tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30710898136925347772024-03-04T23:55:22.780-07:00That Uncomfortable ItchThat Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-6048825516185095232015-05-30T23:09:00.002-06:002015-05-30T23:25:11.591-06:00The Best of YouDear Sweet Red,<br />
<br />
Today you graduated from high school. In some ways this is a huge thing, in others it is simply a day on your journey from here to there. Lately I've been looking at it as just a day, any other Saturday where we get dressed up and all of us do something together. But this has been a coping method because while it is was another day, it was The Day. The one where you end what you've been doing for the past four years and actively look forward to where you'll be going for the rest of your life.<br />
<br />
This week I have been sifting through my mental images of you. Sometimes I cry, other times I laugh at the sheer outlandishness that is you. There is the you where you tell strangers that you had a twin sister who passed away, only to inform them she was eaten by lions. That brought scolding looks of judgement. There is the you who waded into a country club swimming pool fully clothed just because you felt like it. There is the you who refused to wear underwear because you found it inconvenient. There is the you who kicked butt on the soccer field even though you were outsized by any girl out there. There is the you who kicked ass in the mock trial courtroom and sassed a judge because you believed you were right. In all instances you truly believed you were in the right and that is something I so admire about you: you do everything with all your soul and watch the hell out for anybody who gets in your way. All of these memories bring a sense of bittersweet joy. They warm me to the core of my soul and leave me in tears.<br />
<br />
Today as your dad and I were walking to the car after your graduation ceremony, I finally understood what was caught in my throat. I happened to look at the mountains and suddenly they seemed closer, smaller. The sky slightly dimmer, so much so that I removed my sunglasses to see if clouds were approaching. And that was when it hit me. It wasn't the weather. It was you. Cass, when you enter a room it gets bigger. The light shines brighter. The sounds intensify and the colors glow. Your soul shines, your spirit burns so intense it sometimes hurts. You arrived in our lives in <a href="http://thatuncomfortableitch.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-most-beautiful-of-all-colors-red.html" target="_blank">a fit of fury</a> and the lovely chaos you bring has never subsided.<br />
<br />
I can't imagine a life without your intensity. You bring piles of clothing. You cast a spell on all of us around you so that we simply wonder what we can do to fulfill your needs. You make crazy demands that when in our company seem perfectly plausible. You Cass-jack our days on a near weekly, or daily, basis. You're loud, brash, outrageous. You're also kind, loving, have a wicked sense of humor. You kick all of our asses and then come in for a group hug. Simply put, you are brilliant in all ways. <br />
<br />
Cassidy Jane, I love you to the ends of the earth and then some. You bent my world from the time you were within me and you continue to do so now. Today truly was another day, like so many other days. However, it was the day signifying that you will soon move on. Beyond us. Away from us. Thank you for these crazy years. I can't wait to see what you do, where you go and the sass with which you do it all. No matter where you do go and how you go I will love you with all my heart. You are my Red Sister, Kick Ass Cass, Sweet Red. You are bold, smart, beautiful.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
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....Magnificence....</div>
That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-59489530433961653492014-07-19T11:10:00.002-06:002014-07-19T11:58:28.584-06:00Finding peace at mile number twoI'm no runner. I <i>want</i> to be a runner and I often fancy myself as a lithe, trail running beast. But the truth is that I'm just not. Many things account for this fact. One: running requires a sharp mindset of determination and never-give-upedness. Me? I like to feel good and not hurt so much. Two: running is a daily activity that builds on the previous day. Due to reason number one I'm prone to skipping days and deluding myself that I run more than I do. Three: anything with the size GG should probably not be hurled through space with any sort of velocity. So true and sad, but this is likely the biggest reason, no pun intended, running is not my forte. However, harking back to the delusional thing, I don't let any of that stop me. I continue to run and often fantasize about the day I'll commit to and finish <a href="http://solutions.3m.com/wps/portal/3M/en_US/HalfMarathon/Home/" target="_blank">a half marathon</a>. <br />
<br />
This winter was a brutal one in our home, filled with sicknesses ranging from flu to pneumonia. I was lucky enough to catch them all. Needless to say I spent the cold months in varying states of stillness while warding off bugs of all kinds. This of course took a toll on my stellar running career and I have just very recently gotten back into the groove. The process has been grueling and one would question my sanity in wanting to endure the effort. But I do and I love it. Today for the first time since the two weeks I've been at this I found that mind blowing peace that only comes from running. It was at mile number two, out of only 2.75, and it was so profound that I ended up on a wrong trail and in somebody's private driveway. It was the sort of feeling that negated the panic, the noise, the doubts and fears of my daily existence. It was truly beautiful and I feel so lucky to have found it for those few minutes.<br />
<br />
That is why I continue this madness of running. It is why I strap the GG's into the hardiest sports bra I can find. It's why I'll endure two weeks of huffing up my guts. That peace means goodness and that goodness gives me hope.<br />
<br />
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<br />That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-19457060035423096362014-07-14T13:53:00.001-06:002014-07-14T13:53:30.272-06:00Looking inSometimes things are functional until they really aren't. Sometimes the decline to nonfunctional is slow, imperceptible. Other times the abruptness is such that it creates whiplash and leaves the cervical vertebrae splintered. <br />
<br />
If you aren't prone to anxiety or other mental illnesses, the previous sentences might not mean much. But if you've experienced the feeling of being in a different plane and looking in on the living while for some reason not being able to get there, then you totally get it. And for that I'm sorry. I also get it and wish I didn't have to be part of this tribe. But a card holding member I am and so it goes. Or sometimes it doesn't go. Which is my point.<br />
<br />
This year hasn't been much of a go for me. It feels as though I've spent more time curled up in knots, trying to scrape the nails from the ends of my fingertips than being productive in any manner. It's been a slow decline and I can't exactly pinpoint where or when it began. However, the origins don't particularly matter when daily inertia is near to impossible. What I do know is that sometimes it's just fine to lean on Big Pharma for a hug. It's not the ultimate solution but it is a Band-Aid and that's good enough for today. <br />
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<br />That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-17635362185160246902014-04-22T12:20:00.001-06:002014-04-22T12:37:03.799-06:00The most beautiful of all colors, RedMy dearest girl,<br />
<br />
Today you turn 17. I can't quite wrap my head around this fact as it seems not so long ago that you were a shrieking toddler running amuck and wreaking havoc at every turn. And by that previous statement I am sugar coating nothing. You truly were a hellion of the greatest intensity. However, anything you've ever done has been to the extreme, a trait that will serve you well throughout your life.<br />
<br />
Seventeen is suddenly such a huge number. As I sit and sift through the gajillion images and memories I have of you, I find myself laughing at your outlandish escapades of your earlier years; most of them involve you being naked, covered in mud and yelling at the top of your lungs. That is simply how it is with you: life on your terms and usually loud.<br />
<br />
Lately, I find myself in awe of you as I watch you evolve into a young woman with talents and strengths of great depths. One of my favorite past times during your high school years has been to watch you in Mock Trial. Your gift of argument serves you well in this arena, to the extent that I realized very early on that your critical thinking skills were so way beyond mine that parenting you through this time would be a completely new experience. Luckily you have used your powers for good, your integrity in particular, and so most days you kick my butt with a certain amount of tenderness. Thank you for that.<br />
<br />
Cass, I guess what I'm getting at here is that I see this time as the hey-day of being a mother to you. I know some people love the baby and toddler years. Not me so much. I have come to understand that these years where you piece it all together and wield it as your own, that to me, is the reward of this parenting gig. Your gifts are many. You are smart, generous, funny, kind, slightly wicked, beautiful beyond words. You are organized in a piggy sort of way. You are resourceful, fast on your feet, witty. Your gift of gab and your ability to B.S. are impressive. In fact, all of these together add up to one hell of a package: you.<br />
<br />
I'm well aware that our days of softly living in and out of the minutes are coming to an end. In a year you will graduate and then take flight. While I know your journey will be magnificent, I'm trying not to think about it right now. I'm just trying to soak it all in and revel in the glory that is you. You are my one and only baby girl. You are Red Sister. Kick Ass Cass. Fifi. Briar Rose. You are the most beautiful being I've ever laid eyes upon and for that I am forever grateful that you came screaming into our lives and continue to raise hell every single day. <br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Mom<br />
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If I've said it once, I'll say it a million more times ~ this red is the only Red. </div>
That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-10529468473275838902014-01-17T14:34:00.000-07:002014-01-17T14:34:06.030-07:00Second chancesA few days before Thanksgiving I got a call from Loren while Cassidy, Devon and my mom and I were on a "camping trip". I'm not usually a fan of quote marks but when you're camping and have phone reception something doesn't add up to a wilderness experience. So anyway, when Loren reached us while we were camped out behind a Dinosaur Museum I was somewhat alarmed. It was the wrong time of month to need any financial assistance, requests that had recently become less frequent. In my mind this clearly meant that he had likely been in a limb losing accident and was either calling me with his toes or using a pencil in his teeth to peck out the numbers.<br />
<br />
Turns out my crazy was slightly off, my son had all his limbs and was actually asking for a bit of life advice. He had been asked to move home to our mountain valley and intern with <a href="http://vitalfilms.com/" target="_blank">a local film company</a> for the winter. Should he, he wondered? What about his lease, his job? While in my head I was jumping up and down and screaming for joy at the thought of having Lo home with us, I played it cool and pointed out that he had a room in an extremely desirable location on the DU campus and that bussing tables was not his lifelong ambition. I told him there would be very few times in his life when he would have no debt, no dependents and the absolute freedom to turn his life in a 180 degree direction within 48 hours. I also reminded him that he had taken the year off from school to look within and figure out <a href="http://vimeo.com/82577196" target="_blank">where he wanted to go</a>.<br />
<br />
So. Go.<br />
<br />
Within two days Loren was home, bringing with him the vitality of the young whose dreams ride shotgun and spill over into their every action. I am the happiest of mother hens having all my chicks back in the nest. The high school years can sometimes seem an eternity, but when all is said and done that short time is over and there is the chance your child might fly away for always.<br />
<br />
I feel as though this is our chance to finally live as a family of five. It's not always easy. There was the day, a week or so in to Lo's return when I got a call from Ski Patrol that he had fallen and broken his collar bone and my son was in shock. Then there was the adventure of locating his car and paying the boot company an absurd amount of money to get his car mobile again, they weren't sympathetic that he was in the ER when his time expired. But for the most part it has been lovely and not a day goes by when I don't remind myself what lucky ducks we all are.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-50429536284126286412013-11-30T18:18:00.000-07:002013-11-30T18:18:05.049-07:00Can you ever really retrieve your groove?While asking the above question, one might pose another question: Did I ever really have my groove or is hindsight somewhat more flattering than reality was at that time?<br />
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Lately I've been having a recurring thought and it is this: I'm fed the fuck up, or FTFU. It's true. I know that at this time of the year we are supposed to be giving thanks, and I am. Truly. There is so much for which I am grateful. I have a beautiful family with really cool kids and a great man. Plus I have an amazing mother, a roof over my head, food in the fridge. I'm working on my yoga journey, I've cut out all refined sugars from my daily diet, etc.... But under all that I'm FTFU. Why? I'm not entirely sure. Recently I started with a new therapist with whom I suspect I'll make great progress, though in our initial stages it's really just good fun to chat with somebody who isn't part of my family and I can shamelessly drone on for 50 minutes. So. It's mostly just been chit-chat and not too much work yet.<br />
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So, again. What gives? Mid-life blahs? Could be. I've been at this parenting thing for a little over 20 years and I still have a nine year-old hanging out in the house. How does that happen? Poor family planning, I know. I'm tired of parent/teacher conferences. Tired of mediating TV wars. Tired of giving up my yoga classes to schlep kids to after school activities. Tired of not doing my shit. I know. So selfish. But it's honest. That's just how it is right now. Somewhere in all the soccer games, ski lessons, hockey practices I lost sight of my own aspirations. My current ambitions include clean uniforms for Devon, balanced lunches for the kids. There is no color in it, just automation.<br />
<br />
I hope this part of it ends, that I get my crap together and get over myself. In honor of trying to find a bit of me tonight I am listening The The on Pandora and ignoring the fact that Devon will soon come down stairs wanting sustenance. Hmmm, will it be PB&J or a grilled cheese? The wondering is keeping me on the edge of my seat.<br />
<br />
Every time I hear Pink's song about True Love I'm fairly sure she wrote it for me and my family. She's a bad ass through and through, but this one nails it at the heart. <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/zsmUOdmm02A" width="560"></iframe>That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-37887500037340433172013-10-04T07:55:00.002-06:002013-10-04T11:24:59.918-06:00Riding it outSo I stopped writing for a spell. Why? For about 46 x 12 reasons. One of them was that life got super real and in my face and all I could focus on was breathing in and out, in and out, in and out until my lungs worked on their own and could perform the exercise without any instruction. They still need some encouragement most days, but it's getting more manageable and my red blood cells seem to be doing their job of oxygen delivery. Another reason is that there is a creeper out there who stalked my blog for years, so I turned off that Statcounter to live in bliss and ignore his weirdness. Then I waited. And waited. But the words have been stuck. I start sentences in my head, but can't complete them because the fun went away and my sass was covered up by a greasy film of stress. <br />
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I'm trying to get the fun back. I backed out of Blogher, let my other blog go into the sky and have returned to blogspot. Why not. It seems low pressure. There are no deadlines. I don't have to Tweet about any products or review any books. I'd like to do something fun here rather just rant about the lack of oxygen in my brain. I have colors in my head I'd like to share. Projects. Ideas. I'm really going to try to step around the piles of sick and regrets that have built up in the corners of our house, hell maybe I'll get out the broom and send them out the door in a swoosh of healthy cleansing. <br />
<br />
I'm tired of rare diseases sucking the life from our family. I understand that they are here to stay and roost in arteries and the like, but not in mine. Hell and no. Today we are all upright, breathing and mostly cognitively functional. That's not half bad.<br />
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I love this picture. It isn't mine. </div>
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I found it on Facebook without a photo credit. </div>
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While I wait for the words to return in my head, these cats are awaiting the fishermen </div>
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to return home with their day's catch</div>
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That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-19160789144383327122013-08-23T08:50:00.001-06:002013-08-23T08:50:03.316-06:00Being gone vs. being absentSummer is an ass kicker. There's no way around it, at least in my Book of Crazy. And since I write that book I think I'm something of an authority on it. By the time August rolls in my bones feel hollow, I suspect my judgment on even the tiniest things to be less than stable and I really, really don't want to hear the word Mom and have it refer to me. A bit crappy but 100% honest.<br />
<br />
This summer began with Matt in the ER, unable to walk and the fear of blood clots in his legs. From there the path of madness transpired quite nicely until about 10 days ago when I found myself on an early Monday morning trapped between the garage wall and the car, unable to do anything other than cry and pull at my eyelashes. Fantastic beginning to the week. Matt's inclination was to admit me to the hospital, but since Crazy is much harder to diagnose than blood clots I called my doctor and we proceeded to have a long chat about medications and life balance. She decided I desperately need a decent dose of both.<br />
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So what's my point? Nothing really. I have to say I appreciate Klonapen and the therapeutic results of the borderline obsessive exercise that is keeping me out of the garage. That's really all there is to it for today.That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-20660908444667985442011-08-29T12:23:00.001-06:002011-08-29T12:23:21.765-06:00Outta here.I've moved. Mostly. Well, I've moved but just have yet to unpack everything and get it completely set up. But if I don't make the leap I'm gonna be all co-dependent on Blogger and then I'll never leave. So if you stop by here, please click another time and come visit <a href="http://thatuncomfortableitch.com/">the new Itch</a>!That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-47415915939122957192011-08-17T21:53:00.002-06:002011-08-22T10:57:57.741-06:00Flying the coopMy baby is leaving me. Plain and simple, he's going. I get it and it's a natural trajectory of healthy behavior, but still. He is vacating. Loren will be moving to Denver this Friday because he should. He's 18 and ready to go.<br />
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So far I've been incredibly cool about the whole thing, thinking I'd break down sometime after we'd dropped him off and were heading west over the passes. This afternoon we spent a couple of hours in Target banging out a list of Must Haves. Things like a coffee maker, laundry hamper, hangers, etc. We visually went through every room and tried to gather as much as possible so he will have all his creature comforts when he looks out over the LoDO skyline from his new abode. His excitement was palpable as he chose a color theme for his bathroom and just the right trashcan for his room. I loved every moment of it as I pictured Lo in his new life with so much Wonder ahead of him.<br />
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Tonight while I was working and listening to Pandora, one of his <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JdUpxch4F8M">favorite songs</a> came on and out of nowhere I lost it; tears on my keyboard and the knowledge that my ribs would not be able to contain my breaking heart. Loren is the one person in the world whose soul I fully understand. He is my first, the one whose splitting cells began this whole adventure. I carried his undeveloped nubs, brought him into the world, nursed him, took him to the park, experienced all those Firsts with him and now this is the Ultimate First. He is going and I want to curl up and die just a little bit about it.<br />
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I can't be cool about this. There is no nonchalance. It will never be the same because this is real and while I am so happy for this Beginning, I am also grieving the End. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-68695313040775632212011-08-16T15:03:00.001-06:002011-08-16T15:04:05.070-06:00The aftermath of the Juice CleanseAs I've mentioned a few times before, this past winter was a bitch with a mission. First Matt had his stroke and scared the hell out of us with his weird blood vessels that want to fill themselves up with pearl-like bits of cellular material and then deprive his kidneys of blood. Then Matt's father was diagnosed with Stage IV melanoma and given five weeks to live. So Matt and Jen, his sister, went out to Utah to help out and ended up staying until the end of May because the five weeks stretched on to six months. Then I learned all the intricacies of planning a Mormon funeral, a good time for me since we just cremate people in our family and then leave them willy nilly in drawers and what not. Then I was working two jobs and trying to sift through the daily madness of keeping it all afloat while not being able to find footing on the bottom while simultaneously eating everything I could possibly fit into my mouth.<br />
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Sometime in July Matt sensed my brittle state and suggested he and I try a juice cleanse in an effort to spur order from the inner core on out, a ripple effect it you will. So I said sure, why not, anything to slow the flailing of my arms to a quiet whir. And so we did it. Sometimes it was hard, sometimes I wanted to snack on the softer parts of Devon because I have long suspected he tastes like vanilla creme. But we did it, I lost about 10 pounds and it was empowering. Now most of my panties fit, I have at least six pairs of pants in my rotation and I feel pretty good.<br />
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The next step in the efforts has been exercise. I've been doing a few bike training runs with my friend Beth who is one of the most graciously sassy woman I've ever known. Beth gives voices to children who have previously had none and looks as if she drinks from the fountain of youth because sister permanently looks to be about 29, maybe 32 on a rough day. Anyhoo, she and I are training for<a href="http://m2dbikeride.com/"> a century ride</a> in late September and I'm trilled to bits to have this goal. Matt and I have also been going on some hikes. These usually involve me saying I know of a great place that's only slightly up hill and then feeling him staring heat seeking missiles into my ass as the mountain seems to go on for an infinity of painful hell. I've also been swimming with both Matt and Cassidy. Cass and I started our swim excursions a couple of summers ago, it's an activity she and I can do together without either of our heads exploding on the other and at the end we are both too tired to push the other's head under the water. It's a win-win with a side of mother-daughter bonding tossed in for some parenting points on my end. This morning Cass was exhausted from last night's first soccer practice of the season, she is playing a league age up and it seems like a brutal group, but a tired Cassidy means a peaceful night for me.<br />
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This morning I got to the pool right when all the old birds were lined up, lest they oust me from a prime swimming lane spot I quickly changed and hit the water. I knew from the beginning it was going to be a stellar swim and it was. By the end I had 52 laps, one mile, in a few seconds under 52 minutes! A personal best for me and a moment that made me feel like The Baddest Ass Mo-Fo of the pool. Sure, I got smoked by a couple of old grannies with flowered swim caps and skirted suits, but if those old broads are swimming a mile like that I'm gonna stay the hell out their way. Swimming like this is a huge step towards long term fitness for me but it also <a href="http://thatuncomfortableitch.blogspot.com/2011/06/under-my-skin.html">quiets the noise</a> in my head and brings me serenity, a concept almost entirely foreign in my soul. That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-73860106817002238712011-08-15T15:21:00.002-06:002011-08-15T16:17:12.759-06:00Attending church is going to send me to hellFor reasons I can't entirely comprehend some of my least stellar moments occur at or during Mass. I'm not sure if it's because I'm trying to be good? Thinking I should be good? Fantasizing I <em>could</em> be good. Whatever the case, I more often than not fall flat and end up <a href="http://caloden.com/2008/06/writing_my_ticket_to_hell.html">looking like an ass</a>. Sometimes big, sometimes bigger.<br />
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This last Sunday all was going well and I thought I was even in line for some extra<a href="http://caloden.blogspot.com/2006/01/wwjd.html"> Jesus Points</a> because it was the second Sunday <em>in a row</em> I was attending and taking Cass and Devon. And? My mom wasn't even with us, I was there all my own thank-you-very-much. True, part of it had to do with the $100's of raffle tickets I have to sell for Devon's first school fundraiser and dressing him cute so he can pimp out the tickets is going to save me some cash. But still, we were present and accounted for, that's gotta count. All was going well until we were downstairs for the after mass coffee and snacks. Devon loves this part of church the best so I always make sure he can run downstairs and be first in line for any goodies that might tempt his tender palate.<br />
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While the kids waited in line I secured us an empty table a bit out of the way that would give us the impression of being social while not actually forcing me to make small talk. Devon and Cass loaded up a couple of plates, I sat, they sat. A pair of our favorite friends came over to sit with us and that left only one empty chair. So far good. Until the daughter of my <a href="http://caloden.com/2007/08/they_are_warming_up_a_spot_for_me_down_yonder.html">All Time Nemesis</a> sat down by Cassidy and started talking high school with her. I can't stand this girl, she'll be a junior this year. She is conceited and drives me crazy, but spying that there were no more chairs available I figured I could grin and bear it. But then? First the dad and then her mom pulled two chairs from another table and squished in across from us. Oh. My. Fucking. God.<br />
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I can't adequately describe how much I despise <a href="http://caloden.com/2007/12/she_scares_me_something_fierce.html">this woman</a>. She is vile on every possible plane of being a human being. Our past extends seven years back to when she and her bland, boring husband first came to our wee neck of the mountains. She inserted herself into every organization possible and is universally despised by all the other moms and their daughters. She is fake, tends to gloat and loves to share just how much she enjoys giving all her time to those in need. This past summer she spent in Spain at a language school and on Sunday when she first sat down she said in an accent as bad as Peggy Hill's, "Buenas dias! Como estas?" When our other friend asked why she was speaking Spanish, the woman's reply was, "Well, doncha know that a lot of people speak it and I was, after all, in Spain this summer learning to talk just like them?" Really? No shit. I contributed, "Yes, actually, in many countries people speak Spanish, but none here at this table this morning." Then I gave her a big, toothy, fuck-you smile. She then tripped all over herself, gushing about how loooooong she'd been gone and how glaaaaaaaad she was to be back among her own people. At some point I got so sickened I left the table, pretending to be minding Devon. Cassidy claims I muttered in a none to quiet voice, "I can't take this damn woman anymore." I'll not publicly confirm that.<br />
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After I played with Devon it was time to collect Cass from the table when my nemesis turned to me with a huge grin on her dumb face and said, "Oh Heather, I just wanted to extend a huge thanks you to you for the little invitation you designed for the benefit this year. It was so lovely, blah, blah, blah.Will ya be going?" Then she extended her hand for a high five and held that stupid smile in place. For the tiniest millisecond I considered reciprocating her gesture, but then my true, inner bitch took over and I stepped back while she continued to reach out to the point of almost toppling out of her chair. "Yes, I designed that for the folks who <em>actually</em> sit on that board. Gotta go." (Because this woman does not sit on this board, my mother and her friends do. They asked me to do the design work and it had NOTHING to do with this awful wench. She just loves to be in the do-gooder know of all things. I had forgotten about the invite since we had finalized it a few weeks ago and the fundraiser isn't until sometime in September. I don't know the date because I have no plans on attending since the small talk alone is enough to make me itch at the mere thought of it all.)<br />
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I left her there in front of a table of people with her arm hanging the air and the expectation that I was actually going to be decent to her. Did she think just because we were in the church that I would actually be nice to her? No way, sister. It made it even better for me. I love being horrid to this woman, love it in a way that is so wrong it feels good. This woman has terrorized me through emails, notes, phone calls. She assumes everybody else around her is less than she is and makes every effort possible to showcase her spectacularness. So leaving her hanging in the church basement felt good, good and good. So much so that I giggled on my way up the stairs until I saw Cass' face going all Christian Jimminy Cricket on me and she said, "You know you're totally going to hell. Even for you that was blatant." Oh. My. Hmmmm. "Yes, but honey, she's awful. Don't you think? And someday you'll likely have a Mom Nemesis and this is good training for you. I'm just trying to be a positive role model here." For that I got an eye roll as she sauntered up the stairs.That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-70680885764735446222011-08-11T13:38:00.000-06:002011-08-11T13:38:45.229-06:00I compensate with cheeseMy love affair with cheese began in earnest sometime during my pregnancy with Loren. Up until that point I associated the word cheese with the word fat and that simply was not something to be allowed anywhere near my inner sanctum. But an unplanned pregnancy while still in college pretty much blew all my prior principles out of the water, and so when I met up with Sir Brie or his friend Blue I no longer shied away but embraced them as the true loves I now knew them to be. <br />
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When I stopped gobbling gluten a couple of years ago I think it was not as hard as I thought it would be because I still had cheese. Had my issue been dairy? Somebody would have had to pay and pay dearly for that loss. I can roll with rice crackers, but take away my dairy? No sir, that would be like taking away Sarah Palin's crazy. It just doesn't work. Also, cheese helped me to avoid that emaciated look celiac sufferers tend to get. Cheese left me with plenty o' padding. <br />
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During the most recent eating nuttiness, <a href="http://thatuncomfortableitch.blogspot.com/2011/08/there-arent-enough-veggies-in-universe.html">the juice cleanse</a>, the hardest part of the elimination phase was cutting out dairy. Matt and I both saved it for the last day because we both love cheese so much. In fact, now that I look back on the time line of things...Matt knocked me up, and then introduced me to cheese and the happiness derived from consuming large quantities of it. Bastard. I'll have to remember that little nugget for future warfare. Anyway, during the cleanse we both talked about how happy we would both be to get right back on that wagon as soon as the fast was over. And he did. But me? Not so much.<br />
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Turns out I'm having a much more difficult time rolling with the solid foods. No, it's not from my days of ballet dancing and<a href="http://please%20be%20sure%20to%20check%20your%20rfta%20schedule%20for%20any%20changes%20starting%20september%206.%20if%20you%20stop%20in%20a%20bus%20shelter%20you%20can%20use%20your%20smart%20phone%20to%20scan%20the%20qr%20code%20and%20download%20your%20favorite%20schedules%20to%20your%20phone./"> tendencies</a> to not eat. It's my damn stomach. There were afternoons during the cleanse when I would fantasize about cheese and yogurt and all the fun things we would soon do together.We were going to frolic in meadows, take baths together, fall asleep thinking of each other. We had plans, dammit. But the few times I've tried to ingest them the results have been smelly, loud and not over all crowd pleasers. I didn't sign up for this and it's starting to piss me off and break my heart. What if I can't do it anymore? My social anxiety is bad enough, if at the few gatherings I do attend I can't busy myself with the cheese plate? What then? This is really no good.That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-57044567136892637682011-08-09T12:31:00.002-06:002011-08-09T14:12:04.045-06:00Yes, I live with my mother. Shut up.As mentioned above, I do indeed live in my mother's house. No, I don't live in the basement, have pasty skin and litter the floor with Cheeto bags while I play Wii. My skin is naturally dead, fishbelly creme, I can't eat Cheeto's due to my gluten issues and the Wii resides upstairs, thank-you-very-much. I actually live in one of her lofts, that makes me a high class live-in if you ask me. <br />
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I've been at my mother's house for a smidge over five years now. Sometimes it's been good. Sometimes comforting. Sometimes it's so difficult I think my head might burst. I know this is a distinct possibility because of the one sided conversations I have in my head with her about the importance of boundaries. Sure, we could have these chats be two-ways but it wouldn't work. My role is, and always has been, to be agreeable, take it as it comes and not, and I mean ever, rock the boat. Right now though? Because my head axploded all over the wall this morning? I want to tip the whole damn boat over. Know why? Although she can swim, my mother hates to get her face wet. Yup. I wouldn't tip it in deep water but it might take her a few panicked moments to realize the water was just five feet deep before she found her footing. And being the mean, awful daughter I am, those bits of panic would bring me satisfaction. I'm not proud of my intentions, but the mental image has stopped the head noise and I already feel better. <br />
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(Sometimes being evil is the best way out of madness. Plus, don't judge until you're co-habitating with your family of origin.)That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-85033251627036789472011-08-04T13:45:00.000-06:002011-08-04T13:45:29.320-06:00Because I'm wildly mature and a clear thinkerSo. I've quit my job. Yes, in this economy where stable jobs grow on trees or fall from the sky like rainbow covered gumdrops, I said thanks, but no, I gotta go now. Holy. Fuck. Yup. Sure did. In my defense I have to say that this year has been an ass kicker and it opened my eyes to some realities I hadn't before grasped. I also have another gig and a half lined up and big plans to work on a bunch of personal flotsam and jetsam that has been piling up and making noise in my head over the last couple of years. Again, holy fuck with a huge side of YUP!<br />
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My last day of office work is August 30, although I've been doing a tiny slice of my other gig at night for the last month or so. And? That job totally did fall from the clouds with a soft thud in my lap. And? It's for <a href="http://www.blogher.com/">a company</a> I would have willingly sawed off my left small toe in order to obtain employment there. Only now I get to keep my toe and get a paycheck. Not too slouchy indeed!<br />
<br />That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-71882359698276413182011-08-03T11:06:00.001-06:002011-08-03T11:07:36.037-06:00There aren't enough veggies in the universe to fill the void within meAs I mentioned yesterday the juice fast has been going really quite well. Over the weekend there was an annual celebration, Mountain Fair, where there are crafts, jewelry, fabulous drinks and more food than one can possible dream of eating. It's what heaven would look like if I could make it so. Most years I plot which vendors I'll frequent and what drinks I'll have with them. This year I ended up buying <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cyndi-Buck-Design/188041235590">a fabulous cashmere sweater</a> because I spent no money on eats or drinks, and it wasn't a sacrifice to do so. Actually, the 100% truth to that last statement is that I had given the kids all my money and I talked Matt, who was perhaps or perhaps not delirious with hunger, into buying said sweater. But it's a fabulous sweater and once it gets cold again it will be amazing with a pair of leggings....<br />
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So no solid food was all good, juice was good, I had a new sweater and was shedding pounds left and right. Turns out yesterday I hit a wall. That wall was painted with the color bitch, it was still wet and I got it all over me. Yup. I was so hungry, as in HUNGRY, DAMMIT! Luckily Devon stayed the night with Matt so all I had to deal with last night was Cass and my mom. Fair enough. But no. Cassidy had been at her summer job all day, teaching swimming lessons and training to be a lifeguard for next summer and she had done a mile in laps on top of teaching three classes. Girl was hungry, too. And my mom was feeling slightly peckish from her day. So they decided to go all out. I'm talking soups with sausage in it, some sort of gourmet bread dipped in olive oil. And then, if that wasn't enough? Cass decided she wanted brownies. As they baked I thought I had died and gone to the hell I have long deserved for all my daily, hourly, caddy comments. It was a smell so divine I would have gladly sold Devon to the circus for just one bite. I informed Cass and my mom I believed them to be truly evil minions of Satan and they laughed as they informed me that the gluten in the brownies would send me to the ER. I told them it didn't matter, they were horrid, awful humans and I was planning to abandon them and go live in an ashram to find inner peace. Again they laughed. So I went to bed and fell asleep in a puddle of self-pity, which I tried to eat but it lacked flavor.<br />
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This morning I woke up hungry and shaky. I've had some juice: beets, carrots, spinach, a few grapes, apples and radishes. The scale wasn't overly kind this morning, I lost a quarter pound yesterday. Really? REALLY? For all that self-discipline all I get it a something the equivalent of McDonald burger and it doesn't even taste good? Namaste. Three more days of this and then I'm-a-gonna chew me some food.<br />
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Below are a couple of pictures from the above mentioned fair. Devon had just finished singing on stage. He had spent the week at a singing camp and had learned such classics as "Crocodile Rock" and "Sweet Home Alabama". Precious beyond words. As far as family portraits go it's slightly awkward with Lo's hands stuffed in his pockets while he seems to be thinking, "Why is my mom doing this to me?" Whatever.<br />
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The next picture captures the true joy that is Cassidy and her BFF Ticah. The two have been thick as thieves since they were in diapers. Notice the cup of lemondae Cass is holding. I suspect after that she ate a funnel cake and then had a piece of pizza anf then perhaps a gyro. There are words for people like that....<br />
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That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-68300478767407288002011-08-02T16:28:00.002-06:002011-08-02T16:47:42.242-06:00Day 6 of the 10 day cleanse. I don't smell too bad anymore.As mentioned above, today is number six out of ten days of <a href="http://thatuncomfortableitch.blogspot.com/2011/07/tmi-about-my-cleanse-sorry-sort-of-not.html">the juice fast</a>. Depending on who you ask things are going really quite well. If one were to ask me, I would point out that my tongue is no longer covered in white goo in the mornings. If you one were to ask Cass, well she might point out that right before my feeding times I might appear slightly bitchy. Whatever, she's 14 and prone to drama. Not to be trusted , her. Thus far I've shed nine pounds. That's right, count those! I now have a staggering number of maybe five pairs of pants in the rotation and a couple of dresses. My breasts aren't bursting out of my bras and I'm even back into some of my fun panties, not just the extra large Hanes, five to a pack that I get at Costco. <br />
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Despite my new found wardrobe expansion I don't intend to stick out <a href="http://www.fatsickandnearlydead.com/">60 days</a> of this madness. This ends Saturday night. At that point I'm going to make friendly with a <a href="http://www.eatingwell.com/recipes/zu_canoes.html">zu-canoe</a> and then On Sunday some more veggies that I'll actually be able to chew. Simple things for simple minds.<br />
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A couple of weekends ago, Matt, the kids and I went to Denver to check out Loren's soon-to-be new pad. We stayed in<a href="http://www.lodo.org/"> LoDo</a> close to where Lo and his friend Evan will be spreading their wings and living out in the real world. It's going to break my heart when Loren leaves but I fully understand this is the natural progression of events and he needs to get out of the nest. Across from our hotel was an enormous blue bear peeking into the convention center. It made for some good fun.<br />
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This summer I've been taking every opportunity possible to capture my three children in one place at the same time. Not an easy task and one that inevitably ends up with somebody pissed off. Big deal, they can just deal with it. In about a week Loren will move to Denver to work for a semester before attending film school so these moments will be even farther and fewer between.That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-34673038548787651132011-07-29T12:04:00.003-06:002011-07-29T12:21:59.108-06:00TMI about my cleanse. Sorry. Sort of. Not really.Today is Day 2 of the 10 day juice fast/cleanse. All told we are two weeks into <a href="http://thatuncomfortableitch.blogspot.com/2011/07/buck-fitty.html">this gig</a> and so far it's not bad at all. The food elimination was fine, well until we had to give up dairy which means no cheese. I love cheese like I love few other substances in this world. It doesn't matter if it's Velveeta or fine brie, I want to snuggle up to it and make it mine for life. My indulgent relationship with cheese is one of the reasons I find myself currently mourning its absence. The fast is fairly good for the most part, my energies aren't super-high but then I'm not a real go-getter under regular circumstance so an extra dose of slothdom isn't shocking. <br />
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A few things I've observed with the fast:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Beets aren't lovely. No. Almost any way you serve them up, raw being my case, they taste like dirt. They also make your pee and solids purple which when you're an edge past 40 can make bathroom time slightly unnerving.</li>
<li>Radishes are beets' sassy sisters. When juiced they have a slight kick to them, like a Catholic school girl gone naughty under the high school bleachers. I like radishes and will continue to host them in my juice.</li>
<li>Detox isn't so pretty. This morning I woke up with white goo covering my tongue. Smelly white goo. Of course I quickly brushed my teeth but now I'm not sure I can ever use that toothbrush again. I'm seriously grossed out.</li>
<li>I get seriously bitchy when I run out of food. This is nothing new, but when I've been downing liquid carrots and cucumbers all day and it's 4:30 and Devon wants a snack and Cass is wanting something -likely everything in her case- please leave me the fuck alone until I can inhale more juice.</li>
</ul>
Good things about the fast:<br />
<ul>
<li>My underwear is totally fitting again! Oh yeah, baby! No more upper thigh fat poking out of the bottom of my panties, thank you very much.</li>
<li>I'm so exhausted at the end of the day that I'm actually sleeping well. Yes, I wake up in the same position in which I fell asleep, but sleep is sleep and not something I can always achieve.</li>
<li>My skin is supple and soft and looks 38 rather than 49. At least that's my opinion.</li>
<li>Did I mention my diminishing size? Every morning the number on the scale is less than the night before.</li>
<li>My worms are eating like kings in their worm bin!</li>
</ul>
Bad things:<br />
<ul>
<li>The above mentioned tongue issue. I still have the willies from that.</li>
<li>Beets. Don't know if I can make that work.</li>
<li>Variety. I can see how I might hate carrots after this.</li>
<li>Turns out Cassidy also loves fresh juice multiple times per day. This just doubled my expense on this project.</li>
<li>What if I lose all this weight and then am petrified to ever put solid food in my mouth again? How will I cozy up to cheese then?</li>
</ul>
That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-6382806644083037772011-07-28T10:08:00.001-06:002011-07-28T10:19:59.818-06:00Hot wives, race cars and holy men<br />
I know that theoretically there is supposed to be a separation between church and state. What I didn't know is when it comes to Nascar Jesus totally rides shotgun. This one caught me offguard this morning as I was driving to work. I love the "smoking hot wife" blessing.<br />
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<embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/J74y88YuSJ8?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="512" height="312"></object>That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-32664289337458302162011-07-22T12:00:00.001-06:002011-07-22T15:02:10.048-06:00A buck fitty<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Back in the day I used to be a ballet dancer. Notice I didn't say ballerina, to me that means I was in a paid company and made my entire life be about dance. I was in a high school company and then a college company, I made no money and ballet was about 97% of my life. I loved it. I loved the daily ritual of warm-up at the barre, then centre work. I loved being totally in sync with my body and I looooooved being in wicked amazing shape. And although I probably could have eaten to my heart's content during those years, I didn't. Dancing eight hours a day and then skipping a couple of meals made me look all that more hot. God, I hope my 14 year-old daughter never reads that last sentence. <br />
<br />
Fast forward to my early twenties when I got knocked up by a tall drink of cool water. Although my dancing days had tapered down to just a few classes per week, I still ate sparingly and kept in good shape. But sometime in the early part of my second trimester I got hungry. Hungry in a way that made me bitchy because I didn't know what to do. Yes, I was that out of tune with reality. I can't recall the exact sequence of events, only that Matt took me out to the Olive Garden and for the first time in my 22 years I discovered the joy of consuming food. Oh. My. Fucking. God. It was so good! It was beautiful! There were tastes. Textures. And the variety? Pastas with sauces! Breads with butter! And desert?????? It was truly a religious experience. So I kept eating. and eating. I ate in a way that had the OB team alarmed at my next visits. They thought I should maybe slow down. Could they not see I was eating for two? That food was good, dammit? <br />
<br />
After I had Loren it took me about a year to lose most of the weight. The eating thing was still so amazing to me. Then I had Cass, nursed her and the weight came off again. Then seven years later Devon rolled on to the scene, I got post-partum depression, took Prozac and gained the equivalent of a baby. I hit the weight I was when I gave birth to Loren, 150 pounds. Then my dad died, I went on the cake and wine diet for a few months and maintained that awful number for a couple of years. <br />
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Two years ago I stopped eating wheat and luckily had the summer off from work. It enabled me to go for daily swims, long bike rides and I got down to nearly my pre-Devon weight. I felt good. I bought clothes and I vowed to never again get up over a buck fifty. This year has been a bitch in a half and apparently my way of dealing with it has been to stuff all the problems in my mouth and hide them in my belly where they'll never bother a soul. I have been harboring so much stress in my stomach that I got back up to 150. Fucker. It had gotten to the point where I had stopped <a href="http://thatuncomfortableitch.blogspot.com/2011/02/artists-and-asses.html">wearing underwear</a> and I could only where two pairs of my pants, both drawstring style. And although I totally rocked the drawstring, I suck at laundry and two pairs of pants simply doesn't cut it for me. But nor could I bring myself to buy more big girl pants.<br />
<br />
As luck would have it, Matt intervened and suggested a juice fast. Then, since he has this summer off from work, he combined several plans and made it into a four week long effort. We are just finishing the first phase, food elimination. It started a week ago by cutting out one major thing per day. Friday was caffeine, Saturday, alcohol, And so on. Today is the last day of that, we cut out oils and vinegar today. Then it's on to three days of raw veggies, fruits, seeds and nuts. Then follows three days of smoothies, though they won't be a tasty without vanilla ice cream in them. Then it's 10 days of fruit and veggie juices, followed by a 5 day re-entry to regular foods.<br />
<br />
So far I'm loving this. Maybe it's because when I cut out wheat two years ago, I learned how to make a big dietary change. Maybe I'm psychologically ready for next phase of life. Or maybe my body is just so damn tired of carrying around 25 extra pounds of me. In the last week I've lost nearly three pounds and I'm up to three pairs of pants in the rotation, one of them even has snaps. That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-71426678299627397602011-07-20T14:44:00.002-06:002011-07-20T15:52:31.173-06:00I'm pretty sure that empty spot in hell is reserved for meI've never made any bones over the fact that I am a <a href="http://caloden.blogspot.com/2006/01/wwjd.html">fair weather Catholic</a>. I grew up with devoted Catholic parents who were, thankfully, liberal in most ways. I was baptized, sent to Cathechism, took First Communion. Short of going not through Confirmation and then marrying an ex-Mormon and having his babies in and out of wedlock, I'm a fairly upstanding church girl. At least that's what I tell myself.<br />
<br />
A few years ago our parish got a new priest who I, and it turns out a majority of the congregation, despise. I'm not sure what his true name is because I alternate between calling him Father Higgins and Father Ass Hat. Higgins is the name of a friend's enormously dim Labradoodle, he's a waste of dog cells, quite possible the dumbest animal I've ever met. The Ass Hat name, well that's just plain bitchiness on my part. Anyway, this priest gives sermons that reference television shows. Every week he does this. I imagine him sitting about his priest pad, watching Thursday night prime time when it hits him, kapow, he must stick some religious words together for Sunday worshipers. Suffice it to say, his presentations are shallow and with very little spriritual fiber.<br />
<br />
For most of the winter I skipped Mass. Partly I was working two jobs, partly I would rather stay home and clean than go hear Father A.H. spew his lack of knowledge to the congregation. But this past Sunday I was feeling jaunty and pure so I decided to accompany my mom and endure the fool on the pulpit. Luck would have it, or maybe God was smiling upon us, Father Higgins was out of town and we had a guest priest who actually had some lovely words of wisdom.<br />
<br />
So we listened, sang, kneeled and then it was time for Communion. I lined up behind my mom and approached the alter with pure heart when the realization hit me: there's gluten in them there hosts and due to a food elimination thing Matt and I had started the night before, booze was no longer on my lists of can do's. Shitter. I couldn't just turn around, I was out of the pew with three more rows lining up behind me. I couldn't walk by and snub the offerings, that would be a faux pas. Before I knew it I was up and had no choice but to extend my palms and accept the body of JC. <br />
<br />
Now, <a href="http://caloden.com/2009/04/a-day-without-wheat.html">my reaction to gluten</a> is pretty harsh. There are the red rash/hives that appear around my neck and face. There's the swelling of my throat, not breathing is no fun. Then there's the bloat and gas, perhaps the worst of all the effects for people around me. I couldn't eat the damn thing. Couldn't give it back. Couldn't turn to the person behind me and say, "Oops, I got an extra. Fancy a body wafer?" No. So I did what I had to and pocketed it. I know that like Superman, The Holy Trinity have X-Ray vision and totally saw the glowing wafer in my pocket. I also know they gathered in a huddle and made notes next to my name in their gaint Who's Who books.<br />
<br />
After Mass my mother asked why I went to Communion and again I choked, I confessed my sin. She was all in a bind that between us in the car a bit of Jesus was riding shot gun in my pocket. Her instinct was to turn around and tell the priest. Mine, of course, was to cover it up. I assured I'd take care of it respectfully. And I did. After careful thought I buried it the planter of my hibiscus plant. That poor thing deserves to be in the tropics of Hawaii and is instead stuck on the confines of Matt's hot, dry deck. My thinking is that the plant could use a boost o' Sweet Baby J. <br />
<br />
The next day my mother inquired about the host, apparently she'd been fretting over it. I told her not to worry, I'd taken care of things but that it was between Jesus and me. That didn't go over so well. But deep down I feared that if I told her the actual location of the waifer, she'd sneak down in the night and dig it up and take back to the church. But then again, maybe I lack faith.That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-52292951485727111982011-07-17T21:25:00.001-06:002011-07-18T09:36:12.649-06:00Sky Beam, I think I hate youDear People at Sky Beam,<br />
<br />
<br />
If there was something the opposite of a sponsored post this would be it. Simply put, you suck.<br />
<br />
You suck in the way that stepping barefoot in dog shit sucks. You suck in the way that bouncing a check sucks. You suck like a harsh hangover and thoughtlessly placed hickey suck. You suck like losing your only set of keys in the snow sucks. I think you see where I'm going here.<br />
<br />
Your bandwidth is fully insufficient in the Western Colorado region. You know this because nearly everybody over here who is forced to use <a href="http://www.skybeam.com/">your slack-ass company</a> calls on a monthly basis and tells you about this issue. You will usually give us $5 off our monthly bill and promise things will get better, perhaps some sort of tower will go up over here....<br />
<br />
You have yet to deliver on any of your poorly expressed intentions of improving our service. Is it that you believe we here in the mountains are used to slowness and can be set aside? Or maybe you think if you keep ignoring us we'll just go away? Or maybe you assume we are all out hunting prairie dogs? None of the above are the case. We are pissed. Pissed in a way that makes us want to trudge over the Divide, find your offices and leave bodily fluids upon your desks to soak into your keyboards. then your computers won't work and you'll be screwed. Sort of like us on a daily basis. <br />
<br />
Sky beam, if I were a super hero my Super Twin powers would be all about covering you in an icy waterfall cast. Were I a comet I'd be sure to land my flame kissed ass upon your buildings. If I could be a predatory animal, I'd be the lion and you a baby gazelle separated from your herd. Me a super virus? You an old lady with a weak immune system. And lastly, if I happened to be a big, ole gross booger? You'd totally be my wiping spot. Yup. That's just how much I am unhappy with your sloppy service and lack of caring.<br />
<br />
Love and kisses,<br />
<br />
Heather <br />
<br />
<br />That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-61021562185116064852011-07-12T11:04:00.004-06:002011-07-12T11:35:44.259-06:00CherishOver the weekend Matt, the children and I are made the trek to Provo for his father's funeral service. The drive was long, as always, and hot. The visit was hectic and tense with all the issues surrounding a death.<br />
<br />
There is so much that could be said, but I won't because there isn't really any point. But I will say this, if you've got something of meaning to say to the people you love, fucking-A just do it. Don't wait around and have people do it for you after you're gone. Life is short, the after time an unknown. What we have here and now is tangible and real. Not telling those close to you how you feel is a pussy ass way out of things. It does them no favors to yearn for affirmation, only to hear it from other people after the fact. <br />
<br />
I'm going to take this to heart for myself as well. I'm going to let the people I love know how I feel and never have to question it. That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-17570564428995682992011-07-05T15:47:00.002-06:002011-07-12T11:37:07.410-06:00The text bumpAbout 10 days ago one of my most favoritest people in the whole wide world got married to her long time man love. Kelly Lynne and The Bird have been together for about ten years. They have an adorable four year-old boy, John-Kelly. They are devoted to each other and so sometime last winter-ish, he popped the question, presented the ring and she accepted. The pair happens to reside in the Deep South of Mississippi where remaining unmarried and living next door to one another becomes a bit odd once you've bred a wee child, but <a href="http://thatuncomfortableitch.blogspot.com/2011/04/nothing-is-quite-like-southern-bred.html">a Southern to-do</a> can quickly become a TO-DO so they traveled to the Colorado mountains to escape the heat and get hitched. <br />
<br />
Somewhere around Christmas, Kelly Lynne asked me to be her maid of honor. She said it was to be a simple affair, as she is a gal of few needs and streamlined tastes. In my head I wondered why she would ask me of all people to do this job, <a href="http://caloden.com/2007/09/i_dont.html">I suck at weddings</a>, they make me itch. She might have sensed my fear over the phone because she said something along the lines, "It's my wedding, I need you." Can't turn down that sort of thing so I said I'd be honored and then promptly forgot about my duties. I am really cool like that. <br />
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Every now and then the subject would arise, we'd chat about why the term <i>simple wedding</i> is an oxy-moron and then I would again put it all out of my mind. It's not that I was ignoring the gloriousness of these two people committing to one another for life, I<i> totally</i> dig it for them. The winter was a crazy busy one and wedding details don't lodge themselves in my brain. <br />
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A couple of weeks ago Kelly and her crew arrived in town to prepare for the big weekend. I was to have corsages ready, accompany Kelly for her nails and hair, help her get dressed, just generally be there for her and support her on her big day. While I was getting a spray tan, a coincidence not a preparation for the nuptials, I got a text: <b>Hey, I know you're dealing Matt's dad </b>(he had passed away the morning before her arrival)<b> so you can be off the hook for this weekend. I think we are good and we don't need to add stress to your week. </b><br />
<br />
I read the message over a couple of times before it hit me. I was being <i>bumped</i>. By text. Really? Who does that? So I wrote back: <b>You're totally bumping me.</b><br />
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She replied: <b>I totally am. But honestly it is fine</b>.<br />
<br />
Me: <b>You're bumping me. In a text. I'm totally gonna blog about this, you know.</b><br />
<br />
The next day Devon and I made it to the reception. I had a hard time getting out of my bathroom and to the party. Devon had a hard time transitioning from the sidewalk to the actual party. We both calmed down, tried to act like normal, well adjusted humans and then we spent a couple of hours blending. It was a lovely affair, Kelly and Jay were radiant. <br />
<br />
Later Kelly texted me: <b>You know no matter what, no matter the circumstance, you will always be my BFF. You were here in spirit.</b><br />
<br />
And that's one of the reasons we have remained friends through 24 years. When you can realize your maid of honor is going to drop the ball and then you accept it and text her all in one? And in turn she can get the text and be at peace with it? That's what it's all about.That Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071089813692534777.post-24621995393264505772011-06-30T12:32:00.001-06:002011-06-30T12:35:35.754-06:00Happy 18th, Lo-Lo!!!!Sweetest Lo,<br />
<br />
Holy moly, today you're 18! It makes me teary to even write that in words. I know you're not a reader of this so you might not ever find this letter, or the one <a href="http://caloden.com/2010/06/a-birthday-wish.html">I penned last year</a>, but I'm a believer of the Universe and knowing the words are somewhere <em>out there</em> for you brings me comfort.<br />
<br />
This year, Loren, has been one of challenges and extreme growth. The choices you made were sometimes hard, but I firmly believe they will make you strong and bring you satisfaction. There are very few of us who know our passions as early as you have discovered yours. Rarer still is the person whose passion matches their talents. You, my love, have both. You make <a href="http://vimeo.com/23622239">beauty</a> with your camera, you put it to music and bring alive <a href="http://vimeo.com/22133363">a message of joy</a> and <a href="http://vimeo.com/18718572">excitement</a> to everything you make. I know taking your talent and transitioning it from high school to the Great Beyond has scared you to your bones, but again I see you forming a path and I know it will take you to wonderful places. As I write this, I see what I'm saying is that I have total and absolute faith in you, Lo. I don't know too many things, but I do know you and I believe in everything you are.<br />
<br />
In the eyes of our society you are now an adult. As a mother that is sort of a difficult concept to accept, for you will always be my baby, my first born, the one who started this whole amazing ride. As I fell asleep last night I recalled that very late night/early morning 18 years ago. After some un-Godly number of hours I held you in my arms as the nurses and doctors cleared all the equipment from the room. I was 22, scared and so ill prepared to deserve such a miracle snuggled in my arms. The thought that your father and I were going to be giving you a life put the fear of the world in me. So I did the only thing I knew, I held you closer and made a promise in your ear, "I'll always be here for you. No matter what, no matter where. I will do whatever it takes." It was true then, now and always.<br />
<br />
I love you, Lo. You are the light in my soul. I am honored to be here for the ride.<br />
<br />
Always,<br />
<br />
MomThat Uncomfortable Itchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09775377280498782156noreply@blogger.com0