Fukitol

It's a little wonder that I lack faith in my own judgment. Actually, it was a big wonder up until an hour ago when the answer finally came to me. Pretty much everyone I know undermines my judgment left and right.  One person knows better what I should do for a job, another knows who I should and shouldn't date, a third person thinks I squandered some opportunity there, a fourth has yet another idea here. They are all more than happy to judge away and tell me how wrong I am and they all have conflicting ideas of what is best for me. The only thing these people have in common is that they don't respect my ability to make a sound choice. Given the overwhelming message to the contrary, how am I do conclude that I might actually be capable of sound decision making? 

One minute I'm debating between job and career paths and in tears over whose advice to take. I'm feeling torn in two because it just doesn't jive with my heart and the option feels wrong to me, yet ignoring the advice also feels wrong somehow. The next minute I'm staring down 42 varieties of Greek yogurt in the middle of Kroger and paralyzed by indecision that feels equally important as the job I was just contemplating. Ain't nobody got time for that! 

So, today I might not feel capable of choosing employment that will bring me joy, or of choosing the healthiest Greek yogurt. Today I might be sad, rattled with indecision, and I might not know right from left. But tomorrow morning I might just get my hands on a giant dose of Fukitol and tell everyone to fuck off. Fuck off because I am capable of making sound choices. Fuck off because my judgment doesn't suck that bad. And so what? I might not always make decisions I care to repeat, but it doesn't mean I'm incapable of making "good" choices. What is a good choice anyways and who are you to tell me you know what's best for me? Fuck off. 

But, today I'm sad and distrustful of myself and I can't even pick out a damn yogurt to save my life. 

An Unforeseen Perk

This morning didn't suck as much as it could have. By my reasoning, this counts as a success. 

Okay, I'll be honest, leaving at 5:45am is not my idea of a good time, but I was prepared. I packed my lunch and set the coffee pot up the night before. 

So, I got to see the sunrise AND when I got to my second bus stop, I found $5 laying on the ground. 

Great success!

Here's a blurry picture because my phone is 47 years old. 

I hate cars.

Remember the time I had a super generous friend lend me a car, and then I drove it for two days (and less than 30 miles) before it started having problems driving?

Back to the green limousine in the morning.

I'm really excited that I get to leave the house by 5:45am to be at work by 7:45am.

Of course by really excited, I mean, "really want to bash my head against the wall."

Did I mention that it's an 11 minute drive?

Just when I thought I had some good luck come my way . . . Awesome.

Unintended Side Effects of Riding the Bus

I'm no stranger to riding the city bus for daily commuting. The city in which I lived during grad school was primarily a college town. There was very little parking on campus and basically all the students who lived in the city took the bus to school. It was free with a student ID. Aside from an increase in commute time, it really wasn't so bad. The stresses of driving were gone. No road rage; no traffic jams; no endless searches for that one open spot in the parking lot. It provided a lot of perks. I could apply make up on the way to school, listen to great music, look over some notes, make phone calls and schedule appointments, and text - all without endangering others. Also, the people watching was fantastic. FANTASTIC. And by fantastic, I mean, very interesting. Mostly bizarre and creepy, but definitely interesting.

So, when my car finally joined the big junkyard in the sky (and by sky, I mean city, because it's still here), I thought I was prepared to take the city bus to work. Sure, I need to take two buses to work. Sure, inevitably the first bus is late and it causes me to miss the second bus. Sure, sometimes I walk a few extra miles a day. Sure, I deal with inclimate weather. Sure, there are creepers on the bus (but nothing nearly as good as I saw in grad school).  But, there was one side effect of all of this that I did not foresee.

I like to view the additional few miles I walk every day as a new element of my work out routine. And since life has conspired to make me more active, I thought I should adjust my grocery shopping habits to increase my nutrient intake and get healthier. One of the ways I chose to do this is eat a fiber bar every day. I figure fiber helps you feel fuller, longer. This should (theoretically) help curb hunger cravings and help me get leaner.

My mornings usually start with a nice cup of coffee at home and ends with a nice little half mile walk to work. No biggie. It doesn't take long and is on relatively flat ground and passes a nice little wooded area. It's quite a pleasant walk. Or, it should be. The first quarter mile of this walk is pleasant. I have a great view of the morning sunrise. The air is fresh. Birds are singing. Fabulous music is playing on my iPhone. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.  I have to poop. Every single morning that last quarter mile stroll turns into a frantic jog where I zoom past the morning joggers, holding my rear, shouting, "Get out of the way, I'm about to explode!"

I should have foreseen this. The combination of fiber, coffee, and walking has drastically altered the peace and quiet I usually associate with my mornings.

Iran is calling: BOGO on nukes!

Last week, a phone number from outside the country called me six times in 10 minutes. Naturally, I started to become curious. Who is calling me? From where are they calling me? Is this an important call? Should I answer? Soooo, I looked up the country code +98. Iran.

I do not know a single person in Iran. Nor do I know anyone who visited, is visiting, or plans to visit Iran. I couldn't block the number from my phone, so I called up AT&T and tried not to laugh as I asked them to block a number from Iran.

CSR: Thank you for calling AT&T. How may I help you today?
Me: (awkward and uncertain) Hi, sooooo I keep getting these calls from a number I don't recognize in Iran (awkward pause and silence) and I was wondering if you could block the number. (Crickets chirp)
CSR: (very composed, as though it is normal for people to have unwanted calls from Iran) Okay, we can do that. What's the last four of the account holder's SSN?
Me: Uh, well, I'm on a family share plan with my Dad, so I don't know.
CSR: How about this, we can conference your Dad in?
Me: oh, sounds great...(frantically FB messages Dad)

So we get Dad on the line while I explain through snorts and giggles that Iran keeps calling me and I want the number blocked. Turns out it would cost us a $5.99 (not $6, mind you) fee to set up a block feature so we said no thanks. Of course, any time a response from me was required, I was on the verge of a full on giggle-fest at the absurdity of the situation.  My attempts at stifling my mirth were becoming more pathetic and feeble by the second.

CSR: is there anything else I can do for you today?
Me: (giggle, then squeaks out) Nope. Thanks. (Snicker)

After we hung up with AT&T, I called my Dad and blew up laughing. He joked that maybe Iran was just offering a "buy-one-get-one-free" on nukes. Then he thanked me for making his weekend interesting.

Of course Iran had to keep calling. In fact, a few nights later I had 22 missed calls in a 10 minute period.

Haven't heard from Iran in a week. Maybe the sale is over?

Tales from the Bus

Awkward moment of the day:

Walking onto the bus to see all the black people in the back and the white people in the front. I thought we went over this already, America.

Tales from the Bus Stop

There's nothing quite like sharing the bus stop at 6:30 AM with a mentally handicapped man who is telling me he needs to find a new girlfriend because his cheated on him. He keeps eyeing me. "I had one woman come to my door and said she wanted me to be her boyfriend" uh sure dude. Keep your eyes to yourself. Mmmkay? If nothing else, at least I can credit an interesting morning to him.

A demon spews forth

So I couldn't find my keys (they were in my backpack) and I missed my bus (looked for 25 minutes). While I'm in the throws of a Monday morning panic meltdown, Milo here is sitting on the top of the recliner meowing at me (in an incessant and irritating manner) to feed him. I may have snapped the words "SHUUUUT UPPPP!!!!!!!" at him. And by snapped, I mean growled as though a demon were spewing forth from my body. Full on exorcism demon. Soooo yeah. It's gonna be a great day.

Dear RTA,

Dear RTA,

Bill Cosby called. He wants his sweater back.

Dear RTA,

Zach Morris called. He wants his pants back.

Revenge of the Ute-ute

Roughly every 30 days my body exacts revenge upon me for not getting knocked up. It's really quite rude. I don't get knocked up so therefore, I get to bleed for days on end and be doubled over in pain until I puke.

Wait. Not until, because it's not like a normal sick where you puke and feel better. This is a puke and still feel like shit thing. This is being doubled over in pain even though you've vomited all over the staff bathroom at work, splattering vom-vom everywhere, and still doubled over in pain even though you've spent all evening puking every chance you get.

Fuck you, uterus. That's some serious bullshit.

What if this happened to men? I think it's quite funny to imagine. What if, once a month, a man's body took revenge upon him for not knocking some chick up? "You have not successfully procreated this month. As punishment for your failure, you will now bleed through your penis for the next week and your sack will hurt as though someone dropped a brick on it, causing you to puke for hours on end."

Yeah. THAT would be the day.

Also, I would like to give a big fuck you to whoever told me "working out helps with cramps" because that was probably the worst idea since giving Justin Bieber a recording contract.  The only thing working out did was make me more shaky, dizzy, and pukey than I was before I started. My ute-ute hurts even more and now other parts of my body that weren't hurting ARE hurting. Thanks for the extra dose of vomit there, comrade.

I shall now return to my regularly scheduled program of kitten cuddling and heating-pad reveling.