Archive for March, 2010

That last blog entry was probably pretty tacky. Apologies. I was distracted.

Anyway, there is a fury of fighting right now here at Chez Trance, and it is over Skittles the cat.

Meow.

My mom and my stepdad and even the J-Man, horrible traitor that he is, want the cat gone before the move.

Why, you ask, would anyone want such a beautiful kitty to leave?

I iz purty.

She’s mean to the other cats.

Now let me say that this cat is the sweetest, most adorable cat in the house TO ME. She adores me. She follows me around all day long, she lies in my lap and purrs, she sleeps on my bed at night and curls up like a fat little precious baby, she…

Oh, I know. I’m one of THOSE PEOPLE.

Still, I LOVE this animal. I love her far more than is healthy for me.

I will not stand by and let her go just because she jumps on Elmo or Lucky every now and then and causes a little fracas.

OK, maybe a big fracas. A frequent fracas.

I just don’t know how to get her to stop. I honestly think she’s just playing – she’s only about two years old – and she doesn’t get that she’s hurting the other cats or freaking them out. They howl and spit and scream, and my mother and the J-Man go nuts.

Any suggestions would be most welcome.

I have tried spraying her with a spray bottle, screaming at her, etc., but nothing seems to faze her.

I refuse to give her away, but I need to do something about her shit behavior.

Help.

Happy Monday.

This is a lament, I suppose.

I haven’t done the grownup since last May. You know, the mattress mambo. The dirty deed. The horizontal bop.

I have not gotten laid, people.

Since… last… May.

Pause for dramatic effect.

Last. May.

That’s a long-assed time to go without.

I probably should not whine, because inevitably someone is going to come along in the comments and say, “But Jen, I have gone without for twelve months/Five Whole Years/MY WHOLE DAMNED LIFE!” And for you, Gentle Reader, I am sorry.

Trust me, I am REALLY sorry.

But I have needs.

My needs are not, however, needy enough for me to go out barhopping and bouncing into bed with some random schmuck. Nor am I ready to explore the world of… brr… online dating. My short foray into THAT did not bode well.

So what’s a girl to do? Really, I don’t know.

I still don’t think I’m really ready for a full-blown Relationship, but I wouldn’t mind a little occasional nookie on the side*.

*Note: This is not an offer.

I don’t want to get enmeshed in a Big Thing, nor do I want someone I’m going to have to introduce to my child and all of the mess that comes with that. I have learned my lesson with allowing my son to become attached. However, what’s wrong with wanting to be occasionally wined, dined, and screwed?

Nothing, that’s what. I am a grown-assed woman.

I just don’t know how to go about meeting men, I suppose. Where does one meet them? I feel sleazy meeting them in bars, I feel UTTERLY sleazy meeting them online, and this leaves me with very few options.

Plus there is the whole I Am Ridiculously Shy And Will Crawl Beneath A Door Rather Than Talk To Someone thing.

I can go to parties and bars and talk to men freely, because I feel that they are my peers and I am not planning to date/screw them. I can even flirt like hell! But once I get a vibe that they are interested or that I might be interested, I am out of there. I am voiceless. I am a big, fat dork.

Clearly I am socially retarded and should not be allowed Out.

I just wish there was an easier way to do this whole boy-girl thing.

In my early twenties, I used to have a roommate that was sort of a bed-buddy. When neither of us were dating anyone, we would get together, and it was very chill, and very fun, and very laid-back, and sort of hot.

This is EXACTLY what I need in my life right now, but I am NOT 21, and I suppose it is less than socially acceptable behavior for this aged mother to be running around sleeping with some… boy toy.

Still, a girl can dream, can’t she?

Sigh.

Last May, people.

Really.

It’s just…

UGH.

This was probably a really tacky thing to blog about, but it’s on my mind today.

Happy Sunday.

Don’t worry, the Quittening is still in progress, and I am doing just fine. In fact, it seems to be getting much easier with every passing day.

And still, I haven’t killed a soul.

Score.

The past few days have been a whirlwind of basement cleanage. We are finally (thank god) starting to take this move seriously, and are packing up tons and tons of stuff for Amvets and also setting aside a modest amount of things we hope will sell at an upcoming garage sale.

Y’all know how much I dig throwing garage sales.

Sigh.

Anyway, it is all going swimmingly with minimal seizing/falling down, and I’m feeling pretty good about it.

The only point of contention so far is that my mom wants me to seriously pare down my library, and this I will not do.

Get rid of books? I don’t think so. This is something I can’t even begin to understand.

Admittedly, I have a lot of books. Five bookshelves downstairs, and one upstairs that I always forget about. I am not willing to part with a single raggedy paperback.

Books are like friends. You don’t throw them out just because they have been well-loved and are already well-known to you. I lend my books out. I re-read them frequently. They’re like little treasures.

On this, I will not budge.

My mother thinks I’m being utterly ridiculous.

This, from the woman who saves EVERYTHING.

Well, I should have made that past tense. She is being pretty good about purging shit at this particular point in time, but we’ll see what happens when we move onto the garages and her mother’s memorabilia comes into question.

I mean, would YOU get rid of YOUR books?

In other news, my child is being unreasonably hormonal of late. I am trying to be fairly tolerant, given the fact that he is usually a pleasant little dude, but MY GOD the mood swings. MY GOD the whining. MY GOD.

I might just try to dose him with some Sam-E.

Then again, I might just beat him with a shoe.

Either would probably provide the same result.

Happy Saturday.

So, I have flown in the face of the neurologist and have gone back on the patch.

Why?

Well, I was having goddamned seizures even without them, and without them, I was a Total and Complete Bitch.

I talked to a government Quit Coach last night. This is part of a government program that helps people to quit smoking, and not only do they offer live support from 8AM until 3AM, they pay for two weeks of the patch (a 40$ value)!

That sounded very commercial-ly.

Anyway, I signed up and started talking to a Dude, and Dude told me that I was on the wrong patch dosage. I had been taking the 7 mg patches, because I smoked ultra-light cigarettes and feared that the heavy-duty 21 mg patches would be too harsh for me.

Wrong. Apparently it all goes by how many cigarettes you smoked, and I smoked a lot. So last night, I went to Walgreen’s and coughed up the dough for the 21 mg patches.

Y’all, I feel SO MUCH BETTER.

SOOOOOO much better.

It is like a huge weight has been lifted from my bitchy little shoulders.

In fact, I feel downright buoyant today. I don’t NEED no stinking cigarettes!

Now nicotine, I need. At least for now. But I am confident that I will be able to wean myself gradually off of that, too.

I feel so good that I started talking to a friend of mine on Facebook who is a master fitness trainer for the army. He offered to hook me up with a customized fitness program that is safe for a person like me who falls down a lot and who can’t really run or walk or bike long distances by herself.

I am so psyched about this.

We are going to keep in contact through e-mail and photos to mark my progress, and he is going to drill sergeant me into a hardbody.

For free!

I have good friends.

I think that this will be great for me on many levels, particularly in that it will help me keep my mind off of the demon cigarette.

In other news, it’s a gorgeous, gorgeous day, and I am going to spend it in the TranceCave, cleaning.

Boo.

But still, I am happy today. Very happy.

Have a great weekend.

You know what I’m really hoping? I’m hoping I wasn’t always this fucking MEAN. This BITCHY. This IRRITABLE. I’m hoping I wasn’t always this way, but that I just had cigarettes to quell it all.

Because if I am going to be like this permanently?

I’d rather be a happy, pleasant smoker.

GAH.

Don’t worry, I haven’t smoked and I’m not GOING to smoke, but I my attitude? It stinks.

It really stinks.

Happy Freaking Thursday.

First let’s take a look back at Day Two, shall we?

…..time machine noises………really the Tardis noises, but I doubt many of you will know what that is…..bonus points for those of you who do…….

OK. Yesterday.

“Maybe I could just have half a cigarette, just to take the edge off.”
“Do you want one?”
“MOM I AM QUITTING. You’re SUPPOSED to HELP me, NOT offer me CIGARETTES.”
“Oh, OK. Have some more Swedish Fish.”
“Thanks.”

“Mommy, I know you’re quitting smoking, but GOD, it’s just my MATH, and you’re being so MEAN!” *stomps out of the room in tears*

“If this GODDAMN cat gets under my feet ONE MORE TIME, I am going to LOCK HER IN THE GARAGE!!!”

“No, you can NOT go out. It’s dark out. Do you know what they DO to little white children in this neighborhood??!”

……Tardis noises…….

I was a bit of a bitch yesterday.

And yes, I did apologize to my family, and I even shared my beloved Swedish Fish in order to make amends.

Swedish Fish are the only thing getting me through this, people.

The neurologist dictated that I cannot use the nicotine patch, because I was having too many seizures and it was too much of a coincidence that all of a sudden I was having them all damned day whilst on the patch.

So goodbye, patch. Hello, Tweaky Jen.

I haven’t had a seizure since about seven o’clock last night, so I’m by no means complaining, but I think it may be time for me to try the gum.

My family needs me to be kind.

Happy Whatever the Hell Day It Is.

So I haven’t smoked in thirty-eight hours now; and miraculously, no one has died. WIN!

I have, however, had five seizures, which is very bad, even for me. What I can’t figure out is whether this is from the nicotine patch or whether this is because my body just cannot freaking live without cigarettes.

I kid. I’m going to call the doctor this morning and find out. Five seizures will not do.

I also feel very out of it, sort of like I’m on drugs. Everything feels very surreal and yesterday when the guy came to deliver our new stove, he had to repeat himself while talking to me, and I had to explain why I was such a mess.

“I quit smoking and I’m a little-”
“-NO further explanation necessary, ma’am, I am SO sorry!!”

I’m a little hinky, to be sure.

As far as cravings go, I really haven’t had too many. My mom has been very courteous and has been smoking in her bedroom, no ashtrays or cigarettes are laying around; so really, I have hardly thought about them.

I have, however, been inhaling Swedish Fish like they’re my lifeline. Damn it.

I love the chewy little buggers (but only the red, the colored ones are an aberration), and I bought some to take to the movies and forgot about them, so I ODed on sugar all day long yesterday.

I am definitely going to gain weight if I don’t watch my big, fat mouth.

I have also discovered that I can’t really have caffeine or I become a total spaz – like an honest-to-God, bouncing-off-the-walls, where-is-my-helmet spaz. (I’m halfway there already, so this was not much of a stretch.)

So, no coffee, no Diet Cokes. Sigh. This is going to be a huge adjustment as I learn – wait for it – to drink – WATER.

Sigh.

I know it’s going to be good for me, but damn is it no fun.

In other news, I have no other news. Just trying to get over the hard part.

Happy Tuesday.

So. This morning there was much wailing and moaning in the Trance house, and it wasn’t even all from me due to having to get up at six on a Saturday.

This child was NERVOUS. I think he genuinely imagined that someone was going to drive an ice pick into his arm and suck out every last drop of blood.

After the wailing, we headed out into the Deep Ghetto to Ghetto Hospital, where we met up with a very nice Lab Lady who had purple-streaked hair.

The very nice Lab Lady asked him to pee in a cup, which he did, and then she asked him to sit in The Chair. You know the one, The Chair with the long arm, The Chair in which the vampires come and suck your blooooood.

The boy was as pale as a ghost, and that is usually not one of his physical traits, even though he certainly could have gotten it from me. I honestly thought he was going to faint.

The very nice Lab Lady explained the process in detail as she tied the rubber band around his arm, and she got to work.

He was fine, but this is where he messed up – he watched the whole damned thing.

As the fluid poured into the tubes, I swear I saw his eyes roll back into his head.

Thankfully, there was no passing out, and we made it through THAT.

Then we were on to Radiology, where he changed into a gown and was ushered into a big scary room with big scary equipment.

Let me preface this by telling you that I went to a party last night. I had a relatively early night, but a good one, and as a result of this good party night I was holding in the mother of all beer farts. So just imagine the discomfort and embarrassment and terror going through my mind, all while my baby is about to have to submit to this Big Scary Test.

Yeah.

So, we’re in this room, and the very nice x-ray girl who is just as cute as she could be explains the test, and J is silent and nervous and I am silent and praying to the Goddess of Gas that I will not fucking EXPLODE in this place and also praying to the Gastrointestinal Gods that nothing is wrong with my child so that we can move on with our weird little lives and then the boy is given a cup of what looks like a vanilla milkshake.

It’s not a vanilla milkshake.

I myself have had an upper GI, and let me tell you, barium tastes like chalky ass. It tastes like some sick motherfucker’s idea of a joke.

The J-Man took one sip and looked at me like, “Are you kidding me with this shit?”

I unfortunately was not kidding.

At this point I had to leave the room because they were going to start taking pictures, but I knew that this was probably a good thing, because he would be more likely to drink it for strangers than for the woman who labored with him for 72 fucking hours.

Yeah, I know.

He drank it, and I watched on a computer screen while it traveled through his little innards into his stomach, which was pretty cool. He rolled this way and that as directed, and he seemed to be doing fine…

…until they asked him to drink a second cup of barium.

The second cup was a different kind, thinner, and it smelled and apparently tasted just like glue.

The J-Man began to crack.

“I can’t do it.”
“You can.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to, or they’re going to make you do this WHOLE THING over again.”
“NO!”
“Yes. So drink.”

He drank about half of it while holding his nose as the x-ray tech and I cheered on (but not too loudly, lest I lose my fart), and the test continued.

All in all it took about an hour and a half to complete the upper GI, and afterward we immediately went to McDonald’s and gorged ourselves on breakfast, which is something we never do. It was a nice treat.

And I didn’t fart, not even once.

Success.

I am reasonably certain that nothing is going to be wrong with him save a nervous stomach from those little hellions at school tormenting him, but I am glad we got things checked out.

Happy Saturday.

I took the J-man to the pediatrician the other day to discuss the occasional vomiting that has been plaguing him lately.

I told the doctor exactly what was going on: No fever, no extreme pooping, no pain, no lethargy, just the odd barf here and there for no apparent reason.

He asked the J-Man whether he was having any problems at school, and the J-Man gave him a full rundown regarding the teasing. The doctor then asked him whether he was being threatened or HIT. I don’t know whether he meant at school or at home, but I was impressed, and I was even more impressed that the J-Man did not tell the doctor that I threaten him with a shoe at least once a week.

I guess he really doesn’t take me seriously. Damn.

Doctor: “Mom, do YOU have a history of stomach problems?”
Me: “Ha ha ha ha ha.”

I had to go through all of THAT, and when I told him that I had gastroparesis he immediately ordered a upper GI for the boy as well as a boatload of blood tests. We have to go to the ghetto hospital Saturday morning at 7 AM.

Damn, damn, damn.

You see, my child has such a pristine history of health (knocks wood soundly) that he has never had to go to the doctor for anything but a checkup. No bad colds, no bad flus, no hospital visits, NOTHING.

I know, I’m incredibly lucky. So is he.

Anyway, this means that he has never had to so much as pee in a cup or have a blood test. This means that he is downright terrified of needles.

“I’m not having a blood test.”
“If you need one, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I will chew through the restraints.”
“They’re not going to restrain you. They’re just going to tie a thing around your arm-”
“-LA LA LA I’M NOT LISTENING!!!!”
“You’re being silly. I have blood tests all the time. It’s very simple.”
“I’m not having one. And I’m not drinking barium.”
“It’s like a milkshake.”
“It probably tastes like crap.”
“It will be no big deal, trust me.”
“I’m not doing it.”

So this is the attitude we’re going in with, and I am highly nervous.

The kid doesn’t even want to pee in a cup, and that’s pretty much the easiest thing in the world for a boy.

While he is usually very well-behaved, I am having nightmares about a screaming, whirling dervish of a thrashing Tasmanian devil-child that I am going to have to bodily restrain.

That won’t be much fun for either of us.

I just hope everything is OK, and that, God forbid, he doesn’t have gastroparesis or something of its ilk.

I’ve been so spoiled with my easy, easy baby.

In other news, Alice the hamster got out of her ball the other day and walked across two full rooms past three hungry cats without any of us noticing until she strolled in front of the television, prompting all of us to become airborne and collectively scream.

Lucky, lucky hamster.

Happy Friday.

My sister got an apartment!

Like, with walls and stuff!

I am SO relieved.

Good times, good times.

Happy Thursday.