I am a dork

I feel like a dork. For the last few years, Hubby and I have been arguing … Maybe not arguing, just not agreeing on when we went on our first date. We both have different dates in our memories. SO to make it fair, we just decided that this week is our anniversary.

Seven years ago, this really cute boy was a pain in the butt. I went over to his house to  see if he had a staple gun to hang over my windows. After he found the staple gun for me, I ASKED if he wanted to go grab some lunch with me. He said that he couldn’t, he had to go to Denver for work. It was 11 am. Ask when he is leaving, he said tomorrow. Hmm. I asked if he still had to pack, he said he was ready to go. :::sigh:::: I asked if maybe he wanted to grab something when he got back, he said he’d call. I asked if maybe he’d need my phone number. Geez.

I was pretty sure this was a blow off.

I would say about 30 hours later he called. He was only in Denver for a day. Men. We agree on a local Mexican restaurant and to meet up at 7 pm. We both show up early, so we head in. Sweet man that he is, was so nervous that he couldn’t eat. Being the sweet chick I am, I somewhat tortured him. Dinner was nice, and we headed out.

Standing between our vehicles, we talk. And talk. And TALK. Being a chilly October day to begin with, this evening was cold. The temperature dropped drastically. Nearly 40 degrees. Future Hubby was not wearing a coat, because he was a bonehead, me in my favorite Raiders hoodie. WE were not properly dressed for this.

Did we get into on of our cars? No. Did we think about heading to Village Inn or Denny’s? Nope. Did I mention that we lived FEET from each other, and heading to one of our houses never crossed our minds?! We are pretty people, not smart ones.

Well after midnight, we finally head home. I was super glad that I have left the heater on. Chilled to the bone doesn’t even begin to describe i .t. I put on fuzzy socks, sweat pants and a long sleeved shirt under my hoodie before crawling into bed. Under three blankets/

Then the sweetest thing happened. My phone rang. 1 am and someone is calling?! Cold, tired and annoyed I answer. It was the future Hubby. He called to tell me that he had a nice time, wanted to see what I was doing that evening and to tell me good night. He even told me a bed time story.

Since that moment, the love I feel for this man just gets stronger. Wonderful doesn’t even begin to describe it. Loving, compassionate, funny. He has been my best friend for seven years, my husband nearly just as long. Care giver when needed, Doctor more than once. Shoulder to cry one and a rock when I needed him to be.

I wish I could say that I was lucky to have him in my life, but it would not be true. Blessed to he a part of his world. IT is a colorful place, full of craziness and shenanigans. IT is loving and passionate place. He has intelligence beyond anything I could imagine, is supportive in any and everything I could want or need.

There are not enough words to show how I feel. Just that I think my lucky stars for a cute guy that just happened to have a staple gun.

That he still hasn’t got back.

 

I am … not sure.

Since moving, my hubby and I have started making ourselves established. Making friends, attending events done locally, even watching high school football games. It has been nice.

A few days ago, we had some friends over for dinner and a movie. Chit chat and so on. Well, at on point one of them saw a picture I had hanging up from a vacation that we took years ago. We were younger, I barely knew about MS and WLS wasn’t even a thought in my or our minds.  It is one of my favorite for thousands of reasons. I never really cared or noticed that anything was wrong with it. Happy and fat in this picture.

The friend walked over and asked who those people were in the picture.

‘The hubby and I. At a luau in Hawaii.’

I will bare you the awkward conversation that followed. It is irrelevant. What I did want to share was one comment I heard later that evening.

‘I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me you used to be heavy. It doesn’t matter, it would not change anything. We’d still be friends.’

OK, HUH?!

‘If it wouldn’t of mattered, then why would I share? I used to have teal hair. What does anything in the past matter today?’

I don’t want anyone to take this the wrong way. I am one of those ask and I will tell. I don’t volunteer information, but I do not keep it a secret either. It is like MS. It doesn’t bother me that I have it. I wouldn’t want it or wish it on any, BUT it can always be worse. I have a good life, limited or not. Cope and adjust. I do not use it as a way to get things, or tell people within eight minutes of knowing them. If it comes up in conversation, sure. Same with WLS. The way people react to either is strange on occasion.

It gets a little annoying having to explain yourself again and again. One of my new friends was sad, because the don’t know what MS does to people. Are you going to die from it?!  Nope. I am going to die with it. I don’t mind education people on either, but after a while it gets redundant.

That is not where I was going with this post. What I can not get out of my head is that it doesn’t matter if I was heavy, but you should of told me? IF it didn’t matter than why did you bring it up? I used to go to the bar a lot. I have a bad reputation at the gay bar in town (that’s another story!). I also used to drive a Jetta. It was green, I loved it. Again, it’s all the past.

I don’t know if I am making too much out of this. If I am stewing for no reason. I don’t think that it should be advertised that we used to be a FAT couple. Doesn’t really make sense to me that someone would care that I used to be a BIG GIRL!!?! It kind of makes me wonder if I would of been friends with them if I was fluffy.

I have some self worth. Don’t try and cheapen it. I did all of this for my future, my family, my health. It was never asked how or why. Somewhat glad that it wasn’t. IT was not for what people would think, how it made others feel or to impress anyone but myself.I don’t tend to be selfish, but sometimes it is not about anyone else. It is about making my world the best it could be. Evolving is my main objective. Being a better person today than I was yesterday, a week ago, a decade ago. Everything in my past has shaped me into the person that I am today. Good and bad. Right and wrong. Happy, angry or sad.

I do not know what the future holds. The only thing that matters is that I am the best version of me that I can be.

I am immature

bald

Ok. I feel like at my age I should have some level of maturity. BUT when I see the word butte, I turn into a 13 old boy. In my head it says BUTT. Recently I was looking into travel to South Dakota, I noticed that there were a lot of buttes with completely inappropriate names. I will share a few of my fave with you:

  • A BUTTE – yes, it is.

 

  • Ambulance BUTTE – this one can go.

 

  • Bald BUTTE – better than a hairy one.

 

  • Bare BUTTE – Is that a bad one?

 

  • Big BUTTE – it can not lie.

 

  • Black BUTTE – I wish.

 

  • Burnt BUTTE – was it cooked too long?

 

  • Camel BUTTE – umm… is that like a reverse camel toe?

 

  • Camels HUMP BUTTE – they want to do what?!

 

  • Chocolate BUTTE – with whip cream and cherry on top.

 

  • Cow BUTTE – Not sure if you should look at that heifer like that …

 

  • Devils BUTTE – The things people would do for this one.

 

  • Flattop BUTTE – like old people.

 

  • FOREMAN BUTTE – lots of cracks and a shallow valley.

 

  • Hay BUTTE – HEY YOU!

 

  • Hungry man BUTTE – Prison stories.

 

  • Jackrabbit BUTTE – Sad, sad quick one.

 

  • Little BUTTE – Just a little bump.

 

  • Lone BUTTE – How many should you have?

 

  • Long BUTTE – OLD mom one.

 

  • Lookout BUTTE – Should I be scared?!

 

  • North Star BUTTE – A girl can dream of that kind, that thousands follow.

 

  • Old man Dancing BUTTE – yuck.

 

  • Pretty BUTTE – Thanks 😉

 

  • Ragged BUTTE – Where to go on this one?

 

  • Red BUTTE – only if you’re bad …

 

  • Robbers BUTTE – Funny, I have no comment on this one.

 

  • Rocky BUTTE –  is that like a lumpy one?

 

  • Smoky BUTTE – that’s hot.

 

  • Sugarloaf BUTTE – My prison nickname.

 

  • Teepee BUTTE – That is a rough one.

 

  • Whisky BUTTE – the worse kind.

 

  • White BUTTE – Just fine for some.

 

  • Windy BUTTE – Dangerous.

 

  • Youngman’s BUTTE – Hmm.
There are a few, and it is lame. I have the same, dumb reaction to each one. Definitely do not act my age on this one….

You did what?!

I have always been graceful.

Because of that, I have some crazy stories and wicked scars. Because you are some of my closest friends, I have no problem sharing some of these stories with you.

Ah. First, did you know that like 83% of all people have a scar under their chin. As for how I got mine, it’s interesting. When I was about 17, my older sister decided that I was depressed because I was sleeping too much. Whatever that means. SO she called my doctor’s office, set an appointment for me and handed me the cash to pay for it. Did I mention that it was at 8am?! OR that she let me know this at 7:15am?! So I get into the shower. She is one of those people that put those  no slip mats in her bathtub. Funny thing, I slipped. FELL out of the shower and hit my chin on the toilet. Beyond irritated, I finish getting ready and head over to see the doc.

Side note, this doctor that I was seeing was my PCP my entire life. As a matter of fact, he delivered me. He knew my whole family, and was friends with my mother and grandmother way before I was even thought of. SO we had history. I am sitting on the table, waiting for him to diagnose me with all kinds of mental illness. He walks in, we talk for about 45 seconds. After placing a Band-Aid on my chin, he tells me that I do not need any meds for depression. The best thing he can give me is advise, and in his medical opinion I need to pack my bags and move away from my family. Did I mention that I loved this guy?! I get home and tell my sister. She was pissed. It made the cut on my chin worth it.

Lets see. I have two DIFFERENT rug burn scars on my knees. From Church. Not like that, perv. The first one was during a game of knee basketball. Ripped a hole in my jeans and everything. The second was from a group learning activity. We were all tied together and had to run an obstacle course. Somehow I ended up in the middle of the group and when I tripped, I was drug to the finish line. Ironically on that same knee I have a scar that looks like a cross. My hubby tells people that he touched my knee with a crucifix and it burned me. Ha ha, funny guy.

There is a scar on the back of my left hand from the hinge of a closet door. On that wrist, I have a scar from an acorn. I sliced the tip of my middle finger on my right hand while carving turkey. There is a burn scar on my middle knuckle from a cookie sheet. I can keep going. Tell stories about falling off the middle of the couch, getting splinters in the back of my thighs, shutting my foot in the car door. See, graceful.

Just know, that if you see a scar, bruise or bump; there is an 85% chance that I DO NOT know where it came from. The stories above are the few that I know how, but there are more that I don’t know like cutting my left butt cheek in half. That is a wicked scar! Unfortunately it is not a cool story. Not one that I remember anyway. And that makes me … sad? curious? anxious? nervous?! A little of all of those. I am sure at my age of thirty …. something …. I should not have a memory or nerves this bad.

I guess … EH, who cares? Chicks dig scars. Isn’t that all that matters?

I wonder.

I cannot say that I have a great relationship with my father.

Being gone while I was growing up, sadly I never really missed him. I have a great family, and was raised by people that cared. Once I did finally meet him, we talked occasionally. He’d call, or I would. A visit here and there. Somewhat of a ying/yang kind of thing. For about four years.

Being somewhat stubborn, I haven’t really pursued it. YEARS ago, I told my older sister that I wasn’t looking for him. SHE tracked him down. I didn’t give him pictures of me growing up, because I felt that is he didn’t care enough to be there why would he need documentation?

I don’t want to think that I ever had daddy issues, but I feel like they have developed. Why would he want to get back in contact with me all those years ago if it was only for a few moments? What kind of father sends a message on Facebook to say happy birthday?

Did I mention that I was HIS only child?

Recently I have been thinking. That I care that he doesn’t care. That he hasn’t seen me since I was diagnosed with MS. Hasn’t really talked to me for more than five minutes in years. What has really been the biggest problem I am having is that HE has never even met my Husband. Couldn’t make it to our wedding, he had plans. Didn’t even send a card.

How can a he care so much about his ‘BABY GIRL’ but never wonder about the man she chose to spend the rest of her life with? He doesn’t know my phone number. OR my address. That I had WLS. That my mother has Leukemia. Not much of anything.

Again, how can he not care when he made a big deal about finally finding me?

That I had to sit here, and watch my Hubby’s heart break when his father was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. That he had to make trips to visit with him when it got bad. The look on his face when his father passed away. Helping him find clothes to wear for a memorial. Seeing him bring home a baggie of ashes, all that was left of his dad. That fathers day is rough for him. He CAN NOT talk to his father, and mine just doesn’t wanna.

What hurts the most is that I care so much.

Like he wasted my time.

Like he’s a jerk.

Like he DOESN’T care about me.

Like I was catfished. Wanting to be a part of my life. Pretending to be someone he’s not to make me feel something that I didn’t know I could. Sounds bad, I know. I was never looking for a father, my Grandma was the best father a girl could have. IT was something that he wanted, maybe to validate himself. I don’t know why. Parenting is being involved, not selective about when and where you want to show up. THAT pisses me off.

I sit back and watch my amazing Hubby with children. How tender, compassionate and caring he is with them. Seeing his heart ache that we haven’t had one of our own. Not for one minute do I ever wonder what kind of father he would be. Being just half as amazing of a husband, he would still be a 1000% better than any other. Whether or not we had our own, adopted or just babysat; no child would ever feel or be more loved then by him. I don’t think that I can sing his praises to do him justice. He is simply amazing.

THAT makes me circle back around. What the hell is wrong with my dad? What the hell doesn’t he want anything to do with me? Who the hell did he think he was when he started trying to form a relationship with me? Why wouldn’t you follow through?!

It pisses me off. Makes me wonder why? Why not? Makes me sad.

See, daddy issues.

I have this envelop with stuff in it. Christmas and birthday cards. Engagement and wedding pictures. Stuff like that. It has gotten fuller over the last seven years. A few weeks ago, I was going through paper work, files and old mail. Throwing away old stuff. Came across that envelope, and I had to stop and think. And unfortunately, I feel like I have reached a that breaking point.  I opened it, looked at what was inside and was sad. Why would I hold onto this stuff? I kept the wedding invitation, pictures and threw the rest away.

It was liberating and complete heartbreaking.

How can I keep pursuing something that is causing me so much pain? If it was a guy or friend that was treating me this way, I would of ended that relationship and moved on. BUT how do you do that when it’s family, let alone a parent?

Honestly, I don’t know.

I don’t know how much of myself to put out there. It is not like there is someone to replace him, but at the same time how much pain do I allow myself? Again, I am at a loss. I am not sure how to find an answer that I want, need or trust. When it comes to this subject, I am just unsure about everything.

And that pisses me off.

six moments

I read this book once that said there are six defining moments throughout your life that shape you into the person you have became and are going to be. There are days that are special, all for different reasons. None more important than the last. Each as life changing and defining as the next. As you grow older, new events will take the place of previous ones. They evolve as you do.

February 1, 2003. After being out all night with my BEST FRIEND, being stupid, I slunked into my Grandma’s house to get some sleep, and try not to puke. Word of advise: taking seven caffeine pills will NOT get you high. Will make you sick, puke and shake WIDE AWAKE, no matter the time. Usually when I got home, my Uncle Gary would ask me something. About the party, if I brought him any food, was Natasha coming over later. That night, he didn’t stir. Thought I was getting better at sneaking in. Hopped into my Granny’s recliner and kicked back. Lying there, I could see him. After watching for a few moments, I got back up to check on him. Shock him, his cold hand while saying his name. No response. Went to get my Grandma up, and she walked in to try. Realizing he was gone, she hit her life alert button while I went to wake my brother up in the other house. IT didn’t get better that day. Broken hearted, freaked out and sleep deprived.

March 3, 2006. Working hard, I was able to save enough for my own place. Looked all over town, finally found a place I loved. I BOUGHT a house, all alone.

September 10, 2007. After a rough summer, and lots of doctor visits it was discovered that Multiple Sclerosis was the problem. A turning point in my life, is just about everyway that you can imagine. It was at that point that I was a condition. I felt like at that point I lost my identity. A 26 year old woman, with a home of her own, great job and boys after boy perusing her.

April 1, 2010. After an short-ish engagement, I was lucky enough to marry my absolute favorite person, by far the best friend I have ever had. The kindest, sweetest, funniest man I know. With great compliments like ‘you’re as soft as a car’ or ‘you’re beautiful in the dark’, how could I not just fall head over heels?! Six years later, he still sweeps me off my feet on a daily basis.

December 7, 2010. Was taking a break at work, checking my Facebook like the responsible person that I was, I had my whole world shattered. My best friend’s brother posted that she had died. Overdosed. A week before her 26th birthday. Brokenhearted is just the beginning of the hurt. To say that I became a different person that day is an understatement. The week went down hill from there. Several days later, it was rough. Having a funeral at a bar when the person overdosed is tacky, but the real blow below the belt was that they poured out a dozen bottles of Jagermeister and divided her ashes up between the bottles. At that point, depending on how good of a friend you were, depended on how big the bottle of ashes you got. THEN the Jager that was poured out of the bottles was poured into shot glasses and passed them out to the crowd. Again, does not seem like the appreciate thing to do. That week changed me, inside. Deep, a place that I didn’t know.

January 6,2015. Somewhat of a new birthday for me. After nine months of hard work, countless doctor visits and a huge commitment; I went in for bariatric surgery. VSG or vertical sleeve gastrostomy to be more precise. Bright and early, headed to the hospital for a new me. Not better, just new and improved. The support of my incredible husband, great friends and one heck of a doctor, it was done. Because I had such a great surgeon, the experience was amazing.  The hardest part of this was getting my water down. I have worked on it. 16 months and 140lbs later, I am good. Completely different. Life has been wonderful. The Hubby is a year out, and 100lbs lighter as well. The 360 degree turn that our lives has made is for the better. Never thought for one moment did either of us think that this is where we would be. Good or bad, we are in this together. Sticking together.

Just a peek into me. Whether or not anyone knows, these are the pieces of the puzzle that make me the person that I am.

I know that there are moments in the future that will replace these memories. New pieces to this puzzle that makes me the beautiful, complicated woman that I am.

I can’t wait to see what’s next.

:::sigh:::

I am gonna tell you a story.

About a year ago, my cousin called. She has been my soul mate and best friend since birth. We have be inseparable forever. Her room mate was moving out and she needed my husband and I to move in. We loaded what we could in our car, drove 303 miles to help her. out.

IT has been interesting, moving to a new place. The only time that we saw her was in passing. Occasionally had a meal together. We split all the bills and I bought all the groceries. While my husband and the cousin worked, I did the cooking and cleaning. That was how I contributed.

This last Thursday night, she walked in at 9 pm and let me know that she was moving. Next weekend. She had found a new place. Shock was just the beginning of how I felt. Friday afternoon, she sent a text saying that the utilities will be transferred Sunday, so you need to call and put them in my name. I asked her if she gave 30 days notice, or if we needed to do so and her reply was ‘NAH, I broke like four things, so I am not getting my deposit back anyway.’ Huh?! Ok, can I get the information for the land lord? ‘Why would you need that?’ Uhh to talk to him, see what we can get figured out. At that point she walked away. Never got that information. Great.

I have to say, I am broken hearted. It was like I was dumped. I truly do not care that she found her own place. The way that she did it is the hard part. She is the other half of my brain. Dismissed like a dishtowel. Hurt beyond belief.

NOW I am starting to get angry. Why would any do it like that? Did she not have the guts to tell us that she wanted to move? OR that she was even looking?! Finding a place is not a easy thing to do. It takes at least a week to find a place, get approved and rent it. So for a few days she has known. I don’t care that she wanted to move. If you want to know the truth, we had been talking about finding one of our own.

Made a bunch of calls, went and looked around town. Talked to all that we could. Nothing was available. Few had a waiting list, but that would be a few months away. Paying the rent on the this place is out of our reach living here alone. Not to mention that I put the utilities in my name for 10 days. 10 DAYS?!

Stress eating, little sleep and mood swings are how this weekend has been.

We’ll see what next week brings ….

Pffh.

These last few weeks have been hell.

My Husbands step-mom died. Husband is heartbroken. Being that he just started back to work after being off a month, we were unable to go down. Makes it harder. Still do not know any details. Waiting is worse then knowing.

Did I mention that I have not felt well for the last few weeks? Being that the neurologist rescheduled my appointment until JULY, I have been freaking out. I was feeling like it was the start of a relapse. It has been years since I have had one. The thought of that caused me to stress, which caused my MS to go haywire. Had to see my PCP and she determined that it was just a nasty virus that was wrecking havoc on my body.

Rest, you’ll be fine.

What she doesn’t understand is that my legs are on fire. Hurt is an understatement. Burning doesn’t do it justice either. Eyes are going crazy, vision is all out of wack. Hands are not working, neither are legs. Feel like I have walked six miles without my walker or cane.  Bouncing off walls and tripping over air. Fun.

Enough crap. Fun story. Taking a shower tonight, hoping cleaning up will help. Water was a little warmer than normal because I was freezing. Snow is on it’s way again. Grr. Reach down to grab the shampoo and start scrubbing my hair.

‘This smells different …’

Look to see which shampoo I was using and SURPRISE!! It is my husbands body wash.

Shower fail.

 

I am free.

This year has been crazy. Can not say that it has been good or bad. Beyond interesting.

Here are a few examples:

– Husband had to have emergency surgery to remove his gallbladder. The doctor was amazing. Husband has been home for a month. This week he can go back.

– The husband and I have been going to a cooking class. It has been fun. Can not say anything about the recipes, because I have nothing admiration for the people who are teaching the class. FYI quesadillas made with cabbage, zucchini, corn, black beans and whole wheat tortillas are no bueno.

– I dropped my phone. Shattered the screen. Called to turn on my old phone, but apparently it is not allowed. Since my husband has not worked for the last month, putting out money on a non essential  seems silly. So, the screen of my has packing tape on it. Looks as cool as it sounds.

– There have been several arrested. All for stupid ideas. Kind of things that will follow a person for the rest of their lives. Not sure if or how to help.

– My neurologist called me last week to reschedule. Push it back to July. Huh?! Not sure how that works. THERE are questions. How my blood work looked. The changes that need to be made to a few prescriptions. That pseudo relaspe that a cold caused. I need to meet with him ASAP. Waiting four months to do so is unexpected. I will be calling about maybe getting in sooner. Like now.

This is just a quick look at this stage.

:::sigh:::