you want fries with that?

Panic, mayhem, disorder is the theme for today. Whenever my work slows down I panic and think I need to get more work or it will never come again. That's when a job at Chez McD or La Starbucks starts looking mighty fine. Then I get so much work I don't leave the computer for weeks on end. I'm in one of those panic moments.

Last night I attended this fab ladies networking/night out hosted by KeyBank. I ran into about 7 women I knew from various groups and organizations, and had a delightful talk with a woman that I've been on a committee with for over a year and we never knew what the other did for a living. Imagine that! Turns out we have more than a few things in common. I'm talking her into doing the Tri with me... the more suckers the better, I say.

It just hit me that I have all these activities and groups I belong to and I don't do enough to follow up with the people I see on a regular basis. I feel like a turtle sometimes, just trudging along, sticking my neck out to see what's next, but never really getting anywhere. Of course, the turtle only makes progress when he sticks his neck out. I think I need to be sticking my neck out there a little more often. Trouble is, I don't have enough time or energy to do all the following up I need to do and still get the work done that keeps the dogs in kibble. I need another me. or an admin. or another partner. The CFO and I have talked about taking on another partner for a while now. It's time to move forward on that. While I enjoy working for me and me alone, I like the idea of another person to bounce ideas off of, to team up with for crazy adventures. I need another me.

If you know another me that is looking for another her, tell her to give me a call. I don't discriminate against hims, but I think another me would be a her. Don't you think?

confession friday

In my lame-ass attempt to establish something my 6 commentors and 8 lurkers would come back once a week to read, I'm starting Confession Friday. I don't really believe in guilt, or rather, I don't respond to guilt trips. They are useless on me. Really. You should have met my grandmother, the Czar of Guilt Trips, to understand why they have no power over me. Mere mortals can not guilt trip me with their amateur trips. That said, I still like the idea of Confession Friday. This way I can get all those nagging details out of my brain and into the internets where they belong. Everyone can participate in CF. Or no one can. Whatever you want to do with your bad selves is fine by me.

This week's confession:
I stopped doing The Artist's Way about 3 weeks ago. Ack. I said it. Er, I typed it. I just couldn't keep going. I've got the tri to train for, I've got my bidnes to run, skiing on weekends, wine clubs to organize, and my plethora of volunteer crap to do. It just wouldn't fit. There I said it: I. Can't. Do. Every. Thing. Happy now?

I feel better now. You try it. Or not. Whatever.

Valentines-Schmalentines

Yesterday I had my little -ectomy at the oral surgeon. I'd tell you what it was but I can't spell it and I honestly don't care. Everyone kept commenting on the fact it was Valentine's Day... oh what a great gift this is, har, har. Really now, I'm just not that into it. Never have been. Even though I'm hitched, it's just not a romantic day for me. It's this forced, fake romantic event when men scramble to buy some candy or other useless crap for women, or vice versa. Don't get me wrong, I loves me some chocolate, maybe a cake or some cookies with frosting (mmm frosting), but just not on that day. Bring me flowers on some random Tuesday in January. Give me chocolate the third Sunday in August. Don't do it because it's expected.

Instead, hubby stayed home with me, took me to the surgeon, brought me home, set me up on the couch with my blanket, bought shakes and applesauce and my pain meds. We watched the Olympics all day then DVR'd a movie. At dinner time he went out and got me mashed potatoes.

Now that's romance for you.

addicted-ectomy

Well, well, well, looks like Ms. Hospital Pants just can't get enough of having things removed. Like a junky on a binge, I'm going in for more. Yesterday I had an appointment with an oral surgeon for this wee little tooth ache that I've had for the past, say, 6 months. Same tooth that had roots canalled last year. Turns out that there's some yummy infection in the bottom (or top, depending on how you look at it) of the root area. Now I have to have some sort of -ectomy to have that part removed.

Joy. Bliss. This time I tried to go for local anesthetic, but no dice. The good doc prefers less screaming or something so I have to go under. I get very nervous when this happens. I don't like the way it fucks with my brain. After the appendectomy, I had/have fuzzy brain. I can't remember things. Can't keep on task. My usually overly motivated OCD self is on hiatus. My desire for constant cleaning, gone. Need for organization, gone. Somedays I'm in my pjs until 10 am. On a weekday.

What I've done to combat the Rusty Brain Syndrome is create a list. A Big List of Shit To Do, if you will. I'd post it but it's mostly mundane things like #25, call Sal's Army to pick up all the crap in my house as a donation, or #107, take empty toner boxes to UPS store, or #2 call feng shui person to shui my house/life/office/car/etc. See, my life is full of thrills and excitement. I know you're jealous. Someday they'll make a reality show about my life. But I won't watch it because I don't watch reality shows. Except for season 2 of America's Next Top Model, which got it all out of my system. From time to time I enjoy the commercials for America's Biggest Loser, but I've only seen the last 10 minutes of the last episode a few seasons ago. How's that for juxtaposition? Top Model and Biggest Loser?

OMG. Look, I can't even keep a post from going off track!

The instructions for the -ectomy involve no food or drink by mouth for 6 hours prior. Gee, where did I hear that before? Oh, yes, in the ER, before they hooked me up to an IV and gave me 300000 ccs of saline or some other liquid that made me pee for 17 hours straight the next day. This time I don't even get the luxury of an IV, I have to go through the night without water. Who can do this? I live 20 feet from the sun, we get parched up here. All the time. Water is a constant companion, even by my bedside, when I get cottonmouth in the middle of the night. I'm pretty sure this no water by mouth thing is just to numb you to the actual pain that follows surgery. You think, I'm dying of thirst, hmm, general anesthetic and stitches can't be so bad.

What I am looking forward to is the Oxygen. That's right. It was the sweetest, cleanest, most peaceful thing. Now I get some more! Rock. I sort of envy those people who are prescribed Oxygen, not why they are prescribed it, just that they get to breath that beautiful clean air all the time. Have you ever had pure Oxygen? Damn. It's good stuff. There used to be some Oxygen bars in downtown Denver a few years back, I never went. I don't go downtown unless it's for meetings. I'm regretting that I never fully took advantage of the trendy, bizarre Oxygen bars Denver had to offer. I think they're all gone now. Sad times.