personally. I learned that one of them works as an EMT three days a week.

And I learned that the cold stare and silence is a very effective weapon when handling inappropriate comments about the management of children.

Especially when the child in question does not actually belong to you.

Ahead of me in line was a lovely man, of Indian nationality, in his thirties. He is equipped with empty stroller and the former occupant of the stroller, an adorable two year old girl. The gentleman was picking up his car and had some questions about the tire warranty. The little girl was wandering nearby and examining the various sized bolts and nuts stored in a rack of bins near the counter. I was standing several feet away from the gentleman, between him and the little girl, waiting my turn.

An elderly lady enters the tire area, looks at the little girl, looks at me and immediately says to me “Excuse me, your little girl is playing in the bins”.

I look at her, then away. I say nothing at first because I am confused. Why is she talking to me? I don't have a daughter.

So she is looking at the nuts and bolts. She isn't throwing them across the room, rolling them on the floor, attempting a juggling act or snacking on a nuts and bolts sandwich.

My thoughts move quickly from confused to annoyed. That she is assuming that I am the mother, even though there is zero resemblance. That I have sole responsibility for making a child stay away from the bins. That she is judging my ability to parent my non-existent daughter. That she felt that a child quietly going through bins of nuts and bolts was worth commentary, when an adult doing the same thing would provoke nary a response.

As I formulate a response, the lady speaks to me again. She repeats that the girl is playing in the bins, assuming I did not hear her the first time.

Now I am officially pissed. I give her a cold look and do not respond, turning my attention back to the counter. The silence draws out, becomes uncomfortable. Out of the corner of my eye I see the woman enter the beginning stages of anger.

Finally the man speaks. “Oh, that is my daughter” he says, with a laugh. The lady visibly relaxes, then states “She might mess up the bins”. The man shrugs it off. The clerk speaks up at this point and states that the nuts and bolts are primarily for display. The employees have a separate supply in the back. The point is dropped on all sides.

The lady isn't finished with me yet. She asks what I am doing there, am I picking up my car? I explain that I stopped in to get a quote on tires. She replies that she is checking to see if she can get her tires rotated today, if doesn't take too long. Then she looks me, an unasked question hanging in the air.

I pick up the subtext immediately. She wants me to cede my position in line so she can ask her question first. But she does not want to ask me directly. She wants me to offer to let her go first.

I begin to feel a touch bullied. Bad enough that I am getting subtle verbal chastisement over the supervision of my non-existent daughter. Now she wants me to offer, nay believes that I should offer to give up my place in line so she can ask her question?

I make a non-committal noise and turn back to the counter. The silence grows long again. The clerk finishes with the gentleman and turns back to the counter. I give him the size of the tires currently on the car and wait as he looks it up. The size he quotes me is not the the same - it is smaller, with a larger rim. I ask why they are different. He asks if we changed out the rims. I reply that I do not know, they are the tires that were on the car when we purchased it used. He offers to go out and take a look at my tires, to clear up the confusion and heads towards the back to get another employee to cover the front while he is outside.

The lady is not interested in waiting any longer. She finally asks me directly if she can get her question in before we go outside. I say yes. I have made my initial point. I can be gracious now.

She asks and receives and answer that she did not want to hear. She fusses briefly over having to bring her vehicle in on a weekday. Mercifully she is finished quickly and the clerk and I head outside, bread and honey in tow.

I get in my car, no longer angry but bemused. When you look close enough, I don't look young. I am fat and very out of shape, with grey in my lashes, brows and hair. The skin on my face is old and tired. There is significant flab on stomach that will never go away. The time when I could be mistaken for a teenager has long passed.

Yet there are still these moments. Moments when I am sized up at glance and found to be an easy target because I still look kind of young and I am female, therefore I need to be corrected. Moments in stores when someone will question me for allowing Boy Alien to walk 15 feet away from me to look at toys. I notice them, the quick glance at my hand to see if I am wearing a ring, the disapproving purse of the lips, the pointed questions to my son about the location of his mommy. I see it in the times that someone hovers a little to close to the counter, hoping to cut ahead. I ignore them.

And it wears me down.

75° Partly Cloudy
Pittsburgh, PA, United States

Cancer Strikes Again (Maybe?)

I’ve had two conversations with my parents in the last 24 hours. Yesterday was my bi-weekly check-in. Today was to return a phone call thanking me for the Mother’s Day flowers, accidentally sent three days too soon. I order from the same local florist’s website twice a year. This is the first time I forgot to check the delivery date, so mom got same-day delivery.

It was an interesting conversation and one of the rare times I could speak with my parents while they were both sober and coherent.

Last year’s breast cancer diagnosis was scraping the bottom of the shite barrel, as mom has had significant medical issues with her back, heart and intestinal system going back years. The deterioration of the vertebrate in her back is directly related to her years as a nurse, spent standing on her feet in bad shoes.

So it was disappointing, but not surprising to hear her tell me that she had fractured a vertebrate in her back and was in some pain. She mentioned it might be “mets” which I assumed was some sort of medical condition that affects the back. She explained that she was going to see a neurologist in Pittsburgh next week. I offered to try to meet them at the doctor’s office.

Today I asked her to clarify why she was going to a neurologist for a bone problem.  She explained when her back problems were diagnosed three years ago, the first doctor recommended surgery. She consulted two additional neurologists for opinions on how surgery would affect the spinal column. Majority rule said “no surgery”.

The conversation continued. No, her spinal column was not affected. Yes, it might be caused by the chemotherapy (my younger brother, D, asked the same question). “Mets” means metastasized.

“Oh shit” I replied, dropping the cheerful demeanor I have tried to cultivate when talking to her on the phone, as it is not the job of the cancer patient to reassure her loved ones. Reassure my mom did, I was finished babbling an apology for the inappropriate outburst.

“The bone scans don’t show anything but the fracture, so it is probably just that”.

My dad joined around that time, to express his relief that I sounded (and felt) better and had recovered from my first serious asthma attack. Those warnings about the late spring causing the pollen to be released all at once? No joke. I spent four days wheezing, coughing hard enough to pee myself and not sleeping, and six days inhaling, snorting or popping a medication every four hours. It was a misery I don’t care to repeat any time soon.

My dad (“not to be political”) blamed it on global warning. My mom commented that D was doing much better after several years on allergy shots. I pointed out that he started sooner and that I would not be as bad as I am if I had started shots four years ago, when the symptoms started getting serious. I am supposed to see some improvement by the end of the summer, but it could take longer. At the very least, I am able to take the shots without visibly flinching, so I guess that is something.

Project 333 - Day 8

It is incredibly windy out. Last night the temperature dropped enough that even J noticed it was really cold. I went to sleep shivering and work up sweaty.

Something must have happened overnight with my employer's network, as I don't appear to have Internet access outside the corporate firewall and my email access is spotty. Which is problematic, as I need external Internet access to figure out what the hell I am doing testing-wise.

Today's Attire:
Lucky Brand jeans.
Black Flexees tank.
Red three-quarters length sleeve top.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Lucky Brand scarf.
Black Dansko clogs.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Engagement & wedding ring.
Baccarat iridescent crystal pendant.
Silver deco ring.

Observations:
1. The jeans are probably the final pair of Lucky Brand I will purchase. I'm incredibly disappointed, as they do make stylish, well fitting jeans in larger sizes, but I can't afford to burn over $100.00 a pair, a only to have them fall apart a year later (as the last two pairs did so recently). I have one more pair of straight-legged jeans from this brand, which I purchased from a discount store but never wore because the legs felt too tight. In light of the fact that they will probably fall apart anyway, they will go into my burgeoning charity pile.
2. I have been more comfortable in my clothing in the last week. Deliberately choosing the clothing I like, rather than dithering over those pieces I feel obligated to wear, has been really liberating. I is still taking me a while to get dressed, mainly because I have not pulled my capsule wardrobe together, but I am almost ready to commit.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 7

Another slow Monday morning. I made it into work later than I intended. The outfit that I planned today was not going to work - too dark and not spring-like.

Today's Attire:
Lauren jeans.
Max Studio white cowl neck top.
Tommy Hilfinger navy blue cotton sweater.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Engagement & wedding ring.
Baccarat iridescent crystal pendant.

I have a combination of the mean reds and the blues today. The home buying/selling process can do the to a person.

J and I are in the process of selling our old home. It felt like a miracle, receiving a respectable offer five days after listing the home. We are in the appraisal/inspection waiting period and the buyers agent is not the most communicative of the breed.

It makes me anxious, as I feel like we, our agent included, are being viewed as adversaries. Which is understandable, but stupid as J and I just want to be able to wash our hands of financial responsibility. We are more than happy to lose any gains we may make, as long as we are able to pay off the loan, cover the fees to the city/county/agent and turn off the utilities.

The only information our agent has been able get is that the slate is crumbling and the buyer is going to have a roofer inspect it. We don't know the appraisal value, we don't know what other issues were uncovered in the inspection, we don't have anything information so we can do the right thing.

Observations (Tuesday Morning)
1. I felt bland all day. I looked fine, I just felt bland. Mostly my mood I think.
2. J got referrals for roofers. Now we need a sunny day to get a proper assessment done and get it fixed.

48° Sunny
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 6

Today I slept late. Went to the flea market. Had brunch. Purchased new pillows for Boy Alien's room. Did two loads of dark clothing. Changed the sheets in the master bedroom. Puttered. Tried to figure out if there is a pants elf running around the neighborhood, snatching packages from unsuspecting UPS drivers and delivering them to their appropriate owner days later.

Late last night, upon returning home from dinner with friends, I discovered a small Zappos package beneath my mailbox. Inside contained the missing pair of pants, which I verified by checking the order number. As Zappos is sending me a replacement pair, I will have to arrange to ship one pair back.

I am mystified. J's guess is that the driver lied about delivering the package, but he would have to have known he was coming back on Saturday. If it was a neighbor, a note would have been welcome, to save me the trouble of reporting them missing.

Today's Attire:
Calvin Klein jeans.
Green Gap t-shirt.
Gap brown leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.
Purple and orange scarf.
Roots red “Canada” hoody.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Engagement & wedding ring.

Observations:
1. The semi-obsessive recording of everything I wear and my feelings is a pretty significant exercise in frivolous naval-gazing, but it is not without a purpose. I want to figure out what I genuinely feel good wearing and get rid of any item that does not make me feel awesome or is a hassle to wear (such as a sweater that will not stay buttoned.)
2. I have not culled my clothes down to 33 items yet. I already know that it is probably not going to be possible for another week and I am ok with that.
3. I really want it to be consistently warmer.

54° Clear
Whitehall, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 5

I don't have any idea what I am going to wear today. I need to attend a bridal shower (ugh) this afternoon and meet friends for dinner this evening. Part of my reasoning in doing this first week without choosing my 33 items upfront was to determine which pieces of clothing and accessories I genuinely love. Now it is Saturday, I need to go from a business causal event to an informal dinner and all of the ideas I had planned in my head are probably not going to work. They all involve items I love, but the weather is classic cold spring slush.

Idea 1: Brown XCVI pants, ordered from Zappos on Thursday afternoon, as a replacement for my two ruined pairs of jeans. Paired with a flowing, white Thomas Pink blouse. The pants are made of cotton poplin and have the funky kind of styling that can go from a bridal shower to a causal dinner. Zappos has next day shipping on items ordered before 1:00PM PST, so (fit willing, but I've had excellent luck with XCVI) they would have been perfect.

The bonus would have been being able to add the pants to my rotation for the whole summer.

Except that I never received them. The UPS driver handed the package over to someone trespassing in our yard. Zappos, to their credit is sending a new pair of pants, but I will not receive them until Monday.

UPS gets a few more cents profit, as they get used again for shipping. I know that Zappos will probably recover that money in the end, but in the meantime UPS earns a few cents interest on a shipment they deliberately delivered incorrectly.

Idea 2: Meadow green XCVI shirred skirt with the Thomas Pink blouse. The downside is that it is not going to get close to 50F until 4:00 PM, which means I will need to wear hosiery and I don't have shoes that go well with hose in spring/summer, since it is supposed to be warm enough to go without.

I think I am going to just fuck it and wear trouser-style jeans.

What I ended up wearing…

Today's Attire:
Wide legged trouser-style jeans
Gray Flexees tank.
Cream three-quarters length sleeve sweater.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.
Purple and blue scarf.
Slim, knee-length black leather coat.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Engagement & wedding ring.
String of black diamond beads.
Silver deco ring.

Observations:
1. I originally wore a pair of purple Dansko sandals, but the weather was so cold that I had to put on socks, which look stupid with the sandals.
2. The jeans are from the now-defunct Martin and Osa. I was crushed when American Eagle Outfitters decided to close those stores. They were specifically tailored to fit me and are the only pair of pants I did not have to discard post-pregnancy. I am so delighted to be able to wear them again.
3. The sweater, which is really lovely, will not remain buttoned. After the shower I gave up and changed into a blue Max Studio cowl neck t-shirt. The sweater will be washed and added to the charity pile.
4. I still hate showers.

37° Cloudy
Whitehall, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 4

I feel as if I must explain that my jeans don't fall apart just because my thighs are enormous and can friction their way through denim.

When my employer moved into their current space, they inherited the furniture left by the prior business. This furniture included authentic Aeron chairs in each of the cubicles. Some of the employees lucky enough to be assigned to a cube disliked the chair, so they swapped with employees unfortunate enough to be assigned to one of the former lab spaces built in the interior of the building, far away from amenities such as working heat/ac and natural light.

I hope you have gathered by now that I worked in one of the former labs for over two years. It sucked. After the buyout of my employer by large international behemoth was complete, all of us working in the former labs were moved to empty cubes. I really need to write about the twisted politics that lead to the bulk of the engineering staff working in those rooms.

By trading, I managed to score a chair that cost more money then the powers-that-be put spent renovating the interior rooms. In the process I developed the habit of kicking off my shoes and sitting crossed legged on the chair.

The unholy alliance of quirky sitting habits, fat thighs and thinner material resulted in me trashing two pair of jeans in the past three weeks, due to tears on the inner left thigh. One pair was a complete loss. Both pairs were from the same manufacturer, so I will not be buying jeans from them again.

All of this meant I spent a fair amount of time scrutinizing my remaining jeans, evaluating which pair was least likely to call it quits on me today. I also checked my cottons/linen pants.

Today's Attire:
Calvin Klein jeans.
Cream Flexees tank. (I have two of these. Both badly need to be discarded due to some pretty serious under-arm staining)
White cotton t-shirt with burned-out illustration of a butterfly.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.
Gap 1969 denim jacket.
Lucky Brand scarf.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic
Engagement & wedding ring.
Baccarat Crystal Flower Pendant.
Sliver and red enameled ring.

Observations (10:38PM)
1. I felt very comfortable in my clothes today.

57° Mist and Fog
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 3

I am writing this at the allergist's office, waiting to be released after getting my shots. I will go to Starbucks, then back to work.

I had a difficult time getting up this morning. Wigford was silent, captivated (I hope) by a bird or other small creature. He has been incredibly lonely since Axel and Lucy died. Both of his buddies gone in a span of two years. I've wrestled with getting another cat, but I am starting to feel so much better now that the allergies are under control.

So the bed did not get made and my time in the shower stretched longer than usual. Two more pieces of clothing went into the charity pile - thin sweaters in peach and orange, colors that look truly awful on me. I am trying to be merciless.

Today's Attire:
Lucky Brand jeans.
Nude Flexees tank.
Cream Lucky Brand three-quarters sleeve blouse.
Gap brown leather belt.
Black Dansko clogs.
Slim, knee-length black leather coat.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic
Engagement & wedding ring.
Baccarat Crystal Pendant.

This morning it was more difficult to he dressed as I felt really lukewarm towards most of the options I had planned out in my head last night. The jeans and belt were easy, the shirt was difficult. For the past several years I've had an ongoing problem finding spring/summer shirts that I love. Getting rid of the ones that I bought in desperation to have something to wear feels really good.

There was also the issue of being sock less, as I forgot to throw the clothes in the dryer last night. So I had to dig up a pair of ankle socks I reserve for yoga.

Observations (1:06 PM)
1. I am not as comfortable today. Part of it is that I lost my jeans to my thighs after my allergy shot this morning. I sat down in my chair, tried to cross my legs and heard that oh-so-ominous tear.
2. The good news is that the jeans are salvageable for shorts. The bad is that this is the second pair, in the same brand, to fall apart on me at work in less than a month.
3. And the shirt, while adorable (and tear free) wrinkled very quickly.

40.4429° N, 80.0071° W

Project 333 - Day 2

Every morning Wigford wakes me early with his meowing. Most mornings I end up spending upwards an hour dozing and returning to the same sad, intrusive thoughts while waiting for the alarm to go off. Since we moved to the new house, I end up rushed to get to work. So today I just got up and decided to write until the alarm.

Today's Attire (Planned):
Lauren jeans from Marshall's/TJ Maxx.
Black polka-dot Flexees tank.
Red, three-quarters length sleeve boat neck-ish shirt.
Lucky Brand embroidered blue leather belt.
Lucky Brand red, three-quarters length sleeve bolero.
Black Dansko clogs.
White raincoat.

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic
Engagement & wedding ring.
Grey pearls (fake).
Silver and topaz ring.

Music This Morning:
David Grey. Mostly his moody, death ballads - Kathleen, Long Black Veil, Easy Way to Cry, The World to Me.

Additional Observations (1:10 PM)
1. I received a compliment from a coworker on the bolero. She thought I looked nice in.
2. I am much more comfortable in this outfit then I thought I would be.
3. Dark red is good color on me.
4. I should have left the raincoat at home.

50° Rain
Whitehall, Pennsylvania, United States

Project 333 - Day 1

In an attempt to get out of my own head and do something, even if it is something a lot of people would think is stupid and frivolous, I decided to give Project 333 (http://theproject333.com) a shot.

One of the things that has been bugging me is that I seem to have lost my inner sense of style. F0r the past few years, most of my clothing choices have been dictated by fear of judgement over my overweight body, flabby belly, fat ankles and sagging face.

I read an article on xoJane yesterday called 8 Essential Basics for Spring Even Though Basics Are Boring And Spring's Never Coming. There were several photographs of the author. She was tattooed and chubby and looked like an incredibly bad-assed, happy woman in her clothes. That is what I want.

Project 333 is a minimalist fashion challenge - wear the same 33 items for 3 months, focusing on the clothes you love.

Included: shoes, jewelry, scarves and outerwear.
Excluded: undergarments, hosiery, sentimental jewelry (such as a wedding ring) workout gear, and pajamas.

Jewelry should be easy, I wear the same pieces almost every day. I rotate some, but not much. I really need to look at selling several pieces that I never wear any longer.

Scarves, gloves and hats (especially cold weather gear) will be difficult, as I like having a variety to choose from.
Instead of choosing 33 items right away, I am going to spend this week culling my clothes down. If it does not fit or looks even remotely ridiculous, into the Goodwill bag it goes right away.

Lessons Learned Today
1. The two long skirts that I purchased last summer look terrible on me. Too tight in the hips, too long in the length. When I purchased them, I was desperate to find something right then to replace the one I tore earlier that day. Into the Goodwill bag they went.
2. I excluded Flexees tanks from the 33, as I wear them under everything.
3. I feel weird wearing the leggings, but they are really comfortable.

Today's Attire:
Purple three-quarters sleeve cotton cardigan.
Gray XCVI skirt.
Gray Flexees tank.
Gray sheer leggings.
Flower-patterned Marimekko Chucks.
No socks, as it is April 1!

Jewelry:
Tag Heuer Carrera automatic watch.
Baccarat iridescent crystal pendant.
Engagement & wedding ring.
Silver deco ring.
Works of Man titanium and sterling bangle.

Additional Observations (6:42PM)
1. The leggings were fun and comfortable, but would work better with a narrower skirt.
2. I was not as self-conscious of my ankles.
3. J said I had a Pippi look going between the leggings, the bright shoes and pendant. He meant it as a compliment.
4. The hostess at Eat N Park liked my pendant and shoes.


45° Clear
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States

I AM

A really crappy excuse for a human being.
I said something horrible to my child in a moment of anger.
I can't take it back.
And it was the truth, not the whole truth, a small part of a much larger, more complicated truth. But it was the worst part of the larger, more complicated truth.

It came from the relentless voice, small, sneaky, in the corner of my brain that likes to remind me that I will never, ever be good enough and doesn't understand why I try.
The disappointed part.
The analytical part, the one that tries to figure out why I can't seem to connect and build friendships with the women around me, in spite of my honest efforts.

This is the part that makes me seem cold, because I don't want to come off as too eager.
This is the part that makes me seem distant, because I don't want to end up self-centered.
This is the part that makes me seem quiet, because I fear my questions will be intrusive.

This part gets louder every time I try to make a playdate with a kid's mom, or a woman friend for some girl time, only to be ditched at the last minute.
This part gets louder every time I try to make plans, only to hear the word no.

I know how that voice got here. I know that it comes from all those years trying to navigate a social environment in which not matter what I did, it was wrong.

I hate that voice. I hate what it is still doing to me, at forty years old. I hate that repeated attempts at therapy have only achieved in silencing it for short periods of time.

I am trying so hard to get healthy again. Subjecting myself to injections every week to get rid of the allergies that have come close to crippling my life. There is so much in my life that is good right now, yet I can't seem to cease the act of self-sabotage.

I don't know what to do any more.

Today

I picked up Lucy Snowe's ashes from the veterinarian.

Intellectually, I know it is stupid and foolish to cling to the remains of a pet, even a beloved pet. Emotionally, it is difficult to let go after eighteen years of managing to keep her with me, no matter where I went.

If all goes well, we will be moving in a few weeks. Leaving her behind seemed wrong. So she will remain with me, until I am truly ready to let go. I know that non-pet owners (and even some pet owners) will find my grief puzzling and self-indulgent. I'm OK with that.

Passing

My first moments with Lucy Snowe began as a fight, her swatting and struggling as I gently dragged out from underneath the car in the Greensboro Mall parking garage. I was not thinking about getting a cat in that moment – I was more concerned about the cars speeding by her hiding place.

But the moment I held her in my arms, the moment she relaxed and began to purr, I was smitten. Any half formed thoughts I possessed about taking her to a shelter melted away in the warmth of her little body. I took her home, and much to the chagrin of my roommate, insisted on keeping her.

I remained smitten for eighteen years. Through seven moves, a wedding, a pregnancy, a birth. All that time, Lucy was a fixed presence in my life.

It was only fitting that our relationship ended the way it began, with her fighting with the vet tech over the catheter inserted into her right paw. Holding her close as the veterinarian injected first the sedative, then the drugs that stopped her heart.

Making the decision to put her to sleep was the easy part. Always tiny, she had lost an enormous amount of weight, could not keep food down, could not make it to the litter box, could not groom herself properly, and became confused about where she was.

The difficult part was cleaning out the carrier, lining it with the towel, taking it to the car, and walking through the door of the clinic. The devastating part was letting go and leaving her body, once she had passed.

My beautiful, sweet, little cat is gone. I can close my eyes and remember what it felt like to have her sleeping head across my neck. But she is no longer here when I open them.

Down with the Rubber Duck

Note: Several months ago I took advantage of the iTunes Store free app offer and download an app called Day One Journal/Diary to my iPhone and iPad. I've found myself writing more often and thought I would try sharing some of those entries on the blog.

What started as a lark ended with my ankle in a splint and me slightly fatigued from pain killers.

We planned on taking Boy Alien to see the giant rubber duck yesterday. First a stop at the bank and Starbucks. Then a quick drive out to Sewickley to see a house that had a ton of potential but zero property space to add a garage. I was disappointed and turned down J's offer to see the inside as the lack of garage space (or to build a garage) meant it did not meet our requirements and I did not want to fall into lust with a house I could not have.

So it was off to see the duck. I wish I had been able to film the excitement on Boy Alien's face when he saw the duck for the first time, as we drove past the stadiums on the North Shore. It felt like Christmas morning and J and I felt like we were the BEST PARENTS EVER. We managed to find a space right across from the walkway leading up to the Fort Pitt bridge.

It was a beautiful day for a walk across any bridge. Sunny, not too warm, happy pedestrians and bicyclists and a great view of the park and the rubber duck. Pittsburgh residents are in an extraordinary good mood this week, between the goofiness of seeing a enormous child's bath toy hanging out in the river and the Pirates making the playoffs for the first time in over twenty years. Boy Alien greeted dogs, chatted about the duck and held both our hands for the walk across.

After coming off of the bridge, we began our climb down the stone, stadium-style levels near the duck. Not 20 feet away was a set of stairs in between each level that a sensible person would have used.

I am not a sensible person and my past history of hurting myself in spectacularly stupid fashion was not enough to prevent me from gamboling down the levels after J and Toddler Alien. In sandals. Without backs on them to keep my feet from moving.

On the next to last step I came down a little too hard, felt my foot slip within my left shoe, lost my balance and badly twisted my left ankle. The pain made me scream out loud.

There were a lot of people near by and several offered to help. The woman sitting near where I came down first offered to call an ambulance, then later offered to get me some water. A second stranger offered general assistance. I declined all offers and insisted that J and Boy Alien go see the duck as originally planned, as Boy Alien should not have to suffer because his mother is a clumsy idiot.

While J and Toddler Alien were viewing the duck I sat for what felt like forever, waiting for the pain to subside. After several failed attempts to get up and walk I gave up and tried to stop sobbing like a child and stop thinking about how I badly I needed to pee.

Eventually J and Boy Alien returned and the need to pee was urgent enough for me to overcome the pain of walking and hobble off to the restroom, trying to navigate through the crowed of spectators and souvenir seekers. After taking some ibuprofen and making it back out of the restroom, J sat me down on a stone wall and went off with Toddler Alien to find something to eat. I spent more time trying to fight my tears and declined my third (and maybe fourth, I lost track, which is a good problem to have) offers of assistance from absolute strangers. I eventually moved from the wall to an open bench and discovered that my ankle hurt less when I put some weight on it. I tried to read. I tried not to cry.

When J and Toddler Alien returned I announced that I needed to go to the ER. We began the walk back to the car. As I moved, I noticed that the pain was not that bad as long as I moved slowly and carefully and I started to question whether I needed to see a doctor after all, a question that was answered with a definitive "yes" when I tried to walk down the steps.

It was off to Allegheny General's emergency room for me. While J tried to entertain our bored, restless son I spent an hour limping back and forth from the waiting room chairs to registration, the triage nurse, registration, x-rays, registration then finally to a room to have my ankle seen. Then it was an additional two and a half hours of talking to nurses, residents and attending doctors. 

HIghlight one of the afternoon was one nurse's admission that I was not the first patient they had seen that week who had injured his or herself while seeing the duck.

Highlight two of the afternoon was the resident who told me that my ankle did not appear to be fractured, only to sheepishly return 20 minutes later with the news that they had found a hairline chip and I would have to have  

During the course of the afternoon I was asked three times if I might be pregnant, four times if I had a living will and who would be taking me home, six times how I had injured myself and once if I felt safe in my home.

After $50.00, x-ray's, an ultrasound, several hours and one nurse's cracks about the duck being bad luck for the residents of Pittsburgh I left the hospital with my ankle in a splint, on crutches, clutching a prescription for oxycodone and instructions that I should not drive or drink while on the painkiller and need to make an appointment follow up with an orthopedic surgeon in 3-5 days.

Now it is sunday, I have not yet figured out how to get myself reasonably cleaned up for work on Monday, as I must at least go in that day to pick up my new laptop and get myself set up to work from home.