Being Happy

One of my favorite movies is Pollyanna, the story of a girl who always found a reason to be glad. I have always been of the opinion that happiness is all around: one just needs to find the right “fit”. Sometimes I am a grump, I admit, and don’t feel like looking for happiness in anything. Wallowing in misery is something I can do well, too. But it is so time consuming, and in the end no one, and I mean NO ONE is willing to put up with my doldrums, so what’s the use, right?? And that’s where Pollyanna comes in. It does take effort, but I do manage to find something that makes me happy at least once a day. I’m not happy all day, mind you, but I am happy every day.

Always, always, always look for a reason to be glad. I promise, the search is always worth it 🙂

Captain Obvious

Today it was TruGreen’s day to “treat” my lawn. Of course, I couldn’t water the back because the gentleman placed some Miracle Beans™ on the lawn. However, he did take the time to give me a scolding:

No kidding my front yard is under heat stress! All watering resources are being diverted to the sod!! I swear, sometimes pointing out the obvious is a fruitless endeavor with some people.

This is Only a Test

Well, it’s only a little quiz, really. And completely harmless and fun.You can’t fail, no one is here to grade you, and I was told there would be no math.

It’s the World’s Smallest Political Quiz.

Here are my results for 2011:

The last time I took this little quiz, it was 2007, and I was right above the letter “R” in “Right”. Quite a difference, n’est pas??

The times, they are a’changin’ 😉

Creatively borrowed from iOWT

A Yearly Grind

A few months ago I received a rather nice postcard from the *ahem* Breast Clinic Women’s Imaging Center here, letting me know it was time for my mammogram. Being a member of the military, I had to book my appointment well in advance. Eleven weeks, to be exact.

Sigh….

Anyway, on the reminder card for the visit there were several precautions you must observe when going in for your squishathon.

No perfumes.

No body lotions.

No powder.

So far this is fine with me. Even though I *heart* perfume, I generally do not wear it. And with two dogs that enjoy licking every surface around here, I usually pass on the lotion until bedtime. Then came the most reprehensible command known to woman:

NO DEODORANT OR ANTI-PERSPIRANT OF ANY KIND.

The thermostat that day read 102*. It read 107* in the van. It could be 5000* for all I cared. I was going to be driving 30 minutes to the hospital, parking in the lot closest to Egypt, and walking for eons in infernal temperatures. Great…. I was going into the hospital where people know me and greet me all funkified. Thankfully, the clinic was relatively close to the front of the Outpatient area. I was able to go in without offending anyone.

I check in at the front desk, and go to put on the specially made gown. You know the one….it has three armholes: one arm, then the other, and the final hole goes on the original arm. I’m not explaining it very well, but women know what I’m talking about. In any case, my derriere was covered, and I went to sit to await my turn in a rather empty area. Which made me wonder why I had to book this appointment so far in advance. Soon enough, my name was called, and I followed a very nice tech into the exam room. She turns to get the dreaded BB tape.

I cringe.

Owie...

Well, this was new. The last time I was assaulted with medical tape, the kind designed to hold I.V. needles in your veins. That was painful to remove, and left residue that was difficult to wash off. She proceeds to place the BBs where they need to go, and is now ready to take the images.

The first views were not so bad. The plate comes straight down and squishes you vertically, first the left, then the right. But then comes the side squishers. And in order to get the best view, the tech has to maneuver your girlfriend into position, by pushing and squeezing her into the area for the overhead plate to press like a olive. Meanwhile, she is telling you to lean back away from the plates, without moving your girlfriend. Soon enough, the imaging is over, and I am free to go. She kindly shows me out, and I proceed to go to the changing room to get my deodorant out of my purse and bathe in apply it. I look at the BB band-aids in apprehension. The tech had said these were easier to remove than the tape they had used previously. I had my reservations. But like everyone says, rip it off like a band-aid.

YEOW!!!!!!!!

The tech lied.

I shut my eyes against the tears, and after getting dressed, I stop at the front desk to inquire about the results. They tell me I should have them in three to seven days, which I thought was a remarkable turn around. That was June 23rd.

I got them yesterday, July 26th.

The tech lied.

I really need to quit being such a Pollyanna 😉

The Stuff of Nightmares

I don’t have nightmares very often. Once or twice I have woken up in tears, and those were bad. I can even remember them vividly. But usually the so-called “nightmares” I have don’t involve death, dismemberment, blood, guts, gore (Al Gore, yes, but that’s a subject for another post), or maiming.

I know…I’m doing it wrong.

No, what I classify as a “nightmare” usually leaves me feeling anxious and overwhelmed, like I’m drowning and can’t get to the surface. This time was no different. I had a bad dream where I was travelling with my family to another country, and was at the airport going through screening, and the TSA agent asks for our ID, which were our Social Security cards, and my son forgot his at home, so Hubby had to go to the Justice of the Peace (I don’t get that either), and get a facsimile for the agent, while the line got longer and longer, and when he returned, the agent used it for HIM, not for son, and I told her she made a mistake, and she yelled, “WE NEVER MAKE MISTAKES!!!”, and a guard came over and took me to a holding cell, and Hubby said he would take the kids on the vacation, and would pick me up afterwards, and the agents then proceeded to tell me why they don’t make mistakes, and all the time they were cutting Eldest’s birthday cake and eating it!!!!

Like this, only with TSA gloves.

I woke up anxious and scared, and the first thing to go through my mind was, “I better not have to go through TSA screening when I go pick up the cake.”

Which on the surface is ridiculous, but scaringly possible. About the TSA checking other places, not about them eating the cake.

Yet.

‘Fessing Up

They say confession is good for the soul, and this letter is about confessing something to someone. This will not be pretty.

But after 25 years, I feel it has to be done.

Dear In-Laws,

I love you to death. I do. You guys have treated me like your own daughter for over two decades. We’ve had our ups and downs, and even though life is like a roller coaster in our family, I have to confess something to y’all, and you won’t like it.

I despise Cajun food.

Dirt flavored ICK.

Ok, “despise” is a harsh term. “Loathe”  comes closer to the disgust I feel when I try to ingest Cajun food. It tastes like dirt to me. Dad always thinks he is fixing a special treat for me when he makes his famous Shrimp Gumbo. And he is, judging by the excited faces of the rest of the family as they wait, salivating for a bowl of your majikal stew. But every…single…time I have tried it, it feels like I am swallowing dirt-covered food. And I should know what dirt tastes like! In 25 years I have not been able to adapt to Cajun food, and I think it is safe to say, I never will. I’m sorry, but next time you are serving Cajun I am running to Sonic.

And don’t get me started on the Ox-Tail Soup.

Love y’all,

Me.

On Heartbreak

I thought long and hard about who broke my heart the hardest.

No one ever did. Hearts don’t break. They only crack a little. And cracks can always be mended.

Cracked, mended, and still ticking.

No, I’m not phoning it in. This has been my philosophy for a long time now. Since the jerk in high school 😉