Apparently I Suck

Although I had every intention of posting on the reg about what happens when a loved one goes through chemo, I have failed. I think a big reason is because Mom does so well with it all. She has some issues for about 4 days after her big treatment of T, C, and H... then she's really okay. Leg pain and diarrhea is about it. No nausea or super mega fatigue. It is what it is. 

On another (rather depressing) note, one of my favorite shop regulars has also been battling lung cancer. I believe it was stage 3, as he was a life-long smoker. This time last year, he quit and started smoking e-cigarettes, and was so proud of what he'd accomplished. I was too. About the time Mom was diagnosed, he was as well. He did one round of chemo and started another, as he was a bit worse off. I found out yesterday he was in the hospital and the disease has spread to his pancreas. Bad sign, and my friend has just a few days left per the doctors. Now, doctors don't always know everything- but you have to be honest with yourself about things. I found out yesterday at work, and had a slight break down. I've found myself to be pretty sensitive about cancer-talk in general, as I don't want to discuss it unless it is with someone I like and trust. That's about 10 people total in the world. Finding out that my friend potentially lost the battle was just a bit much. All of this is scary. Cancer is fucking scary. You don't know what it's going to do, and when it does do something unexpected- it's usually not good. It's a game of hurry up and wait... you do what you can, but sometimes it's not enough. There's nothing you can absolutely make happen. For someone who is Type A to a fault like myself, that's hard to deal with and I usually try to not think about it. If I do, I usually lose a day to being weepy, angry, lethargic, and just downright depressed. Even though Mom is doing so well, this still happens. Because you never know- you don't know what's going to happen in 10 years. You don't know what could happen in YOUR body in the next 10 years. It's just too much unknown, and you deal with it the best you can. And this is coming from me- who doesn't have to personally deal with the disease. All I can do is shave my head and try to relate, but my heart truly does go out to those who are actually affected. Women who have a family to raise and have to deal with the disease. Wives who have their husbands taken from them entirely too soon. Husbands who have to see their wives be stripped of their immediate features that declare them women. I don't suck- this disease sucks. But it is what it is, and you do what you have to do and hope it's enough. 

That's enough being a Debbie Downer. My bad. :) It's almost Crimmus. Y'all get excited about that shit, because I gotta say... I kinda am. 

Pain In the... Leg.

Mom made it til today with no major side effects from her treatment 4 days ago. She started having some leg pain the day after- mild enough where she thought it wasn't related, but it has progressively gotten more severe. Today it's enough to have her call the oncologist's office. They prescribed her Hydros (yay... ugh) for the pain. Mom is pretty resilient, and I asked her how bad it was- she only told me "Enough to take those pills as soon as I get them". Looking at the bigger picture- if this is the only side effect, that's not bad at all. The only thing about this is she is supposed to receive the Nulasta shot the day after treatment... and the side effect from it is pain in hips, legs, back. We have been told it's either no pain or terrible pain- and she said if it's anything like this, it will make things difficult. She doesn't want to be doped up on narcotics, and is hoping the next treatment won't have this affect on her. She goes Thursday for a treatment of just Herceptin, and they are going to do blood work then (as they always will) and see how her white blood cell count is. If it's high enough, she doesn't need the shot and potential crisis is averted. If it's low, the shot is a good idea, and we could be dealing with a bit of a shitstorm. Again- she can handle this over nausea though. But 18 weeks of fairly severe leg pain is nothing to cheer about... so until Thursday, we will see. Hopefully the Hydros will do the trick and she will get some relief without having to max out her dosage, so she's not too foggy. It's just a little hard to see that this is better than alternative situations... but I know it is, and mom does too. Until Thursday, mom's riding the narcotics express. Again. She's fitting right in up in good 'ole Anderson County. 

Maybe that's inappropriate.

Who gives a shit. 

:)

Chemo Chronicles: Episode I

Today is mom's first day of chemo. If you know me, you know I plan and obsess and plan some more. The thing about this... I had no idea what to plan for. Chemo is different for each person and each cancer and each stage of cancer. It's so personalized, and then each person is so different- the reactions and such are therefore different for each person. They tell you 30% of people experienced these symptoms, and 10-29% experienced these... so that's what you can probably, maybe, perhaps expect. But the only thing most guaranteed is that your hair will fall out (again, probably) and you'll be tired. In my research and quest to find out information about what the hell is going to happen, I found nothing. Even these blogs that women have written (which by the way are totally estrogen fueled and considering they are usually on estrogen blockers, I don't get it... seriously- give me facts, not tears) and informational pages cancer sites have put out have nothing that suited me as sufficient. So I'm doing my own.

Take a damn bag with you to the infusion center. You are gonna need shit while you're there. They will have some snacks and drinks probably- and it's free, but it might not be stuff you like. Better safe than sorry, and better over prepared than ill-prepared. Main point: bring water or at least something to put water in. They should have a water cooler there, but just in case- bring lots of water with you for your first appointment to make sure you have it. Also bring stuff to do- laptop, handheld gaming device, Kindle/Nook/whatever, magazines... just things to keep you from being totally bored. No worries- you can go to the bathroom and stuff while you're hooked up, too. It's really not what I thought it would be. 

Chemo is administered intravenously- either with a new IV each time or a pre-installed port. Mom has a port, and that looks like this after it's been hooked up and ready for infusion:

Her tattoo wasn't touched in the install, either :)

They draw blood and everything from the port, which is great for mom, who has shittastic veins. The nurse will have to find the port and get all the stuff you see there hooked up. You'll spend your first appointment hearing all kinds of information - some is repeated, some is new. The doctor will probably talk to you again and the infusion center nurse will talk to you. That bitch- she was helpful. She will tell you what you need to know. We were told initially the big treatment sessions (every 3 weeks) of the 3 drugs - Carboplatin, Taxotere, Herceptin for mom - would take 7 hours. Nerp. We were there at 8am, started infusion at 9am and were done at 1:30pm. Not that the doctor was wrong, but well- it didn't take 7 hours. Mom was very fortunate and didn't have any weird tastes, nausea, or severe reactions during her time in the chair. Speaking of, tada:

Not horrible, but not awesome. I'll take that. 

The overall experience was so much better than I thought it would be, honestly. Mom would have to agree...

Just started infusion.

Mom eating lunch, hence the face. :D

There were several older people there, and numerous people coming and going to receive their Nulasta shot, which keeps your white blood cell count up, as chemo makes it drop because chemo doesn't know the fucking difference between normal cells and cancerous cells. It just goes on a killing spree which hey- is effective, but also what causes the mouth sores, hair loss, low blood counts, nausea, and having the craps. Yup. Awesome stuff. 

All that to say, so far - so good. Mom is now home (after a trip to WalMart and CycleGear... yeah...) and chatting away and doing fucking amazing. I'm staying with her tonight to just make sure she's good through the night and part of tomorrow. Side effects usually will kick in from time of direct infusion up to 24-48 hours after, so I want to be sure that all is well before heading back to central standard time. 

Again, I'm wanting to do this to put information out there because I honestly couldn't find much of anything anywhere that was along the lines of what I wanted to know. Although no one may ever see this to use again, you never know. Man has lots of ideas and plans for app development, and it's really good shit he has in mind. Shit that could take off and be for real functional and helpful- and maybe lead to other things that I would love to have a hand in. The truth is things like this motivate you, and force you to realize the flaws and needs regarding a situation that so many people face. 

Now. On to more important things... 

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

UPDATE: THE DAY AFTER...

I feel like a little snippet is in order to say that I'm super thankful and so fucking happy that mom is having no side effects. Like - none, ya'll. For real. Okay- her face was a little flushed last night and she had a bit of flushing on her chest- but that's IT. This is CHEMO and my mother isn't sick, super tired, in any pain... her fucking face just flushed. I was hoping I could document and chronicle this adventure in case others happened to stumble on it, but I literally have nothing to tell. Now, in a couple weeks when she loses her locks (again, who knows at this point- she might end up having her hair grow 6" given the issues we're not having so far) I'm sure I'll have some word of wisdom or snarky bullshit. 

Until then, I really am pretty speechless about it all. Although I do have to mention mom just said said she's gonna get herself a scooter. Whatever you want, mama. Whatever the fuck you want. <3

T is for Tuesday and Tuesday is for Boobs.

I'm just gonna jump right into this.

3 weeks ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Stage 1. MRI shows none in lymph nodes. Ping pong ball sized. All that stuff. The stuff that makes it a best case shitty scenario. After a quick break down in the stock room, my wonderful boyfriend zoomed over, pulled me together, and took me to Knoxville. We spent the day with my family. Over the course of the next week, after the good MRI report, my mother decided to have a double mastectomy. Why? Because just a lumpectomy has a 12-15% relapse rate, when a mastectomy (double) has less than 5%. Also, even with good reconstruction- your tit is still gonna look funny after a lumpectomy. *shrug* Simple math.

Yesterday, my mother had both her breasts removed. She also had 5 lymph nodes (which included some sentinels) removed to double check the levels. If the cancer isn't in the nodes- no chemo. If it is- we all shave our heads. Again, simple math.

Today, my mama came home. But first, her wonderful surgeon removed her bandages. I had to leave the room, because as a woman and as her daughter- it was fucking difficult. Breasts are what defines a female as such to the public- they are what one sees to know that "Hey, she's a she" if one has short hair, no hips, hairy arms... they are part of our womanhood. To see my mother's taken from her was a jolt. It doesn't make me mad, or sad, it just makes me feel. One, it makes me feel a loss. Two, it makes me feel vulnerable. And three, it makes me feel fear. My grandmother - Nony - also had breast cancer and a double mastectomy in 1984. In 1997, she passed away. After 13 years, cancer returned- in her bones. I have experienced a dreadful deja vu the last few weeks. I remember the day my Nony called mom to tell her the cancer was back in the Summer of 1996. That was all I thought about the Wednesday she called me to tell me her news. It fucking sucks, it scares me, and a I don't like it. I also fear this is going to come around again in 30 years- on a personal level. It's not being selfish- it's an honest and serious thought.

Friday, mom goes to the plastic surgeon for her extenders to be inserted. She's doing a full reconstruction- and chose to not use the doctor in the same facility. Because she doesn't have to if she doesn't want to. :) So that was an extra procedure, but she's tough. Both doctors cleared her for going under twice in one week without hesitation- it's kind of a good thing. The plastic surgeon can go in and make sure there's no infection, and check how everything is going. She will be more sore from the placement of the extenders under her muscles, which will be expanded over the course of 3 months to make room for her implants. Hopefully no skin will have to be grafted, and it will just be an implant procedure.

With that said, mom is doing awesome. She didn't even flinch when the doctor removed the bandages. She hasn't shed a tear that I've seen. She is all business. Her faith helps her. My faith in science and medicine help me. It has been a trying time for me on that level too. Again- not being a selfish bitch, but an honest one. My father said to me today that if I "still prayed, now is the time to do so". Well, one- I've never really prayed, because the last time I did- it was regarding just this thing... and that shit didn't work. And two, he forgets that guilt doesn't work on me. :) At all. Ever. To each their own, y'all. If prayer and faith work for you- awesome. Seriously- more power to you. However for me, logic works. And I find solace in the facts. If it comes back that my mother needs chemo- then she needs chemo. And we use the best clinic we can find for treatment. Simple math.

So I'm in Clinton/Knoxville and I'm off work all this week- through Sunday- to be here with her and help with her, Gracie, and whatever else I can. All the while trying to not bitch slap my father... sigh.

All of this has been pretty personal, and that's why I'm stating things in this format rather than flat out on Facebook. Those who read this will know, and those who don't won't. I didn't want to tell anyone, but I have informed my closest friends and figure now I might as well put it out in the open, as much as I can allow myself. If you want to pray for her, that's cool- and I'm sure she would appreciate it. I know everyone would send well wishes, so it's not why I'm blogging all this. I guess it's just because it's a form of therapy for me- not looking for sympathy, pity. or anything really. I just know there are those who would like to be in the loop. So there you have it.

If all that was too much for you to read, my mom's getting a boob job and cancer sucks. And I'll probably be needing froyo (yeah, I call it that) or coffee this week, so hit me up because I could probably use a few breaks from my father... because I for real might strangle him. Again... if you read this. :)

Srs Bizniss

So there has been a lot of talk regarding ChikFilA and the Muppets. Now Boston is thrown into the mix. And Mike Huckabee. I actually feel rather strongly about this whole thing, so I figured I would jot down some of those sentiments. Mainly for my sister, because I apparently make her laugh.

So the Jim Henson, Co. comes out and says they don’t wanna do business with CFA anymore because CFA hates queers....

In turn, CFA says cool- we’re pulling your children’s toys NOW from our little food packs, because they probably make kids gay anyway. And we’re gonna say it’s for ‘safety reasons’, but also say no children have yet been hurt. CFA apparently doesn’t know the difference between the truth and a lie. Because they totes just lied. Be the bigger person and say ‘hey- we have differing views on morality and shit, and because of that choose to not do business with one another anymore. Therefore, ergo, herewith to we are pulling their toys from our children’s meals.’ Easy peasy lemon squeezy. And not a lie.

So in retaliation, the Mayor of Boston issues this letter:

And in re-retaliation, Mike Huckaby issues this statement, which brilliant right wingers have already taken to Paint and made glorious:

Alright, people. CFA doesn’t do the gay thing- whatever. That’s their choice. And it’s also someone’s choice to not support CFA for that. I am not a patron of CFA. Haven’t been for a while. I would only eat there on the night they did a value meal for $3.25 for local college students here in Cookeville, because I was poor as shit. Haven’t done that since the Spring, and especially won’t now since I’ve gotten back on the no-meat-bandwagon. Regardless, I won’t stop there for coffee, ice dream (which blows ass btw), or anything else. BECUAUSE I SUPPORT WHAT THEY BLATANTLY  DON’T SUPPORT.  The end. Yes, I think they are haters and it’s rude and the way they’re going about upholding their ‘beliefs’ is bullshit- but they are entitled to be that way. Because it’s America, y’all. We are just as entitled to not eat there, to write a letter stating they should not locate in our city, and to ignore the shit stupid people are going to post about all this- both liberals and conservatives. Bottom line: I think CFA was misleading in things; they have the right to be whatever. However, I think they handled this completely wrong- 'morally' and business-wise. I do applaud the Mayor of Boston and Lisa Henson/Jim Henson, Co., both for taking a stand; as is also their right. Finally and perhaps most importantly, Mike Huckabee needs to learn to read. 

FYI

I actually learned a long time ago that when I'm happy I don't generally write as much. I don't feel a need to express myself creatively or have an outlet when shit is going well. When I started this blog, I had uprooted my white ass and moved myself and my cat to the redness known as Cookeville. I had left a job making good money in a field that I had a semi-degree in and was unemployed and moving in with 2 boys and 1 retard. I had shit to say. Almost a year later, I really haven't chronicled my 'adventure' all that much or often. *shrug* Sometimes I think that hey- maybe I want to write more and maybe I could be like interweb famous and shit. Then I realize I don't really care- I just like to occasionally get my simple, silly thoughts down in typeface. Maybe because I like to type (srsly, 70+ WPM- I like this shit for some reason) or maybe because I'm an only child by birth and am therefore overly vain and conceited. I mean, everyone wants to read what I have to say, right?

Duh.

I've come a long way in the past 11 months. Went from working part-time at a motorcycle dealership inputting numbers and running errands to working full-time + overtime almost every week selling motorcycles and financing motherfuckers. Bitch- I know the combination to the safe of the store. Only me and my GM know them digits. For some reason, this makes me feel special or something. Sometimes I trivialize my position at my store, then I realize- I do all the things and I like that. I had first started there only wanting limited responsibility and hours, and quickly accepted the fact (all over again) that I am a text book type A personality who likes to control things and know the inner-workings of whatever I'm involved in. I take pride in my job and the work I do there. Today, I added to our t-shirt display the back of each shirt so fuckwit customers wouldn't have to unfold every single t-shirt they were considering to see what the design on the flip was. I also got 2 new air conditioning units for the store. I think I'm more proud of my tiny, laminated pictures than the latter. Go figure.

Speaking of jerbs, Boyfrand starts his 'big boy job' Tuesday. Can I just say I am proud as fuck of him? Because I am. The kid whose parents didn't believe in and were assholes to has grown into a man who supports himself on his own, because god knows they weren't going to help anyway, and impresses me and others on a daily basis. I love this man. It's kinda gross, and I don't care.

With that said, as Summer is ushered in- both he and I are set in careers and secure in our relationship. We are happy- individually and together. It's a good feeling. If you've ever been in a shitty relationship, you can give a 'hell yeah' to that. I remember where I was a couple years ago and today I can say I am thankful for that, for I would never be where or who I am without that journey. Don't get me wrong- I wouldn't go back and do that shit again for a million dollars. But I have always said I never regret the past because the past is to thank for your present. If I had never married, divorced, entangled myself stupidly, cried lots, and drank more, I never would've met the people along the way who I know I will love and cherish relationships with forever. Not only romantically, but as true friends. I thank those who made my life a bit tumultuous, because I wouldn't be here: in Cookeville living with a Man that supports me 147% and loves me (and the cat, truth) unconditionally, in a lovely home, and happy as fuck. 

Boobs or No Boobs... Imma Sell You a Motorcycle.

So I've started selling shit at work. Like expensive shit of the two-wheeled variety. In order to sell said shit, I have to be able to finance your ass. Therefore I am now working sales and F&I at my store. Like as in they are getting me a sales license. If that isn't adulthood, I don't know what the hell is. I am trusted enough (and believed in, mind you) that they are going to let me sell motorcycles like I know what I'm talking about. Okay, I kind of DO know what I'm talking about, but let us be honest: I am a girl. I like pretty things like glitter, kittens, dresses, birdies, and cupcakes. And they take me and toss me out in a pinstriped work shirt and want me to bring in some skrilla. Lots of skrilla. Like in the thousands to tens of thousands range. These fuckers even trusted me to take a $10k cash deposit to the bank last week. That's ten thousand. Cash money. Certified. Anyway, I sell Harley-Davidson motorcycles for a living now. And balance the daily books. And do SubscriberMail emails. And install bar code scanners. All the things. I do them. 

And you know what?

I love every single second of it. 

Seriously. I love my job. If I have to leave Cookeville, that is what I will be sad about. I work with some great people- I like everyone... even crazy Bill in the back, and trust me- that motherfucker is crazy. And yells sometimes. But I like him, damnit. 

What I don't like is how some potential customers treat me v. my boss/store manager. The difference: boobs and a penis. I mean really- I know, I'm a girl. I have hips the size of a small country to prove it. That doesn't mean I'm completely retarded. Not in general and not about the product I'm trying to sell you because I know you want to fucking buy it. When I approach someone, ask how they are, what they're looking for, and how I can help- I usually get 'Fine, and you? Just browsing/killing some time, thanks.' When my boss asks, they have questions. Always- they have questions. You know what, I know more about the bikes on my floor than 75% of the dick hauling motherfuckers that walk in the door. For example, I know that horsepower really doesn't matter in the motorcycle world. It just doesn't. So when I say 'Harley actually doesn't give us a hp rating in specs...' I'm not lying. It's true. Go ask the guy with the dick- he'll say the same. Also, all of our bikes have more 'power' than imports. We have an 883, which is actually measuring the cc's while most H-D's measure the cubic inches. Compare that to a 650. Are you with me? Because most people aren't. 650 < 883. And that's only on our Sportster line... and only some of those. Others are 1200's. Again... 650 < 1200. You get up to the bigger bikes with the 93 and 109 cubic inch motors and that works out to 1523-1687 in the crotch rocket world. That shit will haul. Heavier, yes- but still. Point is: I know my shit. That is a basic question, and I know the answer. Carrying on...

I have had a guy in the shop almost every day for over a week now. He comes in, sits on one of my favorite bikes...

Iron 883... sigh...

... and I imagine he makes 'potato potato' sounds for a while. He sits on the bike for a good 10-20 minutes at a time, walks around, comes back, does it again... he spends at least 2 hours in the store. I've tried to initiate conversation with him SO MANY TIMES, and he won't talk to me. Seriously. I've stood and stared and tried and he is having NONE of it. Dude, just tell me to fuck off and I WILL. Gladly. You irritate me as it is so just SAY SOMETHING. BAH.

Bottom line is that I love my job. LOVE IT. But there is always the underlying inferiority almost that I feel... because I'm not a 'dude'. I am thankful my parts manager, service manager, boss, and mega boss don't feel this way. They answer my stupid girl questions (because I still have them) and tell me to go out and kick ass- sell the shit outta some shit then finance the hell outta it. Besides, it could always be worse. I could have people trying to hug me (only happened once so far) or a boss who constantly nags and screeches at me still.  Instead I get to look at cool stuff all day long, learn nifty things and come home to my best friend at quitting time. 

And Murray, too. 

Life is good. :) 

A Glimpse Into Dating An Introvert

I have always said I generally don't like people. Okay- let me actually rephrase that: I don't like people except for a select few. Or unless I'm drunk, then I like tons of people. Except for the few I still don't like, and I hate that for them because I am really a jerky bitch when I'm drunk. Okay, I'm flat out mean. But I am always pretty. 

ALWAYS. Anyway, back on point.  

I am an introvert. An ISTJ, to be exact. Introvert, Sensing, Thinking, Judging. I have taken the personality test based on the studies of Carl Jung and implemented by Katharine Cook Briggs and her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers a bajillion times. I am always the same. ALWAYS. If predictable was an option, I would be 100% that, too. You can have several different outcomes from the following types: Introvert/Extrovert, Sensing/Intuition, Thinking/Feeling, and Judging/Perceiving. So you choose one out of each group and voila- you have a personality typing that is pretty self explanatory. To explain, most everyone knows what an Introvert v. Extrovert is;  Sensing means that a person believes mainly information he or she receives directly from the external world and Intuition means that a person believes mainly information he or she receives from the internal or imaginative world; Thinking means that a person makes a decision mainly through logic and Feeling means that, as a rule, he or she makes a decision based on emotion; and finally Judging means that a person organizes all his life events and acts strictly according to his plans while Perceiving means that he or she is inclined to improvise and seek alternatives. I feel that the biggest one of these is the Introvert/Extrovert piece. 

Why? 

Well, I'm SO glad you asked.. Extroverts are energized by social situations and thirst to be around others. Introverts are the direct opposite. We aren't loners, we aren't depressed- we are simply drained by social situations and being around people and must be alone and have our personal time to recharge. We get weary being around too many people for too long and if we are forced to continue doing so, we will potentially have a melt down. And that is okay. Really- it is. I like going out and hanging with people - I really do. However if I don't want to, I am not going to because I know if I do, I will walk right the fuck out of wherever I am in a blaze of bitchy glory and people will be confused and feel awkward. There's no need for that if I can prevent it. If I have been around work all day and involved with people during that time, I am done. Finished. No more. I want quiet and my cat and laptop and to just chill. 

Now. The issue with all this. Man is an extrovert. An uber super duper extrovert. He LOVES parties and people and being out and around people and people and more people and ALL THE PEOPLE while talking to people. MariahByrd would rather die than make small talk about stupid shit. Would. Rather. Fucking. Die. Even if it's talking to people I know and like, it's just how it is - it wears me out. And THAT IS OKAY. Seriously- it is. It doesn't make me a freak or weird or rude or in need of psych help- it just makes me a straight up introvert. That is all. I'm not shy, I'm not anti-social. People just wear me the fuck out because I am MariahByrd and I am introverted as fuck. I work with people all day long, and I LOVE my job but after 6pm I am ready for some down time to revamp in order to functionally do it all over again the next day. I'll go to parties. I'll get rowdy. I'll talk to everyone. But all of this happens after I've been quiet and calm for a little bit or if I haven't had much social interaction that day. "But you seem so outspoken and sociable most of the time, MariahByrd." Exactly. Because again, I'm not shy. Because I'm a happy person. Because I've had time to gear up for this shit. I don't want to be in a hole all the time, but I'd pick a hole over a party 9 times out of 10... but Man would pick a party the 9 times I would pick the hole. It's hard for extroverts to understand why we don't want to go and have FUN. It's really quite simple: it's not FUN to us. It would be work- an effort we would have to put forth (or copious amounts of alcohol we would have to consume) to attempt to have a 'good time'. We are just different. We all like different colors, different songs, different types of food- this is just another thing to be different on. 

And again, that is okay. It really, really is. Because if it is not allowed to be okay for me to stay home, I just might have to slap a bitch or go off the deep end and verbally rape someone.

Which is not okay (but might be fun).

Oh Btdubs...

I got a motherfucking job. Totally hadn't mentioned that yet. Oops. I work at the local Harley-Davidson dealership. No shit. 

They hired the fuck outta me. 

I do accounting and title work, and I fucking LOVE IT. Part-time, make my own hours, motorcycles galore... it's awesome. Seriously. Awesome. My boss and coworkers are equally as awesome, and they pay me fairly decently for the area. I can't believe I hadn't said anything about this til now, but hey- everyone who reads this talks to me on a fairly regular basis (there are people still reading this... right?... *sniff*...) and therefore all knew. So yeah. It's nice to be gainfully employed. The month or so I wasn't was pretty damn rough- money-wise and psyche-wise. Sucks to be a prime candidate for hire in a county that loves meth and cigarettes, and you can't get a job anywhere. I even went to a local dive bar to try to get work. No go. Amazing. However it all worked out for the best... I can say that now, at least. 

Another btdubs is that oh hey- I'm taking all my classes in person this semester. And I'm already freaked the fuck out. I am 29 years old and throwing myself into the mix of people who are up to 10 years younger than me. TEN. FUCKING. YEARS. I was driving when they were going into kindergarten. And I have to don a backpack and pants like a normal student and go sit in class with these children. Okay, with 22ish year old children, but STILL. I was married and half-way to a divorce at 22. HOW CAN I RELATE. "Oh what's your major?" You're shitting me, right? What on fucking Earth gave you the idea that 1. I wanted to talk to you, and 2. That I would be up to discussing shit like THAT with you? Really. Tell me THAT and we'll have a conversation. 

Could I be overreacting?

Do you even KNOW ME?

Anyway, the whole reason for doing this is that I have not only exhausted my selection of classes online (even though I only have to take 'electives', they have to be 3000+ level electives... which end up being classes pertinent to my course of study because why would I want to take a 4810 level class in anything that I haven't been studying for the past 2 years?), but classes in person are about half of what they are via the online program. That means more money back into my broke-ass pocket (again, decently for the area = 1/2 of what I made in Knoxville... not a complaint, just a fact) and I can use that money for things other than online classes. Plus, it might be fun. 

Who the fuck am I kidding- it won't be fun, and I'm going to bitch all the way through to graduation. Like the  BAMF I am. What the fuck of it. 

So Perfect, I Just Had To Share...

I saw this little blurb a while ago on Pinterest (if you have tits and don't know what that is, for shame) and it pretty much summed up my feelings about Man:

I WOULD DATE YOU SO HARD THEN MARRY THE SHIT OUTTA YOU.

However, one of my favorite bloggers took it to a whole. Nutha. Level:

"I'D RAISE THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KIDS WITH YOU. AND GIVE YOU ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING LOVE AND SUPPORT YOU’D EVER FUCKING NEED. AND PAY THE HELL OUT OF THAT FUCKING MORTGAGE. AND THEN WHEN THE GUTTERS ARE CLOGGED I’LL GET UP THAT FUCKING LADDER AND CLEAN THAT SHIT UP WHILE YOU STAND BY THE KITCHEN WINDOW COMICALLY JUDGING MY WORK. AND THEN WE CAN VACUUM THE FUCK OUT OF OUR CARPET SO HARD THAT WE’LL HAVE TO GET A NEW ONE. WE’LL WASH OUR CLOTHES SO GODDAMN FUCKING HARD. FORGET NO RINSE, WE’LL USE HIGH FUCKING SPEED. BUY A FUCKING MINIVAN TO STUFF OUR BEAUTIFUL FUCKING BABIES INTO IT AND DRIVE THE FUCK OUT OF IT. THEN WE CAN GO SOME FUCKING PARENT-TEACHER MEETINGS AND MEET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KID’S TEACHER. THEN JUDGE THE SHIT OUT OF HER IN THE CAR. AND WE CAN THEN PILE OUR FUCKING BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN IN THE FUCKING MINIVAN AND GO TO THE STORE AND SHOP FOR GROCERIES SO HARD THAT WE ACTUALLY HAVE TO MAKE MORE THAN TWO TRIPS TO GET ALL THAT SHIT INSIDE THE HOUSE. AND THEN COOK THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KITCHEN UNTIL WE HAVE NO FOOD LEFT AND WE FEAST ON THAT SHIT FOR FUCKING DAYS. I WILL BAKE THE FUCK OUT OF SOME HOMEMADE COOKIES FOR YOU. THEN WASH THE SHIT OUT OF THE DISHES TOGETHER UNTIL OUR ENTIRE HANDS GET FUCKING PRUNEY. WE’LL WATCH OUR KIDS FUCKING GRADUATE AND MOTHER FUCKING TEAR UP LIKE THE BADASS BOSSES WE FUCKING ARE. WE WILL GROW SO DAMN OLD TOGETHER, WE WILL LOOK LIKE FUCKING RAISINS. I WILL FUCKING TELL YOU EVERY SINGLE SECOND HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE YOU. HOLDING EACH OTHER’S FUCKING HANDS SO HARD THAT WE SHIT OURSELVES. UNTIL WE DIE AND ROT AS MOTHERFUCKING CORPSES TOGETHER. TIL DEATH DO US FUCKING PART. HAPPILY EVER FUCKING AFTER."

Yup. That's pretty much how I would roll with that man. 

Props to Jennifer Lawson, www.thebloggess.com