Health Update

Okay, so I went to my doctor’s appointment on August 7, and was treated like crap. Because she appeared to be concerned about a heart condition, I had an EKG done. Came back normal.

The next day, I went to the lab nearby my apartment and had a barrage of labs done. A week later, the doctor’s office called, and this was what I heard verbatim: “I have your lab results-you have high cholesterol, which you can control with exercise and changing your diet, and you are Vitamin D deficient.”

I had to do my own research into how to lower my cholesterol and change my diet. I also had to figure out how many units of Vitamin D I needed. Another week after that, I was able to see the numbers.

My cholesterol levels were scary. As someone who has heart disease in the family, this was something I was afraid of. The diet change is challenging, as I am someone who likes a burger and fries (and fried mozzarella and zucchini). I am not doing so hot, although I am improving. What I am having a hard time with is finding things to make. You would think the Internet would be a great tool, right?  Nope. I have gone through dozens of sites, and I cannot find anything I would eat. A lot of it is due to my living situation. I don’t have a gas stove, no broiler pans, and a limited income.

I am still remaining optimistic.


My Past Week

To start off, I turned 35 last Sunday. I had sushi, and basically avoided the heat.

On Monday, I went to my hairdresser for a haircut, and that was basically the beginning of the week from hell. I have stated that each milestone year, something gets screwed up in my body. Monday was no exception. I was sitting in the chair, my stylist blow-drying my hair, when I suddenly started experiencing symptoms I only do when I am outside in the heat for too long or standing in one position for an extended time. She takes a break, and brings me a cold water. I feel better, so we proceed. She is 98% done blow-drying, and it happens again. Another break, and then she says we should get to styling in case it happens again. She is curling a second part of my hair, when whatever is wrong with me (which I am getting looked at on August 7) kicks into high gear. I am losing vision, my hearing is going, and I am fifteen seconds from passing out. I am texting my sister incoherently so that she knows she needs to come in for me (she was outside practicing a speech for her college class). My stylist is panicked, and gets my other sister’s stylist to help me outside to my sister’s car, all the while I am trying to act like this is nothing, even though I am internally panicking myself.

I am taken to our parents’ apartment, where my blood pressure is taken, as is my blood sugar (got to love having a sister with diabetes), and I am pumped with sugar. I have experienced slight symptoms off and on throughout the week, and so I have been avoiding being out in the heat (because it has been 105+ outside during the day), which means the mail is in desperate need of being picked up. We have two possible diagnoses picked out, but my doctor’s appointment is to rule out diabetes, and to see if I have the other.

I was joking to my sister while I was having issues that I was experiencing a Steel Magnolias moment. It’s been fun.

Movies and Birthdays

I just watched Black Christmas.

I have mixed thoughts about it, because it was interesting, but I wished that there was some depth to the murders committed in it.

I skipped around intially, to see if the other sorority sisters would look for the first victim, only to find that they really didn’t give a crap about where she was.

What I found was that it reminded me of autumns in New Hampshire. I felt like it was something I’d watch in the late afternoons when there was a nip in the house and I was curled up beneath a blanket. I have the same inkling when I watch Halloween, which was supposedly inspired by Black Christmas.

In other news, I’m in my last few days of my early thirties. It’s weird to think that I’ll be 35 on Sunday. 10 years ago, my family was in Cape Cod, and I looked like this:

I was wearing a terrible-fitting shirt from American Eagle and a knee-length skirt (I regret my fashion choices at 25).

It’s My Birthday Month

It’s my birthday month. I’d be more excited, but I am experiencing the same thing I did when I turned twenty-five, which was an existential crisis about where my life was not going. Except, as a 35-year-old, there is A LOT more expectation.

The situation with my sister hasn’t really improved all that much. She still thinks she is entitled to act like a shithead and not get into trouble because of it. The only highlight is that all of her past financial screw-ups have finally caught up with her, and she will have to face the music.

California is fighting fires. I am surrounded by at least five of them, all still far enough away that I am not in an active panic, but I am on-edge. And with tomorrow being the Fourth, and my new apartment management staff not addressing the dry grass and trees around us with regard to the massive amount of dumb-asses living in my complex that like to use firecrackers and sparklers, I am even more on-edge.

Yes, we are under new management. FPI sold us to Holland Property Group (or something like that), and so far there is not much of a significant change, except for:

  • Having our maintenance and construction companies (while FPI used outside companies, and while they had reputable names, they were quite crappy) for repairs.
  • They supposedly are more eco-friendly
  • And they drive the speed limit in the complex with their little carts

FPI had promise, but all they ended up doing was selling a lot of promises and raising our rents without much improvements on the exteriors (new siding and paint was slapped on, but it was shoddily done). They also made rules (like no BBQs on the balconies and a bevy of others), but NEVER enforced them. There was a fire last Labor Day weekend due to a tenant using a meat smoker on the balcony that shut down an entire building for several months, because they never enforced the no BBQ rules (which were set up by the local fire department, who routinely come through here and cite them for people barbecuing when they aren’t supposed to).

So far, Holland hasn’t done much. They are desperately understaffed, since they got rid of everyone (except this one woman maintenance worker who has been here since I moved in, although I don’t really know what she does, because she doesn’t do repairs) associated with the previous management, and they don’t seem to be in a hurry to hire more maintenance and office staff.

I probably won’t post again until my birthday, so hang tight.

A Letter

Update 5:43 PM- Now I just want to kick your teeth in. You have the gall to tell our dad he’s Bipolar. I think you ought to look up the definition, because you would find it isn’t just a noun you can throw around when the mood strikes. 

I wish I could be as irresponsible and flippant as you.

Actually, I don’t. I guess I should consider myself blessed to be about 98% more responsible than you ever will be. Sure, I graduated college two years ago, and am amassing more and more debt every day I haven’t found a job–and yet, you have a well-paying job and are just now repaying loans you took out over ten years ago. When I was eighteen, I had two credit cards that I used freely, not thinking of the future consequences. I learned my lesson, and have avoided making that same mistake again (with the obvious exception of earning my Bachelor’s).

Have you learned anything in the ten-plus years you’ve been acting like an asshole?


At 33 years old, you’ve learned zilch. You lied to our parents and made up some ruse that this guy who you were hot for was willing to pay them $500 for our excellent washer and dryer, knowing full damn well he had no such intentions, instead paying them the money you had no business parting with. What did you learn from this? You got him to have sex with you, but he is now smearing you all over your workplace, and you have vowed to never do that again. You pulled the same shit when you were a freshman, again in your last two years of high school, and will likely repeat it again in the next few years.

You’re drowning underneath the debt you’ve incurred trying to live well above your means, and yet you still try to play the part of someone who lives comfortably. Maybe you’ve got every one of your friends glamoured, but you can’t fool those of us who truly know who you are.

And now our father has taken out a loan to bail you out…again. Just because he is our father doesn’t mean he’s obligated to bail you out every time you fuck up, which you do about five times a year. You get on mine and our sisters’ cases about being jobless and having our dad pay for our groceries and rent, and yet he buys your groceries and pays your car insurance, because you chose to trade in a sedan for a Mustang in an effort to get that co-worker into bed with you and make him fall in love with you. We know what our dad does for us, and we are grateful. We do not continually ask him for things when we don’t need them, nor do we expect that he buy us things because he is our father and he must. Such logic is immature.

I still wonder why he puts up with your crap. If it weren’t for the fact that the shit you have gotten yourself into would result in you having to move in with him, he should have let you deal with the consequences. You have been ridiculously lucky in the past:

  • getting out of contracts and paying for bills by batting your eyelashes or by just outright telling collection agencies that you just refuse to pay, and they leave you alone.
  • having our dad put himself into hock for your ungrateful ass

Today was the straw that broke the camel’s back. This flippant attitude that dad owes you because he had one sperm cell successfully fertilize is utter bullshit, and frankly, you ought to kiss the ground he walks on for doing this. But will you?


You will flub up again, and expect him to bail you out. Frankly, I hope he makes good on his threat to not help you out again, because maybe then you’ll learn to stop acting like God made you special and live accordingly. Start living life as though dad and his money aren’t here, because when he does eventually go, what will you do? Grandma (should she still be living) or our aunt won’t help, and I sure as hell won’t.

Get over yourself, and get out of our lives.


These last few weeks have been quite interesting, to say the least.

Last week, I managed to pull a muscle in my throat while I was sleeping, resulting in the worst neck pain I have ever experienced. I ended up in the ER, which is how I found out I had pulled the muscle. I am now 99% better, with little pain at the base of my skull. I need to buy new pillows, and until I do, I will be sleeping with an old hand towel under my neck for support. I was also wearing a C-collar for two days (alternating hours), and I looked fantastic.

It’s starting to get hot again, and I hate it.

I was also pushed into getting a new phone, because my iPhone’s battery would literally diminish overnight. Saturday night I went to bed with the phone at 68%, and I woke up to it being at 12%. So I now own a Google Pixel 2 XL, which is a lot like an iPhone, but some of the apps are still outdated by iPhone standards (I’m looking at you, Target).


I feel like I am in a rut.

  • I am still looking for a job (I gave up on looking within what I majored in a long time ago), and nothing is panning out.
  • My closest friend moved with her fiance to West Virginia last month, and is having a struggle with the difference in political opinions and weather.
  • My younger sister, who would hate for me to be posting her personal crap all over the Internet (at least the unfiltered versions, because she never wants people to know that her life is a literal shit-hole and that is 99% of the time of her own doing), has been wrapped up with some dickhead co-worker that she was warned not to get involved with. What happened? She slept with him twice, and then discovered (GASP!) that he was sleeping with several other women in the office. She now acts like the victim.

The people who lived below us moved out the end of March, and now it is a waiting game to see who the new people will be and what hell they might wreak. Because apartment management keeps getting stupider, nothing will be fixed.

Also, I apologize for not writing for the last four months. If I had, it would have been regarding my stupid sister’s mistakes regarding her co-worker.

Time is Catching Up

My closest friend of almost twenty-four years got engaged tonight. I found out initially from my sister, who saw it on Facebook, while I was watching Fifty Shades Darker with my other sister.

I felt overwhelming joy and sadness, knowing more than anything I will never go to her wedding. What is weird is that I have been feeling as though this was coming—her dad said something at Christmastime about her being in Tennessee for the following Christmas, which is where her fiancé is from, and there was just this sense that she would be engaged soon. That, and I have been having these thoughts that she’d become engaged, invite me to the event (not that I expect that will happen), and I wouldn’t have a way to attend.

I don’t expect to be invited. This reality hurts, but I haven’t seen her in over eleven years, and we aren’t as close as we used to be. For some people, it might even sound ridiculous that I consider her a close friend when I say things like that. Even if I were invited, I have zero money. To get to San Diego would cost a bit, and how would I get to the place where it was being held (that’s even if she got married in San Diego). My grandma would let me stay at her house, so I wouldn’t have to worry about that aspect.

I just feel melancholy and nostalgic. She’s going to get married, and I can remember when we were teenaged dorks imagining marrying specific members of *NSYNC. I’m melancholy because we’ve drifted apart, and I wish I could see her get married before she moves far away. I think her being an eight hour drive away is far, Tennessee is clear across the country.

Sorry if I am babbling.

In other nostalgic news, yesterday January 9th marked the nineteenth anniversary of my first concert. I saw *NSYNC as a gawky fifteen-year-old. I also just realized that I went around yesterday thinking it was the eighteenth, when it was in 1999. I feel so frigging old right now. I met my friend when I was 10 1/2 (back when the half counted), and my concert five years later, which will have happened twenty years ago next year.

Wow … Just wow.

Titanic is Twenty


There have been a lot of movies that I have had affect my life whose twentieth anniversaries have come and gone (Clueless is one example), but Titanic was a huge one. When I was fourteen, this movie stood out to me for reasons that are lost to me now. At the time, I was an ostracized new kid at a school where maybe seven people ignored the rampant rumors swirling about me, and took the time to discover they were highly untrue. Maybe I associated with Rose’s plight of feeling that she is “standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of her lungs, and no one even looks up.”

When I first went and saw the movie, I was supposed to be going with this guy James (real name) for a date. I didn’t like James. James was the polar opposite of anyone I have ever been interested in, but I was going to go on this date for some reason. Luckily, my inner voice told me I was being stupid, and I broke it off. I ended up going with my twelve-year-old sister and her friend, presumably because I was the ticket inside based off of my age. That, and how I was intrigued to see the movie because of Kate Winslet’s nose in the iconic poster (I have a thing for noses–mainly those of men, but Kate got a pass).

I was immediately captivated. Leonardo DiCaprio was a handsome man, Kate Winslet as Rose was the person I wanted to be (and try I did, much to my horror twenty years later, and also confusing the few males in my classes that I used Rose’s lines on when they tested me), and the story of the sinking broke my heart. I ended up seeing the movie three times, and cried every time Jack died.

Like many fourteen-year-old girls were doing, I ate up merchandise. I had the knock-off necklace (although the stone was much smaller), I bought all the soundtracks (which led to me blacklisting Celine Dion for years, because she was all over the radio, and her voice made me simply murderous–I still can’t listen to “My Heart Will Go On”), had the poster, and all that other stuff. If magazines spoke about the movie, I bought them. My allowance lined James Cameron’s pockets.

And now, it is twenty years later. I have been unable to watch the movie in its entirety for years, and even when I try, I turn it off. I can sit through numerous Holocaust films that cut me to the bones emotionally, but I can’t sit through Titanic. The only things from the movie obsession I have is a clipping from People magazine of Leo and Kate as their characters standing on the interior ceiling of the ship (a pun of sorts, I suppose) and I think the Return to the Titanic soundtrack. I can still quote that movie in my sleep, and remember emotions I had in regard to particular scenes. I can still remember how I confused the boys in my Math class when I called them ‘rude and uncouth’, and internally screaming at myself to stop being an idiot, because I wasn’t helping dispel the rumors going around about me (although those rumors had nothing to do with my behavior).

Needless to say, Titanic has had an impact. It furthered my love for history, corseted ladies, and gentlemen. Mainly, I helped Leonardo DiCaprio take minor roles in independent films for a few years because of the pandemonium of Titanic (sorry, Leo!). I also get a joy out of explaining to younger people that I sat around for three-and-a-half hours to download a minute-long clip of Leo and Kate in the Third Class dancing (dial-up was no joke).

Happy 20th, and thanks for making me feel like an old lady, Titanic!