7 Days of Positive Thoughts – Day 3

Ooh, I am hedging into day 4…it’s very late.  But, here goes…

Day 3 Positive Thought:  Sometimes I exceed my own expectations.

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I never thought I’d run.  For anything.  I figured I’d have to be chased by an axe murderer or running from a fire to… RUN.  But this is apparently not the case.

Today, I did more than I could have thought possible.  For me, anyway.  And it is truly amazing.

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Every time I think I know my limits, I prove myself wrong.

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7 Days of Positive Thoughts – Day 2

Day 2 Positive Thought:  Sometimes something good can turn into something awesome.

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A few days ago, I made pumpkin fudge.  I mean, seriously, come on!  Pumpkin.  Fudge.  What is not to love?

And, as tasty as it turned out to be, it ended up being very soft.  Not “fudge”-like.  Well, yes and no.  Did I still cut off a piece and eat it?  You betcha.

But it was soft.  I suspect that I did not get the temperature high enough.  (I was not planning to ever own a candy thermometer, but, considering that I am still unemployed, maybe I should.)

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Knowing that only the texture was the issue, I went online to find out if there was a solution to this problem.

Turns out there isn’t (at least not when you’re already done and have poured the fudge).

But there is….

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Someone online (more than one someones) suggested just melting the fudge back down and using it as a sauce.  As in, “hell, might as well just go liquid all the way and pour that shit on something”.

Which.  Is.  Just.  What.  I.  Did.

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When I was grocery shopping today, I picked up a pint of vanilla ice cream.

And then I brought it home and put some in a bowl.

Then I grabbed a chunk of my too-soft fudge and heated it up.

Then I poured it over my ice cream.

Then I died and went to heaven.

Because IT WAS FRIGGIN AWESOME.

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So, because of a small error on my part, I had the most delicious fall treat of ice cream with pumpkin topping.  Ever.

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7 Days of Positive Thoughts – Day 1

I was a stronger person when I was 18 years old.  Seriously.

When I was 18, I did not know enough yet to fear the outcome of things.  I expected the best so I was not hesitant and doggedly forged ahead.  This meant that, more often than not, the best actually happened.

Time goes by, and I am bogged down by repeated disappointments and the expectation that bad things will happen.  And this is perhaps my biggest problem.

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For the next 7 days, including today, I am going to think like my 18 year old self and find the positive side of my day.  Even if it is something small, I am going to embrace it – I am going to clutch onto it like it’s a French Toast and Bacon cupcake.

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So, bring on the feel-good stuff!  I’m ready!

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Day 1 Positive Thought:  Everyone loves cheesy Halloween stuff, especially my mom.

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I have to send a package to my mom, so I decided to find a couple of Halloween doo-dads to send along as well.  Enter Big Lots.

I found two things:

1) A pair of eyeballs that are attached to a suction cup so they can be hung in your window.  The “ON” switch turns them into lighted beacons of multi-colored doom!  I hope it scares the candy right out of the trick-or-treaters!

2) A mummy candle holder that holds a tealight.  I wrote a note to my mom stating that I got her a mummy candle holder because she’s my “mummy”.  Get it?  *chortle chortle*

SHE IS GOING TO FLIP OVER THESE!

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Find your positive thought today!

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Don’t call me, I’ll call you. And by that, I mean I won’t. – UPDATED

Conversation between me and the person who called my home phone for a political survey:

(For the record, they call my house in the evenings every half hour until I pick up the phone.  I have asked twice to be removed from the call list.)

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Unsuspecting Survey Person: “Hello, may I speak to Heather?”

Me: “No.  Sorry.”

USP: “We are doing a political survey of people in your area.”

Me: “Still no.”

USP: “When might we call back to speak to her?”

Me: “Probably not ever.”

USP: “Excuse me.”

Me: “Probably not ever.  As in, NEVER.”

USP: “Ooooh….There would be no follow up call after the survey.”

Me: “Ok, then.  Bu-byyyyyyyyye.”

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I know.  I am cranky and don’t feel well.  But, honestly?  STOP FUCKING CALLING MY HOUSE.

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UPDATE:

Someone from this line called me again.  Just now.  (Every half hour, like I said.)

Here’s how that conversation went:

Stupid Asshole Caller: “Hello, may I speak to Heather?”

Me: “Someone from this number just called me a half hour ago.”

SAC: “Yes, well we are doing a survey in your area…”

Me: “Someone from this number called me a half hour ago”

SAC: “It is very important to us to have your input to…”

Me: “You people call me every half hour all the time.”

SAC: “I am sorry about that, ma’am.  But once you do this survey, we will no longer…”

Me: “SOMEONE FROM THIS NUMBER CALLED ME A HALF HOUR AGO.”

SAC: “I know ma’am.  I was asked to call you back…”

Me: “DON’T CALL THIS NUMBER ANYMORE.”

SAC: “Ok.  Thank you.”

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Now let’s see if they call in another half hour.  I think I’ll go get my whistle.

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No one is chasing me and nothing is on fire.

I started doing the Couch to 5K program a few weeks ago.  The basic idea is that you gradually go from no running to being able to run a 5K.  It’s an interval training program and I think it’s brilliant.

But I still hate running.  I have not learned to love it.  Yet.

I asked a friend who runs how long it will take before I have that “addiction” that runners have.  She said she did not want to tell me because she did not want to discourage me.  So, I am just going to assume it takes six years.  GAAAAAAAHHHH.

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Fortunately for me, I have someone to run with.  This is very motivating.

This is exactly what I said to my running partner this morning:

I am glad I have you to run with, because, if I didn’t, I would not have gotten up this morning.  Furthermore, every time I ask you to run, I really don’t want to.  Every time you ask me to run, I really don’t want to.  And every time you ask if we’re still on for our next running date, I want to say no.  But I do it anyway.

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But, no worries.  I am still running.  And it still sucks.

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Update on my life and other spiralling-out-of-control things…

Two posts in one day!  Is it the apocalypse??

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Still no job.  As of right now, I have applied for 83 jobs.  Recently, one of my friends asked, “So, do you think 100 is the magic number here?”

Perhaps.  Let’s hope it’s not 150.

The State of NH unemployment.  Sucks.  Ass.

I am getting the maximum amount anyone can get on unemployment, and it is (after taxes) $384/week.  After I deduct my mortgage and condo fee, I am left with $233.  That $233 has to pay my phone, internet, electric, gas, food, plus anything else that comes up periodically – like an oil change or a new issue of Fangoria.

To say I have been in panic mode is like saying Sylvia Plath was a little melancholy.  I have been FREAKing.

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I am a list maker.  I love lists.  I like making lists of things I need to do and then crossing off those things.  I think of things to do and then add them to the list so I can cross them off 3 minutes later.

Examples of things that have been on my list as of late:

  • Clean litter
  • Balance checkbook
  • Get a life

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My cat seems fine.  For now.  He gave me a scare the other day when he started acting all weird and hiding under the bed.  I was relieved/irritated to find he had just vomited under there.

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My health continues to be very good.  I did, however, play my MS card recently.  My friend Amanda assures me it is my card to play and I can play it whenever I want – and I am judicious about playing it.  But I did not feel bad about playing it this time.  At.  All.

AT&T tried to charge me a $95 early termination fee for switching over to Verizon two days before my contract officially ended.  I believe my email to customer service went something like: “I am unemployed and have multiple sclerosis and that was the only day I could go get my new phone.  Seriously??”  (This is mostly true, in a roundabout way.  It was freakishly hot that week and the heat bothers my MS.  I had to go when I was able to stand it.)

I got an almost immediate reply stating that “no” they were not going to charge the MS lady for the early termination of 48 hours.

Yeah, I didn’t think you were.

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I’m not funny and I think I scare people.

When it comes to men, I have a “type”.  That type is typically pasty white (from being inside a lot), pudgy (perhaps from not being outside that much), intelligent, and cuttingly sarcastic.  And by “intelligent” I mean freakishly so.  And by “cuttingly sarcastic”, I mean he is sometimes offensive and makes people cry.

I know.  It seems very specific.  I have a very specific type.

I also have a thing for gingers (if you’ve never heard the term, it’s red-haired men).

You don’t have to tell me I have narrowed down my dating pool significantly with all these specifics.  This is evidenced by the lack of dates I am going on.

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I get very excited when I see famous people who fit most or all of these criteria.  Philip Seymour Hoffman is one of them.  I don’t know if he is cuttingly sarcastic, but many of his roles require this trait so I can easily transpose it onto him.  I love this man.  I find him endlessly attractive.  I have always secretly loved Danny Bonaduce, but he lacks any modicum of decency, so he’s out.  Kevin McKidd is absolutely dreamy, but I see no trace of sarcasm in him.  And Seth Green?  Oh my gosh, I have loved him for ages.  He’s married to a super hot model/actress but I don’t hold that against him.  He is fantastically talented.

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And then there is Louis CK.  This man is brilliantly funny.  His latest TV show “Louie” is, at times, very funny.  But mostly it is cringe-inducing awkward.  Which makes it funny.  You know?

Anyway, in another move I can file under “shit I do that makes me look like a crazy mofo“, I sent Louis CK a message.  It stated:

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“I totally missed the boat on getting tickets to one of the nine hundred shows you’re doing in Boston. I also missed out on the one in Portland, ME. I basically suck at life.
I have you seen you before a few times and I am hoping this carries me through the depression that I am most likely going to fall into because of my inability to pay attention to shit.
I live in southern NH, though, so if you want to hang out and have coffee while you’re around, let me know. I have a thing for gingers (it’s true), but I’d leave it at just coffee.”

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Really?  Really, Heather?

Yes, really.  And in my unrealistic fantasy, Louis CK actually takes me up on my offer, and then he and I become the best of friends.  My new best friend Louis comes with me to parties and events and some of his new jokes are about our adventures together.

And while I know this is unrealistic, some strange part of me still thinks it might happen.  Because if I can’t imagine a non-existing friendship with Louis CK, then my life is OVER.

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I need a job.  Soon.  I have way too much time on my hands.

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I got nothing. Pretend I am interesting.

On June 17, my blog got 64 views.  That is a record, by the way.

Not sure what happened that day.  I did not publish a post.  I did absolutely nothing (per usual) to promote traffic on this blog.  My best guess is that a group of students google searched the phrase “middle aged poop jokes vagina” and were led here.  And then, out of pure bewilderment, they kept checking back on it to see how they ended up with this site.

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Still job hunting.  I have now applied to 60 jobs.  Out of that number, I have only been asked to interview for 4.  FOUR.  That’s a 6% success rate.  And it’s not really a “success” rate since I didn’t get those jobs anyway.  And out of the rest, less than half bother to tell me “thanks but no thanks”.

Do you know what job hunting is like?  It’s totally like being rejected repeatedly by every guy you ever liked.  It’s bad enough to not have a relationship right now, but pretty much every business in a 50 mile radius DOES NOT LIKE ME EITHER.

It’s hard not to take it personally.

On the upside, I am looking forward to returning to a diet of ramen noodles.  The nostalgia associated with this brings tears to my eyes.

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I am going to start my sickly cat on a new diet.  I think.  All I know is my vet called me at 8:30 Friday night (as she is wont to do…oddly) and talked for 5 minutes and 14 seconds straight (I timed it on my phone).  And I mean a continuous stream of chatter.  I am not sure how she speaks for so long without breathing.  And whenever I have to sit and listen to someone talk in my ear that long without interruption, I feel like stabbing kittens.  In the face.  On an alter.  At Christmas.

Point being that I think I need to go pick up new food.  It was somewhere in her blathering spiel… blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah new food blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah .

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In other news that could potentially bore someone to tears: I switched my cell phone carrier back to Verizon.  I have been anxiously awaiting for over four years to do this.  Verizon takes care of it all too – cancelling your old account.  Which was slightly disappointing because I was sort of looking forward to calling up AT&T and screaming, “I AM FREE, MOTHERFUCKERS.”

I also added my mom to my plan.  Because nothing says “spinsterhood” like having a family plan at the age of 41 with your mom.

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In related news, I am officially addicted to at least two ABC Family Channel shows.

I think it’s high time I put my shawl on and just buckled down on making that quilt.

Shit.

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Did I ever tell you you’re my hero? Without scaring you?

We all have heroes.

One of mine is The Bloggess.  Also known as Jenny Lawson.  Also known as someone who wrote a NY Times bestselling book.

And on June 8, I GOT TO MEET HER.

I went, along with some friends, to her book signing in Brookline, MA.  We sat in the basement area of a bookstore, along with what looked like hundreds of other people.

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*Side Note*

To the girl who decided to polish her nails while we waited for The Bloggess to begin speaking: Enclosed spaces?  Not the best place to emit toxic fumes.  FYI.

Same goes to the guy who decided not to wear deodorant.  You know who you are.

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Jenny Lawson was delightful.  Her cute smile was matched with a cute little voice, which made her frequent profanity all that much more amusing.

Jenny read a chapter from her book, and then answered questions.  I especially liked her answer to a woman’s question regarding how one balances motherhood with having a chronic illness.  To summarize her answer: she basically said that you have to accept that there will be things each day you will be good at, but there will be something you’ll need to accept that you are just going to SUCK AT.  To accept that you won’t be perfect and it is ok.  Best advice I have ever heard.

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As Jenny wrapped up her Q&A and got ready to go upstairs for the signing, she mentioned that she had Copernicus with her.  (Copernicus is a stuffed monkey with a half decomposed face and you will just need to read her blog post about it.)

This remark elicited a collective gasp from nearly half the crowd (myself included), accompanied by reverent whispers passing back and forth of “Copernicus is here“.

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To avoid the mad rush, my friends and I decided to go have a beer and then come back.  Little did we know that Brookline has few bars near the bookstore (prompting me to yell things on the street like, “I know people in Boston drink!  Where do they go?”) and that we’d end up at a bar that had no AC and slowly moving fans (prompting my friend to remark that they reminded her of when they shut off the fans in Total Recall in order to suffocate the mutant population).

The combination of humidity outside and me sweating inside the bar made me unkempt and slightly damp all over.  So much for impressing my hero.

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Meeting Jenny (who I really think would be fun to hang out with) was fantastic.  I applaud the bookstore employees for getting things to move so quickly, but as a result I found myself hurriedly trying to tell The Bloggess what I liked about her book, relaying a personal connection to it, and then asking if I could have my picture taken with her…and Copernicus.

And then, because I am that person who just…says shit……  as I stood up from the picture taking, I told her that I hoped I didn’t smell because I had been sweating and I apologize if I did.  She was gracious and just laughed.

Nothing says, “I admire you” like telling someone you smell and you hope they don’t mind.  I am such an idiot.

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Seriously though, Jenny Lawson, if you wanted a new friend, I’d totally make a spot for you.  Keep me in mind.  Because you are hilarious and genuinely nice.

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from left to right: me (trying not to sweat on anything), Copernicus, and The Bloggess
New best friends, perhaps?

nonononononononononono………NO

Last night, I was reading in my reading chair with Fatty McLardbutt on my lap (aka my cat Santino).  All of a sudden Santino’s head snapped up and he was staring intently at my bookshelves.

Usually when he stands to attention, it’s either a microscopic organism I can’t see or an infinitesimally small fly.

Imagine my ABSOLUTE HORROR when I saw it was a CARPENTER ANT.

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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OK, you all have to know a few things.  The first is that when I was very little (3? 4?…) my mother and I lived with my grandparents in a large old house that had ants.  As in, there was a hole in the floor that we occasionally (and by “we” I mean an adult who was allowed to handle poison) dropped Raid down into and then plugged with a wad of tissues.  I remember this vividly because I lived in constant fear the ants would band together to push the wad out and carry us all back down to their lair one by one in some macabre mind bending way where our bodies get squished through that tiny hole.

The second thing is that one night, while looking at my pop-up books in bed, a carpenter ant ran across me.  Do you have any idea how big a carpenter ant (already bigger than any ant has a right to be) looks to a small child???  About the size of a dog.  A DOG SIZED ant ran across me.  The only thing more terrified than I appeared to be was my mother who hauled ass up the stairs at the sound of her only child screaming.

The last thing you need to know is that because of these childhood events I HATE ANTS.  A LOT.  Like in a phobic I-want-to-die sort of way.

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So, last night, there I was with a carpenter ant scurrying over my books.  Taking an ungodly sized metaphorical shit on my shrine of reading material.  And because my fat cat is utterly useless and would sit watching as the ant carried me away, I had to take care of it (i.e. kill it).

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But here’s the worst part… I live on a second floor.  How did it get in here???  Why?  And y’all must know that where there is one ant, there are 3,457,000 of them.

I can only hope it somehow got carried in on something.  Because I refuse to believe that my childhood trauma is replaying itself.  I.  Refuse.  To.  Believe.

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Help.

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mmy biggest fear

Remember me, Heather? I’m back to finish you off.