Smile Alice Smile

This Just In...

2011-09-08T13:21:00.001-05:00

It's me again.

I can't believe I haven't been by here since January! Actually, I can believe it. As you know my miscarriage last year stabbed me in the face and then poured salt into my wounds. However, there was a shocking turn of events.

After the D&C and genetic testing, we decided we would try again for a baby. We listened to the doc, waited a cycle, and BAM! We were pregnant again! Yes, that fast. Fertile Myrtle is in da house.

This second pregnancy sent me into a massive hibernation. I had no morning sickness or stretch marks or roids or any nasty side effects but in exchange I had severe fatigue. Oh, and a massive attack of cankles and elephantitis of the face. This entire year my life has been work Monday - Friday, go to sleep as soon as possible, and hibernate every weekend; hence, my absence.

So here I am months later as a ~~Mutha~~ Mommy to a beautiful, healthy baby girl!!!

Can you believe it?

I can't. It doesn't seem real. I'm shocked the hospital let us take her home. In less than a year to go from mad depression over the loss of our son to the happiest moment of my life with the birth of our daughter is crazy.

Life. Is. Good.

Closure

2011-01-02T15:19:00.003-06:00

As the days passed by of cramping and bleeding for 3 weeks and passing clots and constantly being reminded of what had happened every single time I went to the bathroom, life went on.

We went in for a follow up visit and received the results from the genetic testing of the baby.

It was a boy.

He measured exactly 9 weeks so his little heart must have stopped the day I went in for the ultrasound.

The results stated that he had a Robertsonian Translocation, trisomy 21, Down Syndrome. In the majority of Down's babies, one would see 47 chromosomes instead of 46. There would be 3 chromosomes under the 21st. Not our little boy. This was a very rare situation.

His chromosome pattern showed 46 chromosomes, but apparently a piece of a chromosome attached to another to create the translocation.

There was a possibility it was genetic, that me or Huzb were carriers or it was a total fluke during cell division. We decided we would go through genetic testing as well before trying to conceive again.

The waiting was brutal. The doctor called me at work a few weeks later, and I wanted to know the news but at the same time didn't.

Finally, good news. Huzb and I were not carriers. I just knew one of us would be even though there is no record of Down's in either of our families.

With this wonderful news, we were advised to wait until I had at least one normal menstrual cycle, and then we had a green light to start trying again as soon as we were emotionally ready.

The closure began when we received the results. Knowing that there was nothing I did or didn't do to cause the miscarriage. Knowing what was wrong with our son. Knowing that there was still hope.

Good Bye

2011-01-01T15:19:00.000-06:00

The news that we lost the baby was mindblowing to say the least. Sadness and grief immediately hit Huzb. I was more in a state of shock. It wasn't happening.

The doctor said we'll get a second opinion just in case, and they immediately took me to the room with the super dopplar ultrasound connected to millions of plasma TV screens as I prepared to be molested by the vag wand once again.

Huzb watched the screen intently, and I just stared at the ceiling. After about twenty minutes and thousands of pictures taken of my vag from every possible angle, the news was sadly confirmed.

We were given our options, told to go home and grieve, and escorted out the back door.

Rage hit me on the way home.

Anger and hysterical crying hit me at home.

The absolute worst feeling is knowing that you have a dead body inside of you. The feeling of being a graveyard was unbearable.

Instantly, all of my pregnancy symptoms were gone. I just wanted the baby out of me, but at the same time I didn't. I wanted to hold on to it.

The next day I was admitted into the hospital for a D&C. As my luck would have it as I was registering, here comes a new mom with her bundle of joy being wheeled out of the hospital. It killed me.

I wanted to die. I would have given anything for our baby to be alive and for my heart to have quit beating. It just didn't make sense.

I could have won an Oscar for my pre and post surgery experience. I remember being prepped and crying my eyes out. The nurses would ask me what procedure I was having, and I would respond with, "I don't even want to say."

Two of the nurses consoled me and shared with me their stories of miscarriage. And before I knew it, I was out like a light and waking up in a complete fog.

The hysterics began again as they wheeled me back into my room. My baby was gone. How could I ever heal from this?

Why?

2010-11-08T20:00:00.000-06:00

My last post was September 18. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. Where to begin?

September 2010 was a roller coaster ride to say the least. Happy news = baby. Sad news = Huzb lost his job. Perfect timing, huh? We were down in the dumps, but the baby brought us such excitement.

We had our first visit to the doctor on September 17. All of my doctor fears and especially vag docs were thrown out the window. This was the first exciting visit to the doctor of my life.

The most amazing thing I had ever seen was this little, fast flickering of a heartbeat. It was magical. I didn't even faint like usual when they drew a few gallons of blood from me. All I could think about was this life inside of me.

Everything looked great. I just knew the doctor would find something wrong with me, but surprisingly I was healthy and baby was healthy.

I quit smoking as soon as Mr. Clearblue Easy told me I was pregnant. I gave up my caffeine. I swallowed my daily horse pills. I went off Ativan and onto a pregnancy-safe anxiety med before we conceived. Sacrifice after sacrifice.

And nothing mattered. Except for this little bean growing inside of me.

Our next visit to the doctor was September 30. Baby was 9 weeks and 1 day. Huzb met me at the doctor's office for what we thought was just a check-up, tests, but no ultrasound.

When they told us they were going to do an ultrasound, we were pumped. We couldn't wait to see our little bean again. Huzb said he wanted to buy an ultrasound machine just so he could see our little bean whenever he wanted.

The lights dimmed.

The magic television was turned on.

There was baby.

Baby was bigger.

Where's my little flicker?

Doctor's face was worried.

Huzb's face was confused.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

TV screen.

Doctor's face.

Huzb's face.

TV screen.

Doctor's face.

Huzb's face.

The doctor finally spoke.

"I'm so sorry. I can't find a heartbeat. I am so sorry."

The Day Life Changed as I Knew It

2010-09-18T18:09:00.000-05:00

August 21, 2010

I wouldn't even say the test line was faint. I kept moving the test around like some kind of hologram and sometimes I could see a slight line or my brain made one up.

August 22, 2010

Peeing on sticks and in cups was kind of fun and addicting in some strange way so I decided to try it again the following morning on another Dollar Tree cheapie. Faint, faint, fainty-faint line. Hmmmm. Huzb told me, "Those cheap tests are a crap shoot. You might as well just ask a magic 8 ball."

I had a feeling. I just knew.

That afternoon I bought a Clearblue Easy Digital pregnancy test. The one that says "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant". Instantly, the pee stick told me...

I was in such shock I couldn't even come up with a cool, creative way to tell Huzb. I just put the stick behind my back and told him to close his eyes and open his hands. I told him I had a present for him but didn't have a chance to wrap it.

As he closed his eyes and held his hands open, I placed the little magic stick into his hands. When he opened his eyes, he looked down then looked at me. Tears started welling up into his eyes and he said, "Is this real?"

I nodded my head "yes" and said, "Congratulations, you're going to be a daddy."

I. Hate. September. Fourth.

2010-09-04T14:00:00.004-05:00

Today is the anniversary of the worst day of my life.

Whoever Knew Peeing Could Make Smiles?

2010-09-03T07:00:00.000-05:00

Being a charting/temping failure, I needed something easy...something simple...something black and white. Concrete evidence. No guess work. So I splurged and bought the Clearblue Easy One Month Digital Ovulation Test.

I can tell the difference between an empty circle and a smiley face. This has to be idiot-proof.

On 8/5/10, CD 5, I knew it was way early, but I had no clue when I ovulated. I started my morning ritual of peeing and praying for smiles. Obviously, the stick didn't smile at me. Stick didn't smile at me the following day either.

8/6/10 was a Friday, I knew my golden egg would have to drop down the Eggdicator the next week. So I thought it was time to dust the ol' girl off and start Baby Dancing.

This would just be a warm-up to release the old, decrepit spermies in order to have fresh spermies next week. On my way home from work I sent Huzb a text, "We need to send in the first string of running backs to prepare for the Hail Mary pass."

We had relations, weird relations. It's just so different to have relations in order to make a human being.

Still no smiles from Mr. Stick.

From reading forums, I learned of this magical potion called Preseed. I told Huzb to swing by a CVS and pick up some pronto. Lawd knows, I need all the help I can get.

The Preseed was a little awkward. I had no clue it was a Vag syringe. Whateva. You gotta do whatcha gotta do.

8/8/10 was the date of the second Baby Dance. Still no smiles, but it had to be getting close.

Then, the morning of 8/9/10....Mr. Stick decided to smile. I started shaking. This thing actually works?!?!?!

That night, I shot up Vag with the Miracle Grow baby fertilizer juice and commenced with baby making. I highly recommend Preseed. When you have to do the dance often, it definitely helps! Huzb's opinion: He would kill me for saying this, but I have to. It's too darn funny.

After our BD session, he looked down at his pubes and said, "Oh. My. God. My pubes are Jheri Curled!"

I continued my routine of pillow under the butt, legs in the air for twenty minutes, and a game or two of Sudoku on my Blackberry for 20 minutes.

The following day I did not do an OPK test, but I knew it was a crucial day in the world of baby making. When I returned home from work that evening, ready to get my freak on. Huzb was freaked out.

Huzb lost his job. His company let go of his entire department. He was not in the mood to do anything, no desire to even knock da boots.

That night as we watched television, I felt my golden egg start moving. The ovulation cramps kicked in, and I laid on the couch sad and frustrated. There was nothing I could do but hope some of the spermies were still partying inside of me.

There's always next month right?

Charting, Farting, Temping, Pimping

2010-09-02T08:00:00.000-05:00

For the first several days of my July 28, 2010 cycle, I tried the whole charting thing with Fertility Frenemy. Lemme tell you, I suck at charting and temping. It started reminding me of economics or geometry and graphs and pie charts and plotting coordinates and sinking battleships.

The only chart I like is this one:

Why I Will Never Be as Perfect as Katie Holmes err Kate Cruise.

2010-09-01T21:21:00.000-05:00

Huzb and I had another Talk while Aunt Flo was in da house. We were both really sad there wasn't a little poppy seed growing in my belly. We decided this next cycle, we were actively going to try to make that poppy seed. We're going to have a strategy, a plan, it's time for business.

I took a little visit to the Head to discuss my meds, depression/anxiety/panic disorder, and how this all works with a poppy seed. Cause I don't want my meds to create a unicorn baby.

The Head told me that Zoloft was safe, it's a class B, he's had many of pregnant patients continue taking Zoloft and birthed perfectly, healthy babies. Of course, there's a risk - but there's a risk with everything. He said the benefits outweigh the risk. I can't take care of a baby if I can't take care of myself.

He said if I exit the Z-train, the odds would be great that my depression would relapse during my pregnancy and post-partum could be really bad.

Some of my favorite bloggers went off their meds during pregnancy, and it proved to be a big mistake for them. Zoloft has worked wonders for me, and it is so difficult finding an anti-depressant that is compatible.

The Head said I could continue Zoloft as normal, and he would lower the dose in my third trimester. I felt this was my best option and my future poppy seed's as well.

As for Ativan, the Head said stop taking it now. This caused high anxiety immediately...what in the crap will I do without Ativan? I have to take it every single time I drive. He said there is an alternative medication that is safe during pregnancy to ease my anxiety, and he would write me a script.

Sweet little Head also said he would work with my future Vag Doc to monitor me and future baby and my lovely, mental, chemical imbalances.

Trying to conceive + Pregnancy + Mental Health = Check.

Next step: When the heck do I lay my egg? When do I need to do this so-called "Baby Dance"?

The Strike of Phantom Baby

2010-08-29T22:37:00.000-05:00

After Huzb's surprise trip to Vagistan on July 18, I would have sworn on Baby Jesus I was preggers. I just knew it!

Monday, July 19 - major crampage, big farts, hunger of an Ethiopian, bitchiness, sore ta-tas, big, fat bloatage and chronic fatigue like I had an endless IV drip of Ambien or Lunesta shooting through my veins.

These symptoms continued that entire week. My estimated due date was 4/9/11 which pissed me off, because I'm a weirdo about numbers.

4/9 is dyslexic for 9/4, and 9/4 = the date my dad had a stroke. Needless to say, I'm not a fan of that number combination.

All I could think about was baby, baby, baby. The two week wait was complete torture.

Another bit of my personal idiocracy that I will let you in on...is...I've always despised and been completely mortified to buy tampons and panty liners or Monistat or any type of feminine products. I know guys are supposed to be embarrassed to buy this crap, but girls???

Every single time I am forced to make my monthly purchases, I buy extra crap to bury my tampons and pads in my shopping cart. Then, I have to find the oldest-female-Grandma-looking check out lady to check me out. I don't care how long the line is, I will wait for Mamaw to scan my Vag products. There's always the fear that as soon as I get my Vag crap out of the cart, Mamaw will go on break, and some young, boy will take over her station. I know, I know...ridiculous.

Now how in the world am I supposed to buy sticks to pee on?

I was a novice, a virgin to this whole pregnancy world and was completely shocked at how much cold, hard cash these sticks cost. I decided to go el cheapo and hit the Dollar Tree. Of course, the two Dollar Tree locations nearest me....I know three men that work the check out that play in my poker league.

If they saw me buying pee sticks, my secret would be out of the bag amongst my poker world. Also, a few co-workers are in my poker world so my secret would also be out of the closet to WORK which is a big, fat no-no right now.

Luckily, I made out with five pee sticks with only Grandma at the check out knowing. My face turned blood red when she said, "5 of them?"

She was probably simply saying..."You have 5?" No offense intended. Just getting the number correct to punch in the cash register. But what did I hear? I heard...."You have FIVE?!?!?!?! You're either a whore or an idiot that doesn't know how to read a pregnancy test!"

I flew out of Dollar Tree dying to pee on my first stick. I knew it was early, but I just had to try it. Of course the test said, "Negative Ghostrider, the pattern is full."

But I just knew I was pregnant! Then, the thought crossed my mind what if I'm pregnant with a Phantom Baby?!?!

What if there is no baby in my tummy, and I go through nine months of symptoms?!?!

What if I star on a new reality show, instead of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, a reality show called I Knew I Was Pregnant (Morons Pregnant With Phantom Babies)?!?!?!

Stress. Anxiety. All I could do was wait and wait I did.

Then, on July 28, Aunt Flo (that psycho-bitch) decided to pay an unwelcome visit. Of course, the day she showed up - I'm thinking it's implantation bleeding because it was so light. Usually, that raging bitch comes on full force causing me to stay curled in a ball due to cramps and massive hemorrhaging while she sips on martinis and cosmos, smokes her Vagina Slimes as she watches her soaps and Game Show Network. She always overstays her welcome as well. That bitch.

I hate those people who are all, Oh I've never had cramps, I've never used a Super Tampon, my period is only two days long.

Mine is a full week. Besides the hemorrhaging and cramps, Aunt Flo likes to humor herself by making my face look like a fifteen year old. It's really cute. Such a sweet, sweet Aunt Flo I have.

Aunt Flo and I had a blast during her most recent visit! She was way too kind to pay me two visits in one month...July was a long month, but still...she was uninvited and showed up quite early. Besides all the annoying presents of symptoms she brought me, by far the worst one was knowing I wasn't pregnant.

Even though we had not planned to conceive, I was very saddened. I had finally decided that it was time. I wanted to be a mommy.

As scary as it seems, I was ready.

Rosetta Stone for Baby Mama Wannabes

2010-08-16T18:44:00.000-05:00

Who knew there was a foreign language, a secret code of some sort, for those trying to conceive?

I didn't.

First things first. Once we decided to breed, I knew I had lots to learn so I turned to my BFF, the Internet. I found so many helpful sites and forums about conception and pregnancy.

My first mission was to figure out my cycle and determine when I ovulate or lay my egg each month.

As I spent hours upon hours reading on these forums, I was quick to realize that these people speak or type in a mysterious language. Here's an example:

"CD 29 here. Been TTC forever. I started checking my BBT, CP, and CM ED. DH and I would BD or DTD EOD from CD 9 to CD 16. I used a CBE OPK, and was so happy to see the :). Yeah for EWCM!!! After my O on CD 14, the TWW began. On 5 DPO, I was so anxious cause my BB were sore so I took an EPT with FMU and got a BFN. No IB so I knew AF would show up soon. AF never came, so I POAS and got a BFP!!! OMG!!! My EDD is 4/4/11. Bring on the MS DS or DD! Finally PG!!! Baby Dust to all!!!"

Seriously?

You're thinking WTF, right? I sure was.

Post after post was in this foreign language. I always thought "O" translated to orgasm so I would assume they were talking about sex. "BD" could be "big deal" or "big dick" or "baby doodie". BFP could be "Big F'n Penis". POAS might mean "Piece Of A Shit".

I was clueless and needed to become fluent ASAP. Now, I can read the example I gave you above...it reads like this:

"Cycle Day or Calendar Day 29 here. Been Trying To Conceive forever. I started checking my Body Basal Temperature, Cervical Position, and Cervical Mucus Every Day. Dear Husband and I would Baby Dance or Do The Dance (or Deed) Every Other Day from Cycle Day 9 to Cycle Day 16. I used a Clear Blue Easy Ovulation Predictor Kit, and was so happy to see the :) (this type of test gives you a digital smiley face when your LH surges telling you the two best days to conceive). Yeah for Egg White Cervical Mucus!!! After my Ovulation on Cycle Day 14, the Two Week Wait began. On 5 Days Past Ovulation, I was so anxious cause my BooBies were sore so I took an Early Pregnancy Test with First Morning Urine and got a Big Fat Negative. No Implantation Bleeding so I knew Aunt Flo would show up soon. Aunt Flo never came, so I Peed On A Stick and got a Big Fat Positive!!! OMG (no need to translate the obvious)!!! My Estimated Due Date is 4/4/11. Bring on the Morning Sickness Dear Son or Dear Daughter! Finally PreGnant!!! Baby Dust to all!!!"

I still don't get "Baby Dust". It is supposed to be some kind of cutesy way to wish good luck upon those trying to conceive. But it just sounds nasty and disgusting to me.

Mind-blowing stuff, huh?

TTYL

TTFN

CYA
BBL
XOXO,

SAS

Where Does the Pollen Go?

2010-08-14T11:25:00.000-05:00

I thought I knew everything about sex, intercourse, conception, what have you. But the Internets have proven me wrong. So wrong.

I remember Sex Ed starting in the sixth grade. A football coach would take the boys, and a female science teacher would take the girls to teach them all about the birds and the bees.

Looking back...I learned jack. It was totally brainwashing kids to believe getting pregnant is so easy so don't have sex until you are married. Once you get your period, if you have sex - you will get pregnant. Any time of the month. If you even so much as look at a boy or watch MTV, you could get pregnant. Sperm can travel through tight-rolled, acid washed jeans so don't even get close to a boy.

If you give oral sex to a boy, the semen will travel into your stomach and impregnate you or you will have to have your stomach pumped. Just ask Rod Stewart. Then they would show a horror flick of a woman giving birth that would scar all of our prepubescent, spiral-permed heads.

If that is not a form of birth control, I don't know what is.

Now that Huzb and I are on the quest to create Man Baby, I have a new obsession. Scouring the Internet to learn everything I can about life's little miracle. Lurking hundreds of pregnancy sites and forums have become an addiction.

Being the ripe old age of 35, I feel that we don't have the luxury of allowing nature to take its' course. We are on a slight time constraint. It would be miraculous to get it right the first time, but I don't think we will be that lucky.
It very, very, very easily could not happen based upon my research. And the odds are definitely against us. My research has completely shocked me. Who knew conceiving could be so difficult and confusing and frustrating? Who knew there is only a short window of fertility? Anyone reading this is probably thinking, "Everyone knows this. Idiot."

I have no clue when I ovulate. My cycles are bi-polar. What the hell is cervical mucus? Charting? Basal Body Temperature? Huh?

The rednecks at Wal-Mart with their litter of screaming, filthy kids make it look so damn easy.

Well played sex ed teachers, well played.

The Talk

2010-08-09T23:31:00.000-05:00

Huzb is ready for a baby? I am ready for a baby? WHAT?

When most couples have "the talk", I would venture to guess the conversation does not go like this:

Huzb said to me on the patio, "Look Alice, the timing is never going to be right to have a baby. There will always be something going on in our lives that will make it an inconvenient time. Whether it's with our families or jobs or finances...there will always be something. We're both 35, and if we keep putting it off...we'll both be using canes and walkers at our kid's high school graduation."

True dat.

"The talk" started off normal, but then it took a turn for the worse.

To which I responded, "You're totally right. If I got pregnant this very second, I would be 36 when I gave birth, and I'll be damned if 35 isn't the bitch of all ages for all pregnancy issues. High risk pregnancy at that. Every day, every minute from the age of 35...I am getting that much closer to having a baby with unicorn horns shooting out of two heads, a lizard tail, lobster claws, dewlap, and a full grown moustache. I come from a long line of Fertile Myrtles, and I could easily be pregnant with octuplets. I would probably die, since I would be over 35, giving birth to eight babies. Then, you would get your own reality show and get all kinds of free stuff and be famous."

Huzb ::blank stare:: (But I could tell he was easily envisioning himself on his own reality show and liked it.)

Me breaking the silence: "OK...maybe the kid wouldn't have unicorn horns or claws, but since we're both 35 it would probably be a man baby."

Huzb: "What?!?! What are you talking about?"

Me: "Since we are soooo old...we would have to have a man baby to catch up with all of our friends' kids. Plus you had a moustache in high school so Man Baby would definitely come out of the womb with a stache and possibly armpit hair. If Man Baby gets your mongoloid head, there is no way my vaj could handle that. So I definitely would die giving birth to Man Baby. But you would still get your own reality show on Discovery or National Geographic...being a widowed father of the Man Baby."

Huzb: "If Man Baby had my mongo, they would cut you open."

Me: "So you're admitting to having a big head?"

Huzb: "Look, you're head is way bigger than mine."

Me: "It's only because I have more hair than you which makes hats fit tighter on me than you."

Huzb: "Fine. We both have rather large heads."

Me: "Man Baby is screwed."

Huzb: "I love you."

Me: "I love you too."

The Land of Vagistan

2010-08-09T00:20:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time there was a country called Vagistan. Vagistan had been strongly affected by the Great Depression. The sad little country of Vagistan had closed all borders and locked every gate. The Depression quickly caused the country to become vacant and completely obsolete.

A gentleman by the name of Huzb was the only person that held the key to the locked gates of Vagistan. Huzb was extremely patient and tolerant during the demise of this country.

Then, one bizarre day Huzb tried his key to the cobweb-ridden gates, and *cue: Hallelujah Chorus* they slowly opened. While Huzb was occupying Vagistan, he unleashed his pet tadpoles when something very odd happened.

In the past, the BC Patrol would allow the tadpoles to play and swim around in a safe environment. When the tadpoles were done playing Marco Polo or whatever games tadpoles play as they swam, they would quickly do the butterfly stroke out of Vagistan. They never overstayed their welcome.

However, shortly before the Great Depression struck, all of the BC Patrol had been fired from their job. Vagistan was no longer protected.

With Vagistan being in this vulnerable state, when the tadpoles went out to frolic...they decided not to leave. The tadpoles had heard a legend that amongst the land of Vagistan was a Golden Egg Factory. The factory would release a golden egg every month.

The golden egg would travel down a chute where the Eggdicator just like in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory would determine if the egg was good or bad. If the egg was good and was caught and obtained; it would produce something very magical. So the tadpoles stayed loitering Vagistan, hoping to see if this legend proved to be true.

The Queen of Vagistan was thoroughly confused and asked Huzb, "Uhhh where are your tadpoles?"

Huzb: "In Vagistan."

Queen: "Holy crap! I think it is time for the Golden Egg to drop down the chute which means the tadpoles could steal the egg with it being unprotected!"

Huzb just stared at the Queen as her anxiety rose to new heights.

Queen: "Huzb, what if the tadpoles capture the Golden Egg?"

Huzb: "So."

Queen: "So?"

Huzb: "I would be extremely happy."

Queen: "Me too."

A New Post from MIA Alice...what what?!?!

2010-07-28T00:27:00.001-05:00

It is definitely time for some updateage up in here.

Dad Front: A few weeks ago he was scheduled for surgery to repair the hole in his heart. I had a horrible feeling about it. Luckily, they checked his blood and noticed how thin it was due to Coumadin and decided to postpone the surgery for another month. He's back in his skilled nursing facility where the nurses hit on him non-stop which was hilarious at first, but now it's just embarrassing. We will be moving him to an acute care rehab facility soon.

Family Front: My mom is getting more sleep and time to herself since Dad's been in the skilled nursing facility. This whole stroke crap is really taking a toll on her. Brother #1 and #2 still are not speaking. Brother #1 is torn between love and family. He loves a girl who lives in another state and can not move due to her family and job. Surprisingly, I love her. I am such an asshole when it comes to girls who date my brothers...but she is amazing. #1 would like to marry her...but she can not leave her state, and he does not want to leave his state. He feels he needs to be with Mom and Dad to take care of everything.

#2 and wife are expecting a baby boy in October. He's going to be huge! I think my SIL is carrying Andre the Giant in her belly. Oh...I feel for her when she goes into labor.

Job Front: Still loving it. It's very much Devil Wears Prada, but the "devil" I support...I love. She's awesome. I respect her so much...to be a female VP in this major company with so many males in the upper management roles. This woman has balls of steel, and it's incredible. While she has a "devil-ish" reputation amongst the company, people find her hard to work with and/or work for, yet they admit she is highly intelligent and amazing at her job....I absolute love her. We click so well. Maybe it's the devil in me or my favorite devil-red high heels I love to wear to work. Who knows?

Poker Front: Boooooo. I did not make it to the WSOP. I was 10 people away from making it. I played the best I could, but at the end the cards just did not fall my way.

Home Front: The house is in idle. I STILL have not picked out paint colors. I did purchase gorgeous new bedding that I am very excited about.

Hound Front: Laverne and Shirley are wonderful. They bring so much joy into my dark soul. Unconditional love in the form of drooling kisses, hugs, and arrrrooooos simply melt my heart.

Depression/Anxiety/Panic Front: Still no panic attacks. Last week driving to work I had a surge of a panic attack that lasted a second when I told it to go F off. I've been panic attack free in 2010, and I plan to keep it that way. The depression has pretty much been in check. Anxiety is a little high now. I've become obsessed with the TV show Obsessed.

Alice Front: Deep, deep, deep beyond all the layers of MAC make-up...there is a whole new, secret world going on inside of me. A world that is bringing anxiety, confusion, happiness, depression, fear, and peace within me. More on that later.

Seize The Day

2010-07-03T00:00:00.000-05:00

(continued from Pathological Liar post.)

OK

Don't freak out.....hmmmmm.

Yeah.

Don't freak out.

Immediately, I ran to a dark conference room in tears to call my family to find out what was going on.
...............................................................................................

AND. I. FREAKED. OUT.

I don't even remember which family member I talked to on the phone. I was just waiting for them to tell me he was gone. The day I dread more than any other day.

All I remember hearing was:

Ambulance.
Emergency room.
Unconscious.
Shaking.
Seizure.
Stroke.
Conscious.

Apparently, my dad had a seizure (his first). They were afraid he also had a mini stroke. His MRI showed that he had a mini stroke in May that we knew nothing about. Then, we find out somehow during the seizure or transport in the ambulance...he suffered a hip fracture in his "good leg".

The list of issues keeps piling and piling, worse than my inbox at work. The strain on my mom is intensifying.

How much more can he take?

Why did this monster called Stroke just show up out of the blue one day and wreck our lives?

I am really trying to stay positive. Stay focused on his recovery. He just turned 67. He's young. He's my hero. He can pull through this.

He has to.

I'm A Pathological Liar

2010-06-29T23:56:00.001-05:00

I confess: I am a pathological liar.

I love writing. I love blogging. But ever since I started working (which by the way I STILL ♥ my job) I have been the biggest blog slacker ever.

I know. I know. I keep saying I'm baaack. I promise to blog more, and I don't. Not that anyone is losing sleep over my absence or anything, but it makes me disappointed in myself. Alice. Must. Blog.

There are nights I fall asleep on the couch right after work. There are nights and weekends where Huzb is wanting us to do yardwork, housework, houndwork, etc. This leaves poor Alice with no blogging time.

My favorite time to blog is when Huzb is away. It's just me and my thoughts with two hounds resting on my feet. This time is now rare. I'm writing right now while it is almost midnight, Huzb is sound asleep, warm, velvety, hounds laying across my feet....even though I have to be up early in the morning for work. I just miss being here all the time and needed to fill an addiction.

In an attempt to catch you up to speed if you care, if you're bored, if you have nothing else better to do than listen to my crap....

I wrote a post, just now published it even though I wrote it weeks ago, on the fact that on June 8 I learned my dad had a hole in his enormous, caring, giving, sensitive, sweet heart. That was a blow to me. Unsure of what would lie before us.

Then, June 16 happened. I get multiple calls at work around 4:00 PM while I am in a meeting. I finally decide to answer to hear Huzb on the other line saying, "Don't freak out. I don't know what is going on, but an ambulance just took your dad to the emergency room."

OK

Don't freak out.....hmmmmm.

Yeah.

Don't freak out.

Immediately, I ran to a dark conference room in tears to call my family to find out what is going on.

TO BE CONTINUED

Huzb + Dad = Bret Michaels

2010-06-29T23:35:00.000-05:00

**THIS WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN WEEKS AGO***

This week I came to the bizarre realization that Bret Michaels and I have a really, strange connection. Have I ever met Bret? No. Do I feel like I know him? Yes.

My fictional relationship with Bret has been rocky. In the beautiful 80s when Poison hit the scene, I was a huge fan of Look What the Cat Dragged In. I loved me some Poison as far as their music goes, but I never understood the attraction of glam rockers. The hair, the make-up, the spandex...not so hot in my mind. Many of my friends lusted after Poison-Motley Crue-Guns N Roses-Whitesnake-Tesla members, but me? Not so much.

After the hair bands fizzled out, Bret Michaels never crossed my mind. We went our own ways until about three years ago. Being the reality tv junkie that I am, obviously I had to watch Rock of Love. I might have watched all three seasons. I might have also watched all of the trainwrecks from the show go to Charm School. I might have never missed an episode.

As I reunited with Bret through my VH1 reality world, my opinion of him went down the crapper. Yes, he kept me entertained...but I just kind of viewed him as trash and completely full of himself. Bret and I had nothing in common besides being Pisces and a fan of eyeliner and cowboy hats.

Then, I learned through an episode that Bret was a diabetic. A Type 1 at that which really hit home with me since Huzb is also a Type 1 diabetic. I started somewhat relating to Bret through this horrible disease.

When I heard he was going to be a contestant on Celebrity Apprentice, I knew he would be my favorite to win because he would be playing to raise money for the American Diabetes Association. Throughout the season of Celebrity Apprentice, I found myself beginning to like this Bret. Not the womanizer Bret, but the creative and very passionate Bret. He was not full of himself this time, he was full of drive and motivation to raise money to help find a cure for diabetes. I started viewing him as selfless instead of selfish. I saw him as a wonderful and kind human being.

I was completely stunned when I heard the news Bret had suffered a massive subarachnoid hemorrhage which is a form of stroke. Another hit close to home with my dad recovering from a hemorrhagic stroke. Why is it that the two serious medical conditions that affect my world are mirrored in Mr. Michaels' life?

About a month ago when the news released that Bret was hospitalized again and was diagnosed with a "hole in his heart", my heart went out to him again.

So this past week Huzb and I were out to dinner celebrating our wedding anniversary, and I received a phone call from Brother 1. He asked me if I had talked to Mom or heard anything about Dad's doctor visit that day. I hadn't.

Brother 1 told me that Mom seemed upset and had left the house. My SIL was watching after my dad, and Brother 1 asked how the doctor visit went. My dad answered in tears that he has a hole in his heart.

The hole in his heart is a possibility as the cause of stroke. I think the hole in his heart is because he loves so much, he gives so much love and asks nothing in return is how the hole was created.

Could this possibly be what caused Bret's hole in his heart too?

Bret, if you are out there...I feel your pain. Type 1 Diabetes. Stroke. Hole in heart. How many possible thorns can be thrown in this rose called life?

I Dunno (Part 2)

2010-06-06T11:59:00.000-05:00

Right now I am lost in a sea of paint color confusion. The daunting task of choosing interior paint colors is completely overwhelming.

I am someone whose environment totally affects their mood. Maybe this is part of my depression, I don't know. The weather will affect my mood, clutter affects my mood as well as painted walls. Ridiculous? Probably.

The first house Huzb and I bought together was a wonderful home. However, I am not into country decor. At. All. The previous owners countried out the place with borders galore and loved the color maroon. My favorite design choice from the previous owners was the first floor.

This was a split-level house with the main living on the second floor. The first floor was a big open space, perfect for a media room and entertaining. Their chosen decor was lots of artificial pine trees to give that woodsy feel I suppose. Deer heads were mounted all over the walls. And a beautiful gigantic border hugged the room with pictures of deer. Gross.

It was a no-brainer that within the first weeks of moving in, I would be peeling off borders and slinging paint on the walls.

Maybe I was in such a rush to rid our new home of country, artsy craftsy, redneck crap, but I did not have an issue choosing paint colors. We painted the entire interior. Every weekend we designated to a specific room. Throughout the two and a half years we lived there, we received lots of compliments on our painted walls. Our realtor loved our color selections, and I feel like the walls helped sell our home quickly in a horrible market and a house in the middle of nowhereville.

This September we will be celebrating our second anniversary of our current home. The walls here are all the same color, all neutral, and a shade of taupe that changes color with the lighting. Sometimes it looks like a light mocha-ish beige and other times I see a pink tint to it that I hate. I tried to find an image of the color to give ya an idea, and the best I could find was this...

Since I did not have a job, we decided to wait on hitting the paint section of Home Depot. The taupe was livable but blah, to me at least.

Now that I have been working for two months, Huzb is full speed ahead ready to paint and personalize our home. We will do the majority of the painting ourselves, but he has already talked to a professional for a section that we are intimidated by.

Our foyer has very tall ceilings and some weird angles. An odd part to the foyer is it connects to our living room, and the way the walls are the foyer, living room, and walls leading up the staircase will have to be the same color.

There is a wall in the living room that I plan to paint an accent color. The tricky part is the foyer and staircase receive lots of light, and the living room is a little dark. As you can see...picking one color that I will be satisfied with is way too challenging.

This color will have to be my starting point to come up with colors for the other rooms to make sure it has a nice flow. Yes, I am cheesy. Yes, I over think everything. Yes, I am a perfectionist. Ugh.

One of my many problems is my style. There is a side of me that is classic, clean, Pottery Barn-ish, and the other side is bold, bright, eclectic, modern, funky, Urban Outfitter-ish.

I am torn between color palettes. In our first home, I was able to blend both of my styles by using the classic, clean yet contemporary colors with a bold accent wall. The only thing I did not take into consideration was the flow.

For instance, I chose our bedroom colors from our bedding.

The master bath...we went with an icy blue motif to give us a calming, clean, soothing feel. OK, according to the damn color wheel one should use colors next to each other or opposite from them to harmonize or flow or whatever.

I thought with our bedroom being shades from the green family and bathroom being in the blue family...it would work. Wrong. While I liked each room individually, I hated the transition from the bedroom to the bathroom. So I do not want to make that mistake again.

Here I am stuck.

Pathetic, I know.

Too much thinking, I know.

Annoying, I know.

Make up your mind Alice, I know.

Intermission

2010-05-26T00:48:00.000-05:00

Well, I was all excited to blog about my adventure of chopping my mullet. And all excited about filling you in on my second, trivial dilemma that is troubling me...but I can't. I just can't.

My stupid little worries and decision-making is nothing. Nothing compared to what is going on right now.

Sorry guys, this post isn't written by the fun side of Alice or positive side of Alice. This post is written by Alice with a broken heart.

I don't get it.

I don't understand life right now.
....................................................................................................................................................................

Friends.

Friends come and go. The few that never go are gems, hold onto them, never take them for granted, cherish their meaning in your life. They are few and far between. It is so difficult to find "true friends", but when you do, never let go. It is amazing to look back on your life at your friends. People that you were so close to at one point in your life that have vanished or disappeared for whatever reason from your present life.

I had a friend. A childhood friend. A friend I met when I was a baby. Our moms were very close friends which ignited our friendship. While we lived in the same area, we went to different schools, rival schools may I add. Our childhood and friendship consisted of summers of sleepovers, softball games, spending every day at the pool, church camp, art camp...and our love for Barbies.

We were so close. My friend...I will call her Jane. Jane was a wonderful friend. Jane was my first friend. We spent every New Year's Eve together, every year we baked Christmas cookies at her house, we always had fun. Sweet Jane.

In third grade Jane got a boyfriend, Joe. That was fine...I had my own third grade romance. Our friendship was stronger than ever despite the fact we went to rival schools.

Jane and Joe's relationship really took off in junior high. When our families would get together, I was now the third wheel as Joe was always invited. I hated it. I hated Joe. He took my friend away. Jane was different around Joe. No more Barbies, no more laughs, no more dancing, no more playing pranks on our siblings, no more trying on our first bras, no more personal jokes, no more, no more, no more.

So I started drifting away. I hated being the third wheel. I hated how Joe had sucked all of the fun, the real Jane out of her. I made excuses to not go to our family gatherings.

High school came and went. College came and went. Alice and Jane drifted farther and farther apart although their parents remained very close friends. However, Jane and Joe grew closer and closer.

Jane ended up marrying Joe at a young age, and I happily went to their wedding. I talked with Jane about how I wanted to have our friendship back, we laughed so much on her wedding day recalling old memories. We both agreed we would stay in contact and rekindle our friendship.

Bygones.

Didn't happen.

While Jane was off building a house, learning how to be a wife, going to college, and residing in our small town....Alice was off trying to discover herself, living life to the fullest, taking full advantage of being young, and moving all over the U.S.

Our families remained extremely tight, and I was only a topic of conversation at all of the dinners and outings.

A little over seven years ago Jane gave birth to a son. A precious little boy that looked just like her. At this time, Alice was entering into the world of depression and anxiety...and unhappy in her marriage. While Alice's marriage was falling apart as well as her world as well as herself...Jane's world was just beginning. Jane was a mom.

In 2008 Jane had her second son. Jane was so fortunate to have two little boys, because her family was very female dominated. Jane landed an awesome job which is next to impossible in our little small town. Jane was still in love with her third grade sweetheart Joe. Jane was very active in church, very close with her family...to sum it up Jane had it all. Whether she realized it or not, she had a wonderful life...and I truly believe she knew it.
....................................................................................................................................................................

Last month when I went to take care of my dad, Jane's mom showed up with one of Jane's sons. It was the first time I ever met him. He looked just like Jane. He acted just like Jane. Very polite and very shy. Seeing him and Jane's mom brought back memories. Memories and feelings that we needed to reconnect. We were too much a part of each other's childhood, I needed Jane back in my life.
.....................................................................................................................................................................

Yesterday happened.

Jane is very much a homebody. Any vacations she ever goes on is with her entire family keep in mind. Her wedding anniversary was here, and she and Joe decided to take a trip together. No family. No kids. Rare. Two days before they were supposed to return home from their get-away, something happened. Something that would change their lives forever. Something so unexpected. Something so unfair. Something so cruel. Something so inconceivable.

I received word yesterday that Jane's seven year old son died.

It was a freak accident. It was sudden. It, it, it...I just can't comprehend it.

Of course Jane and Joe got the quickest flight home that they could and arrived to the hospital late last night although their baby, their first born was already passed. He died instantly at the scene.

I can't get them out of mind. How do you go on? How do you cope? How do you forgive? How do you live?

My heart is completely broken for them.

Seven.

Seven years old.

Taken away from this world in a split second.

Why?

I Dunno (Part 1)

2010-05-24T12:00:00.002-05:00

Why is it that at work (I promise this is not going to be another work post.) I have no problems making decisions? Why is it that when asked to make a decision for another person, it is always a no-brainer for me? Why is it that when I have to make decisions in my personal life, it is the most complicated task in the world?

The decisions I am referring to are not life-altering or anything...it is the little, trivial ones. Yet ones that are tough to undo but not impossible. I am in the midst of three of these decisions.

Today's decision....now I told y'all it is somewhat frivolous but still has an importance factor to it. Today's decision is in regards to my mullet, weave, fro, do, whatever you want to call it. All I know is my hair is all kinds of out of control.

Throughout my life, my hair has seen lots of bangs, perms - wave, spiral, body, home, salon, a permed mullet...I am not scared to admit in fourth grade I had a permed shoulder-length mullet. My fourth grade school picture absolutely kills me. Not only am I sporting a freshly permed mullet and newly-pierced ears, I am cheesing so hard in that picture because I thought I looked that good.

An even better photo of me during that same era was my dance recital picture. Not only was I rocking that permed mullet, I was sporting a spandex unitard (total 80's) that had stirrups and fluorescent shapes that would glow under a blacklight, fingerless gloves, and jazz hands. Can you beat that?

And I kept the permed mullet look for two more years, all the way through sixth grade. I guess I could not get enough of it. Oh, and my sixth grade dance recital picture was pure hawt-ness.

I weighed maybe 88.5 pounds at the time and was extremely white keep in mind. My attire in the photo is a red sequined one piece bathing suit type getup with sheer red ruffles and white lace on the breast section, with a sheer red, giant bow on my butt that flowed all the way down to my knees, nude panty hose just like the Hooter's gals which was so hot.....tanned, panty-hosed bird legs with a milky, albino face, neck and arms. I know, I know...too hot to handle, too cold to hold. Sheer red, white laced trimmed wrist cuffs. White tap shoes to really off-set my oh-so-tanned-sticks-for-legs. A white sequined choker adorned my neck. I was posed on a white stool with streamers in the background. But the best part....my permed mullet had a sweet accessory....a red, glittery, sequined mini kind of derby-style / kind of cowboy-style hat tilted. Hot.

The only thing that would have added to my hotness was if the picture would have been taken a few months later when I rocked the metal braces. No wonder I was having to beat the boys off with a stick and Seventeen and YM magazines were knocking on my door to be their next covergirl. I don't think it gets any hotter than that.

From my famous permed mullet days, my hair went to big bangs. I would curl the bottom half under, top half back, tease for maximum height, and glue with Stiff Stuff hairspray. Then, I decided to let my masterpiece bangs grow out which took like a lifetime.

The college years, in my hippy/grungy phase my bangs were grown out, my hair was down my back, as I tried to sport the Alannis Morrisette hairstyle that went great with baggy, high waisted jeans, flannel shirts, hiking boots, and baseball caps. I mean, really?

Today's college girls are all about flesh and girly and glittery and glam, all Hollistered-Abercrombied-Charlotte Russed up...but not in my day. It was all about comfort maybe? Less is more maybe? Dressing like Kurt Cobain will attract guys maybe?

After college, my weave turned into a chin-length bob to various layered cuts to years without a cut and everything in between. Throughout my life, there have been two stylists that I loved who both moved away leaving me to search for a new stylist.

There was a salon I went to once and only once in Los Angeles that made the mistake of offering a never ending glass of free wine to me. As I and the very flamboyant, sassy stylist joked around while he was cutting my hair. I had a completely brilliant, alcohol-induced idea...I thought it would be funny to act like he cut my neck. (I get the prankster gene from my dad.) And it was quite hilarious to me and me only.

There have also been a few times when a new stylist would ask me, "What are we going to do with your hair today?" To which I responded, "I would like a mullet." This was simply a test to see if the stylist would be willing to be honest and say they would not give me a mullet or whether they would actually agree to give me a Kentucky Waterfall/Tennessee Tophat/Neck Warmer/10-90/Beaver Paddle/Business in the front, party in the back. Of course, I would never let the stylist near the scissors without telling them I was just joking.

Years of bad hair and years of hair-stylist hopping has been exhausting.

And today...today my friends, I am trying a new salon, new stylist and completely undecided on what kind of cut to ask for.

What's In Your Glass?

2010-05-23T17:16:00.001-05:00

I'm baaaack. I hope. Jobage - love it. I am busting my arse week by week, and have zero complaints about work. Well, one complaint....my BLOG!!! Ugh! When I am not working, I am sleeping, walking hounds, housework, yard work, at the poker table, or trying to get caught up with my DVR. Currently, that is my life in a nutshell.

Of course, my time taking care of my dad has shrunk. I am trying to commit to spending one weekend a month with him, and we talk on the phone all the time. In a few weeks, we will have his test results back and hopefully a better strategy towards his recovery.

I am approaching my two month anniversary with my job. I could go on forever listing how much better this company, co-workers, benefits, and job itself is compared to the rest of my jobs I have divorced. But I won't...I think you get the picture. One major difference is working while under the influence of depression and anxiety meds.

I saw the Head a few weeks ago, and he upped my Zoloft to 200 mg/day. I am still taking Vitamin B12 twice a day, and .5mg of Ativan as needed. During the week, I pop an Ativan for the drive to work and drive home. I am still Panic Attack free for 2010!!! Whoo-hoo!

The Head's little depression/anxiety cocktail has made a world of difference in my working world. It is easier for me to get up in the mornings, I don't feel overwhelmed with dread and paranoia, I am not over-stressed, I do not have my emotions on my sleeve, I no longer let criticism or negative comments from clients, customers, or co-workers ruin my entire day or week for that matter, I have more energy, I am more confident, I am more productive, I focus better, I can multi-task like nobody's business, but most importantly I can be myself.

The really quiet girl with a strong work ethic, always does her job, Miss Dependable, Miss Nice, Miss Understood, Miss Getstakenadvantageofbecauseshecan'tsayno....that was me. I was that girl. It was very difficult for me to be myself in my other jobs. There was always a fear that people would see me as "crazy", fear of not being accepted. I had to maintain a facade of perfection. If I caught a mistake I had made, I would be so upset with myself. I did not allow myself to be human.

In my past two jobs, I would come home everyday completely consumed with stress. I would sit on the back porch with Huzb venting about my day over wine or beer. Every Friday at 5:00 PM, I would be excited about the weekend, BUT I would start counting down the days, hours, minutes I would have to return to work. The same went for when I rarely used vacation time...it would be tough to enjoy my vacation because I would be all six more days left, five more days left, four more days left, etc.

With these past two jobs, there were times when I was told I had a negative attitude by managers in employee reviews. I always thought I was a "glass half full" gal, but with a sense of reality. I was not the employee that would tell managers everything they wanted to hear. These managers were quick to point out areas that I needed improvement in, but the second I voiced my concerns regarding problems I saw within the company...they did not want to hear it. They would turn everything around and say I had a negative attitude. If I saw a problem, I should fix it. Well, problems I would point out were issues that should be taken care of by upper management. That is why they get paid the big bucks, right?

Whether these issues were due to incompetent management, negative attitudes, or my depression...it is all water under the bridge.

Presently I see all the positives with my new job. Whether the meds are putting rose-colored glasses on me or if my manager/company/co-workers is just extremely better than my previous experiences, or the fact that after being unemployed for so long that I no longer take my job for granted and feel extremely fortunate to have a job during this economy is causing the change in my outlook, I don't know.

All I know is I have found happiness in my work life.

The $h1t Storm of 2010

2010-05-03T14:05:00.000-05:00

Peeps, I am seriously sucking at blogging right now. 3 posts for April - sheesh! The new job is still going great, the honeymoon phase has not diminished.

However, after being on a computer all day at work...when I come home, the last thing I want to do is hop on my pooter. When I have hopped on, wanting to blog, nothing comes to me. Sucks. I have loved this whole new blogging adventure, and it is a crappy feeling to sit and stare at my pooter screen and nothing comes to mind. It's like my blogging creative juice has been depleted, because I am utilizing all my creativeness at work.

Hopefully, I will find the balance.

So...this past week was going rather smoothly and awesomely. Huzb won a trip to Vegas by placing first in a poker tourney. Yeah Huzb! The Kentucky Derby was this past weekend. One of my most favorite times of the year. I had planned an early Mother's Day gift of going home for the weekend to take care of my dad and give my mom a weekend of rejuvenation.

On Friday night, Huzb and I packed up the hounds and took off to my little home town. I was anxious to see my dad, because it had been almost two months since I last saw him. He switched neurologists last week, and his new one is a blessing. She actually cares enough to find out what caused the stroke, has ordered millions of tests for him to accurately treat him, and is putting a prevention plan into place so a second stroke does not occur.

It was wonderful to see my dad. He was so excited for me to come home, and stayed up late for when we arrived. He looked better, was stronger, and was finally off of his pureed diet. He was laughing more, and his laugh is so contagious. Movement on his left side is still not where it should be. The hallucinations are still out of control, but all in all, I was pleased with his slow but sure progress.

Saturday evening I told Huzb that he should go out for a beer with Brother #1, and once I got my dad into bed I would meet them if my mom was cool with it. Right before they left, Huzb and I smelled something rancid.

"Dad, are you pooping?"

"No."

"Dad, did you fart?"

"I don't think so. Well, maybe."

Brother #1 and Huzb took off for their beer and boytalk. Mom came downstairs to start laundry, and I asked her if she smelled anything. She said she did not. Then, she walked into the bathroom to get the dirty towels...only to bolt out of the bathroom on the verge of vomiting.

I walked into the newly, renovated bathroom designed for my dad to find the walk-in shower covered in poop and water. Disgusting. All my fragile, stressed-out mom could say was, "Lord, help us."

Huzb and Brother #1 came home instantly. I knew I married a good man when Huzb was on his hands and knees cleaning up the shit storm in the shower.

The next morning, the shower overflowed with water and poop this time flooding into my dad's living area. I ran outside to find Huzb and Brother #1 and yelled, "The poop is back!!!"

Again, my sweet Huzb cleaned up the mess and ran a snake thing through the pipes trying to solve the mystery. He was able to narrow down where the problem was, but the issue required the knowledge of a plumber. After dealing with the feces floods, we were ready to get on the road and head back home.

After driving two hours in a rain storm, we started approaching Nashville. Poop storm, rain storm, when will the storms end? Huzb does not believe in meteorologists and thought the media was being overly dramatic about the weekend storms and flooding.

As we entered into Nashville, we saw creeks overflowing but nothing too crazy. There was hardly anyone on the roads, and it was pretty surreal. When all of a sudden, on the opposite side of the interstate we saw two cars almost completely submerged in water. Our mouths dropped.

As we kept heading home, not sure what we were driving into, everything else seemed to be fine despite the buckets of rain pouring from the skies.

We took our exit and headed down the country road that I love so much that occupies many horse farms. When we saw this...

Then before us....we were going to have to cross this....

At this point, I saw the fear in Huzb. The hounds were completely silent in the backseat. We knew our car would not make it so we turned around.

We tried another route only to get stuck again. Our last possible route was terrifying, there were two times we crossed water or floated just hoping and praying we would make it. Luckily, my Ativan kept me in check during this. We made it home safely, and our house survived. Our yard survived. We are so very lucky. But many are not.

Last night we were under a curfew, and my company announced we would be closed today. Today the weather is sunny and gorgeous, approaching 80 degrees and devastation and tragedy is setting in as the Cumberland River is flooding all of the downtown area.

If you want to see some unreal pictures go here. My little pics do not do justice to the disaster that my city is living in.

Please keep the city of Nashville in your thoughts and prayers.

"Lord, help us."

The Intelligence and Masterminding of the Basset Hound

2010-04-11T15:35:00.000-05:00

I once worked for a car rental company, and first thing in the mornings was to check in all the vehicles that were dropped overnight, clean them, and get them back on the road asap. One day a trainee went to clean up a cargo van and came back in the office and told the manager, "I'm sorry, but I can't clean that van. There is shit all in it."

The manager responded, "That van is reserved and going out this morning. So get out there and clean the shit up."

The trainee replied, "I'm not cleaning that shit up."

The manager furiously said, "Part of your job is to clean vehicles. All of them come back with shit all on it. You either go clean it, or find another job!"

The confused trainee practically in tears said, "I don't think you understand. There is literal SHIT in that van. Shit as in feces!"

The manager felt horrible about coming down on the trainee. Anyone that works in the car rental industry has loads of bizarre stories. The manager who thought he had seen it all could not believe that there was actual shit in the van. After that instance, randomly these mysterious bowel movements would appear in vans. The culprit was never found. Whomever it was....they became a legend in car rental tales....known as the "Mad Shitter".

I know plenty of people that refuse to poop in public. Brother #1 for example. No matter where he is, he will drive home to poop. A few of my friends have the same pooping phobia. But not one of my best friends, Laverne. Laverne thrives on pooping in public.

After such a busy week and feeling guilty for not spending much time with the Bassets, I decided to take them to the park today for a long walk and to enjoy lots of interesting sniffing.

Now, there are lots of common misconceptions about Basset Hounds. Some of the most popular ones are:

Exhibit 1. They are small dogs. WRONG. Yes, they are "midgets" or "little people" in the dog world. But they have the heaviest bones of any dog and are considered a large breed.

Exhibit 2. They are lazy. WRONG. While they look lazy and sleepy, they were actually bred for hunting rabbits. They have great stamina, because they track and trail the prey with their impeccable sense of smell second to the Bloodhound. I love them because they go with the flow. They are content to sleep the day away or play all day.

Exhibit 3. They are dumb. WRONG. They are very goofy with hilarious personalities. They waddle around, sometimes trip over their ears, and have an expression of doo-dee-doo-dee-doo. They are actually highly intelligent dogs. And master manipulators.

Exhibit 4. They are always sad. WRONG. The wrinkles, saggy skin, and sad eyes are very deceiving. Isn't it ironic that I suffer from depression, and my favorite breed of dog looks the most depressed? These hounds are not sad. They are always happy, laid back, go with the flow, ready to cuddle, and play. Going back to their intelligence, they totally use their pitiful, sad look to get whatever they want.

So Huzb has been out of town this weekend, and I attempted to take them to the park solo. I walk them around our hood by myself all the time, and it can be a challenge due to their difference in personalities.

Meet Culprit #1. Laverne. Laverne is five years old, and loves her walks. Laverne uses her stamina. She walks at a slow pace usually. She likes to stop and smell the roses. She is also a marker. When she is being led by her nose and stops to sniff, we say she is checking her pee-mail. And when she marks, she is replying to pee-mail. She, like the "Mad Shitter", thoroughly enjoys pooping in public.

Meet Culprit #2. Shirley. Shirley is two and a half years old. And like Laverne, she loves her walks. Shirley is all about speed. She wants to lead the pack. She is all about protecting and serving, always on the lookout for people or animals and wants to run. She is Miss Busybody, always in everyone's business and thinks she rules our hood. On walks, Shirley is not a marker. She only does her business if she feels the need and not for sending and replying to pee-mails.

In essence, Laverne is like one of those people that always forward emails and send out all kinds of chain letters, jokes, hoaxes, surveys, etc. And Shirley is one of those people that rarely send out an email, but when they do you read every word because you know it is going to be important.

Laverne and Shirley howled and bayed with excitement during the entire ride to the park. They jumped out of the car and were ready to explore. Of course, Laverne started immediately sending out pee-mails.

We made it to the start of the mile-long walking path, and Laverne decided to drop a deuce right where everyone passes. No discretion. Sure enough, she dropped one with an extreme potency and high difficulty clean up level.

So I was on the verge of vomiting, being pulled in every direction, and holding the bag of poop. Then what happened? Shirley decided she should drop it like it's hot too. Now that the girls both lost a few pounds, they were ready to run and let their ears fly wildly in the wind. And I was tangled between two leashes and two bags of poop.

We did not even make it a quarter of a mile when Laverne went all "Flat Basset" on me. This is part of Basset terminology for the enthusiast.

The definition of "Flat Basset" as accurately defined by Oregon Basset Hound Rescue is: "This is a game your Basset will choose to play spontaneously...generally at bath time, when you want them to move over, or just move for that matter. It involves the Basset flattening itself onto the floor, often with legs spread out. The dog no longer weighs its original weight, but thousands of pounds and is virtually immovable. Suggestions for winning this game may include using a crowbar, renting a back loader, or crane."

Laverne also does this in a standing position with legs spread, and she decided she was not going to walk anymore. I'm telling you...I don't know how they do it...but they cannot be moved. Sometimes you just have to accept you're a Basset Slave, obey the Basset, and go in the direction they want (see Exhibit 3).

When Flat Basset occurs at bath time, I can win the game with food bribes. But on a walk...I don't stand a chance.

So we drove all the way to the park just to use the public bathroom.

Now I am beginning to wonder if the "Mad Shitter" was actually a Basset Hound. A Basset Hound who did not have ownership of a Basset Slave to walk around cleaning up its every poop. Or maybe it did have a Basset Slave aka car rental employees. See Exhibit 3.

She Works Hard for The Money

2010-04-10T13:45:00.000-05:00

I want to apologize for being MIA. This has been a crazy action-packed yet fun week. So for some quick updateage...

Alice started her first day on the job this past Monday. It was amazing to be back in the working world. I can't believe those words just came out of my mouth. After being unemployed for so long during this economy funk, I will never take my job for granted.

The first week was awesome. I absolutely love it! I ♥ my job! Again...I can't believe those words came out of my mouth or through my fingertips.

After my first day, I fell asleep on the couch at 6:30!!! The rest of the week, I had functions every night and an overnight visit from the MIL. And now I am on my way to play in a poker tourney...then off to a friend's birthday celebration. It's been killing me that I have not had the time to blog.

I know this is a wimpy, pathetic post...but I wanted to give all y'all an update so ya didn't think the coyotes got me.

I Ain't No Rubberband or Coyote Bait Yo!

2010-04-01T15:57:00.000-05:00

I was stretched and pulled in all directions last week. This week I want to enjoy my last few days of freedom, but I feel like there is so much to do and not enough time. So why not blog?

Last week I had to get to my family pronto. Mom had a falling out with Brother #2. Brother #1 had an even bigger falling out with Brother #2. And who does Mom, Brother #1, and Brother #2 come to? Yep, you guessed it. Alice the peacemaker. While letting each one vent to me individually, remaining diplomatic, trying not to take sides and end up in a fight, offering advice, and taking care of my dad to give them all a break...I was worn out mentally and physically.

Once I returned to Huzb and the hounds, all of the job stuff started going down. My family was very excited about my job offer, yet I could sense some sadness in their voices as I told them the news. Sadness as in...my schedule would not be as flexible to help out.

They completely understand that it is imperative for me to work. While Huzb has a good job, he is in a very volatile industry and has survived three lay-offs in less than two years. With our mortgage and his Type 1 diabetes, I have to work to give us some security. Plus, my shopping hobby has been on a major hold and Mama needs her some new shoes.

Spring has sprung here causing my allergies and sinuses to make me feel like crap during my last days of freedom. My allergies have drained my energy, and my anxiety is increasing daily. I keep thinking I need to do a full spring cleaning like I do every year. I want to reorganize my closet and clothes...pack away my sweaters and turtlenecks and bring out my tube tops and daisy dukes. OK, maybe not tube tops and daisy dukes...that would be a blinding, scary mess.

I want to take the hounds to the dog park, but my allergies cannot handle this gorgeous weather right now. Yard work and planting must be put on hold. I need to do millions of little errands to get things in place that I will not have time for when I start working. My career wardrobe needs some major updateage. My mullet needs cutting. All kinds of stupid crap is flooding my mind...things I should have done while I had the time.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda!

This morning I read in our newspaper that damn coyotes are all up in my hood!!! WHAT? We live in the burbs!?!?! Apparently, a pack of wild coyotes have killed two dogs nearby. So sad. That news freaked the living crap out of me. The article also said if there is a creek near your subdivision, you can expect wildlife because they travel the waterways through subdivisions...specifically coyotes, foxes, geese, raccoons, possums, skunks, and rattlesnakes. Yep, there's a creek in our subdivision...right in the little park area where the hounds love to play and take a dip in.

My hood is very safe and clean and quaint and new and now I feel like I need to pack heat or pepper spray or a machete or grenade or nunchucks just to walk my hounds.

We have a privacy fence in our backyard, but I am still tense when I take the hounds out. Those wily coyotes scaled a fence in one of the attacks. Oh, and the article said by the way residents, you can't shoot the coyotes within city limits. The po-po can not shoot them or hunt them due to codes, but they can write a report. That helps. Animal control will not do anything either, because the coyotes are "part of the food chain".

I'm sure those coyotes were licking their lips and laughing hysterically when they read the article. Yeah write a report on me fool, and just add it to my criminal history.

I guess I will have to wait for Road Runner to arrive in my hood to distract Wile E. Coyote and Company. Until then, I need to focus on getting my anxiety in check before Manic Monday arrives.

My Dream Of Being A Solid Gold Dancer - Failed

2010-03-31T11:33:00.000-05:00

So yeah, when I was a kid I wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer badly. Unfortunately, the TV show was cancelled before I had a chance to get my big break. I also wanted to be on Fame. I lived in leotards and leg warmers and was bound to "live forever" and "learn how to fly - high".

As I grew older, my career selections changed about as fast as Michael Jackson's skin color. From being a dancer and/or actress, I wanted to be a teacher. I would come home from elementary school only to play school with my dolls and stuffed animals.

The early teen years brought upon ideas of being a doctor, mainly influenced by my parents, but my fear of needles, blood, and nasty body parts quickly diminished that idea. Then I looked towards being a pharmacist until I realized I hated chemistry. Next was an FBI special agent until I shot a gun for the first time, and it kicked back and scared the crap out of me. Plus the fact, I could never shoot a person, and I don't think my anxiety matches up well for the FBI.

The idea of an architect came and went as did an interior designer. By the time I was graduating high school, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I've always been a jack of all trades and master of none. I've always had so many interests that I could not fathom narrowing it down to one career that I would be happy with forever.

Since graduating college my work history is kind of all over the place, and I have to fine tune my resume for every job I apply for. This past year and a half has been a battle on the job front. When I put in my notice at my last job in order to relocate with Huzb's job...I had no clue how difficult landing a job would be.

I am not the person who has had everything handed to them and has amazing connections and life just seems to fall in place perfectly. I've had to work my butt off for every job I got. My time of unemployment I consider a blessing, as much as it beat my confidence down, I was able to spend as much time as needed with my dad during his stroke journey.

The past year and a half I have experienced some awkward interviews. There was one where the hiring manager did not make any, and I stress ANY, eye contact with me at all. Another interview involved the president of the company playing background music and had mood lighting. There was a ridiculous group interview I participated in...complete with embarrassing role play scenarios. Scam interviews that were only trying to sell me something. Interviews that lasted five minutes, and interviews that lasted hours. Interviews I went to just for practice, and interviews for jobs I really wanted that left me heartbroken.

Two days ago I finally accepted a job offer with a company that denied me several times prior. A door has opened. I will be back in the workforce next week. While it has been challenging, I am glad I did not "settle" for a job. I fought my way to a career, something I am really excited about with an awesome company.

Although leotards and leg warmers are probably against company policy, my heart is dancing on the inside.

Shituations

2010-03-28T12:17:00.000-05:00

I had a little bloggity blog blog idea. I don't know if this is something I will do weekly, monthly, or just this once. I was thinking of posing shitty situations that I or someone I know has been faced with OR it could be completely random-nonsense-off-the-top-of-my-head. "What Ifs" are always floating around in my mind so I am thinking about unleashing them in this blog.

TODAY'S TOPIC: BFFS AND RELATIONSHIPS

Here's the shituation...

Think of your BFF (can not be spouse or significant other). Someone you know everything about, can tell everything to, have a rich history with.

OK? Got someone in mind?

BFF has been briefly dating someone OR said BFF has been dating someone for a length of time but due to you living far away from BFF, you have only met this someone once. Instantly, you do not like this someone. Your gut tells you that this someone is all wrong for BFF. You do not have any hard facts, proof, much less a sleazy rumor....there is just a feeling inside you telling you this is a huge mistake for BFF. BFF is all infatuated and smitten with this someone and tells you that they are getting married. Do you...

A. Tell BFF your feelings regarding this someone. You can tell BFF anything, but this would crush BFF and possibly ruin your friendship.

B. Keep your mouth shut. Support BFF's decisions no matter what.

C. Other

Top 10 Smiles

2010-03-27T01:04:00.000-05:00

What a week, what a week, damn what a week! After spending the week with my dad...I have oh so much blogging material.

You can look forward to sad and funny Dad moments, family feuds, job interviews, and randomness next week.

Sticking to my plan of focusing on the positives of the week...here are my Top 10 Smiles.

☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺☺

1. Making the drive to and fro in torrential downpour with ZERO panic attacks. Props to Ativan!

2. The smile on my dad's face when I surprised him coming home. He told me everything is better when I am there, and the look of appreciation in my mom's face for coming to assist.

3. Seeing improvements in my dad, and watch him try his hardest in his therapies.

4. My dad (J) calling me J Jr. because he thinks we are just alike. (Best compliment I've ever received in my life.)

5. This super sweet blog post from Brandi definitely made me smile, and I will have an even bigger smile if she conquered her fear of flying and freed herself from the debilitation of panic attacks.

6. Learning more about my ancestors from Dad. I never knew my Great-Grandmother was Native American. This would totally make me convert to Team Jacob if I was a Twi-hard.

7. My mom telling me that I am the rock of the family, and my younger brothers look up to me for advice. (Especially with the drama that went down.) This made me smile...but I do not feel that I am that strong, and I don't want to let them down.

8. My hounds going nuts when I came home, welcoming me with hugs, cries, and slobbery kisses.

9. I had an interview with a company yesterday. As I was hanging out in the lobby, there were two men waiting...possible competition? I don't think so. One of the guys was very polished. I would not give him GQ status, but maybe a GQ wannabe. Nice hair, slick suit, confident...he took a seat and Oh Lawd!!! That fool in a svelte black suit with matching black shoes was not wearing any socks!!! WHAT??? This fashion faux pas made me laugh and put me in a happy mood for an interview that I did not feel prepared for. Hey Slick, Don Johnson called and said he wants his look back!

10. For an interview that I felt clueless and exhausted walking into...I walked out, make that strutted out feeling like I rocked it! I do not want to be over-confident, because I have felt that way before only to receive a sweet rejection email or phone call within the following days. The interview felt right. The place felt right. The right answers flew out of my mouth. On my drive home, I was not kicking myself like usual thinking of other answers I should have said. Plus...I fit into my skinny suit that I ♥ and have not been able to wear in years!!!

Have a flippin' sweet weekend y'all, and go crazy and don't wear socks!

Oh...you get a bonus smile this week. A friend sent me this picture, and it cracked me up.

Alice's Haiku Thoughts

2010-03-25T12:18:00.001-05:00

A long drive awaits.

Exhaustion has consumed me.

Interview will suck.

Hearing tales from Dad.

Native American blood.

Why am I so white?

My Dad's hallucinations.

All detailed and descriptive.

Some funny, some sad.

Dad calls me Junior.

He says we are just alike.

The best compliment.

Wondertwin Powers Activate - Form of Dr.Phil/Jerry Springer/Mary Poppins

2010-03-23T19:43:00.001-05:00

Saturday night.
Missed calls.
Call ASAP.
Help!
Dad?
No.
Drama.
Family feud.
Brother 1 vs Brother 2.
Brother 2 vs Mom.

Long drive.
Anxiety.
No panic.
Arrived.
Home.
Care.
Love.
Dad.
Comfort.
Rationalize.
Brother 1.
Support.
Console.
Mom.
Around.
The.
Clock.
Dad.

On.
My.
Way.
To.
Listen.
Brother 2.
Mediate.

Be.
Back.
Shortly.

Top 10 Smiles

2010-03-20T10:53:00.001-05:00

As I was sitting alone in a tiny room yesterday afternoon with dilated pupils waiting for the optometrist, I had an idea during my blindness. On the weekends I should reflect on my week and come up with my top ten favorite smile moments. Focus on the positives.

Now I can't make any promises, because I am not on the pooter much during the weekends. But. I. Will. Definitely. Try.

So here goes my top ten smiles of this past week. ::drumroll::

1. Every single blog comment. Thank you for reading my babbling nonsense.

2. The gorgeous weather of the past few days, and seeing daffodils finally in bloom.

3. Watching my drool babies on their backs basking in the sun. They are so happy warm weather is finally here.

4. This video of bloggie friend, Linda's dog Harry. For the life of me, I cannot figure out how he does this.

5. Murray State University's win over Vanderbilt in the NCAA tournament. An even bigger smile will happen if they upset Butler this afternoon.

6. A poker buddy felt bad that she missed my birthday a few weeks ago and brought chocolate covered strawberries, crescent rolls, and gigantic meatballs to our Tuesday night tournament. I am not a very big carnivore, but O-M-G. Those meatballs were out of this world and had the most incredible glaze ever.

7. I had insomnia Monday night, thanks to my anxiety over a job interview the following morning. When I finally went to bed after Huzb had been snoozing for hours. In his stupor he asked me, "Are you ok?" I reply, "Yes, just having some anxiety over my interview in the morning." Huzb responds, "If you poop in the interview. It's ok. Just say 'Excuse Me'." I guess he was dreaming about pooping or something. No clue. I am still laughing about it.

8. As I was heavily sleeping Thursday morning I felt something pushing against me, but I was not about to wake up because I was having an awesome dream. (Can't remember it now, it was that awesome.) When I did wake up, my youngest drool baby (Shirley) had tucked herself in under the covers, and her sweet little face was sharing my pillow.

9. Let me preface this one by letting ya know Huzb has a crazy defensive reflex when something scares or startles him. When I came home from the St. Patrick's Day festivities Wednesday night, I was walking through our living room to our bedroom. Huzb in his sleepy daze comes out of the bedroom to refill his empty water bottle. Apparently, he did not hear me come in.

What did he do? He threw his empty water bottle at me and gasped for breath. I could not stop laughing. If he used that defense against a burglar, they would probably pee in their pants from laughing so hard...or at least I would if I were a burglar.

10. We live in the burbs, and it is seven miles to the interstate. There are a few ways to get there, but my favorite is to take this little country road that is not so heavily travelled on. I love it because I get to pass lots of horse and cattle farms, even though I have been close to wrecking from gawking at all the babies. One of the farms has two new horses that are unbelievably majestic. Beautiful creatures with long, flowing, blond manes. I think they are Clydesdales. I am a huge horse lover since my dad used to be a "horse whisperer" and brought me up around horses.

Huzb and I are completely amazed at them, and every time we pass them...they are always together side by side. So adorable.

SO Huzb comes home from work Friday afternoon and says (completely serious), "I just drove by those new horses, and you know who they remind me of?"

ME: "Ummm....the Budweiser horses?"

HUZB: "No. They remind me of Nelson."

ME: "Nelson? As in the band???"

HUZB: "Yeah...like (starts singing After The Rain) because they are always together, look alike, have long faces and long, blond hair."

Big smiles to all y'all! Have a great weekend!

Hey You Guuuyyysss!

2010-03-19T10:47:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago my bloggie friend Tara wrote a great post that really took me back to my youth and left me singing the theme song from the Gummi Bears cartoon. That song was in my head for days which was a nice break, because before that I had the Crash Test Dummies song "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm" stuck in my head. That one is brutal and almost impossible to get out of your head once it starts.

This morning I woke up singing some random song from my childhood. The tune is very catchy yet completely annoying and another one of those songs that once it is in your head, it does not want to leave. I was so curious as to what television show this song came from, and thanks to Google and YouTube I learned it was from The Electric Company.

OK watching the video now as an adult (with a mind that stays in the gutter), this video has a totally different impression on me than it did when I was an innocent child in the carefree days of the 70s.

Be prepared...I find it cheesy yet disturbing yet hilarious yet annoying all at the same time which = a true work of art.

All I can say is WOW!

Billy is creepy and way too into his lolly!!!

I know the point was to teach kids the use of "ll", but I am pretty sure there is a hidden lesson for all.

This is how STD's happen.

Leprechauns, Green Poo, and Bitches

2010-03-18T14:24:00.002-05:00

I am absolutely proud to be an American, but once a year I love to celebrate my Irish roots. And yes, I am the idiot that goes over the top in green gear. Whenever a costume or "dress up" is called for, I will not half ass it. It's either 110% or nothing for me.

I did not wear my green wig or green boa this year, but I was decked out in Irish attire from green fingernails to shamrock tights. I am dangerous in any form of pantyhose. It never fails that within the first hour of wearing them, I will get a run. Last night was no exception. The first time I got up to go to the restroom at our favorite watering hole, they snagged on my chair...but that would be the least issue to bother me last night.

During Team Trivia (my team comprised mainly of men) the guys overwrote a few of my answers that would have been right and kept us in the lead. But noooooo...men do not like to listen or be proven wrong by a woman. They thought corned beef was the meat used in Irish stew as opposed to my mutton. They also thought in Irish folklore the traditional occupation of a leprechaun was a tax collector as opposed to my cobbler. As annoying as this was...it still would not compare to the biggest issue of the night.

I started off really strong in a poker tournament only to make a really bad read and get knocked out before I made it into the points. Frustrating to say the least...but not my main complaint of the night.

Learning the news that a leprechaun was shot to death close to where I live still did not damper my St. Patty's Day as much as the event at the end of the night. This is a true story. I swear. A man dressed as a leprechaun robbed a bank yesterday, fired at police, and was shot and killed.

The fact that I drank lots of green beer, knowing it would result in green poo did not phase me either.

The event that completely pissed me off was as I was leaving my evening of green beer. Huzb was out way before me in the poker tournament so he took off after I secured a ride home with a friend. As we were walking out and trying to find her car, there was a situation in the parking lot. The situation involved a really cute young couple and a belligerent man in his forties.

As I approached I heard Drunk Man yell at the girl, "Well, you need to get on Xanax or some kind of crazy meds, because you are the one with the issues!" I took major offense to that remark. I cannot stand the stigma on mental illness.

I do not see a difference in the fact that my brain does not produce enough serotonin so I need meds to balance my chemicals, and Huzb is a Type 1 diabetic with a pancreas that does not produce insulin so he needs insulin to balance his chemicals. What is the difference? If a diabetic talks about needing insulin, no one thinks anything at all. But if someone brings up mental illness and needing medication, that person is looked upon as "crazy".

I wanted to confront Drunk Man, but I was in shock that the girl's boyfriend was not standing up for her. I decided not to intervene. I was hungry and not in ass-kicking mode.

Then my friend in her thick New York accent said, "I can not rememba where I pawked. Where is my caw?" Drunk Man yells, "Go find your car. BITCH!"

Oh my gosh, he did not just go there. Oh yes he did. As the word BITCH was ringing in my ears, I immediately turned around. Now I am a lover, not a fighter. I hate violence, cannot even watch boxing, but I will stand up for what I believe in. And I believe men should not treat women that way.

As I started walking towards Drunk Man, I did not know what I was going to do...rip off my shamrock stockings and strangle him or shove my high heeled cowboy boot up his butt. All I knew was drunk or not, there is no excuse to demean a woman, much less two women in a matter of minutes.

A few steps into my confrontation the young boy walked up to me and said, "I am so, so sorry. Just go on and get into your car. He is out of control."

Then the young girl started crying and yelled, "DAD please stop! Just get in the car!" At that point, my heart broke. That asshole was her father! I thought he was just a random drunk causing trouble with a young couple. But no, that was her dad.

My friend found her car, and we quietly drove off. The scene was all too familiar. I had been through similar situations with my ex-father-in-law who was an alcoholic. I could not get that poor girl out of my mind. How can you treat your child like that? It completely pissed me off thinking of my dad who would never treat me that way. It just did not feel fair that my dad had a stroke and cannot walk or do for himself. I instantly wished my dad's stroke would be taken away from him and given to this "dad".

I know I should not wish mean things upon people...it just seems that bad stuff happens to good people. I almost lost my dad six months ago which was a wake up call to not take anyone or anything for granted. We never know how much time we have left. A friend of mine lost her brother this week, and it is killing her that her last words with him were not "I love you."

As a favor to me if you have read this far, take the time to tell someone important in your life that you love them today. Love your someone a little more than you did yesterday. Hold them tight and cherish them.

Life is so fragile...even for bank-robbing-leprechauns.

(OK, I know it is totally not funny that the bank robber lost his life, because I am sure he has family and friends who are grieving right now. But seriously? Robbing a bank in a leprechaun outfit? Shooting at police knowing they will fire back? I can't imagine being the police officer firing at a leprechaun unless he looked like the one from the horror flick starring Jennifer Anniston. What is this world coming to?)

Relaxed Hairy Pits VS Stressed Out Bald Axilla

2010-03-15T23:34:00.000-05:00

For Valentine's Day this year, Huzb gave me a gift certificate to a rather faincy day spa. I am by no means a regular to spas or pampering myself. Thanks to Huzb, I have pampered myself at spas on three different occasions.

1. About five years ago, we were living in a different city at the time, and he sent me to an Aveda spa that was heavenly. Despite my self-conciousness and fear of being so relaxed I would fart, I loved every minute of my first massage and being royally pampered. And no farts.

2. The day that Huzb proposed to me in Puerto Rico, he sent me to the resort's spa for a morning of relaxation. Again...it was incredible and perfect.

3. The little dot on the map we moved from a few years ago (yes, we have moved three times in the past five years) had a "spa". Huzb bought me a package there, and so I went. The outside of the place looked nice enough, new brick, professional, a little businessy and not very spa-ish. But hey, it was a very small town. Whatever. Inside it was like a grandma's house complete with squeaky floors and a weird smell. Not spa-like at all. The first phase was a "salt soak" which they led me to this little room with a clawfoot tub. Awkwardly, I sat in that tub just waiting for someone to bust in the door as I could hear passing footsteps and conversations going on. Not relaxing at all. A bubble bath in my own house would have been way better. I just felt completely stupid and paranoid about all the other bare butts that had been in that tub. The next phase was a massage that was not bad, but the masseuse had the sniffles which there is no other sound more relaxing than listening to snot being sucked in one's nose. The last phase was a facial. And I swear that woman was some kind of dominatrix who thoroughly enjoyed my agony as she zapped my face.

Two out of three ain't bad though or so says Meatloaf. And so I am off to my next spa adventure. This is where I need your help in deciding which option I should do.

Option 1: "A relaxing Hydrotherapy body soak, one hour Swedish massage, customized European facial, Essential spa pedicure, and Essential Spa manicure."

Option 2: I can pay $100 more and have four sessions of laser hair removal for my armpits.

I am so torn. After all of the stress from my dad's stroke to my depression to my anxiety to panic attacks...Option 1 sounds very much needed.

On the flip side...never having to shave my pits again would be awesome. My hesitations with Option 2 are what if I need more than four sessions...knowing my luck I would need five hundred sessions which I could not afford, or it would not work on me at all and have been a complete waste. The other issue is what if I could not stay still due to tickle torture or pain?

Has anyone out there had laser hair removal? Thoughts?

PS: This is a totally legit spa unlike the one where the dominatrix works. It was recognized in "O" Magazine, and you know Oprah isn't going to attach her name to some shady-ass spa. Plus Huzb knows the owner who is a doctor and performs the laser services which could be good or incredibly embarassing.

My Birthday Basset Baby

2010-03-12T17:39:00.000-06:00

"Writing Is A Struggle Against Silence"

2010-03-11T15:07:00.001-06:00

A few nights ago I was watching House with Huzb, and the main patient on this episode was a female blogger who blogged on her personal life. Her blog was causing turmoil in her relationship, because her boyfriend did not want their intimate details being made public.

Everyone knows about the highly successful Heather Armstrong aka Dooce® and how she was fired from her job and caused distress within her family due to her blog. All of this has me thinking about boundaries which have been a difficult inner struggle within me for a long time.

Most moms of toddlers play with their kids, take them to the park, have playdates, etc. But when you are the daughter of an English teacher, your mom plays school with you. I started reading at age 3. My mom did not connect with me through toys....she bonded with me through books. I was also a very imaginative child. The child who could be left alone for hours upon hours, because they could entertain themselves in their own little wonderland. Whether it was through Little People or Barbies or playing house, I was always coming up with characters and situations and stories. I began writing little books at a very early age, complete with illustrations, which are hilarious to read now. And that is how my love for writing began.

Throughout school, I loved every writing assignment that was handed to me. Being a shy kid, writing gave me the freedom to express myself and be different characters and live in imaginary worlds. Throughout my life, I have always felt like I could write what I felt much better than speaking it. Look up "Pisces" in a dictionary and my picture should be there.

During an internship in 1998, I had the privilege of working with a famous playwright and screenwriter who I was completely fascinated with. His works have won Emmys and Golden Globes, and he has been a true inspiration for me. He is an absolutely amazing artist and incredible human being. We shared a few beers one night along with some very deep conversations. I will never forget his words to me...

"You have steel in your eyes. Your backbone is made of steel. You have a strong desire in you. You could run straight through that wall if you wanted to. When I look into your eyes, I can see your mind just ticking away. It never stops. I bet you don't sleep much. You have steel. Tell me about your steel, Steely Eyes."

This night was a turning point for me. This famous writer saw something in me and gave me the confidence I needed to start writing and finding my voice.

During this time I learned of a huge family secret, still not open to everyone in my family. This event had a major impact on my life. I had my story I wanted to write. And so I started writing it as a play that was complete and utter crap. Type three pages. Delete. Start over. Type two pages. Delete. I would get so involved in the stage directions and notes to make sure it was perfect, I could not write the dialogue. I tried writing it in book form which was slightly easier for me. Then my mind started telling me what if, the big what if, what if this ended up being made into a movie. If it did, it would totally be a made for television, cheesy, crappy movie starring Tina Yothers sponsored by Summer's Eve. But the biggest deal for me was how would my family react if this "secret" was revealed so publicly?

And so I quit writing for several years.

After my divorce and during my first bout of depression, the creative juices started flowing. There were lots of unbelievable true events (not even my crazy imagination could come up with) that happened during my first marriage that I wanted to write about. Then my self-doubting mind would pop back in the picture and scare me. I know it is extremely difficult to finish writing a book, even harder getting published...but I could not shut my mind off. Good ol' what ifs came back...what if it was actually published...what if Mr. X and his family sued me....what if I was on Montel or Jerry Springer and they brought out Mr. X???

And so I quit writing for several more years.

Last summer a new idea for a story came to me. I wrote and wrote and typed and typed and poured my heart out page after page. I could not stop. The story kept evolving...I was researching day and night...creating storyboards...writing character developments...the story kept getting more and more complex. Then I started losing some interest...feeling the story was getting way over my head and not sure I could tell it.

And so I quit writing for several months.

Two months ago I decided to enter the blogosphere as a form of therapy for my depression and to try to get back on the writing wagon. Blogging seemed a little less intimidating...focus on one post, get your voice back, have fun, meet other peeps with the same love for writing. I did not want to set strict rules like I have to blog every single day or I need to post every weekday. My goal is to simply be consistent, keep blogging....no matter if I'm vomiting out nonsense or simply posting, "Writer's Block, Be Back Tomorrow". The point is to write no matter how stupid or shatty the post is, no matter if no one reads it, keep writing, and hit publish instead of delete. No fear.

So back to boundaries. My awesome little writing mentor once emailed me these words in regards to my fears of privacy, liabilities, and law suits.

"as far as liability, i have been told this by many an editor--write the whole truth, names and all, and then later, when you are working with an editor, you make a full disclosure behind closed doors. at that time, the company lawyers will tell you what and how to disguise it. your mission is the truth, as powerfully as you can tell it. don't give a thought to liability...yet."

Great advice but what about in terms of blogging when as soon as you click that little publish button, it's out there. I think the best writing comes from deep in one's soul. Passion. Most blogging ideas come from real life situations.

When blogging what are your boundaries? What subjects will you not write about even though your love for writing and your soul is dying to get it out? Would you sacrifice your relationships and reputation if it meant writing the next best-selling novel or Oscar winning screenplay? What is your price?

“The writer, when he is also an artist, is someone who admits what others don't dare reveal.” -Elia Kazan

All Up In My Bidness

2010-03-10T23:33:00.005-06:00

Facecrack or Crackbook, call it what you will. I have given many hours of my life to this addictive site. It all started a few years ago when BFF suggested I get an account. I did so.

The first few days, I was hooked. I couldn't get off that damn site to save my life. My inbox was flooded with friend requests from old high school and college friends. People I had lost touch with over the years. Cool. It was wonderful to catch up and see what everyone looked like now and what they were doing. You know the deal.

Within the first few days I was being tagged me in old cheerleading and sorority photos. I laughed so hard I cried at some of the pics. It was a blast for the old cheerleading squad donning spiral perms and sorority sisters in bad 90s fashion to make witty comments back and forth.

Then, I started getting friend requests from random family members, people from my old church, work-related people, former teachers, friends of my parents, exes from way back in the day, and people I knew but were never really friends with. How do you deal with this?

I feel like an asshole if I ignore a friend request. At the same time, some of these people I don't want all up in my bidness. If I do not accept their friend request, my luck would be running into them and them asking me why I won't be their "friend" and them thinking that I think I'm all that and too cool to be their friend. Then I would have to come up with a quick lie and play all dumb like I don't know what they are talking about and then sending them a sucker request when I got home when I didn't even want to be their "friend" in the first place.

What to do, what to do? What do you do?

BFF says she just doesn't accept or ignore these people. She just leaves them pending. Well my slight OCD won't let me do that. I like my little requests section to be clean and clutter free.

I'm curious what others do. Do you accept any and all friend requests? How do you determine who you will confirm or ignore?

My Love Hate Relationship with Twilight

2010-03-09T12:12:00.005-06:00

As I was about to enter upon the highway yesterday, I started feeling some anxiety and a little panic creeping up in me. I took my Ativan, did my breathing techniques, and popped in my relaxation driving CD, determined to maintain my record of zero panic attacks while driving in 2010. There is a song on this CD that I can put on repeat and never get tired of. The song is River Flows In You by Yiruma which was considered a possibility for "Bella's Lullaby" in the movie Twilight. I actually like it better than the song they chose.

As I listened to this song, I started thinking about ~~my love for Edward Cullen~~ my experience with the Twilight series since it was about a year ago when I read all of the books and rented the movie. I think it is time to read them all again and fall back in love with the saga.

I ain't scurred to admit the Twilight series completely sucked me in causing me to put my life on hold until I finished the series in a matter of days. Seriously, Huzb could not understand why I would stay up all night until I finished a book the size of a dictionary only to start the next one the following day. Literary crack I tell ya!

After I finished a book and the movie, my mind would start immediately critiquing. It must be the writer and theatre nerd in me. That part is so tough to shut off sometimes and just enjoy a book or movie for what it is. While I absolutely loved the series and was extremely sad to say good-bye to the characters, I found myself ripping it apart in mental critiques. Maybe I am just jealous of Stephenie Meyer. Probably. Just a little bit. Most Definitely.

***SPOILER ALERT***

(By now most everyone has read these books, but just in case...this will probably contain spoilers.)

Here were some of my petty issues with the books:

*I kept asking myself what in the hell happens when Bella is on her period?

*Edward was too one-dimensional for me, not enough character flaws, yet I fell in love with that damn vampire.

*I read page after page of very detailed descriptions of how dreary Forks was and how perfect Edward was. I became so accustomed to her descriptive writing that it pissed me off at times when I wished there would have been more description in some parts and not so much in others.

*The grammatical errors that were not caught by the editors drove me crazy. I know my blog is full of gramatikal erors, but it's the rebellious teenager in me coming out since my mother taught English.

*New Moon was my least favorite of the series. I had trouble getting into the whole wolf thing, Jacob got on my nerves, and I missed Edward. With all the wolf crap, I could not get the Mountain Three Wolf Shirt out of my head. (If you are not familiar, click the link, and read the reviews.)

*I was so into why Edward could not go into the sun....the suspense was building only to leave a WTF look on my face when I read about the sparkles.

*In New Moon there was a part talking about Bella seeing a reddish-orange fire in the water. Obviously, it is Victoria because we read millions of pages describing her hair as reddish-orange and firey. Yet, Meyer feels the need to state the obvious later in the book by a Bella A-Ha moment.

*I'm not sure how I felt about the prefaces. I kept wondering how it would have read if I didn't know before that Edward was a vampire.

*Not quite sure how I felt about the pregnancy, and Jacob imprinting on Renesmee. I am very interested to see how this plays out in the movie version.

*I felt Breaking Dawn was entirely rushed. I would have liked it split into two books.

*There was so much build up to the ending of Breaking Dawn drawing me in page by page, and then it all seemed to dissipate for me. I did want a happy ending for Edward and Bella. I just felt a little let down and not sure why.

The movie version I know was low budget so I am not going to bash the special sparkly effects, but was the budget so low that they couldn't find a better wig for Jacob? I could not stop laughing at that wig, hair piece deal. However, Taylor Lautner made me like the character Jacob much better than the one in my head. Way to go Shark Boy!!!

Huzb will never read the books, but I managed to get him to watch the movie and was curious at his take. He said that it was better than he expected. He thought Edward was like a psycho stalker. There were parts he felt did not flow and were confusing (which I explained to him what was going on in the book).

Another issue I have is Stephenie Meyer. Some of her first interviews I watched, I liked her. Then, I started disliking her with every following interview. Her humbleness and appreciation seemed to turn into self-righteousness for me. I also don't like the whole Midnight Sun leak, whining, pouting crap. I did feel really bad for Steph when Stephen King took a jab at her.

And my last issue is with the movie. Kristen Stewart please stop biting your lip. At first, I thought it was all character, but nope she does it in real life and everything she's in. Apparently, I am not the only one with this pet peeve.

I am anxiously awaiting to rent New Moon when it comes out in a few weeks. I refused to go to the theatres packed in with screaming teenagers. I would much rather enjoy it at home with my own pack.

I'm really not trying to be a Twilight hater, because I'm far from it. I thoroughly enjoyed the ride Stephenie Meyer took me on. The artwork on the covers is incredible. It is wonderful how this saga appeals to tweens, teens, and women in their 30's. I love that this series got kids to put down their joysticks and cell phones for once and read books. I did not have a clue who in the world would be able to pull off the part of Edward in the movie...and RPattz I have to give you a standing sparkly ovation for your portrayal of Edward. ♥'d it!

Dear God,

Please let me have a sparkly dream that I can turn into a megabucks success. I no longer want my usual dreams of being chased by a psycho or abducted or my teeth falling out or working in a cubicle all day or embarrassing moments or reliving high school. The dream doesn't have to have a vampire or wolf in it...I don't want to ask for too much. But maybe a few sparkles?

Love,

Alice

Alice Survived The Big 3-5 (barely)

2010-03-08T12:52:00.001-06:00

In a nutshell, this collage represents my birthday. All in all, it was a fantastic birthday and a much needed night out.

On my Birthday Eve I think I went through a mini mid-life crisis and went shopping. I ♥ to shop, but my shopping hobby has been put on a hold until I find a job. I also held off on shopping while I was in my chunky phase...I refused to buy new clothes until I lost some poundage. Needless to say, my wardrobe has gone straight to hell.

Now I am a complete bargain shopper and love finding deals. I decided I would treat myself and get a new outfit to wear to my birthday party. I knew it would be a difficult task, because I feel like at 35 clothes either look way too teenagery or way too old and frumpy. It's tough finding that middle ground.

Something struck me on my Birthday Eve where I was like I want to look young and trendy on my birthday. I want to feel good about myself, and my closet does not contain the fun, party, going out clothes that it used to. What do I do? I go to Forever 21 which is completely ironic, because my mind still thinks I am 21. I picked up a few tops for el cheapo prices, not the highest quality of clothes, but I think it's a great place to find fun pieces.

Next, I faced the daunting task of finding jeans. I love jeans and will wear them until they are too beat up to wear anymore. Usually, I buy my jeans at Gap, J.Crew, and Old Navy outlets. It is just so hard for me to find jeans that are the perfect length and do not give me a plumber's crack when I sit down. Yet at the same time, I don't want "mom jeans". I also don't want too much bling or flare. I am also confused with the whole "skinny jeans" deal. Are "skinny jeans" supposed to make you look skinny OR are they only for skinny people?

I decided to go to The Buckle being a virgin to The Buckle and all...I had heard that they carry "cool jeans". And what happened on my trip to The Buckle? I walked out with a pair of Big Star jeans that I paid $110 for. I am still deciding if that was completely stupid or not. I don't even realize how it happened. Within a matter of minutes, an employee had me in a dressing room...throwing jeans at me, and I instantly fell in love with one pair. Perfect fit, cute, and comfortable jeans = Crazy Mid-Life Splurge!

Then my birthday consisted of a trip to the DMV that I had put off simply because I hate getting my picture made. From there it went to lots of phone calls and texts from Brother #1 and my mom who were having the worst day ever with my dad which put a damper on my birthday. As the night came, one of the poker venues where I play hosted a big party and tournament for me along with two other regulars who share my birthday. In my hot, over-priced jeans I arrived to the party and tried to have a night without worrying about my dad.

I drank too much, smoked too much, could not catch a hand or hit a flop, but had the most wonderful time. After I went out of the tourney, I decided to take "senior pictures" of everyone in their drunken state and some cheesy Olan Mills-style photos. It was a complete blast and miraculously I did not have a hangover the next day.

So another birthday down and five years until the BIG one. I remember as a kid always wanting to be older. Everyone wants to be 16 then 18 then 21. Everyone tries to dress older and look older, and then at some point people want to be younger and look younger. Why is it that we are never satisfied? Aging...it's a funny thing...I think I will stay forever 21.

Still Alive at Thirty-Five

2010-03-03T13:57:00.000-06:00

Today is my 35th birthday! So to honor my birthday I am going to make a list of the top 35 events of my life over the past year, some good and some not so good.

1. I learned how to play No Limit Texas Hold Em and was immediately hooked.

2. Won 6 poker tournaments.

3. Met sweet Eddie Money at Captain D's. Oh yeah, I had 2 to tickets to paradise with a side of hushpuppies.

4. Went to a KISS concert and was deaf the next day.

5. Had a blast at Keeneland, and my drunken self was able to talk my way into getting into the stables to pet the horsies.

6. Depression, Anxiety, and Panic Disorder kicked my arse.

7. I fought back. I am now winning thanks to awesome doctors, meds, and therapy.

8. I lost weight!

9. Laverne lost weight!

10. Shirley swallowed a rock that ended up being a $500 rock, and no not rock as in a diamond. Poor girl had to have emergency surgery.

11. I am going to have a new niece or nephew.

12. Dad had stroke.

13. My life changed dramatically.

14. I finally started writing again.

15. Huzb took me to my first Titans game....Suite tickets!

16. I saw Jeff Dunham.

17. I went to my first Predators game.

18. I shot a potato gun for the first time, and accidentally aimed it at a famous country singer's house.

19. I discovered I have a Vitamin B-12 deficiency.

20. Still unemployed - boooooo! But Huzb made it through the lay-offs with his company.

21. Went to a zoo for the first time and wanted to kidnap all of the animals.

22. Started driving on the highway again.

23. Added more gray hair and wrinkles....why can't women age as well as men?

24. Discovered an inner strength I did not know I had.

25. Made lots of new friends!

26. Sadly lost a neighbor due to a heart attack.

27. Got a Snuggie.

28. Fought a jihad of ants in my yard.

29. Loved Huzb a little more each day.

30. Started a blog....and am loving the blogosphere even if I am way late on the scene.

31. Reconnected with some old friends.

32. Learned how to make a fabulous cheesecake.

33. Strengthened my relationship with my family.

34. Started getting back to the old Alice that enjoys life.

35. Stopped taking things for granted. Life is fragile. Loved ones are precious. Cherish every moment.

Finding Love and Strength Through Poop

2010-03-02T12:15:00.000-06:00

Whoo-hoo I am finally home! After nine days of being a nurse, orderly, babysitter, dog walker, daughter, sister, wife, and daughter-in-law...I am beyond exhausted. Here are the highlights.

TOP 3 MOMENTS THAT SUCKED

1. I was alone with my dad, and he said he needed to poop. Option 1 is to transfer him from wheelchair to bed and throw a bed pan under him. Difficulty Level = Somewhat easy. Messy Level = Off the charts. Option 2 is to transfer him from wheelchair to toilet. Difficulty Level = Very difficult. Messy Level = Gross, but doable. I chose Option 2. Either option is extremely awkward and gross, but Option 2 gives him the feeling of doing normal things. The transfer to toilet went rather smooth, then the transfer to the wheelchair went straight to hell. I was completely straining, he was trying his best, and we could not get him back into the wheelchair. I had to ease him down to the floor, and we both laid there feeling completely defeated.

2. I was walking my dad's ~~horse~~ Chocolate Lab, Nikki who is very protective over him especially after the stroke. Nikki and I were down the street, making our way back to the house, and some friends pulled into our driveway. Friends that Nikki did not know. So Nikki took off like a bat out of hell. I was holding onto the leash for dear life. There was a point I was completely airborne. Splat! I did a belly buster, landed on my face, glasses flew off, and I laid there somewhat hurt, covered in grass stain and dirt, embarrassed hoping no one witnessed that, and also laughing.

3. On Friday afternoon, I was heading home and was 40 miles into my drive when I received a call from Huzb. Huzb said that his mother had fallen down some stairs and was being taken to the ER via ambulance. Since I seem to be a "traveling nurse" these days, I turned my car around and headed to the hospital. My MIL fell down 15 concrete stairs in the dark. She was so lucky to walk away with bruises and lacerations only. No broken bones. This incident extended my stay since my FIL was snowed in up North. Huzb was a little over two hours away and came in to stay the weekend, and I stayed an extra night to take care of her.

TOP 3 AWESOME MOMENTS

1. While I was with my dad, I slept on the couch near him and we had late nights of random talking and laughing. He had a wild dream about this character so I had him make sketches and story lines the next day, and I plan to turn it into a book one day for him.

2. My relationships with my dad, mom, brothers, and in-laws strengthened tremendously. Somehow unfortunate events seem to bring people closer together. I really saw a true sense of the bond of family and the power of love. This reassured me that no matter how bad I wanted to get home, wanted to get a haircut, wanted to play poker (I was supposed to play in a huge tournament that I qualifed for), wanted to get back to shop for a new birthday outfit....family comes first.

3. My dad told me that he loves me more than himself which I responded that I loved him more than myself as well. He pointed to his head and said, "You have to have the idea here first." Then he pointed to his heart and said, "You have to feel it here next.". Then he pushed his hands out and said, "Then you apply it, and you can do anything." And through this method, we accomplished that damn wheelchair to toilet to wheelchair transfer.

Well I Was Born in a Small Town

2010-02-24T13:30:00.003-06:00

I am back in my hometown this week taking care of my dad, and I went out to run a few errands and fell into some kind of nostalgic dream. Driving the old roads that I could drive with my eyes closed even though I have been away for so long. Seeing the businesses that are still standing and those that have been replaced. Bizarre. Flashback after flashback.

This small town, my home, was a place I wanted to run from. This place is very country, y'all! Prime area for mullet spotting. Since I was a small child I had dreams of living in Hollywood. I was absolutely fascinated with all things California. One of my great-aunts lived in California, and I remember asking her so many questions and being completely enthralled with her over-sized sunglasses and Mrs. Roper's muumuu whenever she came to visit.

After college living my new freedom to the max, I finally moved to Los Angeles then on to Boston...transforming into a "big city girl". I bought the trendy clothes, disguised my southern accent, and adopted new big city-ish things like sushi, yoga, pilates, and whatever "it" trend was in. While I was out living and partying it up for several years brushing elbows with celebrities, I missed a plethora of family events...graduations, weddings, showers, reunions. Time was slipping through my hands, and I was completely unaware in my hip, sparkly daze.

The Dirty Thirties hit, and my interests started changing. I was too tired to do the club scene, comfy shoes took over stilettos, and cooking and gardening were more interesting than trying out that new, hip, over-priced restaurant. What was happening to me?

Driving around my hometown, I remembered riding my bike all over the town with never a fear of child molesters. Peaceful nights with star-filled skies, sparkling with lightning bugs that I could never find in the city. My parents' house is near my old high school, and last night I could hear the same ol' buzzer go off and immediately I had to throw up my "spirit fingers". It is like there is more time in the day here. Possibly because it takes five minutes to get anywhere in this "city". There is never a wait, never a stress, no hustle, no bustle.

Where I live now, I love having more opportunities as far as jobs, shopping, things to do, not having to throw on make-up when I go to Wal-Mart knowing I will run into half of my graduating class and every teacher I have ever had. Living in a city now, I think about if I grew up in a large city...all of the opportunities that would have been available to me. Where would I be now?

On the flipside, I think about if I went to a large city school...the competition. Would I have even made it on the cheerleading squad or tennis team? Would I have even had the lead in the school play? Would I have made the friends like I have now? My BFF and I met when we were four years old in preschool. And we are closer than most sisters still to this day.

Thankfully now I am living in a big-ish city, but only two hours away from my small town. My small town that fears God and knows everybody's business and is way behind the times. Growing up, my town was in a "dry county" with a church on every corner and now is considered "moist" (hate that word). If you have never heard the term, there were no beer or alcohol sales when I was growing up (hence "dry") and now you can buy beer in a restaurant (hence "moist" because convenience stores and groceries cannot sell alcohol and there are no liquor stores). It is so odd now for me to go to a restaurant here and scope out whom else is in the restaurant as to whether or not I should order a beer.

I can live in my city and enjoy the luxuries, but easily come home and be a part of my family's life again. I can still be that country girl at heart and go out to our farm and ride for miles on our four wheeler.

There are so many pros and cons as far as growing up in a big city vs. a small town. I'll take my small town. It made me who I am today. I am proud of my roots. I am proud that my first home was a trailer on the land that has been in my family for generations. I am proud that the food we ate came from our garden and not some over-priced grocery. I am proud that I used to collect eggs from the chicken coop and shuck beans with my grandmother.

While I hate the nosiness of small town living, I love the fact that I know my neighbors and they will do anything for me. I love the fact people wave to each other when passing on the road. I love the fact I can order sweet tea, and the waitress does not bring out unsweetened tea with sugar packets for me to make my own. I love lying in the fields of our farm just dreaming about my ancestors walking and working and playing there. I love that all of my ancestors are buried in the same cemetery near our farm so I can take them flowers and feel their spirits.

I love our small town newspaper that consists of only about 8 pages. The stories typically are not about murders and other depressing issues, but about what kids made honor roll, what local citizens have won awards, and the humor or embarrassment of who got pulled over in the police logs.

I love walking around our driveway remembering learning how to ride a bike, having lemonade stands, hopping on my pogo stick, having my dad teach me how to change the oil in a car, and returning from a date seeing my mother's silhouette glaring out of the window. I love walking around the yard remembering how I would run the length of the yard and race my dad as he drove away, playing spot light tag, doing back handsprings all the way down the yard, picking flowers, playing kickball and wiffle ball, and making snow angels in the winter.

So many memories are currently flooding me. Memories that I will always treasure. Reassuring me that you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl. No matter where I live, I will always carry my small town in my heart and be proud.

Introducing My Wolfpack errr Houndpack

2010-02-23T00:05:00.004-06:00

I would like to introduce everyone to my daughters, best buds, homies, peeps, girls, fur babies, drool babies, security, and partners in crime.

These two bundles of squishy awesomeness are a huge part of my life so I am sure at some point I will blog about them or they might even blog when I am away. They are dying to do an advice column.

They said it was all good unless I met their one condition. They wanted pen names or pseudonyms, no exceptions. Just look at those faces. You don't fuck around with them, you obey the Bassets. I humbly agreed.

*******

They played around with genders, various names, and costume changes as they brainstormed.

Until they finally agreed...

Please meet Laverne M. Sherlock and Shirley L. Watson.

Alice = Jackass Olympics = Gold

2010-02-22T12:16:00.004-06:00

I won a gold medal for biggest Jackass! Let me preface this post by stating I worked in management for a large company that placed a huge emphasis on customer service. As a manager, I loved feedback good or bad....our customer service rankings determined our promotions. Also, if a customer sent an email or wrote a letter to the company mentioning awesome customer service and named an employee, that employee would get a cash bonus. Great incentive!

During my management days, I noticed the trend that people are so quick to complain and point out the negatives. Even though, I am no longer with this company...I still pay attention to all the details of customer service when I am at a store, restaurant, or any business establishment. I also take the time to email management when I feel an employee went above and beyond the call of duty or if my experience was pure crap.

My first trip to a Publix grocery blew me away. I did not know at the time the company's motto deals with high customer service. I emailed Publix to let them know how impressed I was. The branch manager personally called me and left me the sweetest voicemail saying how flattered he was, he hung my email on the time clock to acknowledge and motivate his employees, and he even sent me a coupon for free ice cream which was not necessary. Another time I sent a card to a dental hygienist to thank her for her wonderful care and being patient with me since I have a horrid fear of going to the dentist. She was so touched she said she carries my card in her purse to remind her that she is making a difference in her job.

Soooo...get on with my gold medal, right? Several weeks ago I was going to a party and asked to bring an appetizer. I decided to make a Taco Dip that is to die for. It is delicious hot or cold, definite crowd pleaser, so click the link for the recipe if you need something easy and delish. I also add some shredded lettuce and sliced jalapenos on my topping. I carefully timed everything so I could go to the grocery and make the dish right before I left so the toppings would be fresh. Alright, I go to make the dish and notice I am missing some of my items. I call up Kroger, and they tell me my missing bag is there. Complete inconvenience, but I chalk it off, head to Kroger with receipt in hand, and they tell me that my items have already been placed back in the store. I had to go find all of my items and never needed my receipt for proof. Major pain in the butt, but oh well.

Fast forward to the following week after another date with Kroger, I get home and put away all of my crap. I noticed that I was missing some Kool-Aid packets...no biggie...sucks...but it was just Kool-Aid that I got to flavor homemade cotton candy. I shredded the receipt and started getting ready for a date with Huzb. Of course, I was running late...smeared on my make-up and noticed that I was missing my lip liner that I just bought at Kroger. For a very laid-back gal, I was pissed!

I called up the Krog, and the girl on the other end of the line had a major attitude. She said I would have to have my receipt. I explained to her about my recent incident and not needing the receipt. I told her all I wanted were the items I paid for....stupid Kool-Aid and lip liner, I knew I paid for them because I watched the little screen to make sure the lip liner was priced right. Just give me my damn $10 worth of items and let me be. After Krog Girl's attitude and lack of customer service, I was hot!

Obviously, I emailed Krog. Their customer service robot instantly emailed me a rather sweet email, and said she would mail me a gift card for $10. Then, I received an email and voicemail from that specific location's manager. She said to come in, ask for her, and she would give me a $25 gift card. I emailed her back saying all I wanted were my 2 Kool Aid packets and my buy one get one free lip liner. I was not asking for extra money or anything. I felt like the paperboy in the Cusack movie, "Better Off Dead"...."I want my two dollars!"

A week passed, and I could not bring myself to go to Krog. I felt like they would be targeting me as the Kool-Aid Bitch. My goal simply was to inform management that it sucks when you get home with missing bags, the girl working customer service has a tude, and I want my crap. I did not want some big production meeting with the manager. So I was ready to just start using the Krog across town.

Then, Huzb came up to me with a shit-eating grin and handed me a bag with what? With what? With WHAT? Damn Kool-Aid packets and lip liners!!! Huzb said, "Don't you feel like a Jackass now?" Why yes. Yes I do.

The bag had been so light it was tossed into our wad of plastic grocery bags that we use for picking up dog poop. Oh, I felt horrible. Complete Jackass.

I am definitely not using the gift cards. I have my stuff. I thought about apologizing, but then again that Krog girl needs to change her 'tude, and they did screw up my bags before. Ugh...I feel like such a moron.

In spite of my agony and my jackassishness, I challenge anyone that reads this.....the next time you receive incredible customer service somewhere, take a few minutes to shoot the company an email. A little random act of kindness can go a long way.

Well Played Biological Clock, Well Played.

2010-02-20T01:51:00.001-06:00

Well, my damn biological clock's alarm finally went off after years of me hitting the snooze button.

As a child I always envisioned myself with a whole litter of kids. When my mom ~~pooped~~ popped out my two younger brothers, they were instantly mine. I was a little mommy at an early age. Little did I know that experience was a great form of birth control. As a teenager, I was a big time babysitter. There was also a time in my life when I worked at a daycare (long story). Seriously awesome birth control. I could do all the fun baby stuff but still have my freedom.

The demise of my first marriage really threw a curveball into my life in many ways and was a major setback into the whole baby world. While all of my friends were having babies, I was paying for a divorce yet ecstatic that I did not reproduce with Mr. X.

So this past Sunday was Valentine's Day...a day that I have always hated because my first memory of Valentine's Day was when I was four years old. I gorged myself on cupcakes and candy at pre-school and decorated my babysitter's car in pink and red sparkly puke on the ride home.

This Valentine's Day was actually awesome, renewing lots of gushy feelings between the Huzb and myself. The following day I went to stay with my dad to give my mom a much needed break. It is absolutely wonderful that he is home now, but it is a full-time job taking care of him. While I was taking care of him, I felt like I was taking care of a 180 pound baby.  I was forced to get over the fear and awkwardness of changing his diapers. I just kept telling myself that he changed my diapers for years so I should return the favor.  It completely sucks going through role reversal with parents.

As I was changing diapers and feeding him and putting him to bed, the whole baby ideas started entering my head. I quickly reassured myself that now is not the right time. I feel like my depression and anxiety are almost under control, but I need to focus on my dad's recovery. I also need to find a job, and I would not want to start a new job and then be all "Oh by the way, I'm all knocked up and will need to take maternity leave."  Then, my mind started telling me that I was going to be thirty-five in a few weeks, and my time is running out. I remembered my BFF's words that there is never the right time to have a baby. You just do it, and it will be the best thing that ever happened to you.

About a month ago when my dad was emotional and feeling like he was going to die, I comforted him by telling him that he was too young, it wasn't his time, he wasn't even a grandfather yet. When I said the grandfather part, his eyes lit up like you're right. I have to be a grandfather before I die. That also played with my mind, I want my kids to know him and who knows how much time we will have. My mom has been patient with all of her friends being grandparents, and she happily says she has Grand-dogs. Besides all of this mumbo-jumbo, in my heart I want to be a mom as scary of a realization as that is. Huzb is wonderful with children, and we are both on the same page about wanting kids.

BUT can I give up all my selfishness?  Am I willing to give it all up?

I started using pregnancy as a crutch to quitting smoking after a few unsuccessful attempts to quit. I always said I will abolish my little friends aka Marlboro Lights when I am ready to have a baby. I think quitting smoking is scarier than the thought of labor.  And what about...beer, wine, meds, social life, finances, sleep, stretch marks, time, caffeine, diet??? I know it's all Me, Me, Me....selfish....can I make this kind of sacrifice?

While I was staying at my parents' house this past week, my youngest brother and his wife announced that they are pregnant!!! Of course, I was genuinely happy for them even though it is extremely early. I am the type of person that would probably never announce I was pregnant, go MIA, and just show up with a baby. The evil side of me was a little pissed off that my youngest brother by six and a half years had bypassed me. He's out of order. I am supposed to have the first baby in our family. Stupid, I know. Huzb told me, "Alice, this is not a competition." And he's right.

Now my mind is really racing. I made the mistake of googling getting pregnant at 35. Why do I do that to myself? I do not even know if I am fertile (gross word).  Some of my friends my age are having trouble getting pregnant.  I do not want to steal my brother's spotlight. I probably shouldn't even breed...one Alice in the world is enough. UGH!

I remember being in my early twenties thinking there was plenty of time to have a baby. No rush! Enjoy life!  Well now, my clock is blaring that time is getting short. Just when I lost a lot of weight and can fit into my skinny clothes.

Not cool biological clock. Not cool.

I think I will go to Target today for a reality check and watch the frazzled moms with screaming hellions hanging out of shopping carts.

In Heaven - There Ain't No Rotten Meat

2010-02-04T16:37:00.001-06:00

Alright y'all...I was just skimming my previous posts and was all damn Debbie Downer needs to shut the hell up for a minute! I do not intend for this blog to be all about my depression and anxiety ramblings, but I needed to get some of that crap off my chest and give you an idea of where I am at the moment. You know, set the stage. It also gives me an excuse if I ever piss anyone off...I can always say "Sorry, blame it on the ~~rain~~ meds." OR "I plead insanity."

Back when I was in the dating scene, pick-up lines never worked on me. I guess it was because I learned about relationships and love through the soap "Days of Our Lives", and I always thought one day my Bo Brady would rescue me on a motorcycle wearing a black leather vest, his mullet blowing wildly in the wind, while Bonnie Tyler's hit "Holding Out For A Hero" played in the background. Yeah, didn't happen. "Days of Our Lives" really warped my sense of reality when it came to love and life. Thanks Days.

So this week I have been in the process of cleaning closets and digging through lots of old crap. I came across an old journal (circa mid to late 90s) that I used to jot down random, horrific, rotten pick-up lines I had received usually in total meat market bars. This way I would always have a reminder of the idiocracy that exists in our world and be so ever grateful that I was out of the dating scene.

Here are a few of the gems:

1. This pick-up line was given to me when the NIN song "Closer" was hot. A guy came up to me at a party and said, "I want to fuck you like an animal." Seriously? I mean, really? Is that supposed to be sexy? While I liked the song and all...it just gave me horrific images of mating scenes from the Discovery Channel. How do you even respond to that? "Well Baby, I want to fuck you like a honey bee so your genitals explode and you drop dead."

2. Another moron said this to me: "Alice, will you marry me?...Don't answer that. I know you will. Oh, not anytime soon. It'll take a while. But, you'll realize how perfect we are together. You're the only person I can really talk to. I've never felt this way about anyone. I know you don't feel the same, but I'll wait. You know I'm on Prozac because of you?" Ummmm.... Is that not the most romantic proposal ever?

3. First let me preface that I used to be a modern/contemporary dancer or else this will totally read like I was a stripper. After a dance concert, an idiot tells me: "I never knew you danced until tonight. I saw you up there on that stage, and you did this one stretch thing that went backwards when you were on the floor, and I just wanted to fuck you." I mean, come on guys!!! I like dropping F-bombs as much as anyone, but seriously...not the best Macdaddy move. So much for subtlety.

4. And then there was this one: "You're a natural beauty. They should make a movie about you and call it 'Stealin' Beauty'." Uh yeah...they already made that movie Jackass.

5. Karaoke bar. A big Tool had been making a few lame passes at me so I encouraged him to sing a song if he was really interested in me. Big Mistake. Tool took the microphone, started giving me scary, stalker-ish eye contact that I'm sure was his sexy look that he practiced in the mirror every night and started spewing this crap out, "I will be singing Sinatra tonight. My name's Frank, and my first song is going to be 'I've Got You Under My Skin'. And I would like to get you under my skin, and I would like to get under your skin if you know what I mean Alice. (::long awkward pause::) I probably shouldn't have said that." You're damn right Genius!

*******

I have two more little gems (not pick-up lines) for you that I found in the same journal. I was in NYC riding the Staten Island Ferry, and I guess my own crazy attracts other crazies. There was this man sitting next to me who told me:

"Yeah, I was at the Academy Awards back in '87. I'll be there this year too. I saw Clint Eastwood and Burt Reynolds, and I pulled my dick out and said, 'See this? Fuck this.' Yeah, I said that. Fuck this." Ummmm yeah, I got the fuck away from him.

And last but not least....the setting is the NYC subway. One late night I was sitting by a dude who crammed six White Castle burgers into his mouth. Then he spat them into his hand and slung them across the subway. He looked at me and said, "They're rotten!!! (::he broke out into hyena-ish laughter::) If you don't remember anything, just remember this for the rest of your life...In Heaven - there ain't no rotten meat."

*******

I would absolutely ♥ to hear any atrocious pick-up lines you have heard! I know you have them, we all do. So give me a few laughs in the comments. If not, I hope you take with you the moral of the story..............

In Heaven - there ain't no rotten meat!!!

Ice Ice Alice

2010-02-03T14:13:00.003-06:00

A few weeks before Christmas, in one of my first sessions with Freuda, she gave me a homework assignment that was simply to do something "FUN" over the weekend. Fun? Huh? The word "fun" was no longer in my vocabulary at the time, and the feeling of "fun" had been completely sucked out of me like Edward Cullen on a date with King Mufasa.

What could I do that was "fun"? Ideas that I thought of all revolved around spending cold hard cash which being unemployed and on a tight budget was not going to be feasible. Of course, there were "fun" things I could do that did not involve spending money, BUT I felt like my spare time should be spent looking for work or spending time with my dad in the hospital.

I told Huzb about my homework assignment, and he said he would take care of it. That Saturday, he told me he had a surprise planned. Now I am not an overly big fan of surprises due to my anxiety. I am also that person who hates to open presents up in front of people.

Huzb took me to downtown Nashville to ICE at Gaylord Opryland Hotel. I was excited to see all the amazing ice sculptures and appreciate the artwork, but it did not seem like my idea of complete "fun". As we walked around the exhibit, Huzb thought it would be hilarious to take my picture with the Lucy sculpture. I am sure you can guess which one it was. Yep, you guessed it! "Psychiatric Help 5¢ The Doctor is In"!!!

Then, we approached a room that had ice slides. Huzb joined all of the kids and adults that were sliding and encouraged me to try it out. I told him I would rather stay back, take pictures, and watch him. My reply did not satisfy Huzb. I explained even if I wanted to slide I couldn't. I had on high heel boots, and they only allowed tennis shoes on the slides. Huzb, being the persistent guy he is, took off his shoes and handed them to me. I knew there was no way of getting out of this.

I put on Huzb's gigantic shoes and besides looking like a clown, I carefully made my way up the staircase just waiting to trip and bust my ass. Embarrassment took over as I approached the slide, but I knew I had to do this for Huzb. My anxiety was telling me that my clown shoes would fly off, I would clumsily fall down the slide, and somehow manage to get my tongue stuck to the ice. Like the time when I was a teenager, and I climbed up the slide at a swimming pool. Little did I know, they had just put some kind of wax all over it, and I completely bit the dust. Flailing, milky-white arms and chicken legs in a neon pink Ocean Pacific swimsuit, gasps from everyone watching, and a big THUD! Nice one Alice. Nice one. In today's world, that would have been a law suit, but not in my childhood days. Ya just got up, brushed yourself off, and tried it again. I just knew history was about to repeat itself.

As I flew down the ice slide, my shoes stayed on, there was no fall, but there was one very odd side effect. A giant smile across my face! Immediately, I told Huzb I have to do this again. This time as I walked up the stairs of the slide, I could not stop smiling. Big ass cheese on my face and a feeling of euphoria. This euphoria was the same feeling I used to have as a child. That high, elated feeling where you can't stop smiling. I felt just like a kid again. It was incredible! As I watched some of the elderly go down the slide, they had the same expression I did. Just a brief moment to go back into that magical childhood world, no thoughts of adult issues and stresses. Just shear FUN!!!

I can remember that same feeling sliding at parks, jumping on a trampoline trying to reach the sky, riding my bicycle as fast as I could, running in my yard so fast my legs would start out running my body, without a care or fear in the world. Just a moment to lapse into a state of euphoria. I know I need more of these moments as an adult, we all do.

A Hot Depressed Mess

2010-02-01T14:49:00.007-06:00

After spending two weeks in the CCU with little sleep, my zombie-self came home to relax and take care of crap that had been put on the back burner. From that point, Dad would move into a regular hospital room for several weeks, then to a rehab hospital for several more weeks, and then to a skilled nursing facility for a few months. Right now, it has been almost five months since he has been home. And that boy is a 100% homebody. He does not like being away from home at all. The good news is he will finally be released on Sunday!!!

I think coming home will significantly help him in his recovery. Of course, it opens up an all new stress level with remodeling parts of the home, taking turns watching and caring for him, and not having nurses to rely on.

Before my dad's stroke, I had started noticing depression symptoms creeping up on me. During the month of September I was able to block out most of my depression but was taking on new stresses and symptoms from worrying about my dad. I remember telling people during September "I am falling apart". That was the only sentence I could use to express how I felt. Then in October I just felt broken. All of the depression symptoms were back in full force plus new ones. The daily crying, insomnia, lack of motivation and concentration, feelings of being worthless, hating myself, hating my situation, etc. It was early November when I finally realized enough is enough. I need help!

This post should pretty much bring us up to date as far as my depression.

Next week I have an appointment to meet with The Head about my medications. Lately, I have not felt the Zoloft working as strongly as it once did. I have a feeling The Head will increase the dose next week, and hopefully that will balance me out. I really do not want to wean off the Z, switch meds, and start all over.

Depression = Not Fun

And I'm Free, Free Fallin'

2010-01-29T10:21:00.002-06:00

Heavenly Hounds

2010-01-26T11:56:00.006-06:00

I can not imagine ever going through life without owning a dog. They enrich my life, make me laugh, make me smile, show me unconditional love, never hold grudges, and are truly heaven-sent. People could learn a lot about living and loving from dogs.

In 2005, during my first bout of depression, a special little, floppy Basset Hound entered my life. She was wonderful therapy for me. She would get me back to exercising, going to the park with her, she was always so excited to see me, and a total cuddler. I attribute her to helping me get out of my funk. Just petting those long, velvety ears can do wonders after having a bad day. Around the same time, Brother#1 rescued a chocolate lab named Nikki from the pound.

Nikki was gorgeous with her chocolate fur and pale green eyes. She was massive, loving, loyal, and above all you could tell how appreciative she was to have a good home, leaving her early world of abandonment. When Brother#1 graduated college, he moved back in with our parents along with Nikki. Now my mom is not a dog person, and even though she complains about all of the hair balls, Nikki has even melted her heart.

Brother#1 got a new job after graduation, and our dad who was recently retired would spend his days with Nikki. They quickly became best friends. He would take her everywhere in his Dodge pick-up truck, they would nap together, share a bologna sandwich, and take walks. They were inseparable. A boy and his dog.

During the first few days to weeks in the hospital after the stroke happened, Dad would call and call out for Nikki. He would stick his right arm out trying to find her. When she wouldn't come, he would cry. He told us, "Nikki is my best friend. She has more love in her than anyone." Then he called out to her, "Nikki...Nikki...I know you're here Nikki. You're with me in spirit." It was absolutely heart breaking.

The head nurse of the CCU just happened to be a dog lover. She devised a top-secret, covert operation to sneak Nikki into his room. Nurse Nikki to the rescue! We were able to smuggle her in, and she pranced straight to her best friend, hopping on a chair beside his bed, and smothering him with kisses. Dad opened his eyes for her. After a nice visit, we decided it was time for Nikki to go home. As Nikki was leaving, other patients would ask for her to come to their room. These patients' faces would light up at the sight of Nikki. The healing power of dogs is amazing!

For the next days, my dad would keep calling out and crying for Nikki. I strolled down to the gift shop and found a stuffed animal dog, coincidentally a Basset Hound since there were not many breeds to choose from. That was the best $20 I ever spent!

Dad named the toy Nikki Jr. He would pet her constantly, hold her, kiss her, and talk to her. He said she felt like a powderpuff, and he loved rubbing her on his face. Dad would take Nikki Jr. with him to CT scans and other tests that would require him to leave the room. The nurses thought it was so endearing. When he did his swallowing test, the nurses said he held Nikki Jr. the whole time.

When my dad would get a bath, he would make sure someone held her so she did not get wet. There was one time when he handed Nikki Jr. to Brother#1 and said, "Hold her. I don't want to shit on her." My dad was very uncomfortable with the whole pooping situation, wearing Depends, and getting wiped down. He was embarrassed and hated every second of it. When the nurses came in to clean him, they started making light of the situation saying, "Your puppy pooped in the bed again. You are going to have to potty train Nikki Jr."

How do these loveable, furry, drooling, four-legged creatures do it? How do they know how to love so unconditionally? Priceless creatures they are.

"A dog naps so much because it loves so hard." - Anonymous

Slight Stroke of Laughter

2010-01-25T10:53:00.003-06:00

I know the past few posts have been on the serious side so I want to take a break and post something a little lighter.

While the stroke has taken away some mobility and attributes of my dad, it did not take away his sense of humor. That man is hilarious! He loves playing practical jokes on people, and he loves telling stories. He's a rambler which as you can tell, I seem to have inherited that gene from him.

When we were in the hospital I jotted down a few of his funny moments in the CCU that I thought I would share.

(When I was afraid he was going to slide off the bed.)

ME: Dad, you keep laying diagonal.

DAD: That's the best way to fit.

ME: You keep wiggling over.

DAD: I like to wiggle. I'm part worm.

*******

(The speech therapist kept calling him "Bud" which is not his name. She was just using the name "Bud" as some people call everyone "Buddy", "Man", "Sweetie", etc.)

THERAPIST: Hey Bud! Bud? Bud? Bud, can you open your eyes for me? Come on Bud! Bud...can you hear me? Hey Bud, what is your name?

DAD: Bud Lite.

*******

(When we entered his room after his bath.)

DAD: Did you just get your ass wiped?

HUZB: Uhhhh no.

DAD: Well, I did.

*******

(In the room beside him, there was a man that would not stop screaming. He screamed for an hour straight. "Ohhhhhhh Ohhhhh Ohhhhh")

DAD: Is that a bear in the room next to me? A black bear? Listen to that bear a-hollerin'.

*******

(He was a little loopy from the medication, and water stains on the ceiling and the wallpaper border were bothering him.)

DAD: They need to clean this shit up! All of that asbestos, rusted pipes, water leaking out...this is a rat hole!

*******

NURSE: Squeeze my hand.

DAD: I'll squeeze you all over!

******

ME: Why do you keep kicking your sheets off Dad?

DAD: It's a habit.

ME: Well, you're flashing everyone.

DAD: Ain't nuthin they haven't seen before.

*******

DAD: People don't need to tell me what to do. I did not want to come to the hospital.

ME: If I fell at the farm, you would take me to the hospital. In high school when I fell in the living room, you took me to the hospital. You would take all of us to the hospital when we were hurt.

DAD: That's different. I was parenting.

(Point taken.)

*******

DAD: Alice, one time I farted in my supervisor's office and shut the door.

*******

Wake Me Up When September Ends

2010-01-22T09:57:00.002-06:00

Full of fear and shock, I entered into my dad's CCU room in the wee morning hours. The first thing I saw was staples holding together the cut on his head. There was a sag to the left side of his face. His eyes were closed, and he was colorless.

This was my dad, my hero, the man I looked up to. He was supposed to be strong, indestructible, Superman. Looking at him in such a weak state started breaking my heart.

I grabbed his right hand, and with his eyes remaining closed he squeezed my hand and whispered, "Alice?" Fighting back a flood of tears, I returned the squeeze and replied, "Yes, it's me. I'm here."   As I held his hand, memories started storming my mind. Holding his hand felt the same as it did when I was a child. There was a familiar security. A security I was not ready to lose.

His voice was a slurred whisper, but he was able to communicate and his memory was in tact for the most part. He was not aware of the massive stroke he had. He thought he was in the hospital, because he remembered falling and hitting his head on a stump. He remembered every single detail. That's a good sign, right? He was not in a coma, no ventilator, he was only 66 years old, everything would be fine, right?

We all waited on pins and needles throughout the night, watching his monitors, listening to the nurses awaking him hourly with a bright flashlight and asking him a series of questions. When they opened his eyes, they were glazed, not the clear, gentle, ice blue eyes that I knew. He knew his name, birthday, address, names of family, but did not know where he was or the month and year.

All of us moved into the lobby when they took him away for a CT scan. Waiting. Waiting. Staring at the clock. More waiting. Finally, the head nurse called all of us out to the hallway, and we all noticed the serious look upon her face. My mom with tears welling up in her eyes asked her, "Is he OK? Is everything OK?" The nurse answered, "It isn't good." Those words stabbed all of us in the heart, and we all started to collapse, holding on to each other trying to remain on our feet.

The nurse told us we needed to be strong and follow her to the nurses' station to await a phone call from the neurologist. We all hovered around the phone, allowing my mom to sit with her head in her hands. Why was the neurologist calling? Why wouldn't he come and talk to us personally? Was he going to tell us he was gone over the phone? What in the hell was going on? I do not recall how long we were huddled around the phone, but it seemed like eternity until we heard the piercing ring. My mom did not want to answer the call, but somehow she managed to.

From that point, we were moved into a private family room where the nurse informed us that my dad's brain was bleeding and swelling. They were giving him medicine to decrease the swelling, but he was in critical condition. I asked what his odds were, and the nurse said there is no way of knowing. I really cannot remember too much of what else she said except to be strong for him when we were in his room, and if we felt tears to leave the room. I also remember the words "brain shifting", "possible brain surgery", "cut a piece of his skull to give room for the swelling", "risks".   I was wearing a military style cap that I pulled down over my eyes and my body was hunched over in defeat. I remained in this position while the nurse brought in a minister to talk to us. I never looked up.

After the minister left, I curled up as tight as I could on the sofa crying my eyes out. Extended family members and friends were arriving. Some would come in to talk to me. I couldn't talk. I couldn't even look at them. I stayed in my little ball hoping this was not really happening. Huzb brought me some food that I instantly threw up. I felt like I had taken a blow to the stomach from Mike Tyson. I did not care if I ever ate or slept again. Piece by piece I was falling apart. If there was only a way that I could have changed places with my dad, I would have done so in a heartbeat.

When I finally got out of my ball, I would spend most of my time with my dad. While he was not using his sight, his sense of hearing seemed to intensify. He could hear everything, everything at the nurses' station, in patients' rooms; it was crazy how he could hear when he had suffered some hearing loss from years of working at a plant. When I was not with my dad, I would roam the halls like a zombie. Occasionally, I would make eye contact with random people and give a slight nod of understanding and empathy. A roller coaster of emotions flew through me. Fear. Love. Anger. Sadness. Loneliness. Confusion. Shock.

I felt like I was trapped in the video "Silent Hill" as I roamed the hospital corridor. Every so often, the intercom would play "Brahms' Lullaby" which signified a baby being born. An innocent baby entering the world with their whole life before them; I was that baby once. I wanted to go back in time, be a child again, go back to the time when my dad was well.

On Sunday the neurosurgeon met with us. He said there was still some bleeding and swelling going on. He explained in detail the surgical procedure and risks involved. It was 50/50. We could agree to surgery that may or may not work where they would remove a section of my dad's skull to give his brain room to swell, insert the piece of skull into his stomach, and later on down the road they would replace the skull. There was a possibility of not making it through the surgery. There were also risks of infection. The other option was to wait it out and hope the medication and time would stop the swelling and bleeding. When the neurosurgeon was asked what he would do if this was his family member, he said I honestly have no idea. He told us if we decided on surgery, we should do it now while he was there and staffed instead of a middle of the night, emergency surgery.

My family is probably the most indecisive family in the world. We have always had trouble just deciding on where to eat. No one is strongly opinionated, and we all wait for someone else to make the decision. Now, we were faced with the biggest decision of our lives. All of us looked back and forth at each other. My mom asked me what we should do. I did not want my dad's life in my hands. If I made the wrong decision, I did not know how I could live with myself. However, something in my gut was telling me to not go through with the surgery. Wait it out. After I expressed my opinion, my mom and brothers said they felt the exact same way. We would ride this out and hope for the best.

The chapel in the hospital provided me solace. I would sneak away from my family and slip into the chapel alone where I cried, knelt, and prayed asking God to heal my dad. I vowed to God to take anything he wanted from me in exchange for this one miracle.

We were all on edge the following days, living CT scan to CT scan, going on little sleep and food.  Zombiehood had taken control of our bodies. That Tuesday, we had a glimmer of hope by the results showing the bleeding was stopped and the swelling had not increased. There was a little more hope and stability on Wednesday. On Thursday we were told, "He is not out of the woods, but on the edge."

Finally, I could breathe. I knew we were in for a difficult journey. I did not care if he would never walk or move his left side again. All I cared about was the fact that he was alive. The road ahead of us would be challenging to say the least, but he was strong, he could fight this, and we would be with him every step of the way.

A Stroke of Affliction

2010-01-21T10:56:00.003-06:00

September 4, 2009 will haunt me forever.

It was the usual Friday night. Huzb had always enjoyed playing No Limit Texas Hold Em and would try to teach me to no avail. Board games, video games, puzzles - bring it on! But cards, poker...not so much. I found out about a free poker league that I thought Huzb would enjoy, and it would be a great way to meet people living in our new city.

Huzb really enjoyed the new Friday night poker league, and eventually convinced me to play. After winning my first few hands and meeting wonderful people, I soon fell in love with the game. Poker was a wonderful distraction from my increasing depression. It was getting me out of the house, giving me a new social life, and something cheap and fun for Huzb and me to do together. It was and still is a complete blast for me! I love the fact that it is a male dominated sport, but men and women are on the same playing field. There is something so thrilling about beating a bunch of men that have been playing poker for years. Finally, I had an interest, a new hobby, something to look forward to.

As we were enjoying our Friday night game, something inside of me told me to look at my cell phone which I usually keep in my purse and am notorious for missing calls. Looking at my phone, I saw nine missed calls within minutes of each other from both of my brothers. My heart immediately sank. I knew something was wrong. Every single time I even see a family member's name on my caller ID, I expect bad news and always answer the phone hesitantly. This time, I knew my fear was about to come a reality.

9:42 PM

I stepped outside to listen to the voicemail. Something inside of me did not want to listen; I did not want to know what was wrong. With a pounding heart and trembling hands, I played the voicemail. Instantly, my worst fears came true. On the voicemail, my brother was crying...a cry I had not heard for years. It was difficult to make out what he was saying between the sobs.

What I remember hearing is ..."Something happened to Dad."... "Farm" ... "Blood everywhere." ... "Ambulance." ... "You need to get here."

As my body was entering a state of shock and numbness, I called him back. My brother's voice was trembling and the sobs were intensifying. He did not know what happened to Dad, they found him at the farm, the land where he grew up on and loved so dearly. He was collapsed and covered in blood. My brother did not know if he was conscious or not. The details were vague. I just remember him saying, "Alice, it's bad. Get here."

"I'm on my way!"

Like a ghost, I went back into the restaurant and whispered in Huzb's ear, "We've got to go. It's my Daddy." Huzb jumped out of his seat, tossed some cash at a friend to cover our tab, and we flew out the door. As soon as we made it home, I dropped to my knees, praying and bawling. I was in such shock, I could not pack, I could not think. The hounds knew something was terribly wrong and watched me with eyes full of intent as I threw clothes in a suitcase. Should I grab a suit or dress? Am I packing for my dad's funeral? NO! He's going to be fine, pack comfortable clothes. Within minutes, we were out the door and on the highway heading to whatever news would lie ahead of us.

The hounds were completely silent in the backseat, still on guard. Fortunately, my in-laws met up with us at an exit to take the hounds home with them. I could not stop crying. My mind was going a million miles a minute. All I could say was, "I CAN'T LOSE HIM!" I kept saying it out loud over and over.

It seemed we could not get to the hospital fast enough. When we arrived at around 1:00 AM, it felt like the two hour trip had flown by. The shock was interrupting my sense of time, my sense of self, my sense of everything. As we walked into the hospital doors, it was eerily silent and the hallways were empty. This was the same hospital I was born in as well as my brothers. How could this joyous place where I first entered the world suddenly transform into the scariest place I had ever been?

The walk to the CCU seemed to take forever. I could not feel my legs moving. What am I walking into? Should I run? Do I want to get there quickly and face the apparent doom? Or do I slowly turn around and walk out the door in hopes that this is all just a nightmare? When you feel as if you are walking to your death, do you walk fast or slow?

As all of these questions bustled through my brain, before I knew it I was at the doors of the CCU. My brothers were standing in the hallway with swollen eyes and splotchy faces. They told me Dad had suffered a massive stroke. Apparently while he was working on the farm at around 2:00 PM, the stroke occurred causing him to fall and slice open his head. My Dad laid there in the fields where he ran as a little boy, in the fields where he tamed horses, in the fields where he grew magnificent vegetable gardens, in the fields he dearly cherished for seven hours alone, bleeding, unable to move before he was found and the ambulance carried him away.

They explained to me that he was conscious, had been cleaned up, and I could go see him. The looks on their faces told me that we might not have much time.

He was alive and that was all that mattered to me!

Are You There Alice? It's Me, Depression.

2010-01-20T12:02:00.004-06:00

For two years I was living large and in charge. My life was all glittery and sparkly, full of roses and unicorns with rainbows shooting out of my ass. The negativity had vanished and weights were lifted off of my shoulders.

Alice. Was. Back.

My divorce was finalized, I was debt free, and Mr. X was out of my life. A new job, a new house, a new city, a new dog, and a new life shined before me.

CUE: Hallelujah chorus

But most importantly, I found love. When I thought I was unworthy, undeserving, not capable of finding love...love found me. This love...it felt like home. It would be home.

In the spring of 2008, my life went into overdrive. At a rapid rate, some of life's top stressors started falling on me. Huzb (my fiance at the time) lost his job which was a blessing in disguise as it would give us the opportunity to move closer to our family. We were planning a destination wedding which was a very weird experience, or at least for me, planning a second wedding. With the crappy real estate market we were afraid Huzb would relocate somewhere with a new job, and I would be stuck living in the house until it sold which could be years. Being the proactive person Huzb is, he put our house on the market before any job offers came his way to get an early start. Within one month, our house was sold which was wonderful and all. BUT we were now homeless. We had no clue where Huzb would get hired, what city we would be in, so we did not want to get tied up in a lease or any obligations. Luckily some friends graciously took in our family that now consisted of me, Huzb, and two squishy, drooling hounds.

It was quite odd having roomies again at the age of 33. One house, two couples, four hounds. Needless to say, there was never a boring moment. I became Mrs. Huzb in June of 2008. House sold - check. Wedding - check. Two stressors down. Finally Huzb received a job offer, it was a major step down for him but it would allow us to be two hours away from our family. For the next few months, the hounds and I stayed with our new roomies while Huzb began his new job five hours away from us.

Every weekend consisted of me driving the hound mobile to visit Huzb (enter panic attacks while driving) and looking for houses. Every week consisted of me going to a job that I once loved but now despised and having to keep secret everything going on in my life was wearing on me. My job was completely stressing me out. My living situation was stressing me out. Don't get me wrong, I am very grateful to our friends for allowing us to live with them BUT I missed the simple things. I missed my stuff that was all piled up in storage, I missed freedom, I missed privacy, I missed allowing the hounds to roam while I was away instead of being crated, but most importantly I missed Huzb and hated the fact that we were newlyweds living apart.

While we were tackling each stressor one at a time, I kept telling myself that millions of people were or are in much worse situations than myself. There are starving countries, terminal illnesses, abused animals, and the list goes on and on. God will not give me more than I can handle. Right?

We fell in love with a home and closed the deal that September. Once the closing was finished, I was free to put in my notice at ~~hell~~ work and head off to my next new adventure. Within a whirlwind of five months, we had sold a house, moved in with friends, bought a house, moved in new house, gotten married, lost job, found new job, quit job...whew! In the meantime, we had your normal everyday stressors like my car blowing up, our youngest ~~vacuum~~ hound having emergency surgery to remove three rocks, an uncle died, a childhood friend unexpectedly died, another friend got cancer, and another friend lost his battle with HIV. For the most part, we had successfully made it through every major stressor. The only one left would be me finding a new job.

The panic attacks worried me, but I felt like my body had been through so much stress in such a short period of time that it was just some kind of temporary release. Little did I know those panic attacks would worsen and hang around for a year. I tried to unwind by working on our new home and casually looking for a new job. The job search slowly started tearing me down. I knew the economy was a nightmare, and there were very few jobs out there but I started taking the rejection personally. Failure. Loser. Stupid. No company wanted me. My confidence and self esteem were spiraling into an all time low. I felt like I was letting Huzb down, my parents down, and myself down. Worthless. Embarrassment. Defeated.

The sadness and darkness started taking over. It was an all too familiar path. Negative emotions and thoughts raced through my head. Depression was creeping up on me, but I did not seek help. There was a tiny place in my mind that was telling me the right job will present itself. A door will eventually open, and depression will subside. I can handle this!

What I could not handle though...was when my world came shattering down on 9/04/09.

Hi Alice. My Name is Depression.

2010-01-14T01:51:00.003-06:00

From my earlier posts, you will learn that my first major meeting with depression happened in the spring of 2004. Looking back, I realize I began showing symptoms in April of 2000. Over the course of 4 years, stress was slowly building and building inside of me, just waiting to erupt.

I have always been the type of person who bottles everything inside, because I have trouble communicating feelings and emotions; I fear being judged by others even though I am my own worst critic. The smallest problem will harbor within me, and I over analyze everything, I mean everything. Worries, worries over every little thing and "what ifs" haunt my mind every minute of the day. I am a perfectionist and a people pleaser. There is not an off switch in my mind. I am a prisoner to my thoughts; held captive by depression and anxiety.

In November of 1998, I learned of an enormous family secret that had been concealed my entire life. It was a life changing event for me. In my opinion, it was a blessing, but issues and stress arose around the situation. The secret made me question my entire life. The truth that was revealed triggered some feelings of identity loss within me, yet at the same time provided some clarity. During this time I was very young and in an incredibly vulnerable state.

*Cue* Mr. X's entrance.

Mr. X and I had a whirlwind romance...dated for 9 months, engaged for 9 months, and faster that you can say mistake...Alice is a Mrs. We relocated to the East Coast, surrounded by X's family, lived in a fishbowl, and were miles and miles away from my family whom I missed dearly. I broke down the very first night we arrived, uncontrollably crying and not knowing why. For 2.5 years, I was miserable. There was negative energy all around me. I was forced into difficult situations, situations that I never dreamed I would go through. It was a completely different life for me, and there was not one ounce of normalcy during my time up North.

For the sake of my sanity, Mr. X agreed to move closer to my family. We both felt that we needed to leave the East Coast. We could not go on living this way. The entire marriage was spent under a dreary, rain cloud. It seemed as if nothing could go right. We could not catch a break. Bad news after bad news. I wore a happy face and put on a facade for my family and friends. I suppressed all of the darkness and horrible experiences inside of me for years.

One spring day in 2004, I had the apartment to myself and my thoughts. I must have spent hours just sitting on our couch gazing outside the window. If anyone saw me, I am positive they would have thought I was catatonic. What had my life become? This is not how I wanted to live my life. Life is too short. I could not do this anymore. I needed out. I was not living. Not once in my life had I done something for myself. I always did for others so much so I would lose myself and my opinions. For once in my life, I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to give my body and mind the freedom that it craved. I owed it to myself. I deserved happiness. I deserved life. I wanted to run. And. I. ran.

*******

Here is an excerpt from a journal entry I scribbled down late one night in the spring of 2004:

"This is the story of my life...or so it seems. There are fascinating tales and adventures - happy, sad, scary, funny...you name it. I have it all or had it all or never had it.

My name is Alice. And I don't know who Alice is. I feel like a stranger in my own body. I can tell you about Alice as a child, a teenager, a young adult...but who is Alice today? No clue. No idea.

Somewhere through time I lost her. She vanished into thin air. I can't say exactly when this happened, but one day I looked into the mirror and had no idea who the person staring back at me was or is or ever was.

I am Alice. Lost in Wonderland. Is this real? Is this a dream? Can anyone wake me up?"

-Alice, 12:00 AM, 4/5/04

Pour Some Therapy On Me

2010-01-13T14:23:00.008-06:00

For a Southern, Sweet Tea sippin' gal, moving to the East Coast in 2000 brought on many new experiences. Some good, some bad, and some downright ugly.

One of these new experiences was my first encounter with counseling, therapy, psychotherapy, in other words giving a trained professional the key to my highly classified, top-secret thoughts.

My ex-husband aka Mr. X encouraged me to go with him during our engagement to discuss some issues we were having with family as well as general, pre-marital concerns that could arise in the future. We went once a month; some sessions were together and some private. I really liked our Licensed Mental Health Counselor and always felt better after the sessions; yet, something was missing.

Mr. X and I ended up moving to the South a few years later. When the Depression of 2004 struck and I left Mr. X, he encouraged me to find a counselor. The first counselor I saw was crazier than I was. Complete whack job! After spilling my guts in her filthy home, this nut demanded I file a restraining order on Mr. X, join the Witness Protection Program, and become a lesbian because all men were bad. Ummmm, yeah, ok. Needless to say, I never went back.

Next came the therapist who would just sit and eye-ball me, waiting for me to talk. That method did not work on me whatsoever. I simply sat there and stared back in awkward silence. My dogs could do that! After these failures, Mr. X asked me to join him and his therapist. His therapist rocked; however, she would not see me separately from him. We could do joint sessions, but she did not take in family members. She did refer me to one of her friends who was also a therapist.

Score! This therapist was wonderful. She was exactly what I personally needed. BUT my insurance policy would only pay for 6 sessions a year when I needed way more than 6 sessions that I could not afford. Damn you insurance!

*******

When my second bout of depression hit last November, The Head referred me to "Freuda" who was a psychologist practicing in the same office. The Head felt I would really connect with her. Sure enough, he was right.

I just had my sixth session with Freuda this week. She asks questions to pull information out of me (which I need), she listens closely, takes good notes, has a very positive energy to her, and gives me homework. My homework has included working on breathing techniques for my panic attacks, confronting an individual that was causing me grief, expressing how thankful I am of my dad to him over Thanksgiving because he needed to hear it in his battle of stroke recovery, reading an article on worrying too much, preparing to discuss a "road block" in my life, and making a list of issues to talk to her about as well as a list of what I need to improve in my life. Freuda has never made me spill my life story to her, she takes my issues slow. Just focus on one issue at a time instead of taking on the whole bag which is too overwhelming.

The moral of this story is you have to shop around to find the psychologist, therapist, or counselor that is right for you and can meet your needs. It can be highly annoying trying out different mental health professionals, having to re-hash your baggage time and time again. BUT when you find that true gem, hold on to it, you are that much closer to becoming a better you.

Check out this site if you are taking the first steps to seek help through therapy:

http://www.guidetopsychology.com/choosing.htm

Sanity at First Sight

2010-01-12T16:37:00.004-06:00

Finding your own psychiatrist and/or psychologist can be extremely daunting. Especially for someone like me who needs to be poked with a cattle prod to go to any sort of health professional. It is tough enough recognizing your symptoms as well as building up the courage to seek help, much less finding the perfect mental health professional.

My first experience with a psychiatrist was during the Depression of 2004 aka The Divorce Years aka First Major Bout of Depression. I selected one that was covered by my insurance and close to my work. This dude was ok, nothing special, not Jesus-like or anything. My first visit with him lasted 30 minutes. I filled out some survey on my feelings and crap. He asked me a few questions and wrote me a script for Lexapro. He never made much eye contact, he did not talk much, and we never really developed a connection. From there, I would see him once a month mainly to get a script. Not a bad experience, but nothing out of this world either.

When this most recent bout of depression smacked me upside the head, I was living in a new city, new state and was forced to find a new psychiatrist. I researched online the thousands of psychiatrists in my area. There was one that stood out to me, later on to become known as The Head. I solely based my opinion on his flashy credentials and photograph. He looked like someone I could talk to and feel comfortable with. His resume was incredible which led me to believe he knew what he was doing BUT could possibly have a humongous ego and not a sincere interest in his patients. I admit I totally judged the book by the cover which you are not supposed to do, but for once, this would become the most helpful book ever even with its' sparkling cover.

Oddly enough, call it a co-inky-dink (I don't know why I just used the word coinkydink, I hate that word. I have a whole list of words that I can't stand.) ... back to the story ... but an old college friend of mine was living nearby. During a lunch outing that included cocktails, she confided in me her secret life of living with a mental illness. I asked her who she went to for help, and you guessed it, it was The Head. She and I have very similar likes and dislikes, and I completely trust and respect her opinion so The Head looked even better to me. Later on I found out that one of my poker buddies had been seeing The Head for years. The Head must be da man.

When I nervously called for an appointment, I was floored! The eerily, calming receptionist booked me for the following morning. I thought I would have to wait 6 months and by then who knows what kind of state of panic I would be in. I decided to write down a list of my previous crazy meds and all of my symptoms. I knew I would clam up during the appointment, forget everything, and bawl like a baby. I highly recommend making notes to take with you on an appointment...it made everything so much easier. I simply passed the piece of paper to him, and he went over every single point.

My visit lasted for about an hour and a half. The office was peaceful, The Head was so laid back and cool. I never felt "crazy", no matter all the secrets and darkness I revealed, he treated me like I was perfectly "normal". He seemed to really care, knew his stuff, and asked lots of questions. Of course, I had lapses of crying, but there was never any awkwardness. I remember he asked me, "Alice, what do you have to live for?" I sat there dumb-founded. I could not verbally answer his question. My mind was telling me to say "my family, my dogs, my friends" but nothing came out of my mouth. However, a flood of tears poured down my face.

The Head was extremely thorough and patiently took his time. He made sure he understood everything going on with me. Not once did he act like he was above me. He actually pointed out that we would work as a team. He had the knowledge and experience, but I am the only one who knows my body.

This is how the end of the visit went down:

THE HEAD: "Alice, I want to thank you for coming here. I know it took a lot of courage to come see me. You should be very proud of yourself, and I want to give you a gift." He gave me a little bag that had a scented candle and a packet of chamomile tea.

THE HEAD: "Alice, I want you to go home and relax."

ALICE: "Easier said than done".

THE HEAD: "Alice, I want you to know you are the reason I love my job. I know I can help you. There are some patients with mental illnesses that cannot be helped, only stabilized. Patients like you can make a full recovery. Your history shows you have been receptive to medication and therapy. We are going to work together and get you in the place you want to be."

On the verge of tears, I mouthed the words "thank you". He simply put his hands in a prayer-like position and slowly nodded his head. And with that, I headed out the door on the road to recovery.

Z Is For Zoloft, That's Good Enough For Me

2010-01-12T13:26:00.009-06:00

I made my way to Walgreens on November 6, 2009 to get my scripts. My anxiety was telling me this pharmacist is going to now know I am officially loco. Please God let him be cool, because he will be seeing my mug a lot! Whooo, sweet man. If you need a visual, think Mr. Whipple from the Charmin commercials but much softer and squishier. Mr. Whipple told me I should take the Zoloft in the mornings, because it should wake me up.

I was nervous about starting a new anti-depressant but had faith in The Head. He told me that Zoloft was a favorite SSRI (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors ) of his. We both thought I should try the Z first since Zoloft worked really well for my dad in the past. While I was bummed about being unemployed, it was a relief that I could be at home if I were to experience any wild side effects.

DAY 1: I pop my little pill and within a few hours I started feeling pretty darn good. I don't know if it was the Zoloft or if my brain was just so excited that I was finally getting it help. I remember just a general sense of feeling good, a feeling that had been long forgotten. While riding in the car that day, my mind was at peace for once. I could look out the window and enjoy the scenery without my mind constantly racing. Colors seemed brighter; a familiar world was coming back. My color-blind world of shades of black and grey were slowly dissipating.

DAY 2: I woke up earlier than normal excited about this new world, and before I swallowed my little Zoloft friend I freaked out. Shit, shit, shit I think I screwed up! I looked at the bottle 100 mg, take one tablet once a day. OK...I did that yesterday, I followed the instructions right BUT I had a flashback of my meeting with The Head. I think he told me to start out taking 50 mg. In a moment of panic and having Wellbutrin XL nightmares flash in my mind, I dialed The Head's office and sho nuff I was supposed to take 50 mg for the first 5 days. Luckily, I did not notice any changes due to my mishap.

For the following month, I never missed a dose and kept the faith that Zoloft would balance my chemicals and rescue me from depression.

The side effects began in the first week. The most noticeable was a complete loss of appetite, and this girl loves her some food. 10 pounds flew off me during the first week without even trying. The weight loss made me feel better, because I wanted to lose some poundage but lacked the motivation. Online I read where lots of Zoloft users gain weight so I was a lucky one, I suppose. People actually noticed my weight loss and commented on it. I did not want to tell them I was taking crazy meds, so I nonchalantly contributed the weight loss to stress over my dad's stroke and the unemployment factor.

Other side effects I experienced were extreme fatigue. I was exhausted all the time. The few times I managed to wake up and Google "Zoloft exhaustion", I kept finding posts with people saying Zoloft wires them. Huh? The exhaustion wore off after the first 2 weeks. The worst side effect for me though was the increase in anxiety initially. My panic attacks while driving would happen as soon as I left the driveway rather than teasing me and allowing me to drive on the highway for 15 minutes before kicking in.

After the first month, I paid a visit to The Head's nurse practitioner to discuss how the meds were working. She upped my dose to 150 mg a day. Would I get new side effects? The new side effect from the increased dosage was a major drop in my panic attacks. Yay!!! The thing about anti-depressants is not only is it a treasure hunt to find which pill will work the best for you, it is also a pursuit of finding the right dosage. That magic number that will set you free.

Is 150 my magic number? While I have been living in a Zoloft world for a little over 2 months, the answer remains to be unseen. My irritability has decreased, my socialibility has increased, my mood over all is better, little things do not bother me as much as before, I do not cry everyday anymore, focus and concentration are returning, stress is decreasing, and my ability just to have a grasp on things is better. Am I cured? Am I 100%? Negative Ghostrider.

Over the course of my Z experience, I would have a really good hour a day of feeling great after the first 2 weeks of hibernation had passed. That really great hour would increase to 2 hours. Slowly but surely, the increase keeps moving up day after day. Have I had an entire day of feeling great? Not yet, but I feel I am moving in the right direction. Next month I have a meeting with The Head; so we shall see if 150 is my magic number or if we should give 200 a test run.

That has been my journey with Zoloft thus far. I would love to hear from others about their experiences on the Z train and what their magic numbers are.

For more information on Zoloft check out: http://www.zoloft.com/

Breakfast of Depressed Anxiety Ridden Champions

2010-01-11T23:42:00.008-06:00

It has been said that "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day." I could not agree more! Whether it is Wheaties, omelets, buttermilk pancakes, Pop Tarts, biscuits and gravy, bacon, granola bar, hash browns, Krispy Kreme doughnuts, you name it...this is how to start your day to provide you with energy and brain food. After all, "Mikey likes it!" That is, unless you are Alice.

I have never been much of a breakfast fan. Growing up, my mom was a breakfast enforcer, but as I entered college and beyond I would rather have 15 minutes extra sleep than that bowl of Lucky Charms that are oh so "magically delicious".

A few months ago when I fell head first into that bottomless pit of depression, I went to see my family doctor for a routine physical before I met with The Head. I explained to her my history with depression and how I had an appointment with The Head that same day. She asked me if I ever had my thyroid checked. That's a big negative. I try to avoid doctors and dentists at all costs. She told me that sometimes thyroid issues can result in the same symptoms as depression. These patients get misdiagnosed and are treated for depression which masks their thyroid problem. I agreed to let her test my 'roid. Of course, I reminded her of my fear of needles and blood and how I always pass out when blood is drawn. Ugh! I am so sick of having a multitude of fears.

Test results came back saying my 'roid was fine, BUT (there's always that big BUT). Obviously with my depression and anxiety, I was expecting her to say I am dying with some rare, fatal disease and my racing mind started planning funeral arrangements immediately. Good news - I was not dying! The news was they discovered I had a Vitamin B-12 deficiency. OK, what does that mean?

The symptoms of Vitamin B-12 deficiency mirror some depression and anxiety symptoms. So, let me get this right...not only am I suffering from depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, I also have a B-12 deficiency to make sure I am extremely fatigued, irritable, not able to concentrate, dizzy, memory loss and the list goes on and on. The butter cream icing on the cerebral cake!

My breakfast currently consists of:

150 mg Zoloft (Sertraline)
1000 mcg Vitamin B-12 (I also take down another 1000 mcg B-12 later in the day)
0.5 mg Ativan (Lorazepam) as needed 4x/day
Diet Dr. Pepper or Diet Sun Drop
2 cigarettes

Yummo! Are you hungry now? I know, I know, I need to start eating breakfast and cutting out the nicotine. I just prefer lunch-type foods, and I am usually not hungry first thing in the morning. One of my side effects from Zoloft is extreme loss of appetite. It has actually been a rather pleasant side effect in that I have lost a significant amount of weight. Some people gain weight on Zoloft so I was remarkably happy to shed off my saddle bags, shave a few pounds off my muffin top, and delete a few extra chins.

Weight loss, "Alice likes it!"

Feed Your Head

2010-01-11T15:40:00.015-06:00

Brother #1 had been dealing with stress and one time asked me, "Alice, what is it like taking happy pills? I think I might need some. I need to be happy."

I think this is a very common misconception of anti-depressants. There is NO such thing as a pill that simply makes you happy. Or at least I do not know of any....legal ones that is.

There also seems to be such a misinterpretation of the illness "depression". It is like people consider depression to be a feeling of sadness, not an actual disorder or disease. I can not tell you how many times I have confided in someone my secret struggle of depression and get the responses, "Cheer up!" "Smile!" "Go do something fun!" "Go see a movie, go shopping, go exercise!"

Well, Holy Crap!!!! I must be a moron for not thinking of that. If I would have only known that putting a big smile on my face while doing a Jane Fonda workout and a round of Jazzorcise in a brand new, satin leotard and sequined legwarmers would exorcise my depression demon right out of my body, I would have been a "normal" person a long time ago and multi-bazillionaire for finding the cure for depression. Ahhh, if only curing depression was that easy.

I am not that big of an assholio. I do realize I am extremely fortunate to have loved ones that care about me in my life. It just gets extremely frustrating trying to make them see and understand that the chemicals in my brain are all out of whack. For me, I need medication and therapy. I wish I was like my mom. When she feels "sad", she runs a mile and instantly feels better; however, she has never been diagnosed with a mental illness. I wish it could be that simple for me.

Tom Cruise will probably not follow my blog, and I think I can live with that. I am not advocating that anti-depressants are for everyone. What works for one person might not work for another. What anti-depressant works for one person might not work for another either. That is the tricky part - finding what works for you. So if you want to go the meds route, how do you find what will work?

First off, it can be a lengthy roller coaster ride in determining what is going to be your "fix". Trial and error. All crazy meds come with their own side effects that you may or may not experience. Typically, one does not see results over night. Anti-depressants can have a long onset and can take up to 8 weeks to be in full effect. You could see no change in 2 months and have to start all over again on a different route. In the beginning, there can be weeks of horrible side effects that you can either try to ride out or abort the mission. A lot of folks abort too quickly in my opinion and keep switching meds thinking this "change" will happen after 1 magic pill.

Even when the anti-depressant feels like it is working, it may carry along adverse effects. Then, it is up to you and your psychiatrist to weigh out the pros and cons. For example, a few months ago when I had my first visit with Head, we discussed my history with anti-depressants. I told him that Lexapro had worked the best so far. It definitely helped me with my depression, energy level, and concentration. BUT it made me feel really detached from my feelings. I could not cry at all when I was on Lexapro. There were times I felt like a complete jerk to friends, times when I should be crying or showing emotion, and I was just numb. Head refers to this side effect as the "La dee da effect".

"Hey! Your perm is on fire!" "Your husband is cheating on you with your BFF!" "Your family was abducted by serial killing aliens!" If someone experiencing the "La dee da effect" heard these statements, they would just shrug their shoulders, express no emotion, and simply reply "ok, whatever...that's fine". According to Head, this is not a side effect you want. Head wanted me to be able to have natural feelings, express emotions, and not be a medicated zombie. Head gave me hope that we would find together the right combination to balance these chemicals in my big ol' noggin.

When I first experienced a dose of anxiety after my freshman year in college, I was prescribed Paxil. Honestly, I can not remember much about it other than I did not take it long and felt like my heart was beating out of my chest. There was also an experience circa 2004 where a doc prescribed me Wellbutrin XL. Ha ha ha...that was a good one!

It was one of my most dreaded days of the year, the annual visit to the va-jay-jay doctor! After I survived the smearing of the pap, we had a discussion about my vice, Marlboro Lights. I also mentioned to her that I was going through a divorce and depression or sumpin' was goin' on all up in my head. She enthusiastically prescribed me Wellbutrin XL. She said it would help me with the depressed feelings and would help me quit smoking. SHAM-WOW!!!! PERFECTO!!!

I pop a pill that night (which I think was a massive error on my part instead of taking it in the morning). For the one month I was on Wellbutrin XL, I was able to quit smoking. I also had the ability to puke every day and became outrageously paranoid. The annoying dry mouth was not even a major concern. Brutal insomnia set in. I felt like I was completely losing my mind. Horrific, vivid nightmares, soooo bad I was terrified to go to sleep. In conclusion, I decided I would take depression over feeling like a lunatic.

From that point, I saw a psychiatrist who put me on Lexapro. I stayed on Lexapro for roughly two years when I made the decision to abandon my little pill friend. I felt the Depression of 2004 had been situational due to my divorce. It is now 2006, my divorce was final, I had a new life, new man, living in a new state, new job...life was looking grand. I said adios depression! Alice is in control. All is good. At least it would be for two years.

If you take anything at all from this rambling nonsense, I hope you take away:

1. Work with your doctor as a team! Explain all side effects. Open communication. Jointly find the antidote that will work best for you whether it is meds or no meds.

2. Ask your pharmacist if your medication is better to take at night or morning? Food or without?

3. If you made it through this long post, you deserve a "happy pill". Oh wait, I don't think they really exist so go treat yourself to something happy. I give you permission. Whether it is a happy bath, happy book, happy chocolate, happy glass of vino, happy nap, happy dog kisses, happy TV, happy whatever ... you deserve it!

DISCLAIMER: I am not a healthcare professional, I just play one on TV. My posts represent my views and opinions based on personal experiences.

Ativan Take The Wheel

2010-01-08T10:55:00.020-06:00

*If you haven't read my previous post "Alright Stop...Panic Time!", go here and then come on back, ya hear?*

Sooo we are now in November of 2009. Huzb's job relocated us to a new city which was great to finally be two hours away from my little Podunk town that I will always call home. Unfortunately, I had to leave my job in order to move and had to begin a job search in this lusterous economy.

I did not find a job during that year (nice little add on to my already building depression). Interviews came and went, rejection letters/calls arrived daily, the certainty that I was a complete Loser intensified every day.

UPDATE: It's January of 2010, and I'm still among the unemployed class! As much as I love wearing sweatpants every day and not having to shower, I desperately need work but that is a whole different post.

Without working, I did not have to worry about my driving fear as much. When we moved here, I was so excited to see my family more often. However, I couldn't drive there and could only see them when Huzb was off work and able to drive or when I could convince them to come visit. I made excuses left and right as long as I did not have to get behind the wheel and face my nemesis.

November 2009 - Alice hit ROCK BOTTOM!!! (again, another post for another day) It was when I finally drug myself to meet The Head due to my depression. During our visit, I mentioned this whole ridiculous driving issue. Head told me "It sounds like you are experiencing panic attacks, Alice. It also sounds like your conscious mind is taking over while driving instead of your sub-conscious mind."

Head started me on Zoloft (Sertraline 50 mg) daily and Ativan (Lorazepam 0.5 mg) as needed. Head told me to take the Ativan 30 minutes before hitting the highways, and if I was in a pinch I could dissolve the Ativan under my tongue for instant relief. I will have to do an entirely different post on crazy meds and my experience. I know, I know, I keep saying "another post, another post". But hey, it gives my masses of ~~non-readers~~ readers something to ~~dread~~ look forward to.

Without going too much into my side effects with crazy meds, I will say that instantly my anxiety increased. When driving, I started getting that damn panic attack as soon as I left my driveway. This went on for weeks. How was it possible for these panic attacks to get even worse? What the hell?

In November, I also started therapy with my psychologist who I will refer to as Freuda. During my first visit with Freuda, she started me on some breathing techniques to do every single time I first get into my car. I have visited Freuda five times now so it is still early on in the recovery process. I am a huge bag (not a cool Louis Vuitton, Hermes, Coach, or Gucci bag but a sad-looking, ratty, old burlap bag) of mental issues and disorders, a complete psychology text book wrapped up in one girl, and it will take quite some time to make me "normal".

I am very proud to say as of last week, get this... I was able to drive solo on the highway like a big girl to visit my family two and a half hours away!!! Yippee!!! I made a CD just for driving, relaxing songs, songs I like, I did my breathing, the Ativan & Zoloft tremendously helped me, and I did it!! I did not get the "feeling" once, not once I tell you!

Yes, I'm gloating. Yes, I realize it is absolutely stooo-pid to be so excited to drive on the highway again at the mere age of 34. Something so small. Something you take for granted. But it was a fear, a bad fear, a deathly fear that I am bound to conquer.

My Nemesis, Mr. Panic Attack, kicked my butt in 2009, but I can now say for the year 2010:

ALICE 1 / PANIC ATTACK 0

Alright Stop...Panic Time!

2010-01-07T12:42:00.013-06:00

I always thought panic attacks were some minor issue where people freaked out, hyperventilated, and breathed in and out of a paper bag. The few people I had seen have a so-called panic attack, I thought they were drama queens looking for attention. I guess that's what I get for thinking...until one day in September of 2008 Mr. Panic Attack decided to pay me a surprise visit.

One Friday afternoon, I was on a five hour drive to visit my husband (who I will refer to from now on as Huzb). Huzb had been away training for a new job for several weeks, and I would go visit him on the weekends.

Now keep in mind, I always considered myself a splendid driver. I've lived in big cities and small towns so I've driven amongst the worst and the worst. I've also driven across the US from LA to Boston, had jobs that required driving company vehicles, and have never had any traumatic driving experiences. I've had my share of scares and sheer terror amongst the maniacs on the road, but have been very fortunate driving. (Knock on wood...I better not jinx myself.)

So...I'm about an hour into my drive and get this bizarre feeling. All of a sudden I feel as if I forgot how to drive. At that point I had been driving for 17 years (wow...I feel old just now). My hands were profusely sweating, and I had a very dizzy feeling so I pulled over to grab a burger and Route 44 at Sonic. I'm thinking I'm just hungry or hungover or still drunk. On Panic Attack Eve, I had one too many Blue Moons with my ex co-workers. A hangover just didn't really make sense to a girl who has an Irish heritage and the tolerance of a rhinoceros. (Do rhinos have strong alcohol tolerances? Hmmm. Doesn't matter, you get my point.)

Back on the road...within fifteen minutes, the feeling hits again. I crank up the radio, blast the AC, sing, dance, splash ice water on my face...anything to shake this feeling. Nada. Nothing helps. I pull over again, smoke a cigarette, walk around, and hop back in the car. Fifteen minutes goes by, and that damn feeling is back. I felt like I was sleeping with my eyes open, hypnotized by the road, my stomach had that weird oozy feeling like when you take a big drop on a roller coaster, hands pouring sweat, dizzy, vertigo, heart pounding, and then the extreme terror set in. I honestly felt like I forgot how to drive. I could not drive over 55mph in a 70 zone, could not pass cars, curves in the road were throwing me off, I felt like I was in complete danger.

For the rest of the drive I kept pulling over every fifteen miles. There was one stop I made where I tried to sleep, but I really wasn't tired. Plus, I was paranoid that someone would see me sleeping, drool coming out of my mouth, or an axe murderer would find me parked in the Cracker Barrel parking lot and abduct me.

Finally, I made it to my destination by the grace of God, luck, angels, rabbit feet...I don't know how I arrived safely, but I did. That following Sunday, I had to drive back. I chalked up the driving experience to lack of sleep and excess of pints. So I made sure to get plenty of rest for my next drive. I hit the road that Sunday, and that mofo Mr. Panic Attack slapped me in the face again. At the time, I didn't know I was experiencing panic attacks.

I confided in Huzb who was all, "That's crazy. It's all in your head. You don't simply forget how to drive." One of my brothers was all, "Alice - that's stupid!" One of my girlfriends was all, "What?!?! What are you an old woman or something?"

Fast forward to a year later... I still got the "feeling" every single time I got on the highway. Driving in town - no problemo, but the highway became my nemesis. Over the course of a year, my nemesis won time after time convincing me to take back roads, making excuses not to drive, and cancelling plans because I was terrified the highway would kill me or worse kill others and yet mortified to let others outside of my close knit of family/friends know about this phobia.

This fear inhibited my job search. I would only apply to jobs that were within 15 miles of my home. When I had job interviews, I would have to leave the house years in advance just in case I needed to pull over a million times. This fear was taking over my life. There was no way I could live the rest of my life fearing the highway!

Would I eventually develop agoraphobia? Would I just become a hermit captive in my own house? How could I ever have kids with this phobia? What would happen to my marriage? In 40 years from now would Dateline end up showing up at my house to do a special on the mentally ill? I could just hear it.... "Some people are scared of heights, snakes, spiders, legitimate fears. But we found a freak, Alice, who is terrified of driving on highways and refuses to leave her house. Stay tuned as we make this crazy errr mentally ill girl leave the house and drive on the highway for the first time in 40 years. This will be one that you don't want to miss."

To be continued ...

Smile Though Your Heart is Aching...

2010-01-06T11:23:00.010-06:00

THE HEAD: "So Alice, how long do you think you have been depressed?"

ME: "Wellllll...about a year and a half with this bout. I went through my first bad episode in 2004 when I was going through my divorce. There was also a time in college when I had issues concentrating and feeling anxious all the time."

(Freeze. My life started playing like a video on fast forward in my head from childhood to present.)

This question really made me start to realize that maybe I had suffered from depression all my life. Overall, I would say I had a pretty good childhood. Sure, there were bad times...it wasn't all rainbows and unicorns. For the most part though, I felt like I had been blessed.

Could genetics play a role? I remember my dad going through a two year depression, being on an SSRI and anxiety meds. He also told me stories of family members on his side dealing with depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts and attempts. Was this horrible illness destined for me through my bloodline? Have I lived my whole life carrying around depression and thought it was normal?

As a very young child, I always remember random people coming up to me and saying "Alice, smile!" or "Alice, why don't you smile?" I always attributed it to being a shy kid. When people posed these same statements to me as a teenager, I would blame it on my hideous, obnoxious metal braces. In college, during my rebellious years, I would be a smart ass replying "Sorry...this is just my face." OR I would give an over-the-top smile and start acting all cheesy and animated and say "Is this how you think I should be?" Now as an adult, I don't even know how to really reply to why I don't smile. Actually, just last week a complete stranger at a poker tournament approached me with "What's wrong? Why don't you ever smile?" I simply said, "Oh, this is just my poker face."

It just recently hit me that these random people, lots of them strangers that have confronted me could all see something in me that I couldn't. It's like they could look in my eyes, look right through me, right into my soul and know that I was crying on the inside.

New Year...New Blog

2010-01-05T15:51:00.015-06:00

Hi. I'm Alice. I suffer from depression and anxiety/panic disorder.

It sucks.

Due to my depression, I am a master of procrastination. I lose interest quickly. I will get an idea or start a project and be extremely excited...and then BAM! the spark fizzles. I might need a blow torch to keep this blog's spark lit, but I am going to make every attempt to follow through. With depression, sometimes the most mundane tasks can be so difficult to accomplish. Therefore, I am challenging myself to starting and maintaining a blog for 2010. This blog is going to be an inner struggle for me since I am a very private person who does not open up or let others in.

Hopefully, others will relate to my struggles. Society has placed such a stigma on mental illness that it is tough to talk about. I feel like if I talk about it, others will judge me, write me off as "crazy", or throw a straight jacket on me and confine me to padded walls. Millions suffer from mental illness and most go undiagnosed. I'm here to share, confess, vent, cry, laugh...who knows what this blog will bring. My selfish goals with this blog is to use it as a form of therapy as well as getting back to doing something creative (since depression stole all of my creative interests). My non-selfish goals with this blog are to share with others that can relate to my experience and to let them know "You are not alone."

A little on where I am at the moment:

2009 was a rotten year for me. Unemployed. Father had massive stroke. I developed panic attacks. My second bad bout of depression took control over my life.

Almost two months ago, I finally broke. I had fallen into that deep, dark hole. I was not living. The depression had crept up on me over the course of a year until it finally suffocated me. I felt as if I were in a fog, and there were no clear skies ahead.

I finally mustered up some courage and sought help through a psychiatrist who I will refer to as The Head. The Head looks a lot like Richard Dreyfuss to give you a visual. The Head was awesome! It is very tough to find a psychiatrist and a therapist that you connect with, and I really lucked out finding The Head. I completely felt like Bill Murray in What About Bob...I was that amazed with The Head, not in a stalker-ish way but more of where-have-you-been-all-my-life way. The Head referred me to a psychologist who I shockingly clicked with immediately as well.

I am on the road to regaining control over my life. I am rolling up my sleeves and ready to fight depression head on.

Please join me as I chronicle my battle with depression and anxiety/panic disorder. Don't worry...not every post will be from the mouth of Debbie Downer. I'm sure I will blog on strokes, my love of dogs, life in general, my poker game, unicorns, leprechauns, ninja skills, Vanilla Ice, mullets, and whatever else is running through my chemically imbalanced brain.

Baby steps. One day at a time.

~Alice