I've looked deep inside myself. I've mustered up the courage. And now, after many hours of deep breathing and near panic attacks, I feel that I can share w/ you........ my encounter w/ the Roach.
On Wednesday night I went to bed like any normal 29 year old female would. At 2:10am I woke up to use the bathroom. When I came back to bed Bella had started crying. I tried petting her - didn't work. I got up to make sure she had food - food bowl full. I even turned on the bathtub faucet so that she could get a drink if she wanted - no luck. At about 2:45am I am at my whit's end and have resorted to throwing pillows. (Yeah, get off you high horse and be glad I didn't have a shoe.)
I felt myself drift off shortly before 3am. When! All of a sudden! I felt something "crawl" down my back. I leapt up in bed, threw my shirt off, and frantically starting trying to get whatever was on me OFF!!!!! Once I felt secure that the perpetrator was no longer on my person, I put my glasses on and started searching in the bed. I searched for a good 30 seconds and then a MASSIVE roach sped along beside me. Using my pillow as a weapon I swept him of the bed.
Now in hindsight I probably should have turned on the light before I started looking for the "crawly thing", but I didn't. So I've decided to do it now. The roach on the floor is long gone by now, but had left a very odd looking pod in the bed w/ me. Internet research the next day led me to identify said pod as an egg sack. (Yes, you may go throw up now.)
Well it's not like i can sleep in my bed any longer, so at 3:15am I make my way to the couch. Fifteen minutes later and I have to pee...... again. So I go to the front bathroom and no soon that I have started, the roach comes from behind the toilet and runs at my feet. So I am now, sitting on the toilet w/ my feet up in the air, trying to squish him w/ a plunger. He finally crawled under the bathmat, and I left him there so that I could finish what I was doing and go find the roach spray.
Apparently, someone else had used all the ant and roach spray and all I could find was wasp and hornet killer. **sigh** So I bravely went back into the bathroom w/ the wasp and hornet killer in one hand and a plunger in the other. My exceptionally impressive roach hearding skills came into play as I flushed him out from under the bathmat, sprayed him w/ the spray, and trapped him under the plunger. Yes.... I am THAT good.
And I left him there till the next morning for my little brother to dispose. This has nothing to do w/ me being deathly afraid of roaches and wanting to throw up every time I think of one. I just figured that I had done all of the hard work and he should pull his share of the weight. Really!!!!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Nerves
So I've found a new way that I amaze myself. That isn't supposed to sound conceited, trust me the way that I'm currently amazed at myself is nothing to gloat about. I will not be writing home about this any time soon.
This may be a round-about way of getting to the point, but what the heck, it's my blog. I can write what I want. First off you have to understand that I don't believe in stress. I mean, I know it exists, but I don't see the point of it. Thus - I don't believe in it. I believe that stress is a negative response to pressure. It's worthless and achieves nothing, so I just refuse to stress about things. I never stressed about school and I don't stress about work.
Some people are probably thinking "Oh, well she must have not done a very good job in school" or "She can't be performing very well at her job". And they would be wrong. I was Cum Laude at A&M, and I am currently a team leader for a group of investigators at my job. In short, I succeed in the things I do. I made the comment once that I do one thing well in life, and that's that I do things well.
Back to the stress-free thing. So, I've always refused to stress which means that I don't really worry about things either. Again, I feel that it's a waste of time and it isn't productive. These things may not make sense to you, but stressing and worrying doesn't make sense to me. You see I'm very logical, and if it doesn't fit into my world of logic I sometimes have a hard time wrapping my head around it.
Sometimes I think I should have been born a man. When I took the Clifton Strengthfinders Test w/ a bunch of other women in mgmt roles at Wells Fargo, the difference was very apparent. All of these other women have strengths such as Compassion, the ability to Empathize, Cultivators, Teachers, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. My strengths were, and may I say that out of 50 women I was one of the only 2 that possessed the following, being an Activator, having the ability to Strategize, Competitiveness, Performer, and one more that I can't think of. I later got told that these were normally "male" strengths.
Now back to what I was actually talking about.
So we started at stress, then we worked out way to worrying, now we're on to nerves. When you worry about something you tend to get nervous about it.
So at 29 years old I've finally found something that I get mentally nervous about. (One of these days I will clarify the difference between mentally and physically nervous. And how I had a nervous stomach for years and became physically ill because my brain refused to be nervous and instead my body took over. Another time, another blog.) I officially get nervous and worry about my family, friends, and the people I care about now.
And not just a little nervous, I'm talking the type of nervous where you're just sick at your stomach for days on end. Recently Reesa and my little brother were very upset about some crap that was going on in their respective lives. And what do I do, I get nervous. I had made the comment to Brady that all I wanted to do was make it all better. That I couldn't stand my friend hurting the way she was and I just wish there was something magical that I could do, that would make it all better. And we won't even discuss how much I worry about Brady over in Iraq.
So I pretty much hate it, it's right up there with the whole I used to not cry and now I do thing. My mother says that it's b/c I'm getting softer and starting to be more feminine and all that crap. I'm trying to see it in a positive light, and embrace the whole things. Yeah, b/c we can tell that's working out so well. Grrrrrrrrrr, someone tell me again that worrying about the people we care about is a good thing.
This may be a round-about way of getting to the point, but what the heck, it's my blog. I can write what I want. First off you have to understand that I don't believe in stress. I mean, I know it exists, but I don't see the point of it. Thus - I don't believe in it. I believe that stress is a negative response to pressure. It's worthless and achieves nothing, so I just refuse to stress about things. I never stressed about school and I don't stress about work.
Some people are probably thinking "Oh, well she must have not done a very good job in school" or "She can't be performing very well at her job". And they would be wrong. I was Cum Laude at A&M, and I am currently a team leader for a group of investigators at my job. In short, I succeed in the things I do. I made the comment once that I do one thing well in life, and that's that I do things well.
Back to the stress-free thing. So, I've always refused to stress which means that I don't really worry about things either. Again, I feel that it's a waste of time and it isn't productive. These things may not make sense to you, but stressing and worrying doesn't make sense to me. You see I'm very logical, and if it doesn't fit into my world of logic I sometimes have a hard time wrapping my head around it.
Sometimes I think I should have been born a man. When I took the Clifton Strengthfinders Test w/ a bunch of other women in mgmt roles at Wells Fargo, the difference was very apparent. All of these other women have strengths such as Compassion, the ability to Empathize, Cultivators, Teachers, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. My strengths were, and may I say that out of 50 women I was one of the only 2 that possessed the following, being an Activator, having the ability to Strategize, Competitiveness, Performer, and one more that I can't think of. I later got told that these were normally "male" strengths.
Now back to what I was actually talking about.
So we started at stress, then we worked out way to worrying, now we're on to nerves. When you worry about something you tend to get nervous about it.
So at 29 years old I've finally found something that I get mentally nervous about. (One of these days I will clarify the difference between mentally and physically nervous. And how I had a nervous stomach for years and became physically ill because my brain refused to be nervous and instead my body took over. Another time, another blog.) I officially get nervous and worry about my family, friends, and the people I care about now.
And not just a little nervous, I'm talking the type of nervous where you're just sick at your stomach for days on end. Recently Reesa and my little brother were very upset about some crap that was going on in their respective lives. And what do I do, I get nervous. I had made the comment to Brady that all I wanted to do was make it all better. That I couldn't stand my friend hurting the way she was and I just wish there was something magical that I could do, that would make it all better. And we won't even discuss how much I worry about Brady over in Iraq.
So I pretty much hate it, it's right up there with the whole I used to not cry and now I do thing. My mother says that it's b/c I'm getting softer and starting to be more feminine and all that crap. I'm trying to see it in a positive light, and embrace the whole things. Yeah, b/c we can tell that's working out so well. Grrrrrrrrrr, someone tell me again that worrying about the people we care about is a good thing.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Ode to Waxing
I need to start this by explaining that from about 14 years old to my mid twenties I produced a very large amount of testosterone. Lots of blood tests were run, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. But it was basically just me, and they figured that I'd grown out of it. Now if you know me, this explains a lot. I have a temper, I'm one of those people that "see red". Now as I've gotten older, it has decreased and I no longer have to beat the ever living crud out of punching bags or save up empty pickle jars so that I can break them on the driveway whenever I'm trying to let out my frustration. I rarely ever feel the need to rip someones head off, spit down their neck, and then shove the head upside down as far south as I can. Rarely ever ;)
But the side effect that I hate the most has been the man beard hair that lived on my legs. I'm not kidding. My leg hair used to scare small children, large children, heck large adults. I've been known to make a tire go flat by accidentally brushing against it on a summer day after not having shaved for 2 days. It used to be bad, ask anyone.
And then I discovered the joys of regular waxing. I used to get my legs waxed in the summers, once a month, but I always did it at a salon and it just got too expensive. And then I was introduced to the wonderful - at home - New Surgi Wax roll on system. **sigh of relief**. I've tried at home waxing before, and it never worked. This stuff is fabulous, it works like a dream. Ok, so yeah, the first few times hurt. But after that, the hair grows back only 1/4 to 1/2 as thick (I'm killing off hair folicles by the thousands, mwaaa haa haa ha). And it's lighter and softer. I've decided that if I wax enough, I may possibly kill off every hair on the entire lower half of my body. Don't you dare go ruining my dream by telling me it's not going to happen. I have dreams, I have hopes, I have goals!!!!
But more importantly I have legs that I don't have to shave every day. I waxed 2 weeks ago, and unless you get very close and look - you can't tell I have any leg hair. I keep saying that it's the little things in life that bring us joy. Ahhhh, no leg hair, what joy!
But the side effect that I hate the most has been the man beard hair that lived on my legs. I'm not kidding. My leg hair used to scare small children, large children, heck large adults. I've been known to make a tire go flat by accidentally brushing against it on a summer day after not having shaved for 2 days. It used to be bad, ask anyone.
And then I discovered the joys of regular waxing. I used to get my legs waxed in the summers, once a month, but I always did it at a salon and it just got too expensive. And then I was introduced to the wonderful - at home - New Surgi Wax roll on system. **sigh of relief**. I've tried at home waxing before, and it never worked. This stuff is fabulous, it works like a dream. Ok, so yeah, the first few times hurt. But after that, the hair grows back only 1/4 to 1/2 as thick (I'm killing off hair folicles by the thousands, mwaaa haa haa ha). And it's lighter and softer. I've decided that if I wax enough, I may possibly kill off every hair on the entire lower half of my body. Don't you dare go ruining my dream by telling me it's not going to happen. I have dreams, I have hopes, I have goals!!!!
But more importantly I have legs that I don't have to shave every day. I waxed 2 weeks ago, and unless you get very close and look - you can't tell I have any leg hair. I keep saying that it's the little things in life that bring us joy. Ahhhh, no leg hair, what joy!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sushi or Poor Lynda
I love sushi and I've found that it's kinda like heroin (not that I've ever tried heroin). You have a little bit and then you crave sushi until you can have it again. I've been known to have sushi for lunch and absolutely not be able to contain myself, and have it again for dinner. I have a feeling, that if it was financially feasable, I would have sushi at least 2-3 times a day.
So it was one of those times where I had sushi earlier in the week and it was getting to be lunchtime and all I could think about was sushi. Are we sure they're not sprinkling cocaine on that stuff??? So I had found a place near my office and talked my co-worker Lynda into joining me.
You need to take into consideration several things before reading the remainder of the story. 1.) I wasn't really listening to what was going on. I was too busy trying to decide what, of all the glories of sushi, I was about to consume. It was only after what happened that my brain pieced together what I had heard. 2.) There were 3 accents going on at the table. Mine- West TX, which really doesn't matter but we thought we'd throw it in there just for kicks. Lynda's- Russian, she's lived here for about 6 years and speaks fabulous English but her accent is still there. Our Waiter's- Japanese.
So, while I was trying to decide between 2 different lunch combos and ended up getting both (miso soup, 4 pieces of Yellowtail, a spicy tuna roll, and a spicy salmon roll, yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm), the following conversation is going on
L: I would like 5 ikura
W: 5 ikura?
L: Yes 5 salmon
W: You want 5 salmon roe?
L: Yes I want 5 salmon rolls
Now, if you eat sushi you have already figured out the end of this story. Lynda had ended this conversation thinking that she had ordered 5 pieces of salmon. The waiter had thought otherwise. As the waiter returns w/ our plates, I see the 5 very seaweed wrapped piles of salmon eggs. I saw the look on Lynda's face and realized that she was hoping that those 5 pieces were coming to be, but as she counted the individual pieces the, lets say shock for lack of a better word, came over her face.
I have to give her this. If it had been me, I would have probably started crying or begged the waiter to take back the big orange balls that stared up at her. But instead she said, "Well at least in Russia it's considered a delicacy." And popped it in her mouth.
So it was one of those times where I had sushi earlier in the week and it was getting to be lunchtime and all I could think about was sushi. Are we sure they're not sprinkling cocaine on that stuff??? So I had found a place near my office and talked my co-worker Lynda into joining me.
You need to take into consideration several things before reading the remainder of the story. 1.) I wasn't really listening to what was going on. I was too busy trying to decide what, of all the glories of sushi, I was about to consume. It was only after what happened that my brain pieced together what I had heard. 2.) There were 3 accents going on at the table. Mine- West TX, which really doesn't matter but we thought we'd throw it in there just for kicks. Lynda's- Russian, she's lived here for about 6 years and speaks fabulous English but her accent is still there. Our Waiter's- Japanese.
So, while I was trying to decide between 2 different lunch combos and ended up getting both (miso soup, 4 pieces of Yellowtail, a spicy tuna roll, and a spicy salmon roll, yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm), the following conversation is going on
L: I would like 5 ikura
W: 5 ikura?
L: Yes 5 salmon
W: You want 5 salmon roe?
L: Yes I want 5 salmon rolls
Now, if you eat sushi you have already figured out the end of this story. Lynda had ended this conversation thinking that she had ordered 5 pieces of salmon. The waiter had thought otherwise. As the waiter returns w/ our plates, I see the 5 very seaweed wrapped piles of salmon eggs. I saw the look on Lynda's face and realized that she was hoping that those 5 pieces were coming to be, but as she counted the individual pieces the, lets say shock for lack of a better word, came over her face.
I have to give her this. If it had been me, I would have probably started crying or begged the waiter to take back the big orange balls that stared up at her. But instead she said, "Well at least in Russia it's considered a delicacy." And popped it in her mouth.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
My Dad
My Dad
I'm sure that most girls feel this way about their Dad. There's something about little girls and their Daddy's. We fall in love and our Dad is our hero from the moment we're born. Our Dads are larger than life, and there's nothing they can't do. In my mind my Daddy could kill a bear w/ nothing but his own two hands if he had to. lol
When I was baby I fell asleep every night on my Daddy's chest. I didn't even have a pacifier, instead I sucked on the end of his pinkie finger. At the age of 2 he would take me up the deer stand w/ him and let me sleep on the floor until it was time to wake up, and then he'd let me sit on his lap while he hunt. And of course afterwards I always got to take pictures posing w/ the days "kill". He didn't give me a hard time when I was 8 and begged him to let me shoot the next coyote we caught in a trap. B/C when I held the pistol in my hands at point blank range I just couldn't do it. He taught me early on that you always respected what you were hunting, and that shooting animals just to shoot wasn't right. That a real hunter only hunted for a useful purpose.
My Daddy has always been there to rescue me. When I was a little girl there was a stray cat that mysteriously disappeared after my Dad caught it attacking me. He was there to save me the day I was attacked by a ram in our horse pasture. (Those were the only 2 times I was ever attacked by animals, I swear) When it came to the big stuff he taught me how to take care of most things on my own. But when circumstances arose that I just couldn't take care of myself, Dad was there to fix it. And he never got on to me for getting into the situation. He just told me how proud he was to have a daughter that was strong enough to get out when it was time to leave.
Don't get me wrong. My Dad's not perfect and we've been known to butt heads every so often. There have been times in my life that I wanted nothing more than to pinch his head off and throw it down on the ground so I could stomp it into a little bloody pulp. My mother says that out of all 4 children, 3 boys and me, that I'm the one most like my father. We're both headstrong and stubborn, we always think we're right, and the day God was handing out tact we both said no thanks for fear that it was something sharp that we might accidentally sit on.
But at 29 years old my Daddy is still my hero, my knight in shining armor, my own personal John McClain.
I'm sure that most girls feel this way about their Dad. There's something about little girls and their Daddy's. We fall in love and our Dad is our hero from the moment we're born. Our Dads are larger than life, and there's nothing they can't do. In my mind my Daddy could kill a bear w/ nothing but his own two hands if he had to. lol
When I was baby I fell asleep every night on my Daddy's chest. I didn't even have a pacifier, instead I sucked on the end of his pinkie finger. At the age of 2 he would take me up the deer stand w/ him and let me sleep on the floor until it was time to wake up, and then he'd let me sit on his lap while he hunt. And of course afterwards I always got to take pictures posing w/ the days "kill". He didn't give me a hard time when I was 8 and begged him to let me shoot the next coyote we caught in a trap. B/C when I held the pistol in my hands at point blank range I just couldn't do it. He taught me early on that you always respected what you were hunting, and that shooting animals just to shoot wasn't right. That a real hunter only hunted for a useful purpose.
My Daddy has always been there to rescue me. When I was a little girl there was a stray cat that mysteriously disappeared after my Dad caught it attacking me. He was there to save me the day I was attacked by a ram in our horse pasture. (Those were the only 2 times I was ever attacked by animals, I swear) When it came to the big stuff he taught me how to take care of most things on my own. But when circumstances arose that I just couldn't take care of myself, Dad was there to fix it. And he never got on to me for getting into the situation. He just told me how proud he was to have a daughter that was strong enough to get out when it was time to leave.
Don't get me wrong. My Dad's not perfect and we've been known to butt heads every so often. There have been times in my life that I wanted nothing more than to pinch his head off and throw it down on the ground so I could stomp it into a little bloody pulp. My mother says that out of all 4 children, 3 boys and me, that I'm the one most like my father. We're both headstrong and stubborn, we always think we're right, and the day God was handing out tact we both said no thanks for fear that it was something sharp that we might accidentally sit on.
But at 29 years old my Daddy is still my hero, my knight in shining armor, my own personal John McClain.
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