I try and comprehend you but…

On Saturday, July 10th, I’ll be at my parents’ house surrounded by family and friends celebrating my marriage to the man I plan to spend the rest of my life with. My husband. My soulmate. My saving grace. My Robert.

It’s been over nine months since we actually got married and I still have a hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that I’m MARRIED.

Holy crap. How the hell did that happen?

Three years ago, I was four months into my journey of beginning to treat my depression and anxiety, still trying to figure out where I was even going with treatment, still trying to find something that would produce results, still hating everything in general, and had long since resigned myself to being single for the rest of my life. I think I probably told my (then new) therapist as much. If someone had told me then that in three short years I’d be married, I’d have been convinced they were on crack. I would have told them so and to be on with their merry way, please and thank you, you crazy whack job.

But here I am.

Happier and healthier than I have ever been in my life. Married to the greatest man I have ever met. And while my life is far from perfect and I still have a long way to go in terms of my mental health, I can’t really ask for anything more.

In the meantime, I stress myself out over last minute party details. I have myself completely convinced that I’m forgetting something important. I have a lot I still need to get done this week. I’m pretty sure there are people I forgot to invite. I am so NOT a party planner.

I guess I’ll find out Saturday. When party time rolls around and guests start to arrive and that one detail I forgot to take care of comes to light and slaps me in the face.

Because I’m an optimist like that.


I’m short. I always have been. I’m 4′ 11.5″ tall and I’ve grown a grand total of an inch and a half since I was twelve years old. Now I’m thirty years old. (Holy crap, I’m THIRTY.) I never even hit the five foot mark. But hey, I’m tall for my height.

I started to pack on weight around age ten. And kept gaining. By junior high I was wearing a size 14. By high school I was wearing size 16. The older I got the more weight I gained. I didn’t have what you’d call a social life, my self-esteem was in the negative values. Being relentlessly tormented by my “peers” for thirteen years of school—unprovoked—doesn’t really make for a healthy mental state. And being told to suck it up and get over it because it can’t possibly be that bad by your ever-so-supportive family only makes it that much better. It took a lot of years to figure it out, but I finally did realize eventually that I was depressed and had been for most of my life. Not to mention all of the anxiety issues. But that’s a whole other essay for another time.

I wouldn’t say that food was my comfort. I’m not a stress eater. I’m pretty much the opposite, really. When I’m upset or incredibly stressed, I generally have to remind myself or force myself to eat because the thought of food usually makes me want to retch. But I’ve always been very sedentary, had a complete lack of energy, and never had a very healthy diet with the food I did eat.

By the time I was in my early twenties I was practically spilling out of my size sixteen pants, but too deep in denial to buy a bigger size. When I was on the hunt for a formal black dress for a wedding, I was devastated to end up in a size 18/20 TENT. One that had to have over a foot of fabric hacked off the bottom because I’m so bloody short. It wasn’t long after that I finally relented and bought myself ONE pair of size 18 jeans. The cotton dress pants I wore to work had more give to them, I’d drag that out as long as I could.

My highest weight I saw on the scale was 185 pounds. I wouldn’t doubt I actually topped out higher than that, but I just didn’t step on the scale to actually see it. Some may think that’s not really THAT BAD. (While others will say Holy Christ that’s HUGE!) For my height? It is. I was very…round. And it was not healthy. Undoubtedly one of the main causes of how I ended up with high blood pressure by age 27, and it certainly didn’t help my mental health problems either.

Once my job really started to turn toward the road to Toxic Shit City™, and I started getting sicker by the day, I started dropping weight. At first, without even realizing it. I don’t remember how much I’d lost by the time I started getting treatment for my depression and anxiety. That was March of 2007. And once I started taking medications, I really started to drop weight.

By November of 2007, when I met Bob, I was hovering somewhere in the 150’s. By Christmas, I was in the 140’s.

February 2008 rolled around and The Toxic Shit Hole™ fired me over my mental health problems (that they didn’t believe I had) and by the time my nephew’s birthday party came in April, I was in the 130’s. I had to buy new pants three different times. I was now wearing a size 10. Hell—I had to buy a whole new wardrobe. I was pretty much swimming in all my clothes at this point. And that formal black tent dress? FELL OFF ME.

My total weight loss hit 55 pounds—due to stress, antidepressants, and a complete lack of appetite.

Not exactly the healthiest way to lose weight. But I lost it.

Over the past two years now my weight has fluctuated with changes in medications and appetite and I have gained and lost and gained and mostly maintained right around the 140-145 mark. So I guess net loss is about 40-45 pounds. And I’m okay with that.

I’m still a little on the chubby side, but most of my clothes hide it pretty well. I have squish and jiggle. I have bat-wings and heavy thighs. I’d be happy to lose another 10-20 pounds. But I’ll probably have to actually WORK for that. And if I never lose anymore weight? I’ll be okay with that too.

And hell—Bob loves me as I am, so I don’t have to worry about that.

I used to keep my mouth tightly clamped when it came to the numbers regarding my weight. I was mortified by them. Now…I realize it’s just another part of who I am. I’m not proud of how much I used to weigh, but I’m not ashamed of it either. It certainly wasn’t healthy. But finally acknowledging my mental health problems made me realize there was a lot more to it than numbers. Having depression is not an excuse for being overweight. But it’s an explanation. At least in part. And I certainly don’t think everyone who is overweight is depressed either. I just know that for me, it has been a huge contributing factor.

That’s why this is MY story.

Hey look, a current blog post!

Copying and pasting from other blog/website pipe dreams totally counts as progress so shut up. If it somehow resembles a coherent dialogue, I’M KEEPING IT. Even if it’s old, out-dated, has no relevance to anything around it, whatever. That’s why this is my pipe dream.

Have I mentioned recently that Vyvanse makes me all flail-y and high? I have—just likely not in this space. Yet. Vyvanse is an amphetamine and it’s kind of worthless for its intended purpose, but it makes me incredibly mouthy on teh intarwebz—so if I’m more obnoxious than usual (how that’s even possible, I don’t even know) it’s because of THAT. But I go back to the psychiatrist on Friday so we’ll see which useless prescription we try next.

Right now I’m just trying to figure out how to format this bloody WordPress template to get it to look like something I actually like. Tell me, what’s the point of having a stylesheet editor if it doesn’t actually effect the page you’re trying to modify? I need to tie down my brain and my Robert (php? totally over my head) and figure out how to create my own custom theme so I can have what I actually WANT here. Because this premade template crap just ain’t cuttin’ it.

I now pronounce you: doomed to fail…

I’ve been to a good number of weddings by this point in my life. Most of them Christian based, a handful civil, all of them lovely, despite my aversion to this thing called “religion.” Because even though I don’t share in the same belief structure, I can appreciate and respect what people choose for their own individual marriage ceremonies. Even if Kermit the Priest did tell Peggy and Greg they were marrying into a forever threesome with God. Wait—what?

Rachel and James were married in a Lutheran church. I don’t recall if I’ve been to a specifically Lutheran ceremony before, but this ceremony was…different. I don’t know if it was this particular pastor, this particular church, or if this is common in the Lutheran church in general, maybe someone can enlighten me (without being a total “holier than thou” douche) but his sermon on marriage was all very…NEGATIVE. He carried on and on…and ON about how in this “SINFUL WORLD” your marriage is “DOOMED TO FAIL” if you don’t strictly abide by THE WORD of GOD. Because anything other than THE WORD of GOD is PURE EVIL and soon you’re going to “begin to question your love” for each other and then you’re going to CHEAT ON EACH OTHER and YOU WILL FAIL at your marriage and you will be DOOMED, YOU SINFUL HEATHENS. And so help me, WOMAN, you better BOW DOWN AND SERVE YOUR HUSBAND because THE BIBLE SAYS SO, you INFERIOR WENCH. I’m obviously paraphrasing here (except the parts in quotes and really, I’m not that far off what he actually said anyway), but any monkey can read between the lines.

It was just incredibly bizarre. I have never heard such a negative marriage sermon before. I’m all for preaching fidelity in marriage, but come on. There are better ways to go about it.

Or maybe I’m just a Godless Heathen whose marriage is DOOMED TO FAIL because I don’t bow my inferior ass down and service my husband in every way he demands.

Conversations in Geek Love [the Dragon Age files]

CG Love Affair…

R: Will I lose approval if I don’t bring Alistair along?

S: Mmm… minus 25.

R: Damn. I guess you won’t be coming back to my tent tonight.

R: I don’t see what people were complaining about. This is more of a challenging puzzle than anything.

S: I think the worst part about it is being alone. You don’t get Alistair’s snarky commentary the whole time.

R: Yes. But I’m not in love with Alistair.

S: Well…everyone else has some good snark too… I imagine Zevran would have quite the entertaining commentary if he was in the party. And Leliana…with the way she rambles, it would be like having me following you around yapping your ear off all the time.

R: [wide eyes] OH GOD! That’d be rough.

R: Good morning! Did you dream about Alistair???

S: If I did, he was probably whining about something.

R: True. He does do that a lot.

R: Now make sure you work on getting Alistair into bed today.

I plead the 5th…

S: How about “Big and Meaty?”

R: I hear that’s what they call Alistair.

S: I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him.

R: That’s not what I heard.

S: I wasn’t in the tent. Saria maybe. But I only saw him in his underwear.

Option: [take off equipment]

S: Whoa…they’re all naked!

R: Yeah…your whole party strips. Now just run through the fire.

S: Lookit Saria’s underwear…it’s practically a thong.

[awkard, uncoordinated camera maneuvering]

R: Stare at Alistair’s ass some more.

S: I was trying to see hers.

Converstaions in Geek Love [part one]

Full Moon…

S: What should I take a picture of today?

R: You can take a picture of my ass.

S: You want me to post a picture of your ass on my blog?

R: Why not? Who looks at your blog anyway?

S: This is true.

R: I only need to worry about things like that if I run for office.

Because I said so…

S: “Do not use [Purell] in the eyes.”

R: Aww…why not?

Rob Thomas: It burned like GASOLINE


What are you saying?

R: Hey, you actually got a K.O. on that one!

S: I did? Hmm. It was “cheap” and “special” whatever it was.

R: Yeah…that sounds like you.

Who needs sleep?

R: I suppose we should probably go to bed.

S: What? Just because it’s almost 4:00?

R: Ehh…yeah…

S: I’m not even tired.

R: I’m hungry.

S: Let’s just stay up ALL DAY.

R: Might as well.


That’s a load of…

R: The average elephant produces 50 pounds of dung each day.

S: That’s a lot of dung. Holy crap!

R: I don’t know how holy it is, but…

And again…

I’m never going to be satisfied with any premade template. I’m just not. (Hence the change in theme since last post.) Yeah, some of them look cool and all, and I take inspiration from them here and there when developing my own web layouts, but if it’s not something I built from the ground up with my own little coding fingers…it’s just not my website. And that is why WordPress themes are going to be the death of me. Because simply trying to modify one of the themes I installed just about made my head explode because my attention span is that of a drunk stuffed animal.

Once I get this current doctor’s appointment out of the way, I NEED to get back to the psychiatrist and reevaluate the AD/HD treatment situation—OR COMPLETE LACK THEREOF. If only it was as simple as scheduling another appointment. But no. It involves either changing doctors or changing clinics for said mental health needs and THAT DOES NOT BODE WELL FOR SOMEONE WITH MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS. Also, making decisions is NOT SOMETHING I EXCEL AT.

In the meantime…I sit and stew on this latest pipe dream and hope that somewhere along the line, I’ll make some semblance of progress.

Thus it was…

There is something wholly ironic about completely losing your train of thought in mid-sentence in the middle of writing an essay about being diagnosed with AD/HD. But there I was, typing away, words flying out onto the screen and BAM! Gone. What the hell was I going to write next? Fuckadamnduck. Might as well go do something else, because that ain’t coming back to me any time soon.

This is my brain. Welcome to it.

I’m not too crazy about the premade WordPress template I’ve got going on here right now, but I haven’t taken the time to put together my own stylesheet yet. Hell, I’m not even entirely sure how to do that with WordPress. I’ve never used it before. I’ve always used Blogger for my website pipe dreams. And that was just as simple as plunking a piece of their code into my code and calling it a day. But since Blogger has decided to implode its FTP publishing and whatever the hell else they’re screwing around with over there, I decided to give WordPress a try on this latest pipe dream. I haven’t really taken the time to try to figure out the whole customization of WordPress-on-your-own-server business. I’m sure it can’t be too difficult because there are a lot of bloggers out there who use it and a great majority of them don’t know their head from a hole in the wall when it comes to computers (just judging by the lot of them that have problems with viruses and other computer FUBARS). And when it comes to web design, I don’t need someone else to do it for me, please and thank you.

But while I build the actual site, premade it is. Because this one is BLUE! And we all know how I feel about blue things.

For now, I should probably quit…as I think there are blind spots happening in my vision…which generally means a migraine is threatening arrival. And that just makes me want to start hucking rocks at people.

back-dated 05/02/09: this is me being unproductive…

If I had clue one about what the hell I’m doing when it comes to designing this freaking website, it wouldn’t be so bloody difficult to pick a given blogging client and plunk the code for the various components into my template and be done with it. Problem is, I don’t actually know what the hell I’m doing. I’ve long said I’m really only a wannabe computer geek. I can fake it like the best of them for those with less than adequate knowledge of technology. But for anyone who has a clue, it’s not so easy. Aggravating to say the least.

I honestly don’t know why I’m so bent out of shape over the blog portion of my latest pipe dream. It’s not the end of the world if I can’t get it just perfect. Yet I’ve been obsessing about this one little aspect of the entire site and completely neglecting the rest of it. If I spent half as much time working on the rest of the site as I do whining about the blog portion, all I would have left to finish at this point, would be the damn blog. It’s not going to be entirely complete all at once anyway. The general plan is for an ever-expanding portfolio of my endless supply of babble in all its varied and sundry forms. The stupid blog is only a small part of the plan. When all is said and done, I should finally have a solid venue to compile my oft unseen scribblings that actually…you know…make sense. Novel idea no?

Now that I’ve figured out the issue with the multi-browser whatthefuckery, it’s all a matter of cramming content into templates and uploading pages for the rest of the general population to see. Yet, I’m far too busy being completely fixated on the stupid blog code to be working on that.

I’m hopeless.