Waiting

I'm certain my doctor thinks I'm a hypochondriac. It seems like whenever I'm sick, I wait a few days to come in to make sure I really am sick and not wasting his time. Of course, by the time I do go in,  I'm feeling better. Typical. So after all the exams, likings, and prodding, I'm fine.

Now, there's this new clinic, oh, but its not a clinic, we are being offered that would let us see doctors for free. OK. No more primary care provider.  Just treat the symptoms and not look for the underlying issues at hand.

Everyone complains they can't get in to see their doctors.  Oddly enough, I can always get in to see mine. Sure, I wait, sometimes for hours at a time, but eventually, I see him.

I'm waiting now to see him. I keep staring at the ground at the perfectly smooth deep cocoa colored feet inside of chocolate colored high heels in front of me. I have to wonder if the feet are covered in a sock or nylon, or if those feet belong to someone that just has really nice skin. Nonchalantly, I look up and cough. Confirmed. This lady has very nice skin. It has a very smooth texture to it.

Back to staring down, I notice my belly. Its full of various ripples like a weird canyon starting at my neck with rolling hills of boobs met by another rolling hill of belly met again by a rolling hill of a pooch formed from nine months of pregnancy.  Looking at the rest of my body, my legs and arms, I wonder why this belly is so round while the rest ceases to gain. I feel like I have my father's shape. That of a man who wooed every day, God knows hhow many miles, delivering mail. A man who was nothing but muscle with a belly bigger than a pregnant lady's.  This body, his body, is the one I have.

I cough more. Each time I do,  my left ovary aches. A cyst popped on that side earlier today. I was fortunate to be in bed when it did as it felt like it would have sent me to my knees if I were standing.

My mom calls. Twice. First time I send to voicemail. Second time I answer.  She asks if they found out what's wrong with me. What's wrong with me? Am I broken?  It sounds like an insult.

Nothing is wrong with me. I'm just sick. And waiting to be seen. Overhearing the ladies talking in the billing are and chatter behind the waiting room door.  I'm waiting to be seen. To be treated. Maybe to find out something is wrong. But now, I'm just waiting to be done so I can go to sleep.

The Bad Pug

There are no things as bad dogs, just bad owners. Murphy’s Law of pet ownership would explain why the loss of a good pet with a hurried attempt to fill its empty space would result in finding a bad pet. Of course, that dog is not bad. The owners are bad. One has high expectations of it to fill the furry paws of its predecessor. The other isn’t sure what to do since it’s a different dog. The little one can’t love it because it is not the old dog. Naturally, she becomes bad because of us.

We work with her. By “we”, I mean “I”. I take her to training. Pay hundreds of dollars and spend time with her. We develop a bond. Of course it is not the bond the old dog had with me when I was home with her all day, every day, during a pregnancy and after a child. I work with the Bad Pug for a few minutes a day in the mornings and after work. I don’t know what kind of expectations I have for her. I just wish she would be like the Good Pug. They were both so similar. 7 or 8 months old when I got them. Rehomed twice when we got them. The Good Pug was full of love when we got her. The Bad Pug was full of anger and fear. The Good Pug shared a home with a jealous sibling pug who had claimed the house and hearts of its owner forcing them to rehome the Good Pug. The Bad Pug was locked in a garage all day and crapped all over the place and chewed on anything in sight. Upon meeting both, neither of them wanted anything to do with me. The Good Pug growled, barked, and ran away. The Bad Pug tried to bite my face and went into a frenzied attack mode similar to a rabid pit bull. I took a chance on both. Both loved me and came to me for comfort, shelter, food, and love. 

The Good Pug loved us all.

The Bad Pug only loves me.

It only makes sense the Bad Pug would love me. I needed her love. I welcomed it. Despite my expectations, I look past her defiance and stubbornness and see big eyes and a fat little body that farts in my arms and happily licks my face with the same tongue that eats the cat’s shit. I don’t care because to me, none of that matters. The Bad Pug’s little life is too precious and fragile and could be ripped from me so quickly one day like the Good Pug’s was. No crime she does is worth her life and I could never be angry at her. Ever.

I hate coming home to trash on the floor from her excavating the trash cans or random piles of shit and stains from piss on the carpet. I have lost several pairs of shoes, which she has thankfully gone past that routine. I simply yell at her in a monotonous repetition of “no trash – no trash – no trash – no trash – no poop – no poop – no poop – no poop” to her errors before sending her to “iso”*. It has become a repetitive routine, as if the little Bad Pug enjoys punishment as a form of attention. My little masochist greets me daily with something to be yelled at and acknowledges her wrong doing and runs to her crate where she gives the pouty pug face until I tell her she can come out. It has become worse since I started going to school again, but it is what it is.

I call her the Bad Pug. Really, she’s not that bad. We’re the ones who fail to train her. We’re the ones who fail to regularly take her to the bathroom. The other says she is lazy and bad. That she used to hold her pee and poop and give us signals when she has to go. I correct him and say that was the Good Pug, but he disagrees. The Bad Pug never was that good. It is not her fault we failed to teach her proper house breaking. Although, sometimes, I think she is defiant because I am not home as often and she does it intentionally to the other. As if she is trying to show him what a truly bad pug she can be. How he used to have a Good Pug and that pug was not bad at all and now he will live with a Bad Pug. She is what he gets. She is what we all get. Yet no one loves her like we loved the Good Pug. 

But I love the Bad Pug. Even though I am frustrated by her daily, I still love her because I know we deserve her. And she, despite being bad and not knowing better, deserves to be loved. There is no reason she should be shunned or crated all day. The other crates her often hoping to teach her. And at first, it seemed like we had her in the crate constantly. During the day when we were at work so she wouldn’t tear the house apart and shit on everything. At night when we came home and she would shit on the carpet. We had the Good Pug in her box** and the Bad Pug in her crate and while I just needed a fat little body to hold to comfort me, instead I had two pugs that I was unable to hold. 

And now I don’t even care. I don’t care if she doesn’t listen to the other or marks or destroys things. I don’t care. It breaks my heart to see that my Good Pug is in her box on the dresser. The Bad Pug is caged all the time. I don’t have the heart to keep her in her cage. I got her to comfort me and to have a fat little body to hold onto. So what if her trimmed nails slice my skin when she jumps on my lap to greet me, or snags my nylons when I come home? There is no point in having a pet if they are placed in a corner constantly and not loved. Then, we are no different than her last owners. 

We had a Good Pug. Had. She is gone and will never come back. If the other does not like the way the Bad Pug acts, perhaps he should work with her more. Instead of complaining as if it is my fault that she is the way she is, he should try. He had a Good Pug. He broke the Good Pug of bad habits, so why not the Bad Pug? Instead, he makes her my problem to deal with. She is not a problem. She is just a Bad Pug who has bad owners.

*Iso – isolation; solitary confinement; prison slang. In this case iso is a crate for crate training a dog.
** Box –  reference to rectangular urn Lulu’s ashes are in.

Ladies and Good Ol' Boys

She paused abruptly while taking the dishes from the dishwasher and placing them back in the cupboards. She had been hit with a little glimmer of horror and satisfaction all at once and smirked as she presented herself into the dining room and announced, "You know, I just realized in some sort of way it was probably completely inappropriate for me to be discussing gun control with you and the guys last night."

Her husband looked quizzically at his wife. "Why would you say that?"

"All the women were in another corner talking about decorating their houses and Magic Mike and it was like I completely didn't fit in with them. I mean, did you not pick up on how the women were all so proper and in their own world?"

Her husband didn't notice then, nor did he care to try to remember. To him, it was unimportant. He just exclaimed, "Well, I think we've worked our way into the 'good-ol'-boys' club!"

She gave her usual grimace, the one that she would say meant she was fine, but really meant thoughts were brewing in her head. She knew those women she tried so hard to fit in with, who spent a good part of dinner discussing their weddings, the joys of Pintrest, and all their favorite southern hot-spots didn’t welcome her into their elitist clique.

"My husband and I got married in a court house and shot machine guns on our wedding day," elicited looks of pity and disgust.

"Bless your heart," they agreed. She had been in the south long enough to know this was a condescending insult on their part. It was them saying something that sounded like they cared, but really, they didn’t.

Even trying to gain their acceptance resulted in failure.

"It's just such a cute photo, but I can't possibly put it up because of his booger nose," one lady complained, in regards to a sweet photo of her son with a runny nose.

She, on the other hand, wouldn’t hesitate to put up a grotesque photo if it captured the essence of a beautiful moment. Yet she tried again to wedge her way into their clique, "I can photoshop that out if you want. I can do that..."

The ladies looked at her, almost interested for a minute, but could see through her desperate attempt for acceptance. The hostess changed the subject to complain about a scuff of paint on a walkway that wasn't even noticeable until they pointed it out. At this point, she no longer cared about anything they had to say. All they did was complain about their perfect lives. How a backyard wedding was completely unacceptable, and they didn't have enough in the budget to do a better venue so they would need to wait another year. How the wreath they made from a Pintrest post wasn't good enough because they ran out of burlap. How they didn't have any more paint to cover the scuff that was on the walk way no one would even see if they didn't bring it up in the first place. How they had so much, but it still wasn't enough. “This,” she thought, “is what it is like to be a southern lady?”

Yet she was no southern woman. She was a westerner. No matter how hard she tried, she would never be like them. She just didn’t have it in her to be so petty. She found more welcome talking to their husbands along with the company of her own husband. She did everything a southern lady was not to do: fraternizing with the men, drinking liquor and beer, and discussing politics. This made her even more of an outsider to the southern ladies she was trying so hard to impress.

It was then, at that moment, when she drank another beer with her husband and the men, she realized she would rather be a happily married westerner who would never fit into the world of the miserable southern ladies. She wondered, however, if her actions would result in her husband being ostracized from the good-ol'-boys club. Even though the men chatted with her and her husband, at the end of the day, they would most likely have account to their wives, who would criticize how improper it was of her and how her husband shouldn’t allow his wife to act as she did.

Of course, at the end of the day, those men would never hold it against her. Unlike her husband, she was one of the good-ol'-boys. She knew some other men who were friends with the husbands of those women. She knew of many stories that would truly give those women something to complain about. And the husbands of those catty southern women knew this.

She looked at her husband triumphantly. Her hair was completely out of place, her face was greasy, yet she proudly declared, "Yes, dear, we've made it. We are officially good-ol'-boys."

The Daunting Task of Buying A Home

In this lovely year of change, we have seen our luck turn around drastically and we are in the situation where we are finally able to get in on the daunting task of home buying. Having rented for the past 5 years, we are very eager to find that place we can call home. Not that we haven't made each little place we rented our home, but we long to find that place we can call ours. There is nothing more sole crushing than giving someone a large chunk of money for something you will never own.

This week, after speaking with a lender about our options, we started looking for things in our price range. We set $110,000 as our limit because we don't really want to pay more than $850 a month after all is said and done. That would give us wiggle room for higher utilities, as well. So we found a few properties we found some interest in. They have most of what we're looking for, and that is a huge plus.

My list of desires include a spacious kitchen, older house with character (crown molding, fun floor plans, things of the sort), a separate area for washer/dryer (could be a room, closet, or in a garage, just as long as it's not out in the open somewhere), electric stove and gas heat, nice residential area, close to schools and shopping, fenced yard, and a fireplace would be a plus, but not necessary.

Jesse's list more includes a shed or garage, brick house, copper plumbing, up to date electrical, and probably a lot of stuff I want as well.

Charlie even has requirements! He says we need a fireplace so Santa can come in and a playground in the yard for kids (a swing set.)

Of the six houses we looked at, two were big fat "nos", one was filled with so much of the residents' crap I couldn't figure out what the house looked like and we just were too distracted by that we didn't even care anymore, then there were the three "love its". Those are the ones that jump out at us for various reasons.

The first is in a nice little suburb by Charlie's school. It's a brick veneer 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom with a giant kitchen and fireplace. I adore the color scheme inside the house with it's pea green walls and sandy brown carpet. Jesse and I agreed we could take the paint off and stain the wood paneling wall in the living room since that is something he's big on. There is a gorgeous fireplace and a big back yard and just so many things I love about the house, especially the neighborhood.

The next one is one subdivision over from that house and is what I would call the Teague Plantation for sure if we lived there. On a half acre of land, this 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom house has a sun porch, detached garage, and a view of a lake from the back yard. Obviously a little too much land for us to maintain, it is a gorgeous historic house from the 40's with hardwood floors throughout, but definitely a contender in the list of choices.

The last one is around Lakebottom. It's a typical older brick home with a really neat floor plan on a sloped lot. There is a garage under the house and like the other two, it also has a big porch. I loved the glass windows on the cupboards where you can see the cups and dishes inside. It truly had an old south look to it and there was a lot about that place we loved.

I never really imagined home shopping would be such a daunting task in terms of narrowing down choices. I mean, it is very obvious to find the ones you don't like, but narrowing down the ones you do like to pick THE one is just unbearable at times. I could easily see us in any one of those three houses. I just try to imagine us and all our furniture inside. What would we be like? How would it look? Where would we put photos and pictures on the walls and in which rooms? Would we put the piano in the dining room like it is now or in another area? There is just so much to think about! Especially since we have some pretty nice options to choose from.

It's funny because I always thought when we got to buying a home, the hardest part would be the loan. Apparently I was wrong. The hardest part isn't the money. It's figuring out where you want to see yourself growing old and raising your family. Unlike buying a car, you are shopping for your creature comforts, practicality, and picking who you want for your neighbors and which schools your child will go to and what grocery stores you will shop at. Things that once seemed like trivial problems are now big ones. Frankly, if these are my biggest problem in home shopping, I think I'm doing OK.

What A Difference A Year Makes

A year ago, I ran my first half marathon. It was while I was training for Los Angeles and I finished around 2:45:00. A few months later, I ran my firs Marathon, which was not very good time-wise, but it was more of a personal goal to finish, and in that aspect, I was successful.

In November, I did the Soldier Half Marathon and my goal was to beat my last recorded half marathon time. I succeeded and came in around 2:40:00, although my chip time was closer to 2:38:00.

I was reluctant to wake up this morning. I thought, "Maybe I should just sleep in and rest today." After all, I was convinced the fact I didn't show up as being registered was a bad omen and fate's way of telling me I was not supposed to run today. Of course, I woke up anyway and thought I would just do the run at a comfortable pace and finish when I finish.

The only people I saw at the race were the faster runners. I figured I would run with them at first and taper to where I belong later. But something interesting happened. I stayed with them most of the race. It wasn't until the last few miles they picked up their pace on their way to the finish and I did my usual slowing down the last three miles. I had to change my intervals the last half mile due to a pain I get in my left foot on long runs.

Somewhere around half way through, I determined I wanted to come in at 2:30:00. If I did, this would be a huge PR for me and even at that last half mile, I knew I would be nailing that record time for myself. I really cannot express the level of gratitude I have for the Galloway program director, Shelly Dinkin, for making sure I hit my goal. If it weren't for her, I would have succumbed to the pain in my foot and walked more, happily accepting a time over 2:35:00. But Shelly came back and ran with me to the finish and I credit her with my achievement. She truly shined as my coach today.

By God, a 15 minute improvement in a race time is the most wonderful feeling in the world. Maybe it's the endorphines from the so-called runner's high, or that sense of accomplishment, but the feelings of joy and victory I feel outweigh the pain in my left foot.

I have spent a lot of time training and have seen the benefits of my work in action. From weight loss, increased energy, better moods, and of course faster finish times, I can say running is one of the most beneficial things a person can do to improve their life. All the runs before the sun comes up, training in the hot and cold, sprinting at inclines on treadmills, have paid off. As with all things in life, rewards do not come without hard work and dedication. I look forward to running again next year and hopefully coming in below 2:30:00. I know I have it in me to be a faster runner.

2013 Resolutions

Well, it's that time of the year again. I guess I should make some realistic resolutions so I accomplish them and feel somewhat successful.

1. Read more. Goal: start and finish at least 5 extracurricular books this year. I have the problem of starting a book and never finishing it because other things come up. I'd like to at least finish 5 books this year. I know I can accomplish this. Extracurricular books include books not pertaining to things that are applicable to school or work, but simply for pure enjoyment or personal enrichment.

2. Lose 5 lbs. I know I can do this. So yeah, if I lose 5 lbs over the course of this year, I'll feel good. Current weight as of the beginning of 2013 this morning was 163.3. If I make it to 158.3 at any point this year, I win. More is better.

3. Pay off one debt. Our old apartment lease we broke when we moved will most likely get paid off this year, so I know I'll accomplish that.

Moral of story: set realistic goals, achieve them, feel good, set yourself up for more grandiose goals for the future. Baby steps.

2013 Predictions and To-Do List

Predictions
George Bush senior will die from pneumonia brought on by bronchitis.

Commercial fishing will see a decrease in fish bagged (particularly the tuna industry).

A series of tornadoes will hit the south (particularly Alabama and Tennessee) causing cities to be without power for up to a week.

There will be a direct correlation between the less ammo available for sale and the higher the gas prices will be.

Justin Bieber will be involved in a sex tape scandal. Local DJs will talk about it on morning shows and refer to it as the "Baby, Baby, Baby, O-Face Baby" tape.

To-Do List
Red Nose Half Marathon
Columbus RoadRunners 5k
Super Bowl 10K
Furry 5K
Publix Marathon (half) Atlanta
Turkey hunt
Camp over the summer
Hog hunt
Deer hunt
Lose 10 lbs and keep it off
Take general ed classes
Try to get into CSU
Learn something new
Actually give up something for the duration of Lent and stick to it

Ghost Adventures

I love ghosts and have been fascinated with ghosts for as long as I could remember. I spent countless weekends in my single days going to ghost towns and even staying at a haunted bed and breakfast with my sister for my birthday back in 2005. So you can imagine my delight when I discovered that here in Columbus, a group over the state line the Alabama Paranormal Research Team, hosts ghost tours and a few times a year does actual ghost hunts. Now I've been on a dozen ghost tours but NEVER an actual ghost hunt.

On October 27, Jesse, Crystal, and I met up at the Naval Museum for a 5 hour lock down from 8:00 PM to 1:00 AM. It was very informative as it consisted of a tour of the museum with historical background information and stories about ships, relics, and replicas of the museum. That lasted about an hour and then we broke up into groups to check out different areas.

The first room we went into had a giant ship that was burned and smells like burned wood for those who can smell. There's nothing horrible associated with the ship in terms of seeing battles or anything. He showed up late in the game. But there are spirits that haunt the area. We started out at one end of the ship and left to the bow of it. I have an EVP/EMF app that I have set on an auto record feature. Basically I can manually start and stop recording sessions, or if it senses any unusual frequencies, it will automatically record. Somewhere between us going from the front to the bow, it recorded someone telling our group to "come back here" and right as it finishes saying that, someone from our group whispers "listen" as if they just heard something.

We then met up again and had another regrouping and moved on to another room after about an hour in the room with the big ship. Our next venture was a lot more interactive and fun. We went to a replica hall designed to look like the inside of a ship. In there, we were all sitting on the ground in the hall when we started to hear knocking sounds. Upon asking around the room, we had concluded that none of us were doing anything to make noises or move and the knocking started to become more logical. We would then call out that we were going to do a knocking pattern and ask whatever was out there to copy what we did, like a repeat game. Much to our surprise, we got the same coherent responses. Upon doing that a few times, we started to ask yes or no questions with yes answers being one tap and no answers being two taps. It acknowledged that it understood and we started asking questions.

For whatever bizarre reason we can't figure out, the ghost liked to talk to Crystal and I. I guess we just were asking the right questions. Questions about food. It liked to talk about food and for whatever reason I think it was a man, somewhere between 20 and 30. Just a hunch. Guys in the group wanted to ask questions about the war and what not, we just wanted to know more about the ghost, who we were talking to. I dunno.

We then moved to another part of that same area where we could hear someone eating something crunchy. I don't really have anything more to say other than someone was eating something and food was a pretty big theme for the night.

We went back to the room with my "cook" and asked some more questions and at that point they were more involved with us. Someone tugged at the pants of one of the guys in the group and someone, I'm assuming my cook, touched my hand when Crystal asked if it could touch one of us. Not too long before we left that area for the evening, something also whispered something next to me. Take in mind I was at the end of the row of people and there was no one there, but it was on my cold side, or, the side where there was some sort of spirit.

Crystal and I spent the last half hour goofing around that replica area taking pictures with my night vision and thermal imaging apps because we're silly like that.

Crystal walking around the "kitchen" where we had contact with my chef...

Hellooo??? Is anyone out there???

Crystal points to the area on the floor where most of the knocking was coming from.

Hoping we would maybe get a ghost in our photo.

 We said, "OK, we're gonna take a picture, if you wanna be in it with us, just stand between us." Nothing. Boo.

 I asked my cook to take a picture with me. They never did. Boo again.

 Jesse the skeptic before our adventures started. He turned out to like it in the end.

Anyway, they're doing another Parafied event in February for my birthday weekend and I'm hoping we get to go to that. Just saying.

***********************************************

As if that weren't fun enough, we got to go to another ghost tour on Halloween night at one of my favorite places, the Springer Opera House. Now this was a first time they ever did this and a very rare and special event. The Opera House has a image it likes to uphold and it wants to be known as a cultural arts venue that preserves history and adds culture to town. It does not want to be known as some haunted ghost story tourist trap.

Now, despite the fact it is known as a historic and functioning theater venue, it is also a place of confirmed hauntings, all of which ghosts are apparently very nice. As we started our tour we got some stories of the entrance area and upon walking from the ticket booth towards the saloon, a weird mist cloud met at eye level between myself and Jesse as we stopped in front of the Emily Woodruff portrait. I actually don't think that was her but think it was actually Edwin Booth. There was no body or features to this cloud, but I had a hunch it was male and an even stronger one it was him since it was very near his portrait and he seemed like he was going back to it.

A little walk further in we went to other rooms including the dressing rooms...

The costume shop and warehouse...

And the prop shop...

While we were in the green room, I noticed a strange shadow passing in front of a blue light yet there was nothing anywhere near it that could cast any shadows that large as the light was on the ceiling and the shadow was along a spot on the wall at least 15 feet up.

After the green room, we got to go onto the stage. There was a very strange cold spot on the stage behind me and I don't know what it was but assume it was a ghost. There was nothing more to it outside of it just being cold.

Our tour took us back to the main hall where it started and it came to an end. During the closing comments and Q&A session, I saw what I could only presume was Emily Woodruff on the stairs peeking out to see what was going on and then vanishing. She was a faint greyish white figure composed mostly of outlines of which I could best describe as a desaturated/lightened photoshop transparency in real life.

After our Q&A, our tour guide took the remainder of our group to a few more spots because we were very interested in the history of the building outside of just the ghosts. One of the things people rarely know about me is that I'm kind of an archetecture nerd and love great structural design. I also appreciate decorative arts history, so this was quite a treat to me to be able to go to the peanut gallery and see the original seating from the 1870s.

The tour was actually kind of long and lasted for about two hours but it was fantastic. We learned a lot about the building, its history, heard some ghost stories, and of course experienced some ghosts. The Springer is very lively both with the living and deceased spirits that occupy it.

Anyway, that concludes the experiences we had this week with ghost on this lovely All Soul's Day.

Rainy Day Playlist

Ghosts of the South

I have clued Jesse in to a certain degree to the ghosts of our apartment. I want to say there are two but I know for sure of one. He likes Jinky a lot. He's always petting her and she will sit there loving being petted. Often times, she'll be on the bed or in the living room or what not and he'll pet her head. She'll just be loving away, being happy to have her head petted. It's cute. As for the guy, he's pretty cool. He just hangs out. He likes the piano in the house and enjoys the music. Sometimes when I'm folding laundry in the bedroom, he'll peek over my shoulder to see what I'm doing. I can tell he's there because you can just feel the coldness of him. Jesse says he hasn't had any knowledge of him but I'm pretty sure it's because he's not as fond of Jesse as he is of me and Jinky. Jinky is just too cute and me, I'm guessing I remind him of someone. I told Jesse he probably should just be used to the concept of ghosts considering where we live and how many people probably died around here. He's kind of like "whatever" towards it all. I'm pretty happy. I like ghosts provided they're not assholes. Fortunately, we haven't dealt with any asshole ghosts. Although I could see Reno being a good place for asshole ghosts, but we never dealt with any out there, thank God. I still say the strangest ones are the ones at my parent's house and I still feel creeped out whenever I go there.