Wellbutrin Aggression

A few months, weeks, months, something ago, Mr. Buffie was chirping in my lobes that I'm emotional and bitchy even though I practically walk around with a Cymbalta drip.

Two, maybe three visits ago, I told the shrink he was on my case and she was like, fuck all, you don't seem as bad as you have been. Her mouth didn't say 'fuck all' but her eyes did. Cymbalta is a tricky med and she needed time to research a cocktail companion for it that wouldn't side-effect me into zombification or kill me with serotonin syndrome.

Welcome to Wellbutrin.

First few weeks, eh, don't really notice much. A bit more energy maybe. Definitely more manic, which I seriously don't like. But something new has cropped up. Wellbutrin aggression.

If all my family and friends were to make lists of the top 100 most aggressive people they knew, I don't think I'd make it onto a single person's list. That probably isn't the case so much these days.

I've always been a snot. Maybe even a brat. I'm an only child. That's what we do. It's who we are. What are parents going to do if there are no other kids around whose needs must be met? We onlys can hardly be blamed for it if we got all the things, all the attention, all the time.

Now if you're feeling sorry for Mr. Buffie, fucking stop it.

He knew immediately that I am a princess. How? I told him. I'm a princess. Oh, you want to date me? Well, jump through these flaming hoops first, prove you are employed, housed, vehicular'd and worthy, then I'll discuss it with my parents and consider it.

Snotty? Yes. Aggressive? Not even. More like matter-of-fact, simple, silly.

Lately though. Tonight for example, on the way home from some local Italian place that isn't going to last until Halloween, he told me that dad is thinking of upgrading his still practically new Mercedes. RAGE! I saw red. I actually screamed. Mr. B knew WHY I was mad but he couldn't figure out how I arrived at /that much/ mad.  (Daddy and I are close but our relationship, especially when it comes to money, is complicated.)

Next time I see my dad, he better hope he's not in anything newer than 2010 or made in Germany or I am going to beat him with a tire iron and take away his wallet.

And there's a dickhead in our neighborhood who has been severely butthurt for the past six months about the retiree across the road who parks his POS Suburban in the street because there's not enough room for it in his driveway between his boat trailer and his wife's little econocrap. And their garage is too full of old people crap for the boat trailer or the wife's car to fit in there.

What does dickhead do? He or she hoooonks every time they drive by. Morning, noon and night. It's a blue Ford Explorer. They drove by at 9:47 tonight.

You, whoever you are reading my shitty blog, anyway you know I have fibromyalgia which means I don't sleep well. And the retiree is a nice man who likes to go fishing at 4 a.m. but otherwise, he keeps to himself, doesn't hurt anyone. Next door to us is a quiet, young family with a special-needs toddler in addition to a baby. Across the street is a woman recovering from a heart attack. Across the corner street is an older, single woman who keeps her house and lawn perfect and doesn't bother a soul.

So Honking Dickhead is irritating all of us with this BULLSHIT because they have to move a few feet into the other lane to go around 4 a.m. Fisherman's Suburban?! IS IT REALLY THAT MUCH OF A PROBLEM, DICKHEAD? I don't think Fisherman is getting your point, either. Because you've been doing this for a long time now and let me look out the window... Hey, there's a big white Suburban right there, legally parked in the street. Current tags, operational, fully inflated tires and all.

Wellbutrin has had enough of the honking. Wellbutrin doesn't want them to honk anymore. Wellbutrin is just about to set up camp in the driveway and shoot out their motherfucking tires if I hear one more honk within 15 miles of this whole damn town. The scope on my .22 rifle is ridiculously accurate and the high-capacity magazine will give me more than enough opportunity to perforate that mostly-plastic SUV and if tires don't send the honker a message, maybe shooting out the glass will? Maybe I'll make myself a set of stop-sticks with some gutter nails and a nice piece of wood, painted black so they don't see it at 9:47 in the p.m.

Wellbutrin aggression is just getting warmed up. My middle finger has never been so busy. Shitty drivers, you are all STILL on blast, btw. After the uninsured wonder twins made short work of Sir Hiss and my truck last fall, I remain convinced Mr. Buffie and I are the only people in Kansas City with insured vehicles. I operate my car under the assumption that no one else on the road has it. If someone so much as sneezes near Ramon, Imma be on the evening news. "Crazed suburban fat woman was jailed today after using a very large purse to beat a man..."

Those are a few examples. I feel like I should try to sleep but frankly, I'm still kind of pissed off about the Italian restaurant (I told him it was a bad idea) and my dad's pending NEEDLESS vehicle upgrade and the honking, and the people whose driving was so terrible, I was a legit 10 minutes late to work this morning, my brain is a soup of irritability, I can't even...

If you're the honking asshole in the blue Ford Explorer, I joke about shooting at your car. As a responsible gun owner, I will only shoot at you if you try to break into my house or try to steal my purse or threaten me/my family/my cats physically in some way. HOWEVER, your days of disturbing my peace are numbered. I haven't decided yet how to deal with you (law enforcement in these burbs is a joke, it's all about grabbing cash, not protecting nor serving) but when I do, let's hope for your sake I'm off the Wellbutrin.

Shit is dangerously close to getting real, f'real. I've been depressed before. I've been manic before. I've been angry before. But typically not all at the same time, not for such long periods and never at this level of intensity.

Wits end... That's where Wellbutrin Aggression lives. And I'm there.

The answer is: Mr. Buffie.

The question is: Who is the secret love-child of Jessica Simpson and Adam from Mythbusters?

But how is this possible you ask?  I'm not sure but I think it might have involved a black hole and an alternate universe.  Let that soak in for a moment...


Mr. Buffie has just discovered that Apple upgraded their earbuds.  He's listening to them on my iPhone, which is identical (except for color) to HIS iPhone.

And he's asking me if it has EQ and I'm like, I dunno, look under settings.  (He's listening to music on my Pandora app.)  So he pokes at the phone, then shows me the screen, which is my social media app folder and he says, "Where?"  "SETTINGS, on the Home screen.  Press the Home button."  He pokes at my phone a few more times.  "The HOME BUTTON!"  He looks at me, still confused.  "THE ONLY BUTTON ON THE @#$%^&*&^%$#@ PHONE!!!"  He /STILL/ didn't figure it out.

Three different wrong choices later he FINALLY, F I N A L L Y figures it out.
Then just now, he goes all Jessica Simpson on me and asks, "Are you listening to Pandora?  Is this Pandora that you have on here?"  Uhm, it says PANDORA right across the top of the app.  Is this chicken, what I have or is it fish?

But he can build a tool to repair an engineering flaw in the pulley system then repair the electric seat adjustment module in Sir Hiss in less than an hour, then change the rear brakes and fix a leaky seal on the truck and manage to have time to work my last nerve, watch endless car shows, read endless magazines and produce an hour-long news broadcast every day.

Oh wait, there's more!  He was giving ME shit a couple weeks ago for not having my email sync'd on my phone.  Because his AMERICA ONLINE EMAIL (nice one, gramps) is sync'd with HIS iPhone, so my face.  As if.  He used to carry a flip-phone with an actual rusty nail haphazardly epoxied into the antenna hole and it also had tape on it and damn, that thing is was busted. as. hell.  He didn't even have a mobile phone when we met.  I had a mobile phone AND a pager.  Yeah buddy.

Anyway, this man who lives in my house and makes loud, grouchy noises is equal parts absolute brilliant wizard and completely drooling moron and not much in between.  It's like evolution didn't happen in some parts of his genetic history.  There's still too much caveman in him or something.  And part alien.  Weirdo.

Hi.  I'm Mrs. Weirdo.

Guest Blogger: Glambo Angelala shares her thoughts but not her cosmetics money

Hello.  I am Angela, friend to Buffie and 2 other people.  Buffie and I had a conversation about something very important and came to the conclusion that we are geniuses and people should listen to us.  I said nobody listens to us because we don't blog.  She was taking a very long break from her blog and I've never blogged about anything in my life.  This seemed to stir her blog juices because she blogged that very night.  Granted, she was not sober but she assures me it's best to blog when you're drunk. 

I confess!  I have a boyfriend.  He IS stupid but he’s the good kind of stupid.  That’s all I’m going to say about him.

Also, his name is whatever Buffie wants it to be.  He has me French pressing my coffee AT HOME!  See what I mean?!  Stupid!  He DID furnish me with a bean grinder, a French Press and a kettle so at least I didn't invest any of my cosmetics money.  That’s REALLY all I’m going to say on the matter.

I want to share some things about Buffie because reading her blog doesn’t give you a full appreciation of the excellence that you’re dealing with here.

She is not lying when she writes in her blog that her self-esteem is high, as it should be.  One way to tell if a woman has low self-esteem is by watching her interact with other women.  Women with low self-esteem will immediately begin finding ways to make the women around them feel ugly or inadequate.  Buffie does exactly the opposite.  She tries to make everyone around her look and feel beautiful.  You never have to worry that she’ll allow you to leave the house for a night out looking less than stunning.  She would never criticize or even look at you funny if you were a mess but if you ask her to, she’ll make you look like a fashion model in 15 seconds time.  You also never have to worry about putting on makeup or doing your hair if you don’t want to because she’ll make you FEEL beautiful even if you look like ass.  She is a firm believer in accepting people the way that they are and loving them for it anyway.

Buffie also nurtures one through the booze flu and doesn’t even try to make one feel bad for puking a streak down her truck.  She simply takes that opportunity to invent practical tools like the Hoark Tube®™ over breakfast the next morning with Mr. Buffie.

Buffie makes you feel sparkly even when you’re not.  She sees the beauty in everyone until their UGLY gets so big, she can no longer ignore it.  She is an amazing friend but a fierce enemy.  I’ve seen her track bitches down after they had spent years tormenting her anonymously for no good reason other than they’re evil.  She didn’t do anything to them except remove their cloak of anonymity and make their UGLY public.  That was enough.

Pro Procastinator’s Tips:

Sometimes when I’m sitting around and thinking of excuses to not take care of the 500 things that need done around my house, I will suddenly yell “ACTION!”  Sometimes this works because I can convince myself that in this movie, I'm playing a productive go-getter.  This motivates me to act like a much better person than I am. 

I also will coax myself off my ass with a British accent, “Sweetie darling, please get up and go and make some tea.”  This helps me to get up and make tea.

Fun fact:

I'm so weak that I haven't been able to open a jar of pickles bare-handed in 3 years.

Peace! 

Whine and Spirits

That's not a typo.

I've been in an uncharacteristically nettled, horrible mood recently (and a teensy bit currently but it's receding) and it was crippling, more than any physical ailment I've ever had.  Totally wore me down.  Maybe I'm over it?  I hope so.

Here's the whine...  I have a voicemail I'm actually afraid to hear.  I've never listened to it but that vile little red circled "1" won't leave the icon unless I do.  And it isn't even from a friend or a relative or business relation sort of person.  It's an I've-only-met-you-twice acquaintance.  I'm a scaredy cat; this is widely known among those who know, y'know.  LoL  That circled icon peeves me to no end and was a big mean old contributor to my bad mood.  And I don't feel like blaming myself so I would much prefer someone else fix it.  Mehhhh.

Sometimes I almost think I believe in ghosts.  I believe in the possibility of ghosts, I guess.  But actual spirits, who knows?  It's weird to see departed friends on the FB.  Remembering them makes you smile but you can't avoid saying goodbye again, every single time.

Occasionally I will forget, just for like 5 seconds, maybe less.  I will forget about goodbye and in that tiny moment they're alive again.  What is that all about?  It's so bizarre.  Is that a ghost or only a misfire of neurons and static electricity in the brain?  What if it is both?

Like kitty litter through the scoopy thing, these are the convos of my life

What do 'normal' conversations sound like anyway?  I think I've had them before but they never seem 'normal' to me.  They are strained, sometimes insincere or superficial.  Usually I'm having what I consider to be a normal conversation with the more traditionally conservative-ish (redundant term?) friends of my highly educated, world-traveled, faithful-church-attending, Democrat, youthful-senior-citizen in-laws.

Not a bad thing but awkward chats with family acquaintances never go much beyond weather or that lovely rendition of (insert name of dreary boring well-known hymn) that Missus Ethel Mae Blickerman played with her double-harp last week during a fundraiser luncheon to send the Bridge club on their annual Branson bus tour.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz  ~_~

According to the Chinese calendar, rabbits are the luckiest of all signs.  I happen to have been born in the Year of the Hare.  I'm also left-handed which some believe is a lucky charm.  Plus I'm an only child.  We're literally born into good fortune.  Siblings are cool and all.  More than once I have wished for a sister or a gay brother.  Buuut we 'onlys' just tend to be super lucky.  Well, we arrre.  =P

Piece from "Garden of Earthly Delights"
By Hieronymus Bosch.

Talks with Mr. Buffie often serve as reminders of my luck.  He hates harps too!  Like me, he thinks they look scary...  Medieval torture devices used by the henchmen of evil emperors that coincidentally could serve as a musical instrument.  Never trust a harp.  They're sneaky.

He does frequently wonder about the weather.  *eye roll*  But it's only because he's all uppity about driving Sir Hiss in the rain.  No one is perfect.

This evening Mr. Buffie was in the laundry room taking clothes out of the dryer when he found a band aid stuck to one of his fake ShamWows.  He picked it up and said something to the effect of 'oh this is very interesting and I would like to know more please, what are the origins of this band aid, is it name brand, who lost it, are they looking for it' instead of how the rest of the world reacts when they find a used band aid in the clean laundry.  "URH MAH GAAAAAHHHHDDDD that's one degree away from finding a severed fingerrrr! urmahgahhhdddduh  SICK!  Sick sick sick!  Throw it in the nearest object that will function as a temporary biohazard receptacle which can be burned in the fireplace!  Stat!"

This is the same Mr. Buffie who insisted I smell the bottom of his shoe a few days ago and pushed it toward my face so the discovery of a mysterious laundry band aid is an archaeological score in his mind.  For the sake of fairness, I begrudgingly admit shared guilt when it comes to fixations on things other people find completely unappealing.  For example...

Banged-up beloved pink

Tweezerman classic slant tip tweezers.

(Smudges are where the
Tweezerman lightning bolt used to be.)

"Look at my tweezers, my tweezers are amazing!  But NOT as amazing as the little removable plastic tip.  By some PsOV, that tiny nubbin is worthless.  To me, it is every bit as important as the expensive tweezers.  And I have to own 7 pairs of ridiculous $20 tweezers because I need a set in every room you know.  Tweezers are the Buffinese version of a Swiss Army knife.  They're a garden tool, a bookmark, a price-tag remover, a kitchen utensil (after thorough sanitizing of course) and obviously an implement of makeup application and personal grooming (also after thorough sanitizing... of course)."  ~  Buffie circa two hours ago.

Tweezer Nubbin

Hey, it's justified.  The piece of plastic protects those tweezers and kind of holds my life together.  Is this a haiku?  (O hai ADHDeee  Weee!)


While we are almost always civil to each other considering we've been married a bazillion years (in 21st Century terms, we've been married a bazillion years, I calculated) we still have our uhm... moments.

Mr. Buffie brought home dinner tonight because I didn't get home until almost 8 and I also brought work home and I still need to put dishes away from last night sooo... yeah.  It was either bring home hot food or enjoy your Triscuits and squeez cheez.

Looks gnarly but I promise it's delicious.

He opted for actual cooked meat and vegetables, imagine that.  As a favor for me, he also brought this weird concoction I like from Pancho's.  It's seasoned steak fries similar to the kind you'd get at a 54th Street restaurant type place.  Then they're covered half-and-half with sour cream on one side and guacamole (seasoned avocado puree style) on the other.  Shredded cheese is melted on top along with a couple fistfuls of chopped fajita steak.  A funky Mexican food in Kansas City version of poutine.  They're SUPER good, cost about $8 and I can eat on them for a good 2 or 3 meals because the box is giant and I have no qualms about reheating them in the oven even though the guacamole and sour cream strangely absorb into the fries the next day.

Anyway, the mister got a meal from Culver's and I spy shrimp on his plate.  Y'all know how I feel about shrimp.  They're my forbidden fruit.  *heart flutter*

So I ask him very sweetly if I can has a scrimp.  He just looks at me while he's putting 'buttery spread' on a sweet roll and doesn't say a word.  Now I'm all offended and tell him I CANNOT BELIEVE he isn't sharing at least one frickin' shrimp with me.


Buffie: "It's ONE shrimp!  You have at least 9 or 10 there.  Hook a sister up.  What is WRONG with you?  I asked nicely.  Why won't you share just one shr..."


Mr. Buffie:  "Because this is fishhh."

Buffie:  "You should have ordered the shrimp."

A Cure for the Common Fattie

As we know, the bigger you are, the more universally hated you are.

I mean, even Carrie Fisher said the world is a hostile place for a fat person.  She is not wrong.

Yesterday I visited the endocrinologist for a follow up on my issues.  Got CAT scan results.  The good news - nothing is wrong.  The bad news - nothing is wrong.  Square one again.  Still have the pain and the hyperhidrosis but they dunno what's causing it.

This endocrinologist came highly recommended by several people, including my regular doc and my psychiatrist.  So I was expecting the best possible treatment.  First visit went alright.  He tried to push WLS on me, gastric bypass.  Told him no go.  He backed off.

Yesterday he brought it up again, as if he had forgotten I said absolutely not.  And when I reminded him that I wasn't going to do it, he shamed me by making a condescending remark that he thought it was "interesting" that my hyperhidrosis wasn't affected by my weight and sent me on my way.  He even had the gall to refer me back to the Revolving Door Dermatology Warehouse.

Anyway, I left in a huff.  Feeling like a substandard human because I am not small enough to be treated like everyone else.  Not my proudest moment.  I'm angry at myself for letting someone get to me and for allowing myself to feel that way.

Seems like I am seeing so much fat hate lately. More than usual.  I'm probably still miffed over the couple who openly made fun of me last week.  It's all weighing in my mind.  (Weighing... puns... I'm so clever.  *snort*)

Instead of whining about it, I've decided to just buy in.  If you can't beat them, join them, right?  That's what they always say and they always know what they're talking about.

Hate fat people?  Of course you do.  Everyone does.  So let's eliminate them.  These are the most popular techniques currently in use by the diet industry, Cosmopolitan Magazine and millions of commenters all over the internet.

First of all, insults make fat people thin.  I haven't seen this work with my own eyes.  But I know it has to be effective because it is socially acceptable to belittle and shame big people.  Remember the Bowflex guy who "gave all his FAT clothes to his FAT friends?"  That was a national ad campaign.  So that tells you right there that the entire nation can't think of anything worse than being fat.

Bullying, that's another one that really hits home.  Ohkay, this one didn't work on me unfortunately but it probably is helpful to the ones who actually survive it.  I know, I survived it too.  But I'm a bad example because ...  ...  Mmmm...  Hrmmm.  Well, I guess it must work because of science or something.

Alright, now we have the obvious one, diet ads!  Almost every single commercial break has at least one, sometimes several.  There are pills and gadgets and garments and meal plans and you can even hire someone to remind you on a regular basis what a foul, disgusting pig you are.  I think her name is Jillian Michaels.

Of course, you can't watch anything on E! or read anything in mainstream lifestyle magazines without having attention called to the fact that you're a horrible warty fat toad.  All the fashion trends are focused on looking as small as possible.  Smaller is better.  Always.  Amazing summer beach bodies perpetually belong to the stars who have hired a trainer, nutritionist, plastic surgeon and chef then spent all their extra time in their private home gyms to shed an extra five pounds.  And if THEY can do it with their busy schedules and tight budgets, then we slovenly blobs have no excuse.

The next time you are out and about and someone remarks on your size, you immediately apologize!  Then you thank them for helping you keep feelings of shame and embarrassment right under the surface.

Also, go to the nearest bathroom and barf up everything you've eaten for the past three weeks then sell everything you own and hire that trainer lady to scream about all your physical misgivings in your face while you sob on a treadmill.

Fuck.

All.

That.

Shit.

You know what needs a cure?  We do.  All of us.  I have so many friends who put themselves down constantly.  Stop it.  Please.  You're not accomplishing anything positive when you do that.

You read the magazines and think that's how you /should/ look when you roll out of bed.

Let me tell you something.  For 10 years I worked full-time as a makeup artist.  I've seen professional models at 5 a.m.  They have zits, bags under their eyes, scars, crusty cuticles, weird veins, hair growing in strange places.  EVERYONE DOES.

But after a couple hours of hair and makeup, soft lighting, professional photography and a gifted graphic artist retouching the picture, they look like what you see in the magazines.  IT IS ALL A FACADE.  It isn't meant to be lived day in and day out.  It's art.  It's someone's vision.  Flawlessness does not exist in anyone.

What you see as flaws in yourself aren't flaws at all.  They're part of being human.  Stop being so hard on yourself.  I've got to do the same thing.  I have completely unrealistic expectations of who I'm supposed to be and it causes me nothing but endless disappointment.

Fact: Fat people are big.  They're not dumb, they're not lazy, they don't stink.  (Yes, there ARE people in this world who are ignorant, unmotivated and smelly.  Those people come in all shapes and sizes.  Fat has nothing to do with it.)

Fiction: Hating and humiliating fat people will make the world a better place.

I don't know how to make this any clearer.  But the body shame has GOT TO STOP and I'm starting with me.

Maybe it's just a bad mood?

The idea of never leaving my house again appeals to me more and more every day.

I used to think it was because of how I was treated in high school that made me hate people.  That has something to do with it, but I am starting to realize I hate people because they're awful.

By people, I am talking specifically about mean, stupid people.  And usually mean people are stupid and stupid people are mean.

Does the stupid make them mean?  Not sure.  I've encountered below-average intelligence people who were delightful.  Perhaps the ones who are stupid by choice... those are the mean ones.

Yesterday, with some help from a co-worker, I finally busted a story tipster in a massive lie.  Biggest lie I've ever heard in the newsroom.  And it was a lie told about something tragic that affected thousands of people.  That makes it even worse.  I've had a gut feeling since May that the story wasn't true and to have two sources this week verify that I was right felt quite nice.  Renewed my trust in my own instincts.

Today someone called the magazine all pissed off because we keep addresses on file.  Dead serious.  He didn't think we should do that.  Never thought I would have to explain to someone that we need to keep their address so we can mail the magazine to which they've subscribed.  Is there some magic delivery service I don't know about?  Psychic Unicorn Express will bring your mail to you without having to know your address?

When my in-laws called this afternoon with an invitation to sushi, that temporarily lifted my foul misanthropic fog.  They suggested my favorite place, too.  Bonus!

Tonight they were running 10 minutes late but I parked and went inside anyway.  Not long after I sat down, a couple was seated at the booth across from me.  And they didn't even try to disguise their staring.  There are people in this world, in my town even, who look more unusual than I do.  So why the hell am I always getting the up-down eyes?  The staring was followed by whispering, more staring, more whispering then laughter.  I pretended not to notice, keeping busy with my phone.  Telling myself they're talking about something else, not me.  Stop being paranoid.  I busied myself texting Mr. Buffie and fiddling with chop sticks.

Once my in-laws arrived, the couple then broke out in hand gestures, confirming my suspicion.  The woman was trying to determine how big my chest was in relation to her own frame, looking at me and adjusting the length of her arms held out in front of her.  I continued to pretend I didn't notice.  My father-in-law was telling me about genetically engineered soybean crops... I think.  At that point, I was lost in my own head, angry, frustrated, desperate to escape.

It's funny because earlier today I read an article about restaurants who adopt a no-kids policy.  It reminded me of a few specific situations where I was dining out and was verbally harassed by groups of teens.  It has even happened with older people but it's usually teens.  Why are teenagers so hateful?  Was the teenage Buffie that hateful?  I had opinions about people at that age, but I don't ever recall making unprovoked statements to strangers in public.  Never had the urge to do anything horrible to someone unprovoked, I don't think.

In a way it was cosmic to read that story then relive something I've experienced so many times before.  Those experiences are always the first thoughts that flash through my mind at the mention of going out in public.

I was probably born predisposed to have anxiety or agoraphobia.  My mum tells me I was about 3 years old when she noticed I had an abnormal aversion to strangers.  Bullying and fat-hate exacerbated it and here we are.

People can't be changed.  You can't turn a mean stranger into a nice one anymore than a mean stranger can turn me into a thin person by insulting me.

But what do I do?  Continue to endure it?  That doesn't seem reasonable.  I don't know what to do.

All I know is the more I'm exposed to the general public, the more I only want to be around my family and friends or go only to certain places where I haven't had a scary experience.

Mr. Buffie, bless him, he has spoken up for me before and I truly appreciate it.  It was probably nine years ago that we were having lunch at Braum's when a table full of late-teen/early-twenties boys were having an obvious laugh about my body.  At some point, they were even talking (yelling) directly to me. As per my M.O., I ignored them.  Mr. Buffie walked over to their table and hit it with his fist.  That got their attention.  Then he politely told them to stop.  Know what happened?  They threatened him.  You know, the typical "how DARE you NOT sit there and tolerate my bullshit" bully attitude.  Ultimately they did leave without incident but for a moment, I was sure we were going to be physically assaulted.  So in addition to a couple other failed attempts to speak up, speaking up isn't looking like a practical solution either.

Sometimes I wonder if this rules my life.  I've blogged about it... a lot.  But it's because it affects me... a lot.  Maybe saying it rules me is too extreme.  However I can't deny that it does cause problems for me AND Mr. Buffie on a much-too-regular basis.

I want to be adventurous and spontaneous and experience new things but my anxiety swallows me whole.

Therapy helps.  When I have slacked off on treatment, the anxiety becomes remarkably worse.  So I know continuing to see the psychiatrist is the right thing to do.

I'm just not sure it's enough.  I have this goal, maybe a dream, that in the future I'll be fearless.  The problem with my dream is that I forget to include hate in my vision.

Thankfully, I'm happy in my own skin.  Life is good... better than good.  Life is great!  My family is incredible.  My friends are the best examples of humanity ever in history, no exaggeration.  I have kitty cats.  Even my job would be absolutely perfect if it weren't for dealing with strangers.  Then there are the material things, so many wonderful things.  I'm thankful for all of my possessions although they don't matter one fraction as much as family, friends and kitties.  Basically my needs are not only met but exceeded.  I live a fortunate life and I know it.

Hrmph.  It's a puzzle I can't solve on my own.

Mostly, I just don't want to hate the world anymore.

Under the Covers

Recently a friend who is also a keen musician asked me what the best cover of all time was. After thinking on it for several days, I have decided there is no one song. It must be a list. Sort of like #TheShitThatKilledElvis except, you know, cover songs. The cover songs that killed Elvis?

Now some of you might not agree and that's fine. You can correct me in the comments and I will talk smack on you and your bad taste later. LoLz! ^_^

Here goes, I'll name the covering band, the song and the original artist and it's kind of not in any particular order but favorites will be closer to the top of the list.

• Stevie Ray Vaughan - Superstition - Stevie Wonder
• Keane - Under Pressure - Queen and David Bowie
• Phil Lewis - Fat Bottomed Girls - Queen
• Power Station - Get It On - T. Rex
• Presidents of the United States of America - Cleveland Rocks - Ian Hunter
• Gnarls Barkley - Gone Daddy Gone - Violent Femmes
• Love Spit Love - How Soon Is Now - The Smiths
• Katy Perry - Hackensack - Fountains of Wayne
• Lifehouse - Somewhere Only We Know - Keane
• Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen
• Gary Jules - Mad World - Tears for Fears
• Cake - I Will Survive - Gloria Gaynor
• Blues Brothers - Soul Man - Sam & Dave
• Fountains of Wayne - Baby One More Time - Britney Spears
• Scissor Sisters - Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd

I realize there are TONS more super great covers but these are the ones I actually know and ones where I feel like the artist covering the tune gives it a deliciously different flavor from the original.

*Buffie reserves the right to add to this list whenever she wants and without prior notice or crap like that.

Thanksgiving by Numbers.

14 - Number of family & friends in attendance.

13 - Times I loaded/unloaded the dishwasher.

5 - Nights we ate some sort of leftovers.

4 - Days of vacation spent at home working my ass off.

2 - Trips to World Market for chocolate and cheap wine.

1 - Attempt by 70-year-old father-in-law to demonstrate the "Moon Walk" which he referred to as the "Mars Walk."

Things we learned:

Parents will still chirp in your lobes about making your bed even if you haven't lived with them in over a decade.

Do NOT get in between dad and ice cream from Glacé unless you want to know what it's like to be run over by a city bus.

You can make pancakes but they'll never be as good as the ones your mum makes.

Cats can and do hold a grudge and will barf out of spite if your visitors fuck up their routine.

Apparently my family does not believe in Thanksgiving dinner without some kind of Jell-O "salad."

Old people typically don't quote from "Anchorman" so threatening to punch an annoying male family member in the ovary may cause your relatives to question your sanity and/or sobriety. Explain nothing, it only makes it worse.

It is safer to wander the streets unarmed and alone during a zombie apocalypse than it is to go ANYWHERE during Black Friday.

And some of you wonder why I call it X-Mess?

Your Fluff Welcome Here

"Aw, look, poor thing, they won't let her shop. Yeah - like those salesgirls in Beverly Hills aren't bigger whores than she is." ~ Romy White, "Romy and Michele's High School Reunion" (1997)

I bet more than just fluffies can relate to this:

You show up to an establishment you've never visited only to discover you're a fish out of water, like a group of Mennonites at a frat boy's bachelor party.

In my experiences, it involved discovering the hard way that a certain biz was either not fat-friendly or straight up fat-intolerant. Not naming names *cough*cough* The Plaza *cough*cough* but I have stumbled across a few such places and it never fails to surprise, disappoint and incense me.

As a gesture of consideration to my chunky brethren and... uhhh... sisteren? (That's not a real term is it? Pfft. Do over! See next sentence.) In support of mah fat peeps and their sizes-other-than-fat family and friends, I would like to give those living in or planning to visit my adopted home town of KCMO a little guidance to the more chub-accessible attractions.

Noms... this city has some good ones. Nice variety too, if you can tolerate the irritating lack of good Cajun food.

Asian food:

Saigon 39

According to some reviews, they serve substandard pho. I like pho but that isn't why I go to Saigon 39. Their chicken fried rice is wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-craving-it good and if you like peanut sauce, theirs is superb (but pricey).

Fat Tolerant: Has tables with metal chairs and booths. Chairs do not have arms and booth tables are not affixed. Crowd is always a mixed bag but not too teen-infested. Restroom is spacious. Staff is polite but don't show up close to closing time because you may have to get it to go.

Minuses: Not really wheelchair accessible and parking can be a bitch during peak hours.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points

Asian Tiger

Super yummy traditional and modern sushi, ah-mah-zing pan dishes and one of the best non-bar cocktail menus in town.

Fat Friendly: Has tables with wood chairs and booths. Chairs do have arms but they are wide-set and only partially the length of the seat. Booth tables are not affixed and seats are comfortable. Charming, pleasant usually-quiet atmosphere. Haven't seen a big group of teens dining unsupervised there yet, which is a Buffie-Bonus. Staff is polite and respectful. Wheelchair accessible.

Mexican food:

Pancho's

Simple but satisfying and inexpensive menu. Very casual local chain with 24/7 drive thru windows.

Fat Tolerant: I admit, I almost never dine in at Pancho's because drive-thru rocks and I'm always in a hurry. I view drive-thrus at places that aren't national chains as a nod (intentional or not) to the chunky monkey customer. The location I frequent has fixed-table booths only. I can squeeze into a booth if I can't avoid getting take out but it isn't comfortable. Staff is polite and respectful.

Minuses: The location on Main is not the best place to be for people traveling alone after dark. Have had close-encounters of the potentially intoxicated/violent/generally criminal kind one too many times in that area.

Sol Azteca (now called Sabor Y Sol)

I haven't been since they remodeled but I have it on good authority that it's the same management and menu, which leans Tex-Mex. *giddy* Excellent price/portion ratio and leftovers heat up beautifully for lunch the next day.

*UPDATE*  I've been to Sabor Y Sol a couple times since they re-opened and it's everything Sol Azteca was and more.  They now have made-fresh-when-you-order-it guacamole that will land your ass in rehab.  The interior is much brighter now.  Tables and chairs are still fat-friendly.  Staff is great.  FOOD IS INCREDIBLE and more than reasonably priced.

Fat Friendly: Has tables with metal chairs and booths. Booth tables are not affixed but the spacing can be tight depending on how busy they are. Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

American noms, like burgers and steaks, yo:

Courthouse Exchange

Best freaking burger on earth next to OKC's Belle Isle Brewery Honey Pepper Bacon Burger. Onion rings so incredible they won over notorious hater of onions, Mr. Buffie.

Fat Tolerant: It's down a flight of stairs in the basement of a historic building, so it's totally not wheelchair accessible. Has tables with wood chairs and booths. I think some of the booth tables may be affixed but I don't remember. Crowd is adult but can be lively later in the evening. Ladies' room is spacious. Staff is polite and respectful.

Hereford House

It's a KC staple known for incredible steak. Pricey but if you're craving a /real/ steak, it sooo fits the bill.

Fat Tolerant: I only rate it a "Tolerant" and not a "Friendly" because the staff (usually just the hostesses) can be on the rude teen/mean girl side. Has tables and booths. I think some booths have affixed tables. Crowd is sometimes overly yuppie but that's at every "classy" steak joint, right? Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible.

Barbeque, (spelled the right way - with a q) also known as BBQ:

Rosedale Barbeque

This was my first experience with KC BBQ and it was love at first bite. Beef sammichs, ribs, burnt ends (which is a clever but unjust term for delicious chunks of smoked brisket), cole slaw and the most sinful french fries in nom history. Definitely has a "dive joint" vibe but isn't filthy gross or anything like that. Respectable selection of very cold beers.

Fat Friendly: Has tables with metal chairs that generously outnumber the fixed-table booths. Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

BB's Lawnside BBQ

Hybrid restaurant and blues bar that has, of all things, an amazing meatloaf dinner on the menu. Also try the BBQ nachos... yes NACHOS! Bar has both liquor and beer for those who prefer a cocktail instead of a brew with their smoked meats.

Fat Friendly: Family style tables with an assortment of metal chairs. Crowd is varied but never teen heavy. Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

Multifariousness for the multifattieousness...

More noms:

Waldo Pizza

I am generally NOT a fan of pizza but I am coo coo crazy for Waldo Pizza. My fave is a spicy beef and sun dried tomato pizza with honey-wheat crust and extra sauce. The ultimate combination of savory, cheesy, sweet, hot, crusty and chewy. Westport Room special ranch dressing contains crack, I'm pretty sure. Never tried to actually shoot up with it but the idea has crossed my mind. Impressive beer/liquor selection. This ain't your average Chuck E. Cheese folks.

Fat Friendly: Has tables with wood chairs and booths. I'm not 100% sure but I think the booths have fixed-tables. Crowd can attract teens and kids because pizza seems to have that effect but I have never been disturbed to the point of panic. Ladies' room is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points

Movies:

Tivoli Cinemas

Mostly independent films. Some of my favorite movies I've watched here.

Fat Friendly: Theaters are on the 2nd floor but there's an elevator. Smaller size means every seat has a great view. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is wonderfully polite and respectful.

Minuses: Seats are older and on the small side but I'm able to wedge myself into them without much discomfort. Sit in the back if you need to stand up a couple times during the flick so you don't block the view of the people behind you. Decent leg room despite the seat width.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points

Bars:

Knucklehead's

If you're from KC and you long for the old Grand Emporium, Knucklehead's is a most suitable substitute and a regular Candye Kane tour stop. Blues, beer, liquor and noms. What else do you need?

Fat Friendly: Totally mixed bag of tables, chairs and booths. Crowd is fun but mature. No fratmosphere. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful.

Missie B's

Gay bar featuring delightful drag shows with unforgettable emcee - Dirty Dorothy.

Fat Friendly: Tables with regular chairs and bar stools. Ladies' room is spacious. Staff is polite and respectful, and in Dorothy's case, family.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points - Duh, obviously! LoL

Glamorousness:

Blo Salon Studio

If you think I have awesome hair, and I do (not bragging, just saying) then go to Blo and get some, too!

Fat Friendly: Salon seats have arms but they're wide set. Restroom is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is polite and respectful when it counts and devilishly hilarious the rest of the time.

*LGBT Friendly Bonus Points

Oasis Tan

Shut up, I know excessive tanning is supposed to be harmful, dangerous, whatever. I know, I know. But I don't overdo it and I cheat with spray tans. Speaking of spray tans, they have VersaSpa, and it's kickass.

Fat Tolerant: Variety of beds feature some larger, more spacious models. There is a weight limit and the staff I've dealt with answered my weight-limit questions professionally and respectfully. VersaSpa booth easily accommodates BBWs and most SSBBWs. Restroom is spacious. Wheelchair accessible. Staff is primarily young women who don't give off that "mean girl" vibe at all. That is a rare find in a tanning salon.

Shopping:

Mary Kay

Skin care and cosmetics that will rock your socks.

You know I had to put MK on my list. Hello! The consultant comes to /you/. Does it get more fat friendly than that!?

Lia Sophia

High quality costume jewelry sold via home parties. Like MK, LS consultants bring the shopping to you. Many of their necklaces are extra-long. Measurements for necklaces and bracelets are listed, eliminating the guesswork when it comes to fit.

And those are a few of my favorite things. By no means is this list complete. I would imagine there are many more fat friendly/tolerant places to haunt in the KC area and as I encounter them, I'll gladly share what I find.

Peace, fluff and equality,

~Buffie

When Bad Weekends Happen to Good Buffies

Last weekend was probably the worst damn string of events ever to happen to me. Or at least the worst that could happen without anyone dying.

But I learned something.

And it really wasn't "worth it". (How is "worth it" determined anyway?)

Friday night, for reasons I don't feel like discussing, I had to attend a high school football game. This involved 3 things I really fucking hate.

Outside.

Football.

Teenagers.

Some people are sexist. Some people are homophobic. Some people are elitist. Some people are racist.

Buffie is teen-ist.

I think that's a made-up word, but I don't know the real word for a person who hates teenagers as much as I do. Even when I was one, I hated it. You know why I hated it? Because of other teenagers.

I've said this before, but I'd rather face off with all of the Taliban on a bad turban day than have to spend 5 minutes with a person between the ages of 13 and 19.

Is it wrong of me to think like that? Yeah.

But you know what was MORE wrong??? How those fucking bastards treated me when I was a kid. So I feel like I have bloody earned the right to hate teenagers. I have also earned the right to hate frat pukes and other people who generally behave badly in public and in the presence of a fat person. All of them can go eat a scoop full of rat turds.

There were thousands of the sons of bitches there. One screamed in my face, completely unprovoked, and thought it was funny. Mr. Buffie considered knocking him the fuck out for a moment but thought better of it, what with the possibly going to the jail for the assault and all.

Poor Mr. Buffie. I practically rode him piggy-back all the way through the crowd. He had to hold onto both of my hands to assure himself I wouldn't randomly start smacking the ones who got too close to me.

You'd be proud of me though. I survived an entire 30 minutes before making a wild dash to the car and I didn't hit, poke, choke, kick, trip, shoot or shove a single one of them. I might have maybe kinda sorta perhaps accidentally shoulder checked a couple, but hey... you get in my space, I'll get in yours. Turn about is fair play, yes?

Mostly fair play.

They shoulder check me with a wimpy little piece of shit teen shoulder. I shoulder check back mad-fat-chick style and teen asshole spins like a top. I win! hee hee

Did I mention I have had bronchitis for two solid weeks? At the time I didn't know it was a flare up of bronchitis. I thought I was just really effing sick with the cold from hell and my mood was certainly not improved through abuse of NyQuil and obscene amounts of hot tea and whiskey. So let's add that to the weekend I hope goes down in history as the worst there ever was.

That sums up my Friday night.

Saturday I spent in a stupor, tissues shoved up my nostrils and a pillow over my face wishing for all the congestion in my head and chest to either turn to sand or explode and end my misery.

Lying down was completely futile because all the fluid nastiness in me made it impossible to breathe, meaning I got about 3 hours of actual sleep Saturday night.

Then there were the convulsive coughing fits that shook the foundation of my house and made me feel like I would literally pull the Kleenex away from my mouth only to see a chunk of my lung on it.

Now the sickness and the teenagers were really quite enough to make my weekend a total waste of time but ... unfortunately ... that wasn't all.

Guess what I got to do Sunday morning??!!

Wake up early.

Isn't that cute? A foul, snarling, snorting swamp beast being jerked out of slumber after only 3 hours of sleep.

Guess why!!?!?

To go to CHURCH!

Know what happens when you wake up a grumpy, ill, atheist, put her in uncomfortable "church" clothes and make her sit through the most awkward and dreary two hours of "I done so wrong and Jeeesus is pissed but he loves me anyways 'n I shure don't deserve it, oh Lawd, can you puhleeze fergive me and now let me sing to you some of the most depressing music you'll ever hear"?????

My Sunday. That's what you get.

I never understood why someone would be "militant" about something. That's why, even though I feel the way I do about religion, I would never ever in a million billion years have considered becoming a militant atheist.

Well, now I get it. I SOOOO totally get it.

Militant atheists probably don't get invited to church by their friends and family.

The dear people who invited us to church on this particular day, they mean the world to me. This certain day was extra special for one of them and they said it was so important to them for us to be there.

These same dear people asked me point blank, back in 2001, what church I attended. I politely explained I didn't. They wanted to know why. So I told them why. They said, "oh, that's alright, everyone is different."

I took that to mean they understood how I felt about church. I felt confident that I had explained my position on religion. For all I knew, on that day, it was made perfectly clear that myself and these wonderful people had different upbringings, different views and we were still cool with each other.

But over 8 years and a number of denied requests to attend church later... I'm starting to wonder if they didn't get the point.

Both of them were made aware back in 2001 that I was not looking for God but if I ever changed my mind, they'd be the first to know. Both of them assured me there would be no pressure. No attempts to convert me.

For the most part, they've stuck to that agreement. However, I have to wonder. Why keep inviting me to church???

It isn't like something happens there that a person like me wouldn't experience in Jesus-free settings. If I want to hear weepy awful music sang by a pleasant but off-key group of seniors in robes, I would go to a nursing home and host a singin-in-the-shower karaoke contest.

(BTW, why does there always have to be that one church lady who thinks she missed her calling to be on the stage of an opera as the star soprano and now she takes it out on everyone else in the church choir?) Whhaaaaaaaaaaaa Jeeeeeesssssuuuuuuuussssssss whaaaaaaaaaooooooaaaaa!!!!! Haaaaalllll-aaaaaaa-llllllooooooo-yyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! *BANG* (That's me, shooting myself in the ear.)

If I wanted coffee and donuts before a meeting where people cry, I would join a group therapy session that takes morning appointments.

If I wanted to sit in an uncomfortable chair while someone stands in front of me telling me how I do bad shit but they love me anyway, I'd go home, do something to piss off my mum then perch on a stool covered in thumb-tacks and listen to her chew my ass.

If I wanted to have my already suffering sinuses be put through torture by the smell of old, mothballs, furniture polish, dried flowers and too much stanky perfume, I'd visit Hobby Lobby on senior discount day on a July afternoon when the store a/c isn't working.

See? No church needed to experience any of the same church-things and I can do all of that shit minus Jesus stories... which in my opinion don't make a damn bit of sense anyway.

I don't know what Jesus really said. He didn't write any of that stuff in the bible. Other people did. And just as sure as I'm relating to you now the wretched things I went through this past weekend, if Mr. Buffie wrote the same story (cuz he was there through it all) I fucking assure you, his spin would be different than mine. So why should I have to trust what other uneducated people wrote down about shit they didn't understand in a time when there was no scientific thought put into much of anything and read a version of it that has been translated who-the-fuck-knows how many times by people who may or may not have been sticklers for accuracy and believe it's not only true but the like pinnacle of all truth in life? Uhm, no thanks.

Hey, if YOU wanna believe it, do it. More power to you. Oh please be my guest. And believe it with all your heart. Just don't ask me to believe it with you. Besides, your faith isn't affected by how I think, so don't worry about what is going to happen to my soul when I die. I'm not.

Now these people who invite me to church on a not-infrequent basis, they're usually rather understanding (as they should be) when I say no. They kind of make a squishy face and pretend to have momentarily forgotten the whole "Buffie doesn't do Jesus" thing. But lo and behold, they'll invite me again in another 6 months and we go through the confounded awkward mess all over again.

This one time though... I thought dammit, maybe they'll leave me the hell alone if I go just this once, and it should count in spades since it's a special occasion and all. Maybe this will make them happy and it'll be over with. I can consider it my good deed for the DECADE.

But no. No, no, no. Not not but no. Hell to tha no.

Now that I've gone this one time to appease them, I've been invited to come back by all the nice people there and even my dear (and I really don't say that sarcastically, I freaking love these people) friends (they're actually family) are inviting me again.

Listen, friends (technically relatives, but whatever, I consider you friends, too)... I adore you. I truly do. You're two of my favorite people in this whole world and I'd do damn near anything for you. Shit, I have gone to church for you. I'd almost rather set myself on fire than go to church, so appreciate that gesture for what it was. But ya gotta get it through your heads. This isn't something I care to repeat. Ever. I told you before, if I change my mind, I'll be all up in yer churchin. But that day hasn't come and if I were you, I wouldn't hold my breath.

I know you two love Jesus and I am positive Jesus loves ya right back. I realize church is a huge part of your lives, but it isn't the ONLY life you have. Like it or not, we're family. That means I'm part of your lives, too. And you're both a big part of mine. A part I love and cherish. We do tons of stuff together and we have a blast and the other stuff we do doesn't make one of us horrendously uncomfortable. Can't we just keep doing those things? Why does it have to be church?

Tell you what, if you're going to insist on inviting me to church, I'm going to start inviting you to blues concerts and burlesque shows. I know loud music and scantily clad chicks shaking their asses isn't your thing but tit for tat, hey?

I'll even trade you one for one. For every time you go to a dive bar or a nudie show with me, I'll go to a meeting of the God Squad with you. Fair?

Getting my point now?

That's what I thought.

Since being a militant atheist isn't really my style, I'll just return your church invitations with requests for you to join me for cheeseburgers at the Shady Lady or I'll ask you to a Rumblejetts show.

Because I know you two love naked tits and raucous jams as much as I love bible time. (Holy shit! This blog is long.)

In the end, I learned that if only my weekend had more strippers, beer and rockabilly music, and less teens and apostles, it probably wouldn't have sucked such a huge bag of dicks.

Buffie's Super Awesome Friday

Fridays are usually awesome... just because they're Fridays, right? But do you every now and then have a SUPER awesome Friday?

I DO.

Today was a good example of one.

First bonus - weather was almost not hot.

Second bonus - got a lot done at work and am currently working on a fun project.

Next bonus - had excellent noms today with excellent peeps at lunch.

Bonus after that bonus - did a short workout but at least I was able to drag my ass to the Y.

Even one more bonus after that bonus - one of my favorite Pauly Shore movies is on TeeVee.

If I keep going I'm just bragging bonus - only thing left on my to-do list today.... chill with my kitty cats and Mr. B while he snores on the sofa. :D >He's not feeling great tonight, unfortunately. No, I don't think it's swine flu although I haven't ruled out Ebola virus.<

A bunch of other little righteous events occurred today but I don't want to gloat ...more than I already have.

Psst... what is this sound? *bzz*bzz*bzz*bzz Give up? That's me, sending Super Awesome Friday Vibes to the world! [Said in my best Jeremy Clarkson voice.)

People who don't watch Top Gear are not going to get that joke.

People who do watch Top Gear - High Fives! Yeah!

Ohkay, bye now.

Nice Chevelle.

Mr. Buffie says - Our garage is full, you can't keep them all and something has to go.

So I stand in the door and admire my little collection.

There's Billy Idol, my badass white Z28.

There's Bart, Mr. Buffie's '62 Dart.

There's the Yeti, our junky truck.

There's a RX7 that's a project car we don't plan to keep.

There's Hubert Cumberdale, my Jaguar XJR.

and there's Josie, my most awesome of all, the '69 Olds Cutlass.

I've been struggling with this decision since last month, when he asked me if I wanted another Jag.  (Like, hello!  Who says no to that?!?!)  So I've known for a while I was going to be making a choice between Billy Idol and Josie.

Unfortunately, I picked Josie.  ~cry~

She's awesome, so very awesome.  But Billy does get somewhat better gas mileage and let's face it, fuel injection is boss.  But Josie has more soul.  You can't put a value on that. 

However, Billy Idol has airbags and shoulder seat belts, plus he's got a bitchin sound system (that I use responsibly because disturbing the peace is fucking rude, yo)...  so there are advantages.   Besides, almost every time I drive Josie, it never fails someone comes up to me and says "I like your Chevelle".  

Gah!  Chevelle???  Are you serious?

Oh, tonight even... Mr. Buffie took Josie to a local car show to see if any of our friends would be interested in buying her (a few are so I think she will go to a good home).  And he came back and said some fellow walked up and asked him "what year is your Chevelle?"

At a car show.

A CAR SHOW!!!!

Normally, the "nice Chevelle" comments happen at the bank or the gas station where random vehicularly-challenged people are.  You don't expect those people to be at a car show.

Moses.

Have I mentioned how glad I am that Friday is over.  My Friday sucked so bad.  Ugh.  Thursday was pretty awesome.  Had a delicious Thai dinner with a good friend I haven't seen in almost a year.  Love her ten tons and we laughed so hard all night I went home sore.

Friday on the other hand, blah.  Started off wonky because I have damaged yet another toe.  In the middle of the night, as usual, get up to go pee and tripped over the ottoman at the foot of my bed.

The next morning, Mr. Buffie - ever the nurturer (not) - says "I read a statistic a couple years ago that most home injuries happen because of furniture at the base of the bed and that it's the worst place to put furniture..."  Oh.  Nice.  Thanks.  So helpful.  That ottoman has been there for 8 or 9 years and he's telling me this just now.  MEN!

So I limped around all day at the office.  My toe is purple and puffed up and it still hurts but it's getting better.  

The day was busy which usually doesn't bother me, but I had constant interruptions which really makes me crazy in my head.  I felt like I couldn't get any one thing accomplished and having 14 half-finished projects going on all day made me feel like the wheels were spinning but I wasn't getting anywhere.  Even stayed at work until almost 7 p.m. and took paperwork home just trying to wrap up the last of the tasks because who wants to walk in on Monday to a bunch of shit waiting for you?  Not me.

Worst part of Friday?  Someone tried to tell me they knew me better than I know myself.  Locked my gears clean up.  Kinda hurt, if I'm being honest.  Over it now, but at the time it was like - ouch, that came outta nowhere.

Bygones!  It's Saturday and life is goooood.  I have a nice Chevelle (ha), kitty cats, Mr. Buffie, delicious tacos for lunch-slash-dinner (I ate at 4, what do you call a meal at that hour when you're under the age of 63?).

I just did Versa Spa at the tanning salon.  It's the kickass spray tan shit that moisturizes you, bronzes you, then blows you dry!  WIN!

Bleached my teeth, painted my toenails, did several mundane domestic things, took some pills for my ouchie toe and now I'm looking forward to tomorrow because I am going to go get my nails done, maybe touch up my hair, brush the cats, work on my website and place a Mary Kay order.  Yay fun!  Don't I sound super exciting???  -poke poke-  WAKE UP, hellllooooooo...

Don'tcha wish yer Chevelle was hot like mine?

I don’t have like a "fancy" MySpace. Does that mean I’m square? 02Oct08

Some of you have incredible MySpace pages. They're amazing. All I could manage to do was turn mine pink and include a bitchin Alice Cooper tune, which has mysteriously disappeared recently and I am not at all happy about that.

Also, did you know it's almost impossible to watch COPS or Wild Police Chase Videos while someone else is trying to sleep in the same room? It's very frustrating. Watching other people get in trouble has been a favorite passtime of mine since I was but a wee lass.

Don't know why. But I think it's because I like to think to myself "sucks to be them". Ha ha. I'm so smug. *I'm* not in trouble. Ha ha.

I'm really not like that, except on the inside. ~shifty glances~

Back to me. 

It's about 1 am right now. I have insomnia and things to do and I like to have my junk TV on in the background because my attention span is too short to focus on any single thing, so I need a number of diversions in my rotation, which in a roundabout way keeps me productive. Don't call it adult ADHD, because I don't think I have that. Just call it... Attention Span Not Long Enough Syndrome.

Tonight happens to be Most Shocking (which is only a fancy name for police chase videos) on the TruTV (aka Court TV). Police and crooks both yell a lot. And cars make loud crunchy sounds when they hit stuff. If I turn the volume down enough so that the noises don't disturb Mr. Bufffie, then I can't hear the intense voice over guy describing the action. I tried closed captioning, but it covered up parts of the screen I needed to see and the shows don't really translate to text very well.

Poor Mr. Buffie. He's going to be grumpy in the morning. 




Why I got off on that subject, I don't know. That isn't actually the reason why I am writing a little note here.

What I wanted to say is:


THANK YOU!

I am so appreciative of all the birthday hugs and cards and well wishes you've all so generously and thoughtfully given me. What a wonderful thing to experience. If only everyone were so lucky! 

Thanks again and again. You sincerely have made me feel very special and very fortunate.



It has been your kindness that has kept me believing there is more positive in this world than negative. Some of you have never met me in real life and maybe don't know a thing about me at all, but you've taken the time to send me adorable notes and comments. How cool is that?

Of course my close friends have also done what they do so well, which is share their lives with me and let me know I am in their hearts just as much as they are in mine.


All things considered, life is pretty frickin sweet when you're me. ~winks~ No lie.


Not only have I been absolutely showered with excellent happy birthday vibes, I won $50 in the department jackpot today, plus I'm moving to an exciting new job with my company, and my mum and dad are going to visit over Turkey Day! Oh and I'm getting new nails and toes this weekend and I got my teeth bleached again last Saturday and I got some rad new fake eyelashes AND I had a coupon for them, can't wait to wear them. It gets better, I had catfish on Sunday and then last night I had the most delicious ribeye from Hereford House. Mmmmm... what else... there's too many more to mention. Now I'm just gloating. Gonna stop... Me so sorry.


Thank you all one more time for being just about the most kickass set of MySpace friends ever, even though my page is kinda ho hum. 

((((EPIC HUGS))))