I think the glowing bird bikes were the highlight

I think there might be some sports on tv or something. 

Like, a LOT of sports.  A whole bunch of different kinds of sports.  On tv.  ALL THE TIME. 

I don't really like sports.  I don't really like playing them, nor do I really care to observe them.  I guess I like the sentiment, and I respect the athletes, but sports in general?  Meh. 

Except for these particular sports.  These Olympic sports?  I like these sports.  I like the international competition.  And the patriotism.  And the muscles.  The male swimmers' muscles, mostly.

It's a pretty safe bet that I'll spend my entire week's vacation watching the Olympics.  Constantly.  Probably. 

Of course the whole event was kicked off on Friday with the Opening Ceremonies.  To which I had some reactions.  So here are my thoughts.  Because I know you're dying to hear them. 

Then I took a nap.

 

The end. 

Adam's Song

You'd think I could never, ever forget what it was like to be anxious.  How could anyone forget that?  That exhaustion, that pain, that debilitation, that fear. 

But I did.  I forgot it.  I forgot how much my chest hurts with every breath.  I forgot the headaches and the butterflies in my stomach.  I forgot the restlessness, the racing heart, the crushing feeling in my ribs.  I forgot what it was like to count the days.  Count the hours.  Count the minutes trying to hold it together. 

I forgot. 

I forgot because I've been doing so well.  Because I let myself forget.  I slowly reduced my meds until I could cope without them altogether.  I was stable.  I was happy. 

Until something happened.  I'm not sure what exactly, but something.  Or many things.  Many little things that just aren't so "little" in the grand scheme of my childhood fear, confusion, frustration, mistrust.  Things that somehow triggered me.  One thing, or two, or a handful of external pressures that just... built up inside me until they burst.  Set me off like a bomb I forgot was there. 

Only not like a bomb.  Not a shell-shocking explosion.  More like a slow-releasing toxic gas that seeps into my lungs and pores without me even realizing it. 

And then.  Then the effects begin to make themselves known.  I start to feel it.  To know it.  To recognize it. 

It hits and I don't want to leave my bed.  It hits and crying seems easier and yet harder than it ever has.  It hits and Adam's Song on the radio shoves me into a panic.  It hits and... and I'm terrified that I'm back where I started, with no power, and no strength, and no logic to save me. 

It hits. 

And it hurts. 

And I'm trapped. 

I don't automatically assume he's a perv

I don't know if you guys know this, but I'm not necessarily a terrible person. 

Sure, I'm kind of an asshole.  I curse a lot. I'm 100% un-punctual.  I say what I'm thinking, even if it might offend your precious sensibilities.  But I have some good qualities too.  I'm fun.  I distribute freezies to my colleagues.  I even volunteer. 

So what's my favourite Marianna Annadanna quality? (other than the constant cursing, which I'm actually quite fond of).  It's the fact that I almost always give people the benefit of the doubt. 

Not every day, nor in every circumstance, but I generally try to minimize my judgements. 

The crazy jerk neighbour?  He doesn't know any better.  It's not his fault.  His wife doesn't even like him. Poor guy. 

The celebrity couple who got divorced?  We don't know them.  Leave them alone.  Sure, he's probably completely nuts, but we can't prove it. 

The creepy dude who felt up my leg on the bus?  I should talk to him, if he's talking to me.  I wouldn't want to be rude.  He probably just thinks I'm single.  (!)

This is not to say that I don't make my voice heard.  If you've read my blog, like, ever, you know I'm a huge fan of the giant bitchy rant.  I have been known to throw a hissy fit at a stupid salesgirl or mall cop, for example. 

But I also often defend a lot of shit that really should piss me off. 

Yesterday, let's say.  Yesterday Hubby and I were driving home from Hometown. 

Hubby: "Ew.  This road has potholes." *

Me: "Yeah it does.  But I guess it's not that bad.  Just drive around them."

Hubby: "They just re-paved it.  THIS IS BRUTAL."

Me: "Well, maybe it's just temporary."

Hubby: "STOP IT! It's a SHITTY ROAD! Just accept it!"

Ok, so Hubby's right.  Fine.   I admit it.


*Read the first two comments.

UPDATED: My Jesus Bird Cherry

So this week has been a tough one.  Although not one of my worst weeks (by a long shot), this week has been busy, and annoying, and generally a lot to deal with. 

I took on too much. 

SHOCKER.  THAT'S SO UNLIKE ME. 

But then yesterday I received a good sign from the powers above. 

BEHOLD:

My Jesus Bird Cherry.  Winston. 

That's a cherry.  I was eating cherries ('tis the season), and I came across this little guy.  Not just any cherry.  A BIRD cherry. 

And then I paraded him around the office spreading good cheer. 

Which made me realize that this is not just any ol' bird cherry.  This bird cherry is very obviously possessed by Jesus.  Because only Jesus spreads cheer as much as this bird cherry.  Or is that Santa?  Whichever.  Either way, this Jesus Bird Cherry is my new best friend.  I call him Winston. 

So I placed him strategically up against my banana - for scale -  so I could show him off to all of you. 

And spread more cheer. 

Because if my Jesus Bird Cherry is good for anything, it's spreading cheer.

Which is why he's still sitting on my desk. Staring at me. 

Until he rots. 

In Hell. 

*Hubby contributed that last line and then we laughed for five minutes.


UPDATED

We were at Ma In Laws's last week and she had THIS to show me.

Meet my late friend, and Winston's distant cousin, PENIS BIRD TOMATO.

Today kicked my ass

Ugh. 

I'm tired. 

6:50 - The TV comes on to awake me from my slumber. 

6:59 - I curse, because my cable has been busted for a week, making a very loud BUZZING sound every 8-12 seconds. 

7:01 - I still watch it, because, well, CLASSY. 

7:33 - I eat breakfast, etc, knowing I have to leave "early" for work to ensure I arrive in time for a 9:30 meeting.  (Fuck you, commute.)

7:42 - Hubby goes running downstairs with a garbage bag, trying to catch the garbage truck.  He fails in his mission.  He curses.  I laugh. 

9:24 - I arrive at the meeting, with 3 people emailing me asking what building they are supposed to go to.  And then one gets mad, as if it's my fault.  I complain to my boss.   

9:30 - Someone bitches at me. 

11:00 - I leave the meeting.  My boss buys me an iced coffee.  I add honey.  Yum. 

11:30 - I work hard all afternoon, with too much to do and too little time to do it.  I also look up a clip of Grey's Anatomy.  Someone else bitches at me. 

3:15 - Another meeting sneaks up on me.  It eats up the rest of my day.   

5:00 - My day doesn't end, rather someone else bitches at me.  That's 3 separate people bitching at me.  In one day. 

5:30 - My boss gets stuck on a conference call.  I feel guilty. 

5:40 - I continue to bicker with people until I'm so cranky and exhausted that I rant to multiple bosses and pretty much fall asleep during a conversation. 

6:15 - I leave the office, with no particular idea what exactly caused such a significant level of exhaustion.  I can't quite put my finger on what, if anything, was accomplished.

6:26 - I continue working via blackberry the whole way home. 

7:15 - I arrive home, find that Hubby has finally cleaned out my drain and vacuumed the bedroom (thank you darling), have a calming "don't go crazy" shower, eat a grilled vegy wrap, watch Jimmy Fallon, write a blog, and hopefully go to sleep momentarily. 

The end. 

Another "Wow, I'm awesome" installment. And also? OUCH.

Remember that time I ran upstairs in the dark, carrying the cat, stubbed my toe, and impaled my ribs with the vacuum?

That was good times. 

And I was unceremoniously reminded of how much fun that had been early this morning. 

I was in the closet, in my underwear, trying to find something to wear to work.  Hubby had already left, so I was just watchin' the news and hangin' out with Tuxedo and Patches.  And Scarlet. (Scarlet is my iPhone.)

And then I heard Hubby return.  And when he called up "Hello?" I quickly stepped out of the closet to respond. 

Or, rather, I tried to step out of the closet. 

Before I knew what the fuck was going on, I caught my right foot somewhere between Patches' four feet and her fat droopy belly, stumbled, sidestepped, attempted some sort of martial-arts-double-flip-swivel-kick, and then landed sideways with my back smashing into the closet doorknob. 

"FUCK.  Fucking CHRIST mother effing ass shit fuckface FUCK!"

The dutiful Hubby that he is: "Are you ok?!"

"NO."

But I was.  I mean, I lost some lung air, I'm pretty sure there's a tender dent in my back flesh, and my bus ride to work was way too fucking JOLTY, but, yeah, generally I survived the incident. 

And so did Patches, thank goodness.  She sat on the floor looking up at us with shocked "innocent" eyes wondering what in the name of all that is holy fucking happened.  And she may or may not be afraid to go in the closet from now on. 

But we're both fine.  Ice and advil fixes a lot of stuff. 

Gangstas who read

To help offset the bitch-fest that was my last post, here's something less ranty. 

On Friday afternoon I was genuinely grinning from ear to ear when I overheard a conversation between these two young dudes on the bus:

Gangstas who read. 

Maybe you can't tell, but the white dude has a few tattoos - one on his neck, and some others on his forearms.  His jeans are also hanging around his ass.  The black dude has a chain around his neck and he's clearly wearing a muscle shirt.  And both have oversized backwards hats.  (Although neither of them was wearing sunglasses, and the beard is my doing too.)

They seemed like decent kids.  When I say "gangstas" I don't mean murderous drug dealers - just young goofballs who are perhaps a little too caught up in pop culture.

But then I overheard them talking:

White gangsta:  I, uh, started reading a book yesterday. 

Black gangsta:  Really?

White gangsta:  Yeah. I was at my buddy's house and he had a lot of books.  This one looked interesting, so I borrowed it.  So far, it's really good.

Black gangsta:  That's cool, man. 

White gangsta:  So I'm just gonna read, now, K?

Black gangsta:  Yeah, ok.   

And then I smiled ALL THE WAY HOME. 

Just peachy thanks, how the fuck are you?

Good god I just took the longest hiatus from this blog I've ever taken.  And I picked a ripe ol' day to return, too.

Christ I'm cranky today.  You know that feeling?  That if I have to deal with these idiots I share the planet with for one more fucking SECOND I think I might throw a kicking and screaming temper tantrum right here in this cubical feeling?

I was fine this morning.  I had some fun tweeting with the hilariously adorable Miss Pish Posh and I was quite happy to celebrate 'Merica Day with a high calorie snack and some sort of fancy mocha hot shaken not stirred full fat hubba bubba latte.  Or something.   

But then a guy at work came over to talk to me about something incredibly stupid* that I fundamentally disagreed with and the poor sap took the brunt of whatever was pent up inside me. 

And then, then... CAN OPEN, WORMS EVERYWHERE. 

Once I let that beast out of my dark soul I could not bury her back down there for all the cheese in Wisconsin. 

I was bitchy, and argumentative, and a damn misery to be around. 

Sure, I still made jokes, and handed out freezies, and didn't necessarily hate on everyone that crossed my path, but I was on the brink of an erratic, neurotic freak-out for the entire afternoon.

Maid of Honour duties?  Bah. 

Some political garbage?  Screw them. 

Stupid work meeting?  FORGET THAT. 

Therapist says stop doing something?  No!  I don't wanna! You can't make me!

Apple store can't fix my iPod?  FUCK YOU, APPLE STORE.  FUCK.  YOU. 

Yeah, I was a real peach today. 

And the solution?  Same as always:  Hot shower.  Cheesy pasta.  Blogging.  Grey's Anatomy.  And a Hubby hug.  Because what else are all those things good for, if not to make me feel better?


* Stupid is a relative term. .  Some days everything is stupid in my opinion.