Unraveling

I haven't blogged in a long time. And for that matter I haven't read any blogs in a while. It's because I'm unraveling. Sometimes I feel like I'm falling apart at the seams. For a solid year now I have been working full time along with going to school full time. It's taking its toll. I am constantly exhausted. I fall asleep at my desk at least once a day if not three times. Most of these are on my breaks but I'm a person who never needed naps before. Not even when I was a little girl! My mom told me I didn't have to sleep as long as I stayed on their bed and played Barbies. But now I've turned into a person that naps at almost every available moment. I've gotten to be a pro at napping too. I can manage to take a 5 minute nap while still being acutely aware of my surroundings (this is usually needed at work). I never had an internal alarm clock but all of a sudden I do when needed. On weekends I've been known to sneak in 2 naps a day. I feel like all I do is work, study, sleep, and run. I'm usually nauseous on a daily basis and getting burnt out.

Today I was wondering how my mother obtained 2 Masters' degrees and operated on 4 hours of sleep. And then I realized...she has a husband! Can I hire one of those? I only managed to do one load of laundry this week and that was just the wash. I never got around to drying them so this morning I wore a semi-wet shirt to work. My house is a mess. I won't invite anyone over right now because I haven't managed to find the time to clear the clutter on the kitchen table or the end table beside my couch. I'd better do it soon because next weekend I'm having a whole slew of people over for a cookout/birthday party. I'm way too exhausted to even feed myself properly. My fridge mostly consists of finger foods that I can grab and go.

And did I mention the running/exercise program I do 6 times a week? And the voice lessons every week? Or the constant keeping track of calories? And the incessant practice I do whenever I'm in my car in preparation for singing with 2 different local Raleigh bands in the near future? Oh, and I almost forgot helping out my friend obtain her Master's degree by editing her papers. I agreed to do this at the beginning of my own Master's program when things weren't so hectic. Or the person at work who is always asking me when I'm going to cook for them again. I'm being stretched way too thin...something's gotta give. I'm finding it difficult to focus at work and not focusing well on my school work either. Today I found myself staring out my office window for a solid 5 minutes. I'm not proud of this. I have a great work ethic so this is very abnormal behavior.

So universe, here is what I want. I want you to figure out a way where I can quit my job, take on a part-time waitressing job to cover the bills and be allowed to spend my days giving my all to my studies. Then, right as I graduate, I need a high-paying job so I can move into an apartment of my own. I need a great benefits package too. Thanks a bunch in advance!

Calling Dr. Love

Last night I went to a KISS concert. What started out as tickets on the lawn ended with All Access backstage passes, a meet 'n greet with KISS and front row access throughout the entire concert. My ears are still ringing.

To start at the beginning, my friend Beaux has a band called Airiel Down. They are local but they have played all over the world including having a song at the Olympics and their songs air in many other countries. I found this band when they were opening up for Jani Lane (Warrant) in Greensboro. I usually hate opening bands, but everyone has to start somewhere! But these guys were good. REALLY good. I bought their CD that night and listened to it the whole way home. For some reason, Beaux remembered me when I friended him on Myspace and loved the name I'd picked out on there: "Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-Cherry Bomb!" This was a reference to Joan Jett's song (from the Runaways) as well as a reference to the change in color of my hair. He now refuses to call me anything but some form of Cherry Bomb. Kinda cute. So that's how we've kind of become friends. I'm a huge supporter of his band. So when they entered a contest against other Raleigh bands to garner a position as the front runner for KISS, I was all over it. Getting people to check them out and vote for them. They came in second place but KISS personally picked them. I precisely bought my lawn tickets to the show.

I invited my friend Kelli (also my vocal coach) as I figured that she would enjoy it since Beaux referred her services to me in the first place. She agreed and got excited but it was premature. She'd completely forgotten that she had already committed to performing at a child's baptism that same night. So I put out a search for anyone who wanted to go to the concert with me. Pete answered that request. He picked me up and we are on our way to get some cheap lunch. We first stop at Chick-fil-a, not realizing it's Sunday and all of a sudden his phone rings. He says: "Who is calling me from area code 312? Ignore!" We realize Chick-fil-a is closed and head over to Wendy's. His phone rings again from the same phone number. Pete: "I'm gonna pick it up." So he stops the truck and answers the phone. All of a sudden he says: "Well, I've got one other person with me right now." and then he punches me in the arm. What the?? He gets off the phone and announces that Paul Stanley has left 2 tickets and backstage passes for him at the Will Call desk. Woooooohooooo!

We park in VIP parking and head up to grab our tickets. By the time we get back, there's this really nice couple beside us who we instantly become friends with. Time for the concert so we head in and quickly discover that having All Access passes gets you two things. #1 being the obvious, we get access to everywhere. Backstage (which pretty much consists of a hallway where nothing is really happening), and pretty much anywhere you want to go. Because what happens is you start walking towards a blockade and people just wave you through. In fact, if you're waiting in a line, they will wave you over to another section to get through so you don't have to wait. The #2 thing it gets you is dirty looks from everyone not wearing a pass. We check out Beaux's band for awhile and then head backstage after they finish to congratulate him. I get the biggest hug and a look like: "What are you doing back here?" He thought I only had lawn seats. He tells my friend Pete what a great girl I am and we exchange compliments over each other's hair. He says he wasn't sure if he would see me since I had lawn tickets and it's a big lawn!

After this we head out to the lawn area and begin texting various people we knew would be there including our new friends from the parking lot. We decide to head up to the 96 Rock Party Deck and meet up with another friend, James, who'd promised me a beer. Meanwhile, this chick trips and falls flat on her face. There was a whole line of us sitting on the bench in front of where she fell. I was the only girl. And I was the only one to jump up and help her too. Shortly after that, a man walks by yelling: "Heather! Heather!" No one is answering so I say: "Hi." This gets a laugh and an explanation that I'm a Heather too. All of a sudden Pete & I notice that it's about 7:30 and we ought to head down to our meet n' greet with KISS. As we leave, the other Heather tells me to enjoy the show. This is what I love about concerts. Between helping the girl who fell and the other Heather, everyone is so friendly. Well, until some of them get drunk, act stupid, and piss off the other drunkards.

We get in line to meet KISS but are quickly ushered over to another line. We have red wristbands and therefore we'll be meeting them first. We get brought into a tent and everyone is excited! I'm shaking so bad, I can't believe I'm going to actually meet them! They walk in one by one we are placed in front of them for pictures. It's my turn. Oh my God, oh my God, omigod!!!!! All I can do is look at them with this dumb look. Gene Simmons opens his arms and I think he's going in for a hug so I hug him. Turns out he was only putting his arm around my neck. Oh man, I'm SUCH a dork! Afterwards I'm so shaky I can't even walk. The whole experience was so surreal.

Then the concert begins and I can't stop jumping up and down when they come out on the stage. Pete turns to me and says: "Hey! We know those guys!!!!" After one or two songs, Pete heads up to the pit area and tells me to try in a few minutes. So halfway through the next song I saunter up there, flash my pass, and I'm IN! I'm so close I can touch the stage! Tommy Thayer is playing just for me! He is, isn't he? I keep smiling at him and giving him the thumbs up, grooving to the tunes and he flips a signed pick my way. Unfortunately it landed on the OTHER side of the barrier and I can't reach it. Thankfully Pete is tall and was able to just reach it. He hands it to me and I immediately drop it again! Thankfully it landed closer this time so I got the pick! Paul Stanley is flinging the picks like crazy. However, I do not want one of Paul Stanley's picks. He has a habit of licking them first or putting them in his mouth and spitting them at you. I'm just too much of a germaphobe to grab at one of those.

Now a lot of people have sort of boycotted them since there are only 2 original members of KISS in the band. But I kinda fell in love with Tommy Thayer and his guitar prowess so who freakin' cares? The dude totally paid his dues. In fact, he was in a KISS tribute band and they noticed him. Gene Simmons asked him to be his assistant and he took the job. He was running his ass off for the guy. So when Ace Frehley left the band, Tommy was their first choice. And he rocks!

My ears are still ringing and I feel hungover even though I only had one beer. Woke up with a killer headache today too. Totally worth it!

Gene Simmons

  

Paul Stanley

Tommy Thayer

Eric Singer

The Downside of Being Single

I've already learned my first lesson regarding the downsides of being single and it's only been a week and a half since I attained this status. Getting sick. It sucks to be single when you're sick. You can't just lay around on the couch all day watching Lifetime Television while someone brings you juice, food, tissues, and a cold washcloth for your forehead. This was illustrated in an episode of Sex in the City when Samantha gets sick. She practically cleans out her little black book, eliminating men she's slept with, because they turn her down when she asks them to come over take care of her.

When I was contemplating a divorce, a former friend took it upon herself to counsel me. She had gone through a divorce herself and she felt it pertinent to tell me about how it sucks to be single. Well, at least it did for her. She regaled me with stories of how miserable she was. She warned me against separating from my husband, "because there are just things around the house that you need a man to do. I mean, what if you need a really heavy box moved? None of the men I was sleeping with wanted the responsibility of moving a heavy box for me." My reply was, "so you're suggesting that I should stay married, despite the fact that I'm miserable, because someday I'm going to want a heavy box moved?"

I actually felt sorry for this woman (still do) because her personality was not of the type that makes it easy to remain friends with her (hence the "former friend" moniker I attached to her description). I mean really, she mentioned that she had been sleeping with men, plural. None of those men cared enough about you to help you move a box? I decided to ignore her advice because I am the type of person to keep friends around, including male friends. Most of my friends adore me and would happily help me move a heavy box if I asked.

So because of the "Samantha Gets Sick" episode and the misguided advice of this "friend," I've decided to institute a policy in my life. No matter where I am currently living, I am going to volunteer to stop by a friend's house after work when I know that they are sick and heat them up some chicken soup and watch a movie with them. If they need help around the house that they can't do alone, I'm going to help them. We singletons have got to stick together...

I went home from work early on Thursday because I'm sick...so who wants to come over and take care of me? :)

So I guess it'll be chicken soup for every meal for awhile. *sigh*

Baby Bjorn

I went to a baby shower this Saturday. It was one of those Sex & the City moments for me where I was the only chick there who hadn't popped out at least one kid. And I had no one along to keep me company. Like I said, I was the only one who wasn't a mother.

The conversations were like a different language to me. I tried to make the polite conversation and asked how old their kids were, etc. But the convo stopped after approximately one question because I had no idea how to respond. When asked: "How old is he?" one mother stated: "He's 23 months." I said: "Oh, so he's almost 2." Her: "23 months." I don't get the whole 15 months, 82 months thing. I thought the counting of months stopped after the kid turned 1. Apparently I was wrong. So when does it end? When will I get to stop doing math in my head: "Okay...so 17 months means he's almost a year and a half..." I completely understand that these "month" milestones mean something about the kid developmentally. I get that. But why do I care? I haven't the slightest clue as to what month a kid starts talking or walking, etc. Am I supposed to blurt out: "Oh, so he's walking, talking, and making boom boom in the toilet now because he's 36 months old?" Or "Wow, he's walking already? He's only 5 months old. That's fast!" I don't have a clue and I hate how it makes me feel stupid. When presented with a "month" age, my eyes start to glaze over and I just say: "Oh, uh huh. That's great. Cute kid."

After speaking to my mom about this conversation, she said: "She just didn't want her baby to grow up. 23 months is saying that she doesn't have a 2-year-old yet." Which this makes sense because after telling the 2-year-old's mother that I didn't know what "23 months" was supposed to mean she laughed and said: "Well yeah, he's still 1." I exercised amazing restraint by not saying: "Well, he really is closer to 2. You might as well just say almost 2."

Other conversations included this one mother's experiences with garage saling. She has a nemesis. It's a woman she sees around town at all of the same garage sales and she can't stand this woman because she buys up all the cheap stuff early and then sells it on ebay. Yet this first woman will buy the stuff off of ebay off of the nemesis. She even asked her once: "So how much are you gonna charge me for these on ebay?" And the way she asked it was sort of snide like she was doing something wrong! I wanted to say: "Hey, if I were a stay-at-home mom I'd do the same thing to get some extra income!"

Another complaint by the above mother regarding her nemesis: "I bought a baby bjorn off of her and it was all stained and torn blah blah blah" First of all, I have no idea what a baby bjorn is other than one quarter member of ABBA as an infant. I didn't even know he was for sale. And look at that beard. He's bound to be stained because of that crumb catcher. What'd ya expect? :) Second of all...okay there really is no second-of-all. I'm still mystified as to what a baby bjorn is to have a second-of-all. When I heard the word "Bjorn" I almost blurted out: "Oh I love him. Waterloo is my favorite. Fernando comes in 2nd place..."

There were a host of other topics that just had me completely confused. Despite all the talk over various baby-related stuff, I had a great time. Mostly I go to these things to contemplate why someone would want a cake made out of diapers (seriously, what does cake have to do with diapers?). Or that in order to push a stroller anymore you have to first figure out the riddle of the Sphinx (we spent an hour showing the mother all the various functions...there are way too many options on how to place your baby in a stroller nowadays. You can't just stick him in there anymore. You must study sun placement and whether you want to look at the baby or does the baby want to look at the world, etc). But mostly I go for the food. The delicious baby shower spread that is always put out there for you to graze upon. It's hard when you have friends that are in a different place in life than you are. And then there was cake and all was right with the world.

Research

My current class is frustrating me. I'd just gotten off of a six-week trek into the bowels of Master's level Statistics and was excited to get back to a course that meant I could write. I did have to write some in Statistics and I enjoyed that. It was almost a relief to have all the mathematical answers because then all I would have to do is write them up into sentence form. That was the easy part. So now I'm in a class called Applied Research in Organizational Leadership. Blech. I'm not even excited about writing. Today it took me approximately 12 hours to finish a 2-page paper. Part of my problem was finding articles to support my research topic. I'm notoriously bad at finding articles that support my theories. I wish that everyone would just believe whatever I say without having to have back up. This would help me out a lot. But top that with the stringent rules about having scholarly research articles and we have a recipe for me pulling all of my hair out. My thumb is so cramped from hitting the left button on the mouse to scroll through the tons of articles in my search it's going to be sore tomorrow. My professor is a hard evaluator. Part of the first week is figuring out what that specific instructor is nitpicky about. I had one that despised it when you anthropomorphized things. You couldn't say: "The article states" because an article cannot physically state anything. This one is a stickler for almost everything. I know it's supposed to make me a better writer, etc but I'm a  person that focuses more on content rather than semantics.

Another reason I'm not excited about writing in this course is that I really am not all that interested in the subject. I have no desire to perform research in my future career and I highly doubt that I'm going to have to formulate a research proposal someday. These words may bite me in the end as I had once said "I'm never taking statistics again" only to be enrolled in advanced statistics for my Master's degree. So let's just say that I do not intend to get into a career that includes conducting research.

To add to all of this, I have been pretty cranky this past week. Having to deal with people who are cranky without their office air conditioning, car troubles, and some money woes have made for one cranky chick. Usually I deal with this by being really quiet and going to my happy place (you get there by diving to the bottom of a margarita glass). This week it was all too much and I started becoming quite vocal about things. I mean, why did you have to lean over to me and ask me to ask the girl at the front of the line if the elevator call button was pushed? Can't you do that yourself? You're in your 40s, be independent! And why did that guy have to stand so close to me in the elevator even after several people had gotten off creating room for him to move? I know I smell good and all but I have no desire to breathe in your skin flakes. And why can't that friend ever pick the time and place where we should meet for dinner? Why must I do this every single time?

There was a little span of time between 7PM Friday night to 9PM Saturday night where I was not cranky at all. This can be referred to as the time between when an ice-cold beer in a frosty mug was placed in my hand and the start of writing my paper for class. I almost gave up on finding two scholarly research articles and decided to forfeit the two points it would cost me. I was that frustrated. And now my back is sore from sitting to type up my paper and the shiatsu pillow I bought can only run for 20 minutes or else it might overheat. Did I mention that my roommate's cologne is making me physically nauseous?

But tomorrow is another day, right? And our fearless heroine lives to fight the good fight. :)

Interesting...

Heard these facts on the radio the other day. Really interesting stuff. My comment sin italics.

1. If you're a married American, your marriage is between 40 and 50 percent likely to end in divorce.

Wow...we're doomed right from the start, huh?

2. If you live in a red state, you’re 27 percent more likely to get divorced than if you live in a blue state.

Yup...red state central here. LOL

3. If you argue with your spouse about finances once a week, your marriage is 30 percent more likely to end in divorce than if you argue with your spouse about finances less frequently.

4. If your parents were divorced, you’re at least 40 percent more likely to get divorced than if they weren’t. If your parents married others after divorcing, you're 91 percent more likely to get divorced.

I find this fact really interesting. If your parents remarry others after divorcing YOUR divorce rate jumps. Wonder why...

5. If only one partner in your marriage is a smoker, you’re 75 percent to 91 percent more likely to divorce than smokers who are married to fellow smokers.

6. If you have a daughter, you’re nearly 5 percent more likely to divorce than if you have a son.

Dang! Why they hatin' on us gals? 

7. If you're an evangelical Christian adult who has been married, there’s a 26 percent likelihood that you’ve been divorced—compared to a 28 percent chance for Catholics and a 38 percent chance for non-Christians.

8. If you live in Wayne County, Indiana, and are over 15 years old, there’s a 19.2 percent chance that you've been divorced.

9. If you’re a woman two or more years older than your husband, your marriage is 53 percent more likely to end in divorce than if he was one year younger to three years older.

10. If you’re of “below average” intelligence, you’re 50 percent more likely to be divorced than those of "above average" intelligence”

LOL no wonder Americans are doomed. ha

11. If you’ve been diagnosed with cervical cancer, your likelihood of getting divorced is 40 percent higher than standard rates; it’s 20 percent higher if you've been diagnosed with testicular cancer.

12. If you have twins or triplets, your marriage is 17 percent more likely to end in divorce than if your children are not multiple births. .

13. If you’re a female serial cohabiter—a woman who has lived with more than one partner before your first marriage—then you’re 40 percent more likely to get divorced than women who have never done so.

14. If you're in a male same-sex marriage, it's 50 percent more likely to end in divorce than a heterosexual marriage. If you're in a female same-sex marriage, this figure soars to 167 percent.

Yowza!

Tuesday Blues

Okay, so this should have really been posted yesterday but I was way too busy to even get online! Or maybe I just forgot. I'm in a million places lately.

Monday night is when I usually post my responses to my classmates in my class. I'd planned to finish reading the assigned chapters, post my comments, take a shower at 9PM and be in bed at 9:30 by the latest. I got to bed at 10:30 PM and I didn't get to take that shower. So I ended up taking my shower on Tuesday morning because frankly, I really needed it. LOL Unfortunately, I took way too long in the shower because the hot water felt sooooo good. So I'm running a bit late and for some reason I am having a bad body day. Okay, hold up, hold up. My bad body day started on Sunday because I recently came off my wheat-free vegan diet and promptly went to Sweet Tomatoes (Souplantation for you west coasters) and ate a big salad with some cheese and ranch dressing. It wasn't really all that much. But I guess it was enough to send my tummy into shock. So on this Tuesday morning, everything that I tried on seemed to accentuate my tummy. I looked 6 months pregnant in everything. And since I'm the busy little college student I hadn't had time to do laundry in about two weeks so my only pair of fat pants were in the laundry...dirty. I raked through my closet and saw an old pair of fat pants I hadn't worn in years so these would be my really fat pants. Threw them on along with a blue t-shirt. That's when I realized that there is a hole on each inner thigh. Being as I don't have time to search for any more fat pants I make the decision to wear them anyways just making sure my legs stay closed at all times (mom would be so proud). I still look pregnant with the t-shirt so I decide I have to wear a sweater. Where's my good sweater?!?! No time to find it so I grab the only black sweater I can find. It's my ratty black sweater I wear around the house.

Onto my hair. No time for the InStyler so my natural schizophrenic hair will have to do. I call it schizophrenic because it has two personalities. Technically it suffers more from MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder) but schizophrenic hair sounds so much more interesting than MPD hair. My dad has dark straight hair. My mom has blonde wavy hair. So my DNA decided to mix and match by taking one trait from dad and pairing it with one trait from my mom. The result=dark wavy hair underneath and straight blonde hair on the top. They NEVER match! I either have to make the top layer wavy to match the bottom or straighten out the bottom to match the top. InStyler gives me the best of both worlds but it takes some time. So being pressed for time, I just style the bangs and off I go to work.

Socks. I need socks. Again, the laundry dilemma seems painfully apparent. I grab two very different black socks (one an anklet and one of calf height) and figure "no one is gonna see them anyways." Wouldn't you know that that is the day a girl asks me about my ankle tattoo and why I don't have any tattoos on the other ankle (it's because I have scars on that one due to surgeries where they put metal in there...Heather go boom boom once upon a time). So of course she had to see my socks!

The day was way worse...but for legal reasons we won't get into that. :)