Tattoos Are Awesome

I am generally a cold person. Not personality-wise. Temperature-wise. Unless I am standing/lying/sleeping in a sunny spot or outside when it is at least 85 degrees, I am probably cold. As a result, I wear a lot of long sleeve shirts and I keep a zippered sweatshirt jacket at work. (At home, it's my beloved Snuggie. Say what you will about them, they are goddamn warm.) The unfortunate side effect is that I rarely get to show off my tattoos.

Right this minute, I have three tattoos. There is a panther on the right side of my lower back, a shooting star on my left arm, and Silvermist on my right arm. Sadly, I don't have decent pictures of them. I promise that if I win this contest (more on that in a bit) I'll post tons of pictures of them.

The shooting star was the very first tattoo I got way back when I was in college. A friend of mine wanted some company while she got her nipple pierced. While I couldn't bring myself to do that, I could manage a tiny star tattoo. Call it the beginning of my rebellious phase. I thought my mother would be mortified. Her actual response? "At least you're not pregnant." Thanks, Mom.

I got the panther while I was living on my own for the very first time (no, living in a college dorm does not count as 'on your own.') in North Carolina. It was a very lonely time. Panthers are my favorite animal and I kinda needed someone to watch my back so there he is. For the record, it's actually only the outline of a panther. He's big enough that his head rests on my spine while his tail wraps up around my lower ribs. Needless to say, it was my most painful tattoo ever. I couldn't sit still long enough for the artist to finish. He kicked me out after the outline was finished and told me to come back for the coloring. I never went back.

Finally, Silvermist. This tattoo is in honor of my daughter. She is named after Morgan le Fay from the King Arthur legend. Morgan le Fay translates to Morgan of the Fairies, hence a fairy tattoo. My daughter picked out the design herself. It is my favorite tattoo and I look at it almost daily.

One of the local radio stations is running a tattoo contest. The tattoo with the most votes wins a $1000 gift certificate to a local tattoo shop. I would absolutely love to win this. I am begging everyone to vote for me as many times as possible. You can vote once per day and the contest ends April 1 at midnight. Spread the word and ask your friends to vote for me too. If I win, I will take tons of pictures - both of my current tattoos and the new ones I'd be getting. (If the artist lets me, I'll take pictures while he's inking me up.)

Here is the direct link to my tattoo.

Please vote and ask your friends to vote. The tattooed freak inside of me will love you forever if you do.

Where My Jealousy Rears Its Ugly Head

I really wasn't going to talk about this. Mostly because it's pretty embarrassing on my part. But if I don't get this stuff out of my head, it'll just fester there until something awful happens. *sigh*

Let me start off with this: My current life is not awful. I have a loving husband, my daughter is absolutely amazing, we are finally to the point that we are not drowning in debt, and things are just not bad.

However.

My younger sister somehow magically makes awesome things happen to her. I have no idea how she does it and I really want this superpower. For example: despite being unemployed (she's doing an unpaid internship right now), she is spending this week in the Dominican Republic. Both my husband and I are gainfully employed full time, yet it is unlikely that we will ever afford to leave the United States for vacation.

How does she do this, you ask?

For the past few years, she has been living rent-free in a cousin's house. Said cousin was sent to China for work; my sister's lease was coming due around that time. So my sister moved into his house. She pays for things like cable television and possibly the internet connection. As a result, for the past five years or so, her entire pile of monthly bills totals less than one month of my mortgage payment.

This makes me insanely jealous.

I have never left the country. No, I'm not counting the trip to Canada my parents made when I was a year old. However, the cousin has flown my sister to Spain, China, England, Germany, and I think Italy. And when I think about it too much, the situation brings tears to my eyes. I would love to travel and see the world. It's just not going to happen and I have to figure out a way to live with my sister's jet-setting ways while I sit in my windowless office at work.

Any suggestions?

Everybody Sucks...Sometimes

Wow. It has actually been over a week since my last post. While I know that officially makes me suck, I do have a bit of an explanation for this. As stated in my last post, I purchased a new scanner. Well, a new printer/fax/copier/scanner. The idea was that now that I have a functional scanner, I can scan childhood pictures to share with you all. (No, I was not planning on making fun of the stupid things my sister has done. And you can't prove it.) However, my mother has not given up the childhood photobooks. I know she has them. She is just procrastinating on the actual giving of them. Yeah, she sucks too.

Since I haven't actually had to have any real social contact with people outside my immediate family, I haven't even had any stories (interesting or otherwise) to tell. I suppose I could try to dig up an old story and leave out the pictures. But, really, I know you are all here to see pictures of me falling off of horses or my sister sledding in the summer.

I'll lean on my mother a bit harder. She'll give up the photos eventually.

Decision: ACCOMPLISHED

Because this blog is meant to help me be less of a wacko, when I realized that it had been three days since I talked about my lack of decision-making skills, I made the decision to use my Christmas gift card to buy a new scanner today. After a somewhat quick perusal of Walmart's website, I selected the HP Officejet 4500 All-in-One printer. Then I took an extended lunch break and picked the damn thing up.

Yes. Yes, I do.

Of course, this story wouldn't be nearly as much fun if the transaction really went that easily.

I trekked my way back to the electronics department, in search of the elusive scanner-printer-faxer-copier. (Faxer should totally be a word.) While I was slightly distracted by the sound systems (because I also need a new speaker system for my fitness classes), I managed to find the printers by myself without a ton of trouble. The trouble began when I noticed that the 4500 on the shelves did not say it was wireless. Wireless is important in our cluttered household. It was also about $30 cheaper. Hrm. So I pulled it off the shelf to go ask the man at the counter. (Note: I hate asking employees questions. I try to know as much about what I want so I can pluck it off the shelf, pay for it, and leave with as little conversation as possible.)

The poor man at the counter was almost there by himself (there was a woman who didn't seem particularly interested in working) and there were three other people there to ask him questions. Normally, I would say "forget it" and go home empty-handed. Not today, my friends. Not today. I waited a little while until he wasn't as busy. As the very nice man tried to figure out what was going on, he was interrupted by some guy asking when their next shipment of pre-paid phones was arriving. I gave the man a little glare, but Nice Walmart Man handled the situation better. He answered the man's question as he typed my printer information into his computer.

But the computer still said the wireless printer should be where it was not. Walmart Man declared he would check "In The Back." I've worked retail. I know that usually means you are going to go into the breakroom and read a training poster or something. However, Walmart Man returned with my desired product!

Yay, Mr. Walmart Man!

And now I have returned to my desk, happily knowing that I have truly made a decision. The next obstacle? Getting my husband to set it up.

The Art of the Non-Decision

I have a very difficult time making decisions. What if the choice I make is wrong? What if I end up regretting it FOREVER?

Yes, it will change everything.

No, I am not exaggerating. I frequently fret about things for an extremely long time.

For example: About 12 years ago, my aunt asked me to babysit her kids for a week. Since I didn't have a job at that point, it wasn't a problem. She paid me well for it. When her ex-husband came up pick up the kids at the end of the week, he gave me more money. I figured the two of them had talked about it and decided that, since I was poor and jobless, they would pay me a bit extra for watching two kids for five whole days. Alas, I was incorrect. I got a phone call from my mother a few days later telling me how disappointed my aunt was that I took the second offering of money. As a result, I had to give the money back. (I was lucky enough to have landed a job by this point.) To this day, I worry that my aunt still thinks I'm a bad person for taking the offered money.

And yes, I do know how ridiculous that sounds. I'm sure that, twelve years later, she has forgotten all about it. But that doesn't matter to my messed up brain. Every time I see her, I wait for the venomous comments to arise.

You suck.

Anyway, this is just an example of the reasoning behind why I can't make a decision properly. Right now, I want to buy a new scanner. Our current one is so old, it doesn't even work with our computer drivers any more. So a new one is necessary. However, I also need more fitness clothes since I will be teaching five dance-fitness classes each week beginning in April. I have a $50 gift certificate that my in-laws gave me for Christmas that I haven't used because I can't decide which would be better to purchase.

This is me every single day.

Maybe I should just hire someone to make decisions for me. Though that would require making a decision on who will make my decisions.....it is an endless loop of angst.

Laryngitis = loss of voice

As I noted the other day, I have been ill for the past week and a half. Since Monday, I have been rendered unable to speak. And, yes, that is as terrible as it sounds. Yesterday, I had enough of this no-talking bullshit and went to the doctor where I was promptly diagnosed with a sinus infection and sent on my way to collect my antibiotics.

This was not quite as easy as it sounds though.

See, by yesterday afternoon, my voice had completely left me. On Monday and Tuesday, I was very, very raspy but I could still communicate if absolutely necessary. My only form of communication yesterday was Charades.

Or mime. Whichever sounds cooler.

I managed to make it past the receptionist by merely handing over my insurance card and pointing to my name when she asked who I was. I made it past the physician's assistant by holding my neck and making pathetic raspy noises. The doctor, however, was not as easily conquered. Instead of just asking yes or no questions, she insisted on asking things like "How long has this been going on?"  I think she noticed how miserable this whole talking thing was making me. Within 10 minutes, she electronically sent my prescription to my pharmacy and sent me on my way.

This was my expression when I got in the car.

But my day was not over. I promised my mother that I would stop by to teach her how to make a Facebook page. (Point and click has a new meaning.) While I was there, the bowling pro shop called to tell me that my new bowling shoes were in. Of course, new bowling shoes trumps talking.

This is my crew.

Somehow, I managed to pay for my shoes without much difficulty. Mime must be the international language. As I waited for my mother to order her new ball, I noticed a few other patrons also picking up new shoes. One of the women happened to order the exact same shoes I did. Here is where I made my fatal mistake. I smiled and pointed to her shoes then my box while whispering "I got the same shoes!" When the women started talking to me about bowling shoes, I forced out an "I'm sorry but I have laryngitis." Apparently, this means "Please strike up a conversation with me" in bowlanese because then they proceeded to ask me about my bowling life, which is really quite boring. Thankfully, my mother finished her stuff and we could leave.

This still left the pharmacy though.

Once again, I kindly handed over my insurance card when asked for my name. I nodded vigorously when asked if that was my only prescription. But then I had to ask for the not-so-over-the-counter decongestant that the doctor also wanted me to take. Of course, this meant a conversation. "How many tablets?" "12 hour or 24 hour?" "D or DM or ABSGGLKN?" The pharmacist took pity on me and tried to stand as close as he could so I didn't have to try to speak loudly. Once again:

Damn skippy.

The final bout was with a stylist. Since I had stayed home from work, it was up to me to take my daughter to tap class. Her tap teacher is a nurse so I easily got by with the hand/neck gesture and a mouthed "laryngitis." But then I decided to get my bushy eyebrows waxed.

This is the Before picture.

I apologized to the stylist and told her of my predicament. She politely responded with a "That's OK" before starting to talk to me about her own eyebrow waxing and how my hair was super curly and blah blah blah. I forced a smile and hoped she didn't really want me to answer her babbling. Thankfully, it seemed that she was just fine on her own and I made it out of the salon looking much better.

I just don't understand it though. Everyone that I had to interact with tried to start up an actual conversation with me, despite that every single time I told them I couldn't speak. Do people not understand what laryngitis is? Do they think that I purposely sound like an old woman that smokes five packs of cigarettes a day?

According to the doctor, I should be better by tomorrow. I'm betting it'll be more like Monday, from the sounds of it. Unfortunately, my husband and I have to go to a wedding on Saturday night. I have the feeling that my Saturday will be an awful lot like my Wednesday.