Trish

Why are college kids the only ones who get spring breaks? I mean, really. Why do they deserve a week off from the unbearable task of attending classes, learning, drinking, and going to regular parties? No... I have decided that I definitely am much more deserving of a regular spring (and fall) break for putting up with the crap I have to on a daily basis.

Therefore, the work trip to the Bahamas could not have come at a better time. Was it work? Sure. But I was the photographer for the event, so I was completely having a great time doing that. (But don't let my bosses know that I had a good time -- they probably will never let it happen again.) Anyway, if you check out my Bahamas album on my Myspace page you'll see why I am not complaining AT ALL. (Sidenote: if you're going to the Bahamas any time soon, stay away from drinking 5-6 Goombay Smashes. It's an ugly, ugly level of drunk that should not be repeated. Ever.)

I got there on Thursday and was done with work stuff by about 1 pm on Sunday. Then I decided to stay an extra day to relax and play. First thing I did on Sunday was a deep water dolphin encounter, where I swam with, hugged, kissed, and got pushed on a boogie board by the dolphins! Totally awesome. Then some of my friends and I went and played in the waterpark that is a part of the Atlantis resort, then walked along the beach, with its brilliantly white sand and crystal clear blue water. Gorgeous. My view from my hotel room was fn amazing, the food offsite was fantastic, and I loved, loved, LOVED all the ocean life I got to see and photograph on my time off.

On Monday, one of my best friends, Joe, and I went snorkeling, which was probably the coolest thing I did on the whole trip. There were three dive sites: the first was the best, with all kinds of beautiful fish and coral to see; the second wasn't so great 'cause the fishies were hiding; and the third site was a shark dive!!! The guides dropped a crate of chum about 20 feet into the water, where about 50-60 coral reef sharks started circling. Then those 10 of us who were brave (or stupid) enough to get in the water, did so, and got a close-up view of the sharkies. After about 10 minutes, we got back in the boat and the guides pull up the crate and begin to feed the sharks. That's when they all rise to the surface and literally a feeding frenzy begins... It was AWESOME. I loved it. After the snorkeling trip, I spent some more time at the Atlantis waterpark floating along the lazy and rapids river, the intertube rides, walking the beach, etc. It was a fantastic day, and I am so glad I decided to stay an extra day to enjoy a little spring break of my own.

Today was back to reality unfortunately, but I am feeling pretty good. I came home to some fantastic news -- I got accepted to my doctoral program at UNCG!!!!!! I am so excited!!! Finally. I will start back at school in the fall in the Consumer & Retail Studies department. I think it's a good fit for what I'm doing now, plus it will make me lots more marketable wherever I want to go from here. I'm really relieved to be starting on it. I love being in school, and I would not have been satisfied with myself if I had not pursued this. So I am really, really excited and proud of myself for getting started!

Anyway, lots of good stuff going on, so I'm actually feeling positive and optimistic. Of course, this probably means that I'm going to trip and fracture an arm or something tomorrow, but for the time being, I'll enjoy the blissful endorphins while they last! :)

It's been a flurry of activity for this lil-whip in the past few months, but if I don't post now I fear I may lose my faithful fanbase (all three of you). Soon after the Vegas trip, I decided I really wanted some time just for me. Some people go to the beach for a vacation. I go to New York City. I took off to NYC, where I spent a few days shopping, going to museums, art galleries, visiting my old hangouts, and of course eating some really great food. It was a wonderful trip, and I wish I had had a few more days there just to hang out. There's something about walking the city, with all of its people and bustling activity, that I just love. It's invigorating and inspiring to me. I feel very much alive there, and I guess it's surprising how comfortable I feel there. It makes me wonder what my life would have been like had I gone back there to work after graduation. My career certainly may have been a lot more exciting, but I sincerely doubt I would have the kinds of people in my life that I do now. I remember it being a very tough place to meet "normal" people.

After that trip, I had some work trips to take... first to Dayton, Ohio, then to Holland, Michigan. It was pretty fn cold there in March, I'll tell ya, but this hot-blooded Cuban LOVED it, of course. I got to see Lake Michigan, with thick, choppy ice stretching out from the shore and rocking gently from the water's waves underneath. A beautiful sight. I wish I had taken a few pictures of that, but my eyes were stinging so bad from the wind and the cold that I doubt I could focused long enough to do so. The men I interviewed for the magazine articles I had to write were very nice, and I had a great time chatting with them and getting to see what they do. I also did the photography for the article, and I was really pleased with how that turned out as well.

Just got through with another High Point market, which was a good one. I attended a lot of seminars, some good and some a complete waste of time, but I got lots of ideas for the magazine. Did the photography for the Retailer of the Year banquet, and that was a lot of fun. I got dressed up in this cute retro-looking dress with black tights and cool shoes, so I was feelin' sassy and adorable! I genuinely like a lot of the retailers that I know, so it's fun to see them and get to chat with them at the banquet.

Now I'm gearing up for a convention next week in the Bahamas! I am so stoked. I'm going to be the photographer for the event, which I absolutely LOVE. I will be working a lot, constantly going from one event to the next to shoot photos of everything, then I have to cull through all the pics, edit them, then put together a slide show that they play during the last dinner of the convention. Pretty fun job. I won't have much time to play during the convention, but I am going to stay an extra day to go snorkeling and to do this dolphin encounter thing and play on the beach, of course. I can't wait! I'm sure it will be absolutely amazing. I'll tell you all about it when I get back.

I have other news to discuss, but this is already getting hella long. I'll try not to slack off for so long next time! Besides, I'm on the third day of this ridiculous migraine and if I sit here much longer I will vomit. Peace out.

There are some days when no matter what I say, it feels like I'm far away in another country, and whoever is doing the translating has had far too much to drink.

Ah, some things may stay in Vegas, but since I'm a blogging addict, I suppose not all of it will.

I had a great time in Vegas, less so because of market and more so because of getting to spend time with my friends. Some days I guess you just "have to get through it," but other days are more of a pleasure... :) I had the trip from hell trying to get over there on Sunday... I was supposed to arrive in Vegas around 11 a.m., but I didn't get there until about 6:30 p.m. Apparently, despite all the advances in modern technology, FOG is a problem for landing planes. Who knew. So I began my trip around 7 a.m., flew to Memphis, then to Birmingham, then back to Memphis, where I missed my connecting flight, of course. Then, the a-holes wanted to route me to Detroit (!!!) then to Vegas, putting me there around 10 p.m. Well, at this point, it got unholy. I admit I came unglued and may have appeared evil. This got me nowhere, of course, but Memphis will never be the same... I think we may have lost a few civilians during the hostilities. Then, out of sheer frustration and sleep deprivation, I got teary-eyed with one service agent, who took some pity on me. (These big green eyes ain't just for looks, ladies and gentlemen. I use them as weapons of trickery on occasion. Suckers.) He managed to find a flight to Dallas, then switched airlines to get me to Vegas by 6 p.m. or so... At that point, a few hours made all the difference in the world, and I almost kissed him. (I did bat my eyelashes at him though. Sucker.) What a long day.

Market was really busy... lots of people there, which makes it fun, but so much to do that my poor feet were really hurting by the third day. On Tuesday, there was a big party at the MGM outside by the pool. There was a huge stage with a Frank Sinatra/Rat Pack-type band, which was cool, plus lots of food and stiff drinks. Apparently I was a bit too aggressive with the Jack and Cokes, because when I started walking with my friends to go to dinner (it was only about 7:30 or so), I was really freaking hammered. I mean, I don't remember the taxi ride to the Rio, where we were going to dinner... then... oh boy. It was ugly. I did compose myself enough to sit and laugh and play while the guys ate, but I wasn't about to touch ANY food. Whew. It was crazy. But the guys took care of me and we had a blast.

On Wednesday I went to this really nice restaurant called Michael's, and everything about it was amazing. Too long to describe here, but it was an incredible place -- great service, great food, great company, etc. Loved it. On Thursday I walked around the Miracle Mile shops by myself for a while and went to the sushi bar at the Paris. Then I walked over to Casino Royale and played some roulette for a while and met up later with my friends there. I only lost about $20 for the night, so I was happy and had a good time.

I wasn't really ready to leave on Friday. I felt like the week went by way too fast, and I wanted lots more time to play and less time having to work (or watch others work!). My room at the Signature was gorgeous, with a huge spa whirlpool bath, a cool balcony overlooking part of the strip, a full kitchen, and a very comfy bed. I would have liked to hang out there a few more days to just relax.

I probably will have another trip or two coming up this month for the Retailer of the Year interviews, but we'll see. Maybe in early March I'll be able to take that trip to NYC. I hope so.

In other news, I began a photography class last night, and I think it's going to be really interesting and fun. Something to keep my brain occupied, at least. Next week, my brother Brant is being commissioned as a JAG in the Air Force, so I'm going to drive down to Montgomery, Ala., for the dinner and ceremony... I'm so proud of the little goofball. He's all grows up now.

**Disclaimer: If reading about depression, specifically MY depression, makes you uncomfortable, or if it makes you feel the need to say something lame, then please carry on and don't bother reading! Seriously. I'm just writing this stuff down to get it out of my head, but if you want to know what a joy it is to be me lately, then read on!

So, I've been on my increased meds now for about a month. Am I feeling better? NO. I had an unholy whopper of an episode on Monday... I was just kinda numb and drained all morning long. I was sitting at my desk one minute, staring blankly into space, mostly feeling nothing. Then around 2 p.m., without provocation, the dams burst and the tears started and I couldn't stop. Seriously. Just continuous tears flowing down my face for no apparent reason at all... Not hysterical crying or anything — just constant tears. I finally got up the energy to grab my things and get in my car (more tears), drive home, (more tears), and then drag my sorry ass upstairs. By then I really WAS sobbing, taking off my shoes and jewelry and the things I usually do when I get home... just with the added bonus of crying. I took one of my other anxiety meds and got in bed, just sobbing until the medicine knocked me out. The only thing that runs through my head when I feel like that is that I'm dying... or wish I would.

About four hours later I woke up, feeling less weepy, but still with that numb, hallowed-out feeling. Yesterday was a little better, but I was really irritable. I think about drinking a lot lately, which is not really like me, and I have been really snippy with my friends and co-workers. I also can't seem to concentrate, and I don't feel motivated to do anything. I can barely dig up the energy to do the laundry or take the pups outside.

So... the doc wanted me to go talk to a psychiatrist or psychologist again in addition to upping the meds, but I have slacked on that because of the holidays and all of the craziness surrounding them. Plus, actually talking to someone about all these physical things likely means I will have to address some emotional issue in my life as well — do something differently, think differently, respond differently, analyze this, why that, etc., etc., and I can't seem to drum up the energy to tackle that yet, either. I get exhausted just thinking about it. And I'm not sure why that's supposed to help, exactly... I mean, I get all deep and introspective, then giddy 'cause I feel like, "Oh! It's not so bad after all! I am being ridiculous!" and then fast-forward a few months and.... nosedive. crash. boom. children screaming. Apocalypse.

I'm actually really looking forward to going to Vegas in a couple weeks for market. It will be nice to get out of town for a while. Also, I've been thinking about taking a trip by myself to New York... a place I know well, no work or market to attend, lots to do, and just time to really do some things on my own again. I have some stored up vacation days that I need to take soon, so if I can find a good week in February or March when the mag is squared away, then I think I will go.

In the meantime, please be kind if I'm a mess... I do try not to cry about everything, because I don't get enough fluids as it is already.

Ok, yes... this is like the 2nd or 3rd Year of the Kitten... What is the YOTK, you ask?! Weh-helllllll..... let me enlighten you!

Every year I bust my ass working out, eating well and avoiding anything that tastes remotely like it has butter as an ingredient all in the hopes of losing some weight and fighting this pot belly that is threatening to file for its own zip code. (And how's that for a run-on sentence from the editor?) And then comes Thanksgiving... which ushers in the month that I affectionately term the Season O' Gluttony, knocking me off of my hypothetical and literal treadmill. How is it that it can take me four to six months to lose 10 pounds and then two weeks or so to gain half of that back?! I mean, how does that not defy some law of physics or nature or just plain human decency?!?! *sigh* So along comes Jan. 1, and the cycle begins again, with renewed fervor, dedication, and vehemence. Thus, the Year of the Kitten (that would be ME, for those of you who are a little slow on the uptake). Wish me continued success!

Anyway, Christmas was a little slice of hell this year as Tony and I spent about 40 hours over the week in the CAR. Eighteen hours to Lake Charles, then to Baton Rouge, then to Houma, then back to HP. It was exhausting, but good to see both families. I have decided that my god-daughter is the most beautiful and sweetest child I have ever seen in my life. No, I am not biased; don't be ridiculous. She is simply perfect and better than any child you know.

This morning began in its usual fashion for me. I got up, put on my contacts, makeup, then stand in the closet for 10 minutes deciding what to wear. Well, this morning, all of my pants seemed to have disappeared! (And since it's like 20 degrees, I'm not wearing a freaking skirt today. Forget it.) So I'm going through the entire closet, wondering what the hell happened to them, then wandering throughout the house, calling for my pants. I looked in the spare bathroom -- no pants. I look in Clean Clothes Purgatory (the dryer) -- no pants. I looked in the puppy room, kitchen, media room -- NO PANTS! What the hell? Finally, I sort through the pile of boxes and under my enormous new fluffy bathrobe laid out on the bedroom chair, and there are my neatly folded pants. Ahh. Success.

Then I went to make my breakfast shake, which is a long story in itself, so suffice it to say that it ended with half the shake on the counter and me spewing a lengthy string of expletives.

Oh that reminds me. I haven't been filling you in on the Clumsiness Report, and I think I should finish out 2007 with this little Christmas Day gem. (Annie, I know you feel me.)

This was first thing on Christmas morning.... I got up early to make my mashed sweet potatoes dish to bring to my brother's house, and I tend to be really careful when taking things in/out of the oven, because... well, because I'm clumsy. So I manage the get the sweet potatoes in and out of the oven with no problem... yay me. Then I'm trying to pour them into this disposable aluminum container to take on the road because I was still at Tony's parents house that morning and couldn't take her dishes, obviously. Here's where I went wrong. There was a wire rack thingy with handles that was attached to the hot tray of sweet potatoes. So I'm pouring the damn potatoes and my forearm touches the hot-ass handle of the wire rack!!!! I yelped and then spewed a lengthy string of expletives -- waking the family on Christmas morning to the tune of "Aww f*&#-s%&t-dammit-to-hell-motherf@%#er, you piece of @#&% son of a ---!!!" and so on. (That's probably frowned upon given Jesus's birthday and all.)

A week later and I still have a three-inch red line on my right forearm, but at least now it's scabby and healing.

That is all for now. I will probably have another report for you shortly. Happy New Year!

So, yesterday my company had its “Holiday Pot-Luck Luncheon.” The company shells out the money for a honey-baked ham, and everyone else brings something to share. (I didn’t bring shit because I just have a bad attitude and no holiday spirit, apparently.)

That was all fine and good... I ate a little, and my friend Laurie and I hid out in the conference room avoiding most of the annoying chatter. But then came the lamest holiday event I have ever experienced. The company called it the “Dirty Santa” game, but we’ll call it the “How to Piss Off Your Employees” game for the time being. Here’s how it goes: everyone has to pick a number. Person #1 picks a present under the tree, and Person #2 can either steal it or select another present from under the tree… Surely most of you have heard of or played some form of this game.

The funny thing was that ALL the presents under the tree were shit that has been in the company storage room for like four years — old ass coffee mugs, old nylon bags we give away at conferences, lame-ass cheap plastic frames from 1976... shit like that! The bags were the absolute worst though. The present I actually picked was a bag that was from some random company that had obviously given it to US, with that company’s logo on it and everything!!!!

I mean, it was SO obvious they were just trying to get rid of the shit instead of doing something nice for the employees, and it just really pissed me off. I mean, how effing lame is that?! I could not hide my disgust. I kept making commentary on the shittiness of the gifts and suggesting that soon someone was going to open a half-eaten baloney sandwich.

Seriously, couldn’t they have at least gone to the freakin’ dollar store and purchased some unused pencils or something? I certainly would have appreciated (and used) THAT a hell of a lot more! It didn’t have to be expensive, but it could have at least been something remotely new and/or useful! Jesus. I put my bag back under the tree and told Santa he could keep it to tote around his extra coffee mugs and plastic frames. I had no use for that piece of shit.

Actually, the absurdity of the situation had me giggling once I got back to my office… I was just shaking my head, and couldn't believe how fn sad that was! So given my current low emotional status, at least I actually did get something good out of the deal! Perhaps I should thank them for their miserliness!

Unbelievable. Truly.

Listen to this shit.

Most of you know that I'm biologically two Hallmark cards away from sobbing at any given moment without my daily meds. Well, the happy little caveat to the story is that the meds only make you THINK you're better, when the reality is that depression will rear its ugly head whenever and wherever the hell it wants to — meds or not.

So I'm going about my life unsuspectingly when all of a sudden I nosedive into feeling like shit for about four weeks... then six weeks... then ten. Of course, it's a long story, but I went to the doc and he upped my meds again. (At this rate, I'll be drooling in some asylum by the time I'm 45.) I've been on the new meds for a week or two, but I'm not feeling any better. I had a really bad day on Friday, just tearing up at my desk at work, in the car, and then at dinner with about 15 people. I thought that going out would be better for me than staying home, but I just couldn't shake it... It sucks. Really, really badly sucks.

In other news, Tony and I are driving the 15 hours to South Louisiana for the holidays to visit BOTH the families!!! Dear god, is there enough oxycodone in the world to survive this? We shall see. We're going to Tony's family's house first this year, so that will be a nice change. Then on to my brother's house on Christmas day, and then to my parents' house that night... All in all, we'll be gone about a full week. I am really looking forward to seeing my baby goddaughter Parrish (who is actually three now) and my nephew Parke. And I can't wait to spend some quality time with my girl Tam, who I miss like... whoa.

Other than that, I'm bored to tears — literally, nowadays!!! Got all my Christmas shopping done, presents wrapped, magazine will be shipped next week, still haven't written my column... the usual. I'm sure I'll have some interesting stories post-Christmas though!

Happy Holidays to all of you!!! Hope you spend it with those you love most.

Well, I realized today that I've been slacking on my blog, but that was only to protect you, dear readers, from being subjected to the randomness that is my mind. But then I thought: wait, these people have read my blog before. They already know I'm completely off my rocker, anyway. So here is a post. Look at me. I'm posting.

So, my little beak is healing quite nicely, albeit a little itchy still. I went back for my second follow-up appointment last week, where the doctor told me the results of the pathology report. It turns out that my tumor was a myocytoma, which is a tumor that grows in the muscle (in my case, the muscle between my nose and mouth). It was benign, which is great news of course. Not so good news was that my doctor said this type of tumor will often grow back and many times is malignant! So I'll be seeing him every few weeks for the next TWO YEARS to make sure that doesn't happen and to be cautious, yada, yada, tumors, yada.... Ok, let me just say that yes, of course I'm happy that my tumor was benign and that I'm ok. But I was expecting him to say, "Oh, you're fine now. I'll never see you again. Have a nice life." and then I'd be on my way feeling a little lighter sans the tumor. But noooooooooo... I've got to have the PERSISTENT type of tumor. I've got to have the type of tumor that says, "Oh yeah? You cut me bitch and I'll take over your face!!!!" Or at least that's how it sounds in my head.

Anyway, I had a pity party for myself for a couple of days but now I'm ok. I'm trying not to be paranoid or freaked out about it, and I'm just glad I have a doctor who is really awesome and wants to make sure I'm ok. Plus, he's kinda cute. Bonus.

In other news, can we all agree that I effing ROCK?!?! Ok, so as of this week, I have lost 14 POUNDS since my birthday!!! That rules. Now I'm starting to get pretty happy about it. I mean, you know... five pounds was nice, but I couldn't really tell and who knows if that's just 'cause of the way the moon was aligned with Mars that day. Ten pounds was fantastic, but I'm still worried that nothing's working right and my body is going to reject health altogether and balloon up to 400 pounds. But 14 pounds?!?!? C'mon now. That's cause for some kind of celebratory dance. I'm thinking of that 80's song "You can dance if you wantto..." 'cause yes. I think I will dance. Dance I shall.

My latest hope is that since my body doth love a good tumor, maybe my tummy is really just one big tumor that needs to be removed immediately. I mean, hey, I had that ginormous tumor in there when I was 12, so why not another one? That would make things nice and simple for me. Slice, snip, cut, Percocet, Percocet, done! Presto! Flat tummy!

You don't know. It could happen.

Well, I survived... and my nose is happily still attached and perfect! Thanks to all my Livejournal and Myspace friends for wishing me well and being concerned about me. You guys are the best.

So I went in for surgery early Thursday morning, and the clinic at first said they didn't have me listed for surgery that day... now, I hadn't eaten since midnight, hadn't had any coffee, and was rather foul about being cut on to begin with, but I was nice and actually a little patient with them as they got everything straightened out. In a couple of hours, I was being pricked on the finger, having stuff sprayed up my nose, an IV put in, and in my adorable little surgical gown on a stretcher. Whatever they gave me to knock me out was awesome 'cause I was out before they even wheeled me into the O.R. When I woke up, I felt like I had just gotten the shit beat out of me -- I was freezing, my face was swollen, my nose felt broken, my throat hurting from the trake tube they had down my throat, there are stitches blocking up my right nostril, and I had a nasty headache on top of it all. I eventually woke up and had some Coke and a few crackers, and eventually they brought me to Tony, who took me home. I don't remember much of Thursday since I slept a good bit and was happily unconscious from the meds. By Saturday, I was feeling much better though, and you could barely tell I had surgery at all. The doc said the little tumor looked normal and that he didn't have trouble getting it all out... so that's good. I have my follow-up visit on Thursday, where he'll give me the official pathology report. I'm not worried about it though.

There was a party on Saturday night that I really, really wanted to go to because I wanted badly to get dressed up for Halloween this year. I stored up all my energy to play that evening, and then after only a couple hours at the party I was DONE. I think I fell asleep on the way home. It was pretty pitiful. Oh well. I did look cute in my Alice in Wonderland costume for a little while!

Today, all hell is in a rage because my parents are coming to Greensboro. Lock up your children and small animals, people. In spite of my recent surgery, I managed to clean up my entire house, do 3-4 loads of laundry, and stress myself out sufficiently. Seriously, how old do I have to be before I cease to be concerned with this shit? They haven't been here in a couple years, so hopefully all will go well. Who knows. They don't really know about my tattoos, so that might be a new source of contention... *sigh* I've been storing up my pain meds to take during their visit in case I need to blissfully pass away the hours unphased. I will see how this plan works. If it goes well, maybe I will revive the plan for Christmas as well (yes, we are planning to go to LA for Christmas this year... no, I don't know WHAT the hell we are thinking.).

The Parade of Crazy should be rollin' in around 7:30. Please say prayers, light candles and rub your buddahs for my sanity. Thank you. Should this happen to be my last post and I am henceforth committed to a mental institution, spending my days rocking myself in a padded corner somewhere, please remember me well, dear friends.

I don't really like coffee, but I don't really like it when my head hits my desk when I fall asleep either.

*sigh* Listen to this horseshit:

So, apparently when you turn 30, shit just starts growin' on you. Literally. I went to the doctor yesterday to get this bump inside my nose checked out. It just popped up out of nowhere about a year ago and has been annoying the hell out of me. It doesn't hurt or anything, but it's annoying. (And no, it's not a stubborn booger, you a-holes. Tony insists on calling it a booger polyp, to which I take great offense.)

According to my father, the people in our family only die of two things: cancer, and gunshot wounds. I seem to have passed the latter category's most dangerous cycle (my teens and 20s), so the cancer option is the one I tend to look out for now. So the doc tells me it's some kind of tumor, and I have to have surgery asap to get it removed before it takes over my face or something. You would think that it would be some simple little in-the-office procedure, but noooooo... I've got to go to the hospital, be put completely asleep, cut on, send the thing to pathology, and wait around for a few hours to wake up and then make sure I don't have a permanent nosebleed. With any luck, I won't have two black eyes afterward. Should be fantastic. If so, I'm going to tell people that I was involved some kind of shady gang war, and hopefully build up some more street cred.

Tony asked if he could keep the cyst after the surgery so he could poke it with a stick. After he regained consciousness, he said that perhaps that was not a great suggestion.

The festivities will commence next Thursday at 7:45 a.m. I probably will be all better by Friday, but I'm planning on being foul and whiny for a good four days. I mean, I should be a freaking pro at surgeries by now, but I'm not too comfortable with the fact that this one is ON MY FACE!!!! Hmm. Maybe I can convince the doc to go ahead and let Daron come in the op room and pierce my lip while I'm out. (Hell, I haven't been sparring for months, so why not? Oh wait, I forgot -- my boss would shit a brick.)

Anyway, I am not only annoyed with this latest development, but I am also feeling like shit today. I think I'm just going to call it a day and crawl back into bed. I'll let you know how it goes.

Another market under my belt. Not too bad, overall. I had a lot of fun meeting up with friends and drinking way too much, of course. One night, about 20 people and I got together at Buffalo Wild Wings to watch a football game and a baseball game (neither of which I cared anything about), but I was effing DETERMINED to get drunk that night. I mean, I only have 2-4 markets a year, maybe a convention or two, but those are really the only times I go out. I love my friends here to death, but they're definitely not a partying type of crowd (that includes my husband, too, for that matter). We are pretty low-key on a regular basis. But I love to go out and dance, have a good time, and stumble home on occasion, so markets seem to be my best time to do so.

That night, I started off with four Jack and Cokes. Maybe they were watered down or something, because I seriously was stone-cold SOBER after those. It pissed me off because I should have been at least halfway to tipsy by then. Nothing. So I chatted up our waitress, Nicole, who was a lot of fun (and I think she liked me, liked me because I think she was gay and she kept touching me). Anyway, I told her to bring out the shots, so I start throwing back lots of different stuff, from straight Skye vodka shots to some Washington apple shot thing. TEN shots later, I'm finally feeling pretty good, and I felt I had accomplished my goal. I don't know what got into me, but I was a freaking beast that night. What's crazy is that I wasn't even wicked drunk at that point!!! I mean, I was definitely drunk, but not to the point of room-spinning, feeling ill, talking-way-too-loud drunk. Everyone was quite impressed by me, and I have been dubbed "The Machine" by my market friends. I will wear that title proudly, thank you very much. Add to the fact that I didnt go to sleep until 1 a.m. and woke back up at 6 a.m. to work another full day at market, and my Bionic Woman status is even further solidified.

Now market's over, and I'm back at the office, wishing I could somehow hang myself from the flourescent lighting. Yesterday I endured an hour and a half-long meeting about our new insurance plan... and if you know me, there are a few things that I just can't suffer lightly: 1.) higher math, 2.) stupid people, and 3.) INSURANCE MEETINGS!!!! Oh my God, I was about two HMO discussions away from stabbing myself in the eye with a pen... However, I hadn't met my $2500 deductible, so I decided against it. (Oh dear god. I just said "deductible." I'm feeling nauseous now.)

I'm supposed to be working on a feature article for November, which I can't seem to get motivated to do, and what I really want to do is get the hell out of here, get a massage, a pedicure, maybe get my hair done, eat a stuffed-crust pizza with a chocolate shake, and shop for shit that I don't need. (Chances of that happening are pretty slim to none.) Today at work I was told I had to cut a little over $20,000 from my 2008 budget, so that basically means I'm once again going to be asked to do a lot more (a.k.a. miracles) with a lot less. (sigh) I need to get out of here.

Oy. I really need to get back into school or at least take some random classes or something. I AM BORED!!!

I think my life would be a lot easier if I could just get my selves to agree on something.

Whenever the world seems to be acting in my favor for too many days in a row, there's this little asshole demon (who I have named Claude) who dives into my brain and starts bowling. I have been totally KICKING ASS on this weight loss thing. Well, I should say, it's been a VERY slow process, but I'm losing about one pound per week. So far, I've lost about nine pounds in nine weeks. That totally rules!!! If I keep this rate up, I will be really close to my goal by Christmas.

I've been working out a lot, doing cardio almost every day and some jiu jitsu, plus being really careful about what I eat. I've also been taking this pill "Alli," which I think is helping. Since I had my gall bladder removed, my body doesn't process fat the same way, so I think the Alli is really helping with that. I know there's been a lot of negative talk about Alli's side effects, but I haven't had any problem with it at all. I ate really healthily to begin with, so it hasn't been a big adjustment for me to take this pill. I eat pretty much the same as I did before taking the pill, but I think it just helps to get rid of the little bit of fat that I do eat.

Anyway, I'm looking pretty good and seeing a bit of a difference in my face and body now, so I'm feeling a little confident. Not OVERLY confident. Not vain or cocky. But apparently it was enough of a ego boost to alert Claude and remind him of his mission to make me freaking miserable. Yesterday I woke up with a bit of a headache, but nothing too major, so I decided to go to jiu jitsu last night. Halfway through the class, Claude starting bowling strikes inside my cranium, resulting in massive pounding, vision disturbances, and nausea. I sat out for the rest of the class, trying to calm him down, but he was having none of it. Even though I took an Imitrex and went right to bed, I was in full-on migraine mode within an hour, and it didn't let up ALL NIGHT LONG. (sing it with me: "All night, all night, all night long...")

Between my whimperings and near-vomitings, poor Tony didn't get much sleep either. But sure as hell as it was time to get up for work, Claude backed off and left me with no good reason to call in "sick." I mean, what a jerk -- if I have to have a migraine, you'd think I could at least get a day off in the process. But no.

Anyway, I'm hoping he's gotten it out of his system now because I've got market starting this Sunday. I'm going to be really freaking busy and I don't have time for any migraine nonsense for at least the next week or so. Hopefully I will have some good stories to tell afterward. I think the Commodores are going to be performing one night, so that's gonna be hella cool. I could use a little "Brick House" to lift my spirits!

Cheers.

Labor Day is one of the few (ok, the ONLY) holiday that I actually have off from work but Tony doesn’t. I revel in this unique day of the year with glee, and I point and laugh as he grumbles off to teach the unshaved masses.

This Labor Day, however, I had PLANS. I got up right after Tony left, got some breakfast, played with the pups, then got dressed. I made my way to that bastion of testosterone and overalls — Home Depot. I deftly made my way through the paint supplies, got a quart of Behr semi-gloss, and then headed back to the house. The project? To paint the stairwell and avoid killing myself in the process.

By noon, the second coat was on the stairs, and I basked in my awesomeness while I ate lunch. Then, I trucked over to Target and bought an obscene amount of black frames in various sizes. I sorted through some of my favorite black and white photos of friends, family, and the pups, and then I began hanging them along one side of the stairwell. It looks fantastic, but I’ve only hung about eight frames so far. I ran out of steam and decided a nap was a higher priority than finishing the project that day.

Anyway, during this day o’ handiness, I had the TV playing in the background, tuned to VH1. When I started the day, videos were playing, but when the regular programming started, I was too involved in what I was doing (i.e, lazy) to change the channel. For the rest of the day, I was treated to a little gem of a show called “Rock of Love,” in which women compete to be the love of Bret Michaels, lead singer of Poison.

Ok, I’ll be the first to admit that I had a crush on Bret back in the day – I mean, the dude was H-O-T and I was a teenager. ‘Nuff said. But hotness aside, I am seriously appalled at these women, and this show in general. The level that some women will go to, how much they will degrade themselves and let themselves be humiliated… it’s really embarrassing. Here’s a little example: in one episode, the girls have to talk dirty to Bret over the phone to simulate how well they would get along when he’s on the road. In another, they have to dig through a huge trashcan to look for Bret’s favorite guitar pick. In the last one I saw, the girls get interrogated by some of Bret’s biggest fans about everything from their emotional stability to their sexual history — all for millions of viewers’ entertainment.

I mean, it’s obvious to me that the shows are scripted closely enough to ensure as much juicy gossip and drama as possible. But can these women be so brainless to think that the producers of this show care in the least if the show humiliates or degrades them?! What is to gain by this spectacle? A date with some guy who can’t get a date with a normal girl on his own and probably has an STD of some sort? Ooo, sign me up!!!

It’s definitely a train wreck though – I mean, even though it’s horrible, I can’t stop watching this shit, and I am hooked. Now I HAVE to see what this crackhead Lacey does next. To paraphrase something a friend once said to me, if I don’t know what’s going on in these people’s lives, how can I properly pray for them? (lol)

It also never ceases to amaze me how dumb some guys are. That is entertaining, too.

Tony has been calling me "Justice League" for some time now, primarily because I have this heightened sense of (and reaction to) right and wrong. It absolutely infuriates me when I see or hear about people being mistreated (such as cases of child abuse and domestic violence), but also more minor things just set me off and make me want to punch somebody's face in. I HATE it when people act like they are more important than somebody else, or just act like they have no regard for anyone else but themselves.

Take today for example. I'm at work, clicking along in my usual fashion, when my friend Erin tells me somebody stole her lunch from the break room. Now, keep in mind, I don't work in some big office -- there are only about 35 people in this office. Erin had her lunch in a bag, and someone opened the bag, took what they wanted, and ATE IT!!! What infuriated me even more is that this has happened on several occasions -- someone stole a bag of tomatoes off one person's desk, someone stole one of my frozen dinners out of the freezer, someone stole my friend Susan's cheese and crackers, etc., etc.... It happens all the freaking time.

Well, today I had enough. I sent out an email to all staff members, and now I post it here for your entertainment:

Listen up, all you food-stealing, no coffee-making, no toilet paper roll-changing savages!!!

Perhaps Mary Beth is too nice to say this, but let me tell you, not only is this behavior incredibly rude, but it shows a complete lack of personal character to steal from your co-workers and be a disgusting slob. Have some pride in yourself, for God's sake!

I'm willing to acknowledge that maybe your parents didn't teach you right. Well, listen up closely, 'cause here comes the lesson:
STOP ACTING LIKE FREAKING IDIOTS!!!!!!

-Trish

P.S. If you're THAT hard-up for something to eat, I'm sure someone would rather loan you 50 cents for the vending machine than have you steal someone else's food!!!

Wow, I've been slacking in my blogging lately. My bad. Hooray for Trisha's birthday month!!! I am all of 30 years old now, and I celebrated the event in style, naturally!

A bunch of my friends and I took a trip out to Vegas to celebrate my birthday, and we had a freaking BLAST. Before we left, though, I decided I needed to commemorate my initiation into old-ness by getting some blue streaks in my hair (get it? Old? Blue hair? If not, just forget it. It was humorous to me at least.) Anyway, the blue turned out this really cool dark blue color like Illyria from Angel the Series. It's awesome, and I am effortlessly cool by rockin' it.

We left on a Thursday, early in the morning, and were in Vegas by noon. Tony and I stayed at the Bellagio, which is always nice since it's right in the center of everything on the strip. That night, Tony and I went to see Zumanity, which is a Cirque du Soleil show about sex/sensuality. It was really funny and amazing, and I loved it, of course. On Friday, the crew walked around some of the shops together, and we all went on a gondola ride at the Venetian. I don't remember what we did that night... but it was probably fun. On Saturday, my actual birthday, I had breakfast in bed, then met up with the girls. We did this class called "Stripper 101," which is exactly what it sounds like. A real Vegas dancer/stripper taught the three of us, plus a group of 10 girls in a bachelorette party, the finer points of giving lap dances and dancing on the pole... It was freaking hilarious. We laughed and had a lot of fun with it. Because it was my birthday, the teacher used me as her guinea pig and gave me a lapdance to show everyone how it was done. I was LOVING the attention, of course. It was so fun.

We got cleaned up and spiffy for a night on the town and met up with the guys to have dinner at my favorite restaurant, Fix. I don't care that it's expensive -- it's the best meal I've ever had in my life. I think I've eaten there maybe five or six times now, and every time it's just as good. Blue Kobe beef, very adult mac and cheese, dessert doughnuts with chocolate and caramel sauces... holy shit. No wonder I've gained 10 pounds! YUM. After that, we hopped around a few bars, had a few drinks, then passed out. The next day we continued our fun though -- Mariea, Dennice and I ended up spending a good six or seven hours at the roulette table in one of the casinos, having a blast and drinking a LOT of free drinks... Poor Mariea was really shnockered, and they had a 6 a.m. flight to catch!!! Tony and I booked a later flight, because I didn't want to expose the public to the level of ugliness that would ensue by trying to get me on a 6 a.m. flight back home. Instead, we took a flight around 11 a.m., so I had lots of time to wake up reasonably rested! All in all, I only lost $10 total at the roulette table, so I did pretty well. Not a lot to pay for a day's worth of fun.

Since the trip, I've had another party including my friends who couldn't go to Vegas with us, and then tonight my friend Todd (whose birthday is the day after mine) and I had a joint birthday party at his house with some friends from church and Todd's work.

So many people try to give me shit about turning 30, like it's supposed to be depressing or something, but I don't ever see it that way. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: 10 years is too long to be in your 20's. It's a tough time figuring out who you are, what you want to do, dealing with what your parents instilled in you (for better or worse), the prospects of marriage, kids, jobs, home-ownership... Jesus! I'm happy to celebrate a changing of seasons in my life. Hopefully in my 30's I will be more self-assured and give myself a break at trying to be Master of the Universe. I'm so hard on myself about all kinds of things, and I'd like to be able to say that I'm getting to a place where I'm more comfortable in my own skin... whatever it may look like.

Within about two weeks, I invited my cousin Kian to come up here from Texas, she managed to convince her mom to let her visit me in North Carolina, got a plane ticket, and is now in the air on her way to spend a couple of weeks with me! I am so stoked! She should be here within a couple of hours.

Kian is like a little sister to me. She has had a rough time of things in her 16 years, and I see so much of myself at that age in her. I think we have a pretty close relationship though, and I want so much for her to understand that someone really loves her and would do anything for her. I was thinking about this the other day, and I realized that even though I don't want kids of my own, I still feel an important need to really invest in someone and make a difference in someone's life... I feel that person to me is Kian. It's not that I feel the need to do anything out of pity about her circumstances — it's out of love. I relate to her so much, and my heart just breaks sometimes to know the kinds of personal demons she will fight in the next 10 years or more. I would do anything to let her know that she's not alone in it, though.

I just want to be at least one person in her life who lmade her feel that she's beautiful, talented, and loved no matter what. I know I wish that I had had someone like that in my life, and I'll do my best to be that person for her.

The day started off normal enough — didn't want to get up, grumbled for a half hour about what the number on the scale said, pulled myself together and got to work. About five minutes after I sat down at my desk though, parts of my vision started disappearing... which is a sure sign that I am going to have one hell of a migraine in about 30 minutes. It's a very odd sensation... it's sort of like seeing sunspots in your eyes, but they're shimmery. And some days it's a square block that is gone from my vision, but today it was a crescent shape that went around my left eye and across the top of my right eye. Weird.

Anyway, I had to call Tony to pick me up because I obviously can't drive like that, and I knew I needed to get home. (I figured I would do less work than usual if I couldn't see.) I got home as the migraine hit, took some medicine and knocked myself out for about six hours. I'm feeling a little better now, but my neck and back are killing me! Will sombody just go ahead and shoot me already and be done with it?! Sheesh.

And now for something completely different...

One of my best friends, Mariea, is probably the hardest working woman I know. She's got two young kids, runs our martial arts school, trains for fights, etc. Anyway, last weekend she casually mentioned that it would be cool to have a convertible Mustang someday... Her husband Steve opened a can of worms by suggesting that if they could work out a good deal by trading in her new car that she could have one... So two days ago, the girl drives up to my house to go joy riding with me in her new Mustang! We were going over 100 mph down the highway until I convinced her to slow down so that she didn't get a ticket on her FIRST day of owning the thing. It was awesome though.

I am ridiculously happy for her... I guess you'd have to know her to understand why it's a big deal. She just works so hard, and it's really nice to see her enjoy something fun and frivolous like that, you know? I was really disappointed to hear that her dad told her it was "stupid" that she got that car, even though she got a great deal on it, her payments are less than her other car, and she still has plenty of room to carry the kids around... I guess I just think life is too short to be so practical all the damn time. Why shouldn't we enjoy things like the wind blowing in our faces in a fun convertible, especially if the cost is almost the same as the car you're already driving? (I don't think you have to spend $100,000 on a car to have a fun one.) I love my little convertible Solstice and wouldn't trade it for anything. Not because it's some expensive thing or anything materialistic like that, but because I can still ENJOY those moments of my life when I'm relegated to being in the car.

I guess I just wonder why some people consider those moments of "getting there" as less important than the other moments of life. I suppose it's really the same in any journey in life — we're so focused on where we want to be that we don't pay attention to what's happening along the way. I know that my times driving in the car aren't going to go down in history as my most significant, but it's moments like those — when I'm alone with my thoughts, listening to music, looking at the world around me — when I take a deep breath and remember that life is bigger than me and my problems, and that not everything in life is so complicated. Sometimes it really is as simple as letting the sun shine on your face and the wind rush through your hair every once in a while.